#he looks like mr beast but its okay

[r0ttente3th]

a little breen doodle

[keerysfreckles]

hey bby 💕 said you were looking a luke castellan plot so here’s one :) so like luke is actually exhausted coming back from a quest that didn’t go super well and he can’t sleep at night because he keeps having nightmares (maybe of the reader dying?), so he starts coming to the reader at night asking if he can sleep in their bed because he feels safer and can feel that they’re alright and then it’s just the evolution of the routine and how they get closer :) no worries if you don’t want to do it btw !

hope ur ok — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x demeter fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, like one mention of blood/wounds, angst if you squint

a/n: I LOVE THIS ITS SO- UGH

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

luke sat upright in his bed. a thin coat of sweat covered his forehead. for the past three nights, ever since he got back from his quest, he's been having nightmares. the first two weren't special. they were the same as the others he normally got. tonight however was different.

he was in a desert, the sky was dark. there was a low wind, causing the sand beneath his feet to move slightly. a yellow fog spread throughout the desert, and suddenly, y/n appeared. at first he thought his dream self imagined it, almost like a hallucination. but no, y/n was surely there.

y/n was made out of sand, the wind blowing past her, making luke see her features more clearly.

"y/n?" luke calls out. he tries to walk closer to her, but the wind picks up and the sand starts covering his feet, halting his movements.

the wind starts to get stronger, pushing luke and y/n away from each other.

"luke!" she yells, trying to get closer to him.

a low growl is emitted from behind y/n, making her turn.

"y/n!" luke calls again, his voice becoming dry from the sand in the air. luke's eyes widen at the sight of a beast fully appearing behind the struggling girl.

luke's dream self continues to call for y/n, until his voice gets caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. he watches as the beast brings his clawed hand up, about to attack y/n.

luke looks out his window, trying his best to forget about the dream he had moments ago. yet it was worthless. he rubbed his eyes before throwing his blanket off of his lower body.

he grabbed his jacket, knowing it got cold at night, and made his way out of his own cabin and towards y/n's.

was the idea risky? yes.

but the hermes boy couldn't care. he was in risk of getting caught by a patrolling harpy. or he could get caught by chrion or mr d. (that was even worse in his opinion) or he was worried y/n wouldn't even want to see him at this time of night. but he just had to make sure the girl was okay.

luke stopped in front of cabin four, staring over the greenery around most of the wood planks and columns.

he didn't bother knocking, and as quietly as he could the boy opened the door covered in moss. it only creaked slightly. luke was quiet again as he shut the door.

the greenery theme followed throughout the cabin. it wasn't as prominent as it was on the exterior. green vines hung on the walls, and small purple and yellow flowers bloomed wherever grass patches were on the hardwood ground.

luke was hoping y/n wouldn't be mad at him for sneaking into her cabin. the two were friends, but don't talk much outside of archery.

there were seven beds in the cabin, none of them being bunk beds like the hermes cabin had. luke made it to the sixth bed and saw y/n asleep. her back was turned to luke, making her face the window.

luke nudged her shoulder. no response.

he did the motion again, hearing a small gasp come from the girl. "luke?" she turned around after rubbing her eyes, making sure they weren't playing tricks on her.

"what are you doing here?" her voice was soft, in order to not wake up any of her half sisters. (there weren't any sons of demeter, no one had really questioned it).

luke stammers, "i uh, couldn't sleep. had another nightmare."

y/n was full sitting now, with her blanket pooling around her waist. "what happened? in the nightmare?"

luke shakes his head, "i'd rather not talk about it." the more he thought about it, the more he only wanted to protect y/n.

y/n looked around her bed, before getting an idea.

"do you want to sleep here? with me?" she offered, quickly catching luke off guard.

"are you sure? what if someone catches us?"

y/n smiles and pulls her blanket down for luke to join her. "then we worry about it tomorrow. you need to get some rest. you have to teach archery tomorrow."

luke reciprocates a smile before sliding in the bed next to y/n. he tosses his jacket on the ground, now getting comfortable under y/n's dark green blanket. it reminded him of grass, but it wasn't itchy like the greenery in the door.

after a few moments of silence, luke turns to y/n, seeing she was facing the window again.

"can i hold you?" luke's voice is raspy and soft. he was worried y/n didn't hear him, until she turned again to face him.

she only nods, making the two maneuver in the bed. y/n is closer to luke now, as she's laying on her side to face him. he rests his head on her chest. both of his arms are wrapped around her waist gently, pulling the girl even closer to him.

luke can hear y/n's heartbeat, which instantly calms him down from the nightmare he had that night. a gesture she didn't even know she was doing, would calm him down more than she knew.

as luke started to fall asleep, he felt y/n's finger in his hair. her nails were lightly scratching his scalp, and her fingers played with his dark curls. she kisses the top of his head, before she whispers, "goodnight luke."

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (1)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Rating: Mature

Square filled for @stuckybingo Round 5: free space - mafia au

Square filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, strong reader, mentions of breeding/surrogate, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, reader doesn't take shit from no one, tension, sexy mobsters

Words: 1,5k

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Babe, how do I look?” Your boyfriend asks, almost stumbling over his words as the men he was hoping to meet at the fancy party walk inside the room. 

Well, they don’t walk like normal people. They are stepping inside the room, stopping in their tracks to look at the people in the room. It looks like the crowd parts like the Red Sea to form a path only for them.

Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. – Two names you must know if you ever heard of New York City and its mob.

They are as good-looking as they are dangerous. A deadly combination of beauty and the beast hidden behind blue eyes.

If you don’t want to end up six feet under, you don’t mess with them. Or even look their way too long.

“Did you put on the underwear I told you to?” 

“What has this to do with the party?” You sigh, as you still don’t know why Scott brought you here.

You’ve been dating for a few months, and you had hoped that tonight, he’d do more than the bare minimum. He’s not a bad guy, but an awful partner.

A criminal too. Not a criminal mastermind, but you already figured out that the small business he runs is far from legal.

“It’s important, babe,” you roll your eyes at the awful pet name. You hate it and told him so before. “Okay, don’t say anything stupid. Or, just look pretty and don’t say anything at all.”

“What?” Now you square your jaw. You don’t understand what has gotten into Scott until you lift your eyes off him to meet two pairs of blue ones. “Oh…”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” Scott looks pathetic when he bows for the heads of the mob in town. “I’m honored to meet you again. Thank you for having me.”

The men ignore Scott and his offered hand. Instead, they look at you. Steve almost shoves your boyfriend aside as he holds out his hand to take yours.

“I see you followed our invitation,” he lowers himself to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You shiver. He seems so polite, and kind. But behind his blue eyes, you can see the beast wanting to break free.

“Stevie don’t scare her off right away,” you are a little overwhelmed when James Barnes turns his attention toward you. He takes your other hand and kisses your knuckles, glancing at your ring finger. “No ring, doll? He didn’t ask you to be his forever?”

“No-“ You’re usually not shy, or meek. But these men crowd you like prey and have their hands on you. You know they are in a relationship, but right now, they look at you as if you are their latest meal. “We’re only dating for a few months.”

“A shame,” Steve cups your chin, making you whimper. You never felt like this before. Confused and aroused at the same time. These men are strangers, but oddly you feel safe in their presence. “What do you say? Shall we lead this to a more private area?”

You don’t know why they are interested in leading you and your boyfriend to a private area, but this can’t be good. People like them never have good intentions, and you assume Steve and Bucky are no exception.

“I’m good here…I mean. You should enjoy your party. Don’t you have to greet all the people you invited?” You nervously babble. 

“Doll, they don’t care if we greet them or not. They are only here to show respect to us,” Bucky runs his index finger up your arm. He smirks as you involuntarily shudder at his touch. “Let’s lead this to our office.”

“Scott,” you dip your head to glance at your boyfriend. He looks up at Steve as if the man is carrying a halo on top of his head. “Scott!”

“Babe don’t be rude. We should follow them to the office,” your boyfriend is no help. He’s wringing his hands while staring at Steve Rogers. God, he’s such a pathetic little boy. You just see it now when you watch him interact with two real men.

“Fine,” you snap at Scott if only to end his pathetic act. “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, please lead the way.” 

“Do you want a drink or a canapé doll? We can ask the maid to get you something you’ll like,” Bucky sits next to you on the couch, one hand running up and down his thigh, the other creeping toward your thigh. He brushes his metal finger over your exposed skin, barely listening to what his partner has to say.

“Buck, did you listen?”

“Seal the deal,” the brunette clicks his tongue, “I’ll take care of the main act in the meantime. You know I don’t care about the conditions. We already negotiated them. You can take care of the details.”

“I want to take over more important tasks,” Scott suddenly says. He glances at you, and then he looks at Steve. “Sir, I agree on the terms. I’ll do anything to prove that you can trust me.”

“Does she agree on our terms too?” Steve dips his head to watch you stop Bucky’s hand from stroking your thigh. “Buck, we are talking here.”

“I know,” Bucky huffs. “All you do is talk to that slimy little bastard. Give him what he wants so we can get what we want.”

“Mr. Lang, you know that if we seal the deal, that you cannot break it. We have rules for a reason.”

“She will agree,” Scott hastily says. You snap your head toward your boyfriend, wondering what he’s talking about. “Right, Y/N? You’ll help me with the deal.”

“I told you that I’m not going to do anything illegal,” you hiss at Scott. “I looked the other way when you sold stolen phones to my colleagues, but I won’t actively help you. I’m not a criminal.”

“You didn’t talk about the deal with her?” Bucky suddenly jumps up to fist Scott’s jacket. “You dare to come to our house and lie to us?”

“I didn’t lie, Sir…Mr. Barnes. Y/N said she finds you hot, and all. She even talked about ending up between the two of you to her friend.”

“You sick fuck spied on me and Maria?” You growl at Scott. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes…I’m sure she’ll help you have a baby and all…”

“Baby what?” You furrow your brows. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous. What is going on here?”

“Well, we want you to become our surrogate. Bucky and I love each other dearly, but I cannot give him what he needs, nor can he give me what I want. A baby…an heir. We were looking for the perfect woman, with the perfect bloodline.”

“I-what?” The room suddenly caves in. You feel dizzy and grab the edge of the couch. “You want me to be your breeder?”

“No, doll,” Steve walks toward the couch to crouch down in front of you. “We want you to spend time with us…or rather between us.” He grins. “I want you to have my baby. And then you’ll have Bucky’s. We haven’t figured out whose allowed to breed you first.”

“Breed me?” Oh. God. Your pussy just clenched around nothing. If not for the anger taking over, you’d gladly jump Steve’s bones to have all the babies he wants. “Are you fucking insane? I’m not a piece of meat you can just buy!”

“We believed he talked about the deal with you, doll. Please, don’t be mad at us,” Steve purrs, and runs his hand over your cheek. “We only wanted what we deserve. The perfect woman having our babies.”

“She will agree…” Scott nervously says. He looks at you, hoping you’ll agree to whatever the two men holding his fate in their hands want. “Right babe?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” you jump up, and push Steve aside. “What did you believe will happen when you bring me here to offer my uterus and pussy to these two? Huh? That I’ll just bend over the desk and let them have their way with me!”

“I-uh…kinda…yes…”

“Pathetic,” you click your tongue as you glance at Bucky. He cracks his knuckles, ready to rough Scott up a little for messing with them. “I knew you were no good. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct.”

You dip your head to watch Steve walk toward his partner. They are looking at you, like lions ready to pounce. Those two men set their eyes on you, and you are not foolish enough to believe that they’ll leave you alone.

If you end up in their clutches, you’ll make sure they only get their hands on you to your conditions. “You want me and my womb?”

“More than anything,” Bucky purrs. He steps behind you to place both of his hands on your belly. “And I can tell, Stevie, and will love filling you up.”

Scott hopefully looks at you. This is the moment he was waiting for. He’ll be a made man soon, and his ex will see, he's more than the loser she sees in him. 

You look at Steve, holding his gaze, “I’ll be yours if you get rid of him…”

Part 2

[bunmurdock]

spotted pigeons and telepathic dog walkers | matt murdock x oralfixation!reader

summary: combined three inbox requests! (1) “sucking matt’s fingers for comfort” + (2) “having a bad day; matt lets you curl up in his lap while he whispers sweet nothings” + (3) “matt x oral fixation!reader; he would love how needy/clingy she is and oblige her with his fingers.” tags: humor, fluff, daddy!matt, use of a pet name (“pup”) word count: 918

“shh, there you go, sweetheart,” matt whispers. 

you're curled up in his lap. his thumb nudges its way between your parted lips, a gesture so deeply rooted in your shared moments of comfort. his skin tastes of the day's work, a hint of soap and something uniquely matt, and it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of your anxieties.

“someone was a little firecracker today, hm? got all worked up, and now look at you, quiet as a mouse.” you suckle on his finger, cheeks puffing adorably. 

he laughs softly. “ah, there's that pout. knew it wouldn't be long.”

matt shifts, caressing your cheek with his other fingers. “let's see if we can't find a better use for that pout, hm?” his free arm reaching over to the nearby bluetooth speaker. soft, instrumental music fills the room.

“music to soothe the savage beast,” he quips, the laughter around his eyes crinkling with something more tender. he rocks you gently, the movement subtle but comforting. “or in our case, to soothe the sweetest pup in the world.”

~

“you know, i was thinking. maybe we should go birdwatching like you suggested. you and me, out in the park at dawn, and you can tell me when you see the rare... spotted pink pigeon.”

the absurdity of the statement, delivered with such faux seriousness, is enough to draw a reluctant smile from you.

“spotted pink pigeon doesn't exist, pup, but if it did, i’m sure it'd be as unique and lovely as you.”

he leans back against the couch, taking you with him. the question he's been pondering dances at the tip of his tongue, a gentle inquiry meant to bridge the silence that has settled between you.

“which, speaking of, we’ve been debating at the office. how would you feel about a little office mascot? foggy and kar—”

before he can continue, he feels your body tense slightly, the shift so subtle only someone as attuned to you as matt could notice. the question hangs in the air, unfinished, as he tunes into your reaction. there's a stillness about you, a hesitation that speaks volumes to him.

“ah,” he whispers, a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head. “not the time for decisions, huh? that's okay. let's get your mind off of things.”

he shifts slightly, making sure you're nestled comfortably against him. 

“so. you’re not going to believe this. today, foggy brought in this client—mr. boetticher. a guy who claims he's developed a 'revolutionary' method to walk dogs telepathically. says he can control up to ten dogs at a time with just his mind.”

“and karen decided we should test this guy's claim. so, there we were, in the middle of central park, with foggy holding onto five leashes, more scared than i've ever seen him, and this guy concentrating so hard i thought he might burst a blood vessel.”

“of course, nothing happened. well, nothing except for the dogs deciding it was the perfect time to chase after a squirrel, taking foggy on a little unexpected adventure.”

matt pauses, feeling the vibrations of your giggles against his chest. “and then later, there's frank castle,” he continues, the smile evident in his voice. “dropped by today. turns out he has a soft spot for old jazz records,” he smirks. “walked in on him and karen having an impromptu dance session in the middle of the office.” 

“really?” you murmur around his thumb, eyes wide.

“mhm. when i walked in, never seen someone jump up so fast. tried to act all tough, like he hadn’t just been serenading karen with louis armstrong's greatest hits.”

your giggle fills the room, warm and hearty, as he continues. “but the highlight of the day? the office itself. ever since we moved to the new place, it's been one adventure after another. and today was no exception.”

“we've been dealing with this... let's call it a 'haunted' coffee machine. turns out, foggy was convinced it had a mind of its own. would randomly start brewing in the middle of meetings.”

you let out a soft snort, the image of foggy arguing with a coffee machine too vivid in your imagination.

“so today, karen had enough. she declared war on the coffee machine. it was a scene to behold, pup. karen, armed with the user manual, foggy providing moral support from a safe distance, and me, well, enjoying the show.”

your laughter is muffled against his chest, the silly image of the trio taking on an inanimate object a welcome distraction. 

“guess what?” matt's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “took them three days to figure out foggy had been accidentally hitting the delayed start button with his elbow every time he leaned on the counter.”

your laughter bubbles up again, filling the room with warmth, and a look of pure fondness crosses matt’s face, a look reserved only for you. 

“but you know, the best part of today?” he continues, “was coming back to you, knowing that no matter how crazy the day gets, i've got a crazier little pup waiting for me—”

you bite down on his finger.

“ouch! alright alright. ah—no teeth.”

~

“so, how about we plan a day out? just you and me,” he teases gently, tilting your chin up to meet his smile with one of your own—even if he can’t see it, he feels it. “think of it as our little adventure, away from the stress and chaos. what do you say, pup?”

[chronically-ghosted]

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

🤍AO3 Link

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🤍Masterlist

From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not. 

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it. 

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips –  – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit – 

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering – 

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing. 

– sharp inhale then a cough – 

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call. 

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait – 

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking– 

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn? 

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars. 

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama. 

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit. 

They’ll eat it up. 

Fuck yeah, they will. 

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place. 

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man. 

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean. 

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.  

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh? 

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack – 

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now. 

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee. 

Not a good –

 

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine. 

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot. 

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets. 

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways. 

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you. 

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We. 

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it. 

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens – 

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list. 

Goddamn Burger King . . . 

The front doorbell rings. 

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder. 

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because – 

“Uncle Dee?” 

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell – 

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave. 

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,” 

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place. 

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.” 

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,” 

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected. 

He chews on his lip. 

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.” 

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls. 

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl – 

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile? 

And, holy shit, those tits –  

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico. 

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,” 

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt. 

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?” 

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. 

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.” 

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside. 

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation. 

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies? 

No. Not at all. 

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.” 

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.” 

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.” 

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.” 

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.” 

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.” 

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you. 

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.” 

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks. 

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact. 

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo. 

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over. 

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not. 

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts. 

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet. 

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm. 

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese. 

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.” 

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife. 

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”  

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge. 

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread. 

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.” 

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language. 

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top. 

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.” 

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them. 

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date — 

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter. 

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy. 

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again. 

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?” 

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering. 

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.” 

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages. 

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.” 

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner. 

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it. 

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting. 

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles. 

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when– 

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich. 

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.” 

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.” 

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain. 

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face. 

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?” 

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass. 

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies. 

Not that any of that would be happening with you. 

He wasn’t a complete monster after all. 

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand. 

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.” 

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt. 

“Such a gentleman.” 

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips. 

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep —  try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.” 

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.” 

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch. 

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions. 

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.” 

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote. 

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips. 

“No fucking way, I love this movie.” 

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?” 

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day. 

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest. 

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!” 

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies. 

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands. 

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.” 

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees. 

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.” 

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that. 

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice. 

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones. 

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over. 

The movie goes on. 

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt. 

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves— 

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up —  it’s like you meant for them to be there. 

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down. 

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle. 

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again. 

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.” 

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front. 

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks. 

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”  

You nodded, still not looking at him. 

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table. 

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails. 

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table. 

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.” 

Just the two of us. 

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you. 

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?” 

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile. 

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn. 

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter. 

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.” 

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place. 

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.” 

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling. 

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears. 

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.” 

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be. 

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look. 

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded. 

And you’re giving it to him, right now. 

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing. 

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled. 

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man. 

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf. 

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

[carionto]

Wisdom is to seek the experienced

Your typical dimly lit bar, closing hours. Few folk still remain, fewer still conscious. The door chimes to a sprightly young man, though his eyes echo decades of witnessing the grim reality. He orders a beer, sits down next to a passed out man in his late 50s, hand still gripping his last shot glass.

The young man prods the old guy awake.

"Tell me, what do you know about Old Man Henderson?"

"What? That's an urban myth. A fairy tale. Ain't no such person ever existed. Scram, kid."

"We believe the contrary. Correction. We don't believe anything. We know he is real."

"That story is over a thousand years old. Wouldn't be the first time some fools mistake a work of fiction from three apocalypses ago as fact."

"There's more to it than that. We know that you are connected."

At this moment, the young man takes out a small binder of documents and splays it in front of the old guy. Images of excavations of an old town hall. Unidentified dirt and ash samples. A heavily damaged pilot's license. Used cigarette butts.

And a list of names, dates of birth and death, addresses throughout their life, occupations, relatives. Seemingly, no connection. And at the end of the list a Mr J. Drenshaw - the old guy.

"We know you know these people, all of them. Ever since the incident Old Man Henderson was involved in, there has been an unbroken chain of people who studied and learned everything about him and what occurred. And you did your best to erase everything from all records but your own.

Well, the one thing the first to whom this knowledge was passed on to did not do was to cremate their mentor. Instead, they received a burial at sea. Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific from a plane. Forever lost to the world, beneath endless waters and unknown beasts of below.

Or, so it would have remained, had it not been for that little explosion that has doomed our world. Among the debris the OCC cleared was a tiny, damaged microfilm. Unable to restore its contents at the time, it was stored alongside the innumerable relics recovered from the disaster, and promptly forgotten about.

Until my superiors learned of something... odd, and we got to work searching for the loosest of ends. The rest is technical details. In short - you, Mr Drenshaw, have known about the reality of the Old Ones ever since your mentor exposed you to this secretive knowledge you've been safekeeping for the last twenty eight generations. It is no longer your exclusive club.

We need your help understanding what Cthulu is, what it wants, what it can do, and most importantly - what we can do about it."

After a long pause, J. Drenshaw looked at his empty shot glass, at the young man, to the floor, and sighed.

"The reason we kept it from everyone is because you can't do anything about a being like that. That's the point."

"Old Man Henderson did do something about it."

"He was a nutjob. One of a kind."

"Still just human."

"Bah. It wasn't even the full might of anything Greater."

"Even a fraction was still a part of it. We can expand upon that."

"What do I even get out of this? Cuz I'm telling you, it doesn't matter how many Supernovas you throw at Cthulu. The material realm doesn't bother them in the least."

"It doesn't have to be a hostile relationship. Our experiences with the Galactic Coalition, despite a rocky start, show we can communicate with anyone."

"Aliens and Old Ones are not comparable. Can an ant negotiate with the Moon? That's a bullshit idea and you know it."

"We found an individual who contradicts your belief."

At this statement, the young man shows Mr Drenshaw a picture of a young woman, barely out of her teens, but even through a simple image Drenshaw can see in her eyes there is... knowing.

"Okay? That your girlfriend? Good for you."

"That is Cintra Valkeim. Though it proved difficult to ascertain, we believe she made contact with Cthulu."

"Thought you didn't believe in anything. Couldn't get her to confess?"

"We're still working on the specifics, but we do know she died several times. Either by negligence or lack of interest in us 'nothings', her resurrections left marks on the cellular level."

"Nothings..." Drenshaw slowly repeated the word, as if something finally clicked.

"That is how They view us, yes?"

Mr Drenshaw finally looked back at the young man, took a deep breath and simply said:

"Yea...

Fine. I'll talk to this Cintra. Alone. After that I'll decide if it's worth a bother to help you lot."

"Those are agreeable terms. Shall I take you to her now or...?"

"Fuck no. I got a raging headache and I need a nap. Just cuz you got my curiosity don't mean this hangover is suddenly gone. Leave your number, I'll call you in a few days. Gonna do my own investigation."

"Understandable. Here are my contacts."

Mr Drenshaw takes the card, looks at it, and bemusedly puts it away.

"Fuckin' hell. Bunch of jokers you are. Alright, I'll be sure to ring you up, Mr 'John Smith'. Now get outta here, you've ruined my nap long enough.

HEY, BARKEEP! GET ME SOMETHING THAT'LL KNOCK ME RIGHT BACK TO SLEEP!"

[athena-xox]

Okay lots of people don’t like Dizzie (Daring/Lizzie) and say they have no chemistry. Which is fair IN THE TV SERIES. but I’m a wonderlandiful world? Even tho Darings barely in it he still has so much chemistry with Lizzie. Maybe it’s just my theatre kid heart (hahaha) but like they’re so adorable.

AND WHEN LIZZIE KNIGHTED HIM.

Okay minor spoilers for a wonderlandiful world, I’m going to put some of my favourite Dizzie quotes from there.

“Now, kneel.”

Cedar was surprised to see Daring do so without argument.

Through some twist of magic, Lizzie’s butter knife had enlarged with him, now as big as a sword. She picked it up, solemnly touching its flat side to each of Daring’s shoulders.

“I knight you a defender of Wonderland, Sir Daring Charming. Heroic, loyal, fuzzy doom.”

“Yes, exactly like a pirate,” Lizzie said. “I would be much more comfortable speaking with you if you were a pirate.”

Briar put a finger to her chin, considering, and promptly glided to the ground, fast asleep.

“Arrr, Lizzie Hearts! Have ye killed Briar Beauty?” a voice asked from behind.

Daring Charming sauntered up and saluted her. He’d been so accommodating with her pirate request that Lizzie felt certain her mother couldn’t disapprove of their friendship.

“Aren’t you supposed to be racing?” Lizzie asked.

“No rush,” he said. “I always win. Even when I don’t.” He winked at her. “Ahoy, matey.”

“Daring swooped into a royal bow and said, “Be still, my heart! A fair princess has arrived!” And, strangely, he was looking at Lizzie, not Apple. Daring’s complimentary, showy stuff seemed to set the Ever After girls’ lashes aflutter, but Lizzie raised an eyebrow.

“If your heart were still, Mr. Charming,” she said, “then you would be dead.”

“Excuse me?” Daring asked.

“You said ‘be still, my heart,’ thereby commanding your heart to stop beating,” said Lizzie. “If your heart is obedient, I expect you to drop dead at my feet.”

Daring stared at Lizzie. He opened his mouth and seemed surprised when a chuckle escaped it. Lizzie smirked. She didn’t often hear Daring Charming chuckle.”

Off with its head!” shouted Lizzie.

Daring drew his sword with a flash of steel and an equally brilliant flash of a white-toothed smile.

“I’m just the prince for the job,” he said.

Lizzie smiled in surprise that someone was actually taking her seriously.

Daring winked

Lizzie lifted one hand, posing as she had on the amphitheater’s stage. “I

have returned, Boreas, wind-herder, to watch you writhing in the agony of age and death.”

Daring laughed heroically. “What a battle. Bards will sing of my deeds! Or perhaps a pop singer. Do you listen to Katy Fairy?”

“I do not!” Lizzie said grandly. “But I shall listen to her squalling posthaste as you are my friend, and friends recommend music to each other!

The audience gasped. Lizzie smiled. Maybe this strutting-about-a-stage business wasn’t so bad. She glanced at the anxious face of Headmaster Grimm for inspiration and decided to make up a few more lines. “I will not be the daughter who does nothing but watch her wrinkled father writhe with the agony of age and death, your voice slowly becoming more nasal and oddly high-pitched, as if you were being strangled by a possum or a really weak octopus or something.”

Daring pressed his lips together, valiantly attempting to hold back a laugh, and ultimately failing.

Darabella, Darise, Dapple or Farring could never. Also Dizzie technically got the beauty and the beast (well daring as a beast and Lizzie is always obviously beautiful) arc first. Even if it was sadly under developed.

Anyways Shannon Hale obviously ships Dizzie (well probably idk if she’s said anything on the matter) and it’s the best Daring ship. I suppose Kizzie (Kitty x Lizzie) kind of comes close but they just don’t have that romantic tension like her and daring do.

Anyways I think more people should appreciate them.

[redhoodedangel]

Okay, picture if you will…

Reader as the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen…

In essence, a love child that Maze and Lucifer decided to train in combat…

When they come to Earth in LA, they decided to send her off to train with the best of the best on Earth, including Batman. There, Reader meets Jason and the two become friends, eventually dating…

Then, Joker kidnaps him after a mission at a school goes topside…

And Reader… goes… fucking… ape…

In the same way an animal goes berserk when their pack, mate or human is in danger, Reader goes twice as crazy… like Joker and Harley have some competition…

She starts using torture techniques, learned from her mother on anyone working for Joker or who sympathized with him… Looking for Jason for days and months on end…

Which leads her to Frank Boles…

In front of his wife and children, she forces the truth out of him without having to pull out a knife…

Joker is hiding Jason in the underbelly of Arkham Asylum to torture him…

Issuing a threat to Boles to not tell Joker she’s on her way or else, he’s a dead man walking, and wishing Mrs. Boles luck on separation/divorce proceedings (they gonna need it), she’s off to Arkham…

Once inside the belly of the beast, she immediately hears screams… and she doesn’t waste a second, ripping the heavy-duty door off of its hinges.

Joker has a branding tool with a ‘J’ that was still hot, Harley looking at her in shock and horror, and Jason, reddening eyes full of tears and pain with a newly branded ‘J’…

“Okay, now you’ve really pissed me off…”

(This GIF just fits… don’t judge me…)

Reader goes fucking nuts and Joker, for the first time, is genuinely terrified…

Like, he thought he could beat her up like Jason, but she managed to do the one thing that he thought impossible…

Making him feel pain without making him laugh….

It becomes clear to him that Reader is beyond human…

She was a living, breathing monster with the face of a pretty girl…

A monster fighting for her lover… and that lover was Jason…

Unlike Batman, love wasn’t her weakness… it was her weapons, the very tools she was using to deliver the same punishment he had placed onto Jason onto him…

Even Harley could tell she wasn’t normal in the slightest and actively stayed out of her way purely out of shock, for once thinking about her self-preservation rather than her clown-faced man-candy (if you can even call Joker a man or even man-candy).

With Joker nearly beaten to within an inch of his life, Reader is shaken out of her murderous stupor by a single broken word…

“B-Babe…”

Her eyes then turned towards the sight of her boyfriend, her Jason. The tape hanging off the corner of his mouth, skin stained with blood, tears and other copious substances. His eyes still pained and red now looking at her and pleading.

Without a second thought, she goes up to him and cuts him out of his bindings. Ensues a lot of tears and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ and just a lot of emotional shit…

Then Harley pulls out a gun from Joker’s pocket and shoots her, ruining the special moment…

Only it doesn’t kill her… the bullet bouncing off her…

Y/N had always been careful around weaponry, as she didn’t know if she was invincible like her father or at risk of being destroyed completely like her mother. She had managed to get nicked a few times during fights…

But those were before she met Jason…

She realized what was going on as she shielded Jason from the hail of bullets and shrill angry screams coming from Harley…

She was vulnerable by herself, but impenetrable around Jason…

It was a strange reversal of what was going on with her father around his detective colleague, Chloe…

Without fault, she whips around and sets her sights on Harley, grabbing the gun, twisting and breaking her arm and destroying the pistol in the process…

Flashing her demon face, Reader says to Harley, “If either of you touch him again, you’re gonna wish I had sent you both to Hell just now…”

In the midst of this, Jason passes out from the pain of his untreated injuries. With her supernatural strength, Y/N picks up Jason and turns to leave, unfurling her black and green angel wings…

Boy, Batman was going to give her a hounding and her parents were going to be singing praises…

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

Okay fiiiine guys; have a sneak peak of MM PII/lh

Lenore walks through the hallways, paranoia beginning to creep into her as she replays the conversation in her head. It seemed so ridiculous, but then again, much weirder has happened within the confines of the Academy. The bell rang out through the empty corridors, making her groan. Great. More demerits to lap onto the pile. She can’t help but stare at the windows, if her reflection could speak, wouldn’t it do so while they were alone? Or is hers smarter? “No no no no, you can’t possibly be willing to entertain that idea.” She mutters, waving a hand away from no one. She glimpses Duke at the end of the hall, putting more pep in her step to catch up with his casual stride. “Duke!” She called out. He paused and turned around, smiling as soon as he saw her, “Mon amie!” He pats her on the back, “Glad to see you’re still in one piece,” He raises a brow, “C'était quoi ça?”

“Hm?” Lenore hums, tilting her head to the side, ear falling on Duke’s hand, “Why did Madame Antoinette drag you off like that?” She didn’t ponder the question, an amused smile appearing on her face after his question slipped from his mouth. “Oh, nothing really.” She dismissed, walking a bit ahead of him, “Talked my ear off about something, can’t remember what it was now.” Duke snickers, rolling his eyes playfully, “Are we going to have to try and throw her off the balcony again?” He jests, making Lenore’s demeanor grow serious, “Watch. It.” She spat through clenched teeth, he raised his hands, “Alright! Alright! Désolé, ponytail!” She still had the expression of a pissed persian cat, opening the doors of the classroom.

Miss Poppet had been rambling about the lesson for some time, all eyes turning on the two of them as they entered, “Tardiness!” Miss Poppet gawks, pointing at them, “5 demerits! Both of you!” Duke nearly groaned before the two sat down next to each other, alongside their companions. Lenore looked up at Pluto, “Did we miss anything?”

“Nothing of value…” Pluto replies, shrugging his shoulders, “Just a new lesson.”

“What about?” Duke asks, leaning forward to hear Pluto better. But instead, Berenice butted her way into the conversation, setting her hands behind her head, “Summin’ ‘bout mirrors?” Lenore could feel her face go pale. Crap, Annabel was right?! She thought she was crazy or something.

Annabel looked on, trying to keep her composure for the remainder of Ms. Poppet’s babbling, there were warnings there, she was sure, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. She would occasionally glance toward the room’s window, half wishing that the one off mirror incident would happen again so she could prove to Lenore that she wasn’t some madwoman desperate for attention. But alas, nothing. “One more thing!” Mrs. Poppet announces, clasping her hands together, “Specters are unnecessary for the lesson, do not use them unless it is absolutely vital. Good luck, students!”

Not even a second went by, and Lenore was separated from her peers, and from Annabel. She was surrounded by a maze full of mirrors, the walls and floor surrounded by glass prisms, and yet she couldn’t see her own reflection. Odd. She walked straight for a while, touching a hand to the glass in front of her, stroking it downward with her fingertips. “Strange…” she muttered, “LENORE!?” Shouted a voice, Morella’s. “Morella?” Lenore called back, following the sound, “Morella, darling? Are you here?” She called again. “Lenore!” The voice cried back, downpitching into twisted distortion. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Lenore slowly creaked her head upwards towards the monster, seeing its hunched back and hulkling quadrupedal exterior. Claws for limbs, orange coat draping on top, and a circular mirror for a head. “I’ve finally found you..” The voice shifted in pitch, mirrored head peering down at Lenore, who didn’t hesitate for a second, turning and darting the other way.

She heard the beast roar, hearing the glass behind her thunk as it approaches, thunking right into the dead end wall, she stands and looks behind her, the monster growing ever closer. She felt a pit in her stomach, refusing to shut her eyes even though she knew the end was approaching. She feels the mirror ripple and she’s pulled in quickly, reaching towards nothing. The monster stops in front of the dead end, a low growl emitting from its throat, it looks up and cries in a bellowing his, turning away and thunking its claws into the porcelain ground.

“Lenore?” Asked a voice, making Lenore’s eyes shoot open, turning upward to see who it was. “Y’alright?” It was Montresor. He sets her down and grips her shoulders, staring into her dazed eyes, “Goin’ up against that kinda thang? Pfft- shoot! I admire yer bravery, firebug!” His face softened, looking at Lenore intently, watching her hold his head. “Y’okay? Yer not respondin’.... should I go get Duke?”

“Hhhhh…” She groaned, “Yyyyyeah, I’m gittin’ ‘em,” Montresor began, patting Lenore’s shoulder, “Stay right ‘ere, I’ll be back.” He darted off in a few seconds, jumping into another mirror without struggle. Lenore holds her head, feeling the whole room spin, it's almost too overwhelming, feeling her grasp on consciousness slip. Before it all goes dark she sees a blur, and hears a muffled shout, “Ponytail!” And then it goes black.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Rude (Kiri Version)

Pairing- Kiri x reader

Summary- You try to win over your beloveds father who would rather her date someone else.

Warnings- kissing, fluff that it basically

You jump out of bed with a huge smile on your face. Today was the day you were going to ask your beloved, Kiri Sully's father, for permission to be her mate. Some would say it was too traditional but it was the way. You grabbed a necklace that had all kinds of weird colorful rocks that you just knew Kiri would love. You waved your mother and father goodbye as you skipped over to the Sully's so happy.

It was a quiet peaceful morning and it seemed Jake and Kiri were the only ones awake as they sat outside talking. You cough a little and they stand up. Kiri smiled sheepishly at you as you bowed your head. Jake looked at the scene in front of him and squinted his eyes at you. "Here for you." You say handing Kiri the necklace. She touched the rocks as she unclasped the back and put it in and her cheeks deepened in color. "Thank you." She said and you only smiled harder. The cute scene was cut short as Jake spoke.

"Is there any particular reason you've come today?" Your back straightens and you turn to him and give him a hopeful smile. "Yes Mr. JakeSully I would like to know if I have your blessing to be Kiri's mate." You say and Kiri had a look of astonishment on her face. She's been talking about you to her family non-stop.

Jake had a stoic look on his face before he spoke. "No you do not have my blessing and you will never have it."

"Dad!" Kiri spoke trying to go to you but he just pushed her inside covering the curtain that acted like a door.

Your face fell, no. You walk and it seemed your friends Ao'nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo had watched the whole thing unfold. "Oh my Eywa well not everything goes as planned but you've got hundreds of Metkayina girls and guys-"

"I'm not going to give up, Kiri is my love, my light, she completes me and I'll do everything in my power to win over JakeSully." You proclaim to your friends. Tsireya giggled as she clapped her hands together and Ao'nung and Rotxo only shook their heads. "How when he literally said he would never give you his blessing-" Rotxo was cut off by you. "Shut it. I already have a plan.

It was true you had cultivated a plan. First you would show him your strength and ability to take care of his daughter, then if that doesn't work you don't really have a back up plan but it's okay.

"Wait so you don't have a back up plan?" Ao'nung butts into your internal monologue. You roll your eyes as you put your spear down into the water slightly . "Yes– well no but I'm sure when I catch the Dinicthoid I'm sure that he will see I am strong enough to kill this vicious beast. I can protect his daughter, and then I will have his blessing, I hope." You say whispering this last part. "And what am I here to do?" He asked. "To make sure I do not die." You smile before something comes out of the water you yell before clutching your spear. It circled around you and you circled around it. You made your move through the spear into its side; it pierced the side of the creature and blood flooded the water. You stepped closer to the beast as I bled out, it flipped in the water, removing the spear it stopped moving only twitching at times. You whispered a prayer to Eywa before killing the beast off clean.

"See, I told you could do it." You laugh as Ao'nung chuckles, helping you put the dinicthoid onto your ilu.

You caught dinner and there would be a celebration. Two of the youngest warriors caught one of the most dangerous and prized prey. And there you would hope to get Jake's blessing.

The cooks prepared the dinicthoid perfectly and it spread around that you caught it and Kiri smiled before leaning against her father. "See, they are very brave and strong." She whispered to her father as he drank from his cup. "More like stupid they could have died and for what." He scoffed before taking a bite of his dinner.

And there you sat ignoring your food and admired Kiri, it was like she got more beautiful everyday. Her dark blue skin illuminating in the nightlight of Pandora, and her capturing smile that lit up the whole room, was so perfect.

Kiri waved toward you and you did the same before giggling. Jake stood up walking towards you and your smile fell as did her's. "H-hi Mr. Sully." You say and he just glares. "I need to talk to you." He said before walking away and to the beach. You scrambled yourself up and ran after him looking at Kiri who had bug eyes and a terrified look on her face.

Jake stood there in front of the waves as did you. It was silent and your eyes fell.

"I do love her." You say.

He looks at you confused. "What?" He asked and you looked at him with a gentle smile on your face and tears in your eyes.

"I love her. More than anything in the world. I would shout it from the top of the world if I could. If she wanted me to leave and never come back I would, if she wanted me to never talk again I would, I am utterly and completely in love with your daughter. She is my heart, she is what makes me feel alive, she fires my soul. And it may be stupid to be this in love but call me stupid I love her so much it hurts." You confess to the man who denied his blessing.

His expression was of disbelief, shocked most of all. "Really?" You hear a voice that makes your face light up, Kiri.

You both turn to her and your cheeks darken had she heard all of it? You shake your head shyly and she runs up to you as you did, wrapping you into a tight hug. "I see you." She whispers into your ear and your ears perked up and your eyes widened love-blown pupils. "And I see you." You whisper back.

Jake stood there in utter disbelief, his baby girl was finally a grown up and found love. He choked back the tears that threatened to fall as he walked back to the party.

As he walked back you brought Kiri closer, tucking a stray hair behind her ear before giving her a small kiss. Pulling away as soon as she tries to deepen the kiss, you giggle at her eagerness as she laughs as well.

From afar Jake and Neytiri met at the edge of the party watching you hug each other. "She's all grown up." Jake said to Neytiri who only smiled. "It is a good thing Ma' Jake" She whispered as she pulled him back into the party. Leaving you two dumb and in love.

[the-final-sif]

(Screenshot anon)

ok so that might've been a classic move for an alpha in like 2003 but times have changed and literally no alpha acts like that nowadays. even if he WAS trying to court Dream he wouldn't have done in a video like that - his reputation is entirely at stake.

taking care of someone when they're sick literally isn't posessive though???? Like ok Jimmy's head alpha of the pack and has to kind of fight to assert dominance because al of them (except Nolan) are also alphas but that has nothing to do with Dream??? if anything he was being a good friend and taking care of someone who was sick. they shared a tent so he could keep an eye on him. that's literally just normal friend behavior - he probably discussed it with SNF earlier and had Karl hang with them so they could enjoy antarctica without having to constantly take care of Dream.

He's literally just doing regular pack leader behavior - and he appears to be really good at it - taking care of a sick member, making sure everyone's not freaking out because a member of the pack is sick, keeping an eye on everything. Dude sucks sometimes but at least he's a good alpha.

As SC Anon (sorry, are we good to use nicknames ?) said, the video was HEAVILY edited. Like, we see Dream and Mr Beast going in for a hug when they get back from the moutain but it cuts ; Nolan sleeping in between the two so that the proper space and third party rule is respected (and like. SC anon said it themselves, Nolan is the only non alpha aka the only one not "threatening" ?? I don't think that is a coincidence) ; at the start of the video they're always next to each others ; that comment Dream makes about knowing MrBeast is pantless ?? Like how ?. We could even see in Dream's longer version (bless its soul) how close the two were originaly. There were definitely some moves made. And I'm pretty sure it's intentionnal Karl was so much with Sapnap and George, to distract them from their newly reunited pack mate. Also I disagree with the "terrible public move" bc nothing untoward happened, Mr Beast was a gentleman on all regards. But 1) he made it clear to Dream in survival conditions he was reliable and a good option 2) he showed it to the world ? Like call that neon flash of "Omega gets sick in Antartica, I manage to keep them perfectly healthy", that was a good boost for his reputation as a carer (not that should matter for alphas, and it pushes bad stereotypes, but that's how traditionnal - and they represent à good part of Mr Beast's audience - saw it). So it was a win for him on every point

And it appears a third anon has entered the fray,

(I'm third completely unrelated anon in the MrBeast saga) FUCK THE BEAST, OKAY. Look we all cringed and laughed about that freak over here who posted the Dream clone switcharoo bullshit in the main tags but now I'm seeing that shit from another angle! How the fuck else would you explain him switching secondary genders that fast?! That shit takes time, no meds or surgery is that good already. Beast did something I'm 100% sure of it, he already dabled in curing the blind, what if he asked Dream to test out a new drug or procedure? I wouldn't put it past him to use guilt tripping tactics, he just went oh please please do it for the poor people that can't have the way more complicated and way more expensive procedures done and Dream agreed. The beast having drolo moments, him staying close to Dream during Antarctica, him talking to George during the football charity match???? That shit confirms it. Motherfucker was keeping tabs on the process and how Dream was reacting to the change, if there were any side effects or complications. He wasn't seducing a sick omega or being a leading alpha or trying to find a partner, he was looking out for his bottom line! And some of you might try to refute it because its been a century since the omega testing facilities have been abolished but guess what, Omegan Healthcare Regulations, Section 14 Subsection 8 clearly states that its LEGAL to use omegas for testing specific substances and or procedures if the omega gives informed consent before any substances or procedures are administered. Even if the Beast got caught, and he will because Dream's immune system is weak as shit and will reject whatever the fuck was done to him pretty soon, he would still get no legal backlash because Dream the idiot would for sure back him up in saying it was fully consensual and that he was informed on all sides and still took the risk. This is a lose-lose situation and I fucking hate it so much!

[tanmono]

GILBERT VON OBSIDIAN MAIN ROUTE....

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR, DRAMATIC, PREMIUM.

Bite marks all over the body are proof of trampling.

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

minors and ageless blogs dni.

I remember one time when Lord Gilbert had a seizure and was breathing like he was dying.

Walter: ——Lord Gilbert is like living with a bomb in his body all the time.

Walter: I don't know when that bomb will explode, but once it does, it's too late.

Walter: The first sign is a seizure. If you see any abnormalities in breathing, call me immediately.

Walter: Because I am the only doctor in Obsidian who can treat his illness.

Walter: The longer treatment is delayed, the lower the survival rate becomes. Please be aware of this.

(If this won’t be done soon, it will be irreversible—)

Gilbert:….Don’t go.

In the city where Lord Gilbert had a seizure, he grabbed my hand tightly.

Emma: I'll be back soon! // I'll be right back!

Gilbert: Until you….come back….

Gilbert: I don’t know…if I can make/keep it.

Emma:…….

Gilbert: One is...lonely…. // I am...lonely….

(...Why, at a time like this——)

(You remember…what loneliness is.)

Lord Gilbert's hand loses its strength, and I grab it again.

His rough breathing seemed to get weaker as time went by.

(His hands are cold as ice...)

(Just keep on doing nothing and watch him die...is that it?)

There is no time for hesitation.

(I can't leave Lord Gilbert alone. But I want to take him to Mr. Walter as well.)

(In that case—)

Gilbert: If you ask…for that spy….I’ll leave no choice….but to kill him.

Emma: There’s no time to say such a thing like this!

Gilbert: I….have a plan…..for after I'm gone.

Gilbert: I've already…..given the order…..to kill anyone…..who finds out.

(Do you mean to tell me if I asked for someone, that person would be killed?)

Gilbert: Of course...you...are no exception.

Gilbert: However, I've made it known….that I'm….the only one….who can kill you….

Gilbert: I......if I don't die here and now...I might really kill you....

Emma: You knew that I was aware of Lord Gilbert's illness, but don’t you think it’s a little too late for that now?

(We'll figure that out later.)

(I still have to go and call someone. But in the meantime, if Lord Gilbert…..)

(If….he ran out of strength...he’ll end up "lonely" for the rest of his life.)

I didn't want to think about such things, but I didn't have enough time to let unpleasant thoughts run through my mind.

(If that’s the case—)

Emma:….Lord Gilbert, can you walk?

Gilbert: No way, are…..you going to drag me along?

Emma: There is no other way. // It's the only way.

(But if Lord Gilbert finds out, the person who notices him will be killed.)

Although it's only for comfort, I reach into Lord Gilbert's jacket, unbutton it, and pull it off.

He would wear a shirt that made him look like a young man.

I grabbed Lord Gilbert's limp arm, placed it around my shoulder, and stood him up as if carrying him on my back.

(Considering the distance to the castle, it should be possible.)

(…..He’s just heavy.)

I thought Lord Gilbert was slender for a man, but when I carried him on my back, he was very heavy.

Still, I somehow clenched my teeth and stepped forward.

Gilbert: I don't think…..there's any reason….for you to keep me alive.

Emma: No, there is.

Gilbert:.....Why don't you just...kill me now?

Gilbert: You can….easily kill….a weakened beast.

Emma: I won’t kill you.

Gilbert: Would you be okay….with Rhodolite being engulfed….in a sea of fire?

Emma: Not good. That's why I'm in trouble if I don't let Lord Gilbert live.

(I have to persuade him to stop doing bad things.)

Finally, I came to the door and unlocked it.

I was already out of breath, even though the distance to this point was so short.

Gilbert: That's...the reason you let me live…right?

Emma: Of course, that's not all.

As I opened the door, a shimmering full moon looked down on us.

When I tried to move my feet forward again in the cold night wind,

Lord Gilbert, who had been quiet until then, suddenly closed the door.

Emma: Lord Gilbert——

Gilbert: What other reason do you have?

Emma: This is not the time to talk!

Gilbert: You…want to keep me alive, aren’t you?

Leaning on my shoulder, Lord Gilbert smiles at me.

His face was pale and he looked like he was about to die, but his behavior was the same as always.

(…..I don't have to say it, just guess already.) // (…..I don't have to say it, just take a hint already.)

There was no time to think of words.

I near my face to his pale lips closed for a moment.

His red eye, which doesn't usually reflect, wavered greatly.

Emma: Even so Lord Gilbert, would you be willing to die here and now?

Emma: Don't you ever want to live….even just a little bit?

Emma: You've isolated me to this point, and you've tied my heart to you——

Emma: But you still don't want to live!

Gilbert:…….

(Things like Obsidian's royal family's sins, Lord Gilbert's sins…..the need to end the blood of the royal family, and so on.)

(That...is none of my business.)

(Even Lord Gilbert is really.......)

(….Really—)

━━FLASHBACK━━

Emma: ——Ouch.

——….. It was still early days when I came to Obsidian. // It was not long after I came to Obsidian.

I was interested in a bookshelves in Lord Gilbert's room that was as big as a library, and asked for permission to look around.

Before I knew it, a beast was creeping up behind me and bit my neck.

Emma: What are you doing!?

Gilbert: You haven't played with me at all since a while ago.

Gilbert: It's cruel that you neglect me by being so distracted by the books.

Emma: The one who told me to read the book was Lord Gilbert, please don't bite me!

He bites my skin so relentlessly that it makes me think if he’s mistaking me for food.

Even when I cover my neck with my hands to prevent him from biting me, he would bite my arm over my clothes and then one of my hands.

The air in the room felt strangely hot after repeated repetitions.

Gilbert: Come on, play with me?

Emma: Okay, I will!

Gilbert: Good. I almost thought about burning all these books.

(Unreasonable.......!)

Lord Gilbert picks me up in his arms with a laugh.

Ahead was a bed with black sheets neatly laid out.

Emma: Huh…Lord Gilbert?

Gilbert: You're going to play with me, aren't you?

Lord Gilbert, who lowered me down there as if it were only natural, climbed onto the bed.

With a bright smile that seems to be mistaken for daytime even though it's night.

The trampling beast pushed me onto the sheets.

(No.....no, no, no, no…..!)

Emma: I've never been with someone like this!

Gilbert: What do you mean by this?

Emma:….Nothing at all…..

Gilbert: I don't know. I was just thinking of sleeping with you.

(……)

Gilbert: Wow, your face is as red as the setting sun. What kind of naughty things did you imagine?

Emma: I didn't! For the most part, I don't want to share a bed with you! // I didn't! For the most part, I don't want to sleep with you!

Emma: I'll be happy to talk to you, so please let me go.

Gilbert: Oh, you think a hostage like you have the right to talk back to me?

Gilbert: I see.....if you defy me, I guess I’ll just cut ties with Rhodolite.

Now that we've known each other for so long, I've come to be able to distinguish between jokes and seriousness.

I forced myself to look away from the way he draped himself over my body, twirling my hair around his fingers and playing happily.

Emma:….Then I won't speak to you anymore.

Gilbert: Ehh...that's so sad, I will kill you.

Emma:……

Gilbert: Little rabbit, I’m serious, okay?

Emma:……

Gilbert:....Even though you allowed me to kiss you.

Emma: That didn’t count!

Gilbert: Oh, you lied about not talking to me?

(This guy….)

Gilbert: I hate lies.

Lord Gilbert forcibly pulled off the corset that was worn over my blouse.

(You only told me to sleep together!)

When I struggled, he easily held me down and bit me on my chest over my blouse.

Emma: No…where are you biting!?

(No matter how much I like Lord Gilbert, this is unacceptable......!)

I managed to roll over my stomach to protect my chest, but this time I was bitten on my back.

Emma: Lord Gilbert!

Gilbert: What did the hostage say?

Emma: You said I’m a guest—

Gilbert: A guest and a hostage, right?

One bite after another on my back, then my under arm, then my sides, and each time the heat seeps out of my body.

(This is just violence.)

Something different, more than fear, makes my heart race.

The tingling in my body paralyzed my emotions.

(It hurts, I should have hated it….)

Emma: Before I became a hostage…I was your friend.

Gilbert: If you're a friend, you have to show affection.

Emma: No matter how much I express my affection, there are things I can and cannot do.

Gilbert: But you—

Just when I think the biting has stopped, suddenly I am grabbed from behind and peeked into his face.

Gilbert: See, you're not pretending to hate me, are you? // See, you don't look like you hate it, do you?

Emma: ——………

(…You may be right.)

(Because the way you bite…is so gentle…..)

I shook off my hand and buried my face in the pillow, and the refreshing fragrance of Lord Gilbert made me dig my grave even deeper.

Lord Gilbert poked my heated ears with his cold fingertips and laughed.

Gilbert: I'm jealous, possessive, selfish, and I'm quite troublesome, aren't I?

(I know….)

Emma:.....You look like you’re having fun.

Gilbert: Yes, it's fun to torment the little rabbit.

(I'm not having fun——)

I turn around once more as I forget to breathe because of the expression I see there.

Gilbert: I wish I could torture you like this all the time.

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(I can see now why he had such a heartbreakingly sad look on his face.)

(——Because Lord Gilbert knew that one day he would come to an end.)

I've seen the expression on his face as if he was regretting spending time with me many times.

If this was the only time that the trampling beast, the one feared by all, was willing to let himself go......

It must be hard for Lord Gilbert to let go of it.

Emma: If you live, I will stay with you. I will not leave you alone, Lord Gilbert.

Emma: Don’t you want to do more fun things?

━━FLASHBACK━━

Emma: If Lord Gilbert's roots are the same as mine, then he chose to become evil for the sake of others.

Emma: In order to correct the corruption, the price was necessary.

Emma: I think that's what it's all about.

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(Thinking about it calmly, I wonder if Lord Gilbert has ever lived "for himself" even once in his life.)

━━FLASHBACK━━

Akatsuki: Your self-sacrifice is not virtuous.

Akatsuki: Why can't you….live thinking only about yourself?

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(….I don’t think so.)

(If the roots of Lord Gilbert and I were the same, we would be able to understand each other.)

I find happiness in the smiling faces of those around me.

I am sure that Lord Gilbert likes to do things for people.

(If you think you leave the blood of Obsidian's royal family for the people, you're wrong….)

(That's not really what Lord Gilbert wanted.)

Even though he has absolute power to get whatever he wants.

He will not use it for his personal gains.

The villain I knew was a virtuous and somewhat lonely man.

(That’s why…..)

Emma: The true villain can only live for himself!

Emma: For the sake of others...he shouldn’t care about that kind of thing...

Emma: Don't you think it's okay to live for yourself at least once in your life?

Gilbert:……

Emma: Even if you killed….and carry a lot of sins….even if your heart is black….

Emma:….I want you to live…..

Emma: Now...for the first time, I'm also asking you to think only of yourself.

━━FLASHBACK━━

Akatsuki: It's not like that, but... if you know, you'll end up becoming a traitor to the country of roses.

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(Exactly what the owner says…..)

(I was chosen as Belle…..for being the most beautiful heart in Rhodolite…..)

I would give up my beautiful heart and betray my country to hold on to Lord Gilbert once more.

Emma: Please try to live, Lord Gilbert.

Emma:….I don't….want to be lonely, either.

Gilbert:…….

Before I could open the door again, my hand was forcefully shaken off.

After being pushed away and staggering a few steps, Lord Gilbert slowly sat down against the wall.

Emma: Why……

Gilbert:…..Lucien…..

Emma:……

Gilbert: He's….ten times faster….than you.

Gilbert: He knows….the route….to the castle and….Walter.

Gilbert: I owe Chevalier…..a debt. I know I do….

Gilbert: But….I was at Rhodolite, too….I was always under surveillance…..

Gilbert: I have….to pay back my debt….

(……)

Emma: I'll be right back!

Without a hesitation, I ran out of the room.

(Please…be on time.)

 ▸       [  previous / next ]

[ummick]

A Night In Tokyo With Mick Schumacher and A Mercedes 190E Evo II

Driving around Tokyo is daunting. With no centre or suburbs, its road network is huge, spiralling, occasionally latticed and sometimes subterranean. At times, even Mr Roboto in the satnav gives up and shrugs directions your way. Which has happened. Meaning I'm lost while leading Mick Schumacher (behind the wheel of a stunning Mercedes 190E 2.5-16 Evolution II) through Japan's neon-lined labyrinth. It's a hot, humid evening and Mercedes F1's reserve driver (and son of iconic seven-time Formula One world champion Michael Schumacher) is cutting the perfect shape of a 90s boyband member. Where I'm perspiring like a burst pipe, he palms back his blonde curls and looks effortlessly cool in his loose-fitting, oversized Tommy Hilfiger contractual clobber. Sartorially, it couldn't be more of a perfect fit for the car he's driving. Born out of German touring cars, the Evo II is a deeply lustworthy, boxy and bewinged sports saloon. With a revvy, induction-tastic 232bhp four-cylinder engine mated to a dog leg close-ratio five-speed manual, rear-wheel drive and aero appendages that get petrolheads salivating, it's a proper tip one's hat 'if you know, you know' car. Mercedes only built 502 of them (as per DTM's homologation rules) out of some 1.9 million W201 models that it's based on, so they're properly rare beasts. The fact we've got a quadruplet of Evos following Mick makes the situation we're in a bit more mind-blowing. But that's the plan. We wanted to give Mick an evening to remember, to take him away from the repetition and rigmarole of modern media junkets. We don't want to know where he keeps his ketchup, or when the last time he thought of the Roman Empire was. We want to indulge his love for cars.

"I went looking for an Evo II to buy but decided against it… for now," Mick says in his soft, geographically hard to place international accent. "It's a beautiful car and has huge sentimental value to me, the main reason being that my dad had one as a company car when he was a Mercedes junior. He spent a lot of time doing lots of laps on the Nordschleife with Heinz-Harald Frentzen. I remember within a month they had to change the brake pads and things with the engine. So it's an emotionally important car to me." Growing up in Gland, Switzerland, Mick struggles to pinpoint exactly when he got bitten by the road car bug. "Honestly, I don't really know where I got into them. Driving them around the property as a child was a big factor. The first time I had a steering wheel in my hand from a road car was maybe four or five years old, on my dad's lap. I got to drive very nice cars, very soon and very early. I guess it just grew naturally. Especially when I turned 18; then it really turned into an obsession." Raised on a healthy diet of racing, the Fast and Furious franchise and gaming, Mick picked up a penchant for JDM cars by proxy. "I just love how raw and simple they are," he says. "I enjoy playing around with them, changing stuff, tuning them and making them more fun to drive." Knowing this, we head out of Tokyo towards Chiba to meet Japan's most inconspicuous bad boy: Kazuhiko 'Smokey' Nagata. Tobacco and turbo enthusiast Smokey is one of Japan's legendary tuners. He and his company Top Secret have modified every generation of Nissan GT-R, including an R33 Skyline GT-R that managed 0–186mph in 17 seconds at Yatabe test track and 204mph in Tokyo's famous Aqualine tunnel. Like Smokey, Mick is also a GT-R fanboy, with some tucked away in a shed at home, including his R34 drift car.

"I've really got into drifting. As an F1 driver, drifting, or oversteer, is the opposite of what you want to do, but if you control it and have the feel for it, it can really help you. So I took the step of saying 'I want to try it' after the 2019 Race of Champions skill race. I was quite good, finishing second against rally drivers and everything, so I thought, 'Okay, maybe I should try this a bit more,' so I got my own car and started enjoying sideways. I love the sensation of connecting turns and being in a difficult situation, because obviously the car is upset, to then be able to control it. I think that's what's so intriguing. It's a good feeling." Mick's curiosity and JDM love resonates as he wanders around Smokey's GT-R littered shop. Not being able to speak Japanese, Mick uses international hand signals for car nuts to explain various car parts, gets out his phone to show Smokey his cars before stumbling upon Smokey's VR32 GT-R (an R32 with all the mechanics and interior of the R35 transplanted) and trying to find a way to import it into Switzerland. But we've got no time for this, as we've got the legendary Bayshore Route to hit and a car meet to get to. For someone so young, 24-year-old Mick is at a rather quiescent point in his career. Having had a triumphant run in his youth coming second in karting in the World, European and German Junior Championships, then switching to Formula 4 in 2015 and finishing second overall in both the German and Italian F4 championships, before becoming European Formula 3 Champion in 2018 and FIA Formula 2 Champion in 2020, Mick made it to the big leagues and bagged himself a seat in F1 with Haas. It wasn't easy. In 2022 Mick lost his seat after a difficult second season that saw him struggle to match teammate Kevin Magnussen for form. He recorded a best finish of sixth in Austria, one of two points finishes during the season, but it was not enough to save his seat. For 2023, Mick dropped his Ferrari junior ties and linked up with Mercedes (the last team his father raced for in F1), picking up the role of reserve driver.

"Being a reserve driver gives you tremendous insight, especially at Mercedes," Mick says. "I miss driving, I'm not going to lie, but the main thing I've learned since moving from Haas to Mercedes is how the team operates, the tools they have, how they use them and the communication. They're big learning points. It has opened my eyes in a lot of ways and has made it clear why Mercedes is as successful as it is. The worst part is sitting in the garage and seeing everybody drive out and do what you love to do." Part of Mick's remit is to join Mercedes trackside at all F1 race. That's how we're able to blat around Tokyo for a night before he heads to Suzuka to support the team. But time in Merc's state-of-the-art sim back in Brackley is also key. Mick was praised by Mercedes' technical director James Allison for a 2 am shift he did during the British GP weekend, turning the car's "woeful" one-lap pace on Friday into a competitive car and set-up for Lewis Hamilton and George Russell to compete with during quali and the race on Sunday. With every mile behind the Evo II's wheel, Mick's smile grows to match the width of its monstrous rear wing, especially when he realizes it shoots flame on the overrun after a 7,600 rpm toll booth roll out. We cross over to Yokohama and swirl down a concrete pillared plughole, arriving in an unsuspecting parking lot that doubles up as the epicentre of cool Japanese car culture in Japan: Daikoku PA. Mick, having never been to a car meet before, has his eyes widened. Even though it's a school night, the place is pumping. Mick walks around curiously, showing his girlfriend, Danish model Laila Hasanovic, Veilside-kitted Mazda RX-7s, how riveted wide arch Liberty Walk bodywork hangs from an R35 GT-R for the ultimate kerbside stance, and the extended provenance from the flood of awesome, rare Mercedes (including the original 190E Evo I, an AMG-clad W124 and a custom Cosworth 2.5 boasting Penta wheels and Brabus brakes) that are all parked honourably in their uniform herringbone bays. As Mick gets under the bonnets and kindly signs carbon airboxes for marginally hysterical owners, I wonder if he's handy with the spanners.

"I wish I was," he says, "but I don't have the time. I'm starting to bring more of my cars over to my place so that I eventually will be able to work on them myself and change things that I want to change. Currently, I am very good at taking things apart… maybe less gifted at putting them back together." But since the meteoric rise of social media and documentaries like Netflix's Drive to Survive, racing drivers' personalities have been mainlined into public consciousness. Nowadays, it appears drivers' human interests need to be put on display like the plastic dishes outside Daikoku's service station restaurant windows. Yet here, tonight, Mick seems completely at home and relaxed. "It's risky because I feel like I'm a very private person. I like my privacy. Sometimes when you get people wanting to know more, they get a bit too snoopy. I feel it should be my choice how much I share, and what I share, not people trying to figure that out for me." In this job you get to sniff out the car nuts from the blaggers, and Mick's passion is palpable. It's refreshing to see, and a welcome break from the headlines and hearsay currently surrounding him given he's caught in a gloopy limbo where F1 politics, money and raw talent are all currently fighting each other to work out where he'll race next.

As I type, Mick's currently linked with an LMDh drive with Alpine in next year's World Endurance Championship, a move Mercedes F1's big boss Toto Wolff is fine with, as Mick is "part of the family" and "will always have a home." Mick's tone becomes more forlorn when talking about the future, obviously having had a tough few years and aching to get back into an F1 car. I wonder if it takes its toll, and how he pushes through in times of uncertainty. "Having the right people around you," he says. "You need to try and be mentally in the right space and try and get the best out of the situation so that you can, whenever it's necessary, be in the position that you can jump in and be ready to go." After an evening with Mick, you can't help but wish him the best of luck. If all else fails, he could always lean into drifting and see where that takes him. Sideways Schuey. Has a good ring to it, doesn't it?

[faustiandevil]

Depression makes a man do stupid things and here is what I did. Peter Lorre tier list, all movies (well the ones that were available online and in a language I could understand), all characters ranked in a highly scientific way. Feel free to defend your blorbos, but know this I’m right, you’re wrong, SHUDDUP!! (This is a reference I hope y’all get, but in any case do feel free to defend your blorbos I wanna hear y’alls takes.)

My reasonings under the cut. Enter, but be warned it truly is my twisted sick mind down there. If you scroll down long enough to see the Shining reference, I love you.

Bildreporter Johnny (F.P.1 antwortet nicht): No, no, no, no, no, no! Highly unfuckable look! Why does he look like an old man and a baby at the same time??? I can’t do this!!

Mr. Kentaro Moto (Mr. Moto Series): Racism. I’m sorry, I can’t. Absolutely hate it. Shit tier. Same goes with the movies. I only really liked Mr. Moto’s Gamble, which I found out was actually a Charlie Chan script asdfghjkl

Stephen Danel (Island of Doomed Men): Slave owner. Killed a monkey. Was kind of okay with his wife tho, until the end, I guess they needed a reason to off him.

Roderick Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment): I’m putting him down on the list, because I read Crime and Punishment and the movie is way too ‘Murican. Already the names were bastardized and as someone who loves Russian literature I just can’t deal with that shit. He was okay, but ehhh… (The 1970 movie is way better, and Taratorkin is the best Rashkolnikov, fucking fight me.)

Nikolai Zaleshoff (Background to Danger): Again, butchering Russian names. Not even a patronymic. Kind of a caricature as well with all of the vodka drinking. And again he gets shot and for what??

Sergeant Berger (The Cross of Lorraine): I’m stronger. I will resist. The scene where he blows the cigarette smoke into the guy’s face and kicks him does things to me. I will admit. But that man is a nazi and I cannot in good consciousness put him anywhere else, but shit tier.

Captain Chang (They Met in Bombay): Glark Cable tolerable?? In my movie?? More likely than you think. Did not like the racism again. The beard is nice, so he goes slightly higher than shit tier.

Baron Ikito (Invisible Agent): He gets put in a slightly higher tier than shit tier only, because of the last line in the movie that made me very very gay. “I can make an honorable man out of you” like you can’t make him say shit like that I’m already a weak little homosexual!!

Hilary Cummins (The Beast With Five Fingers): This may be a surprise, but listen, hear me out, I have reasons. I cannot deal with an Astrology bitch. Like, yeah I also like to read my horrorscope every now and then, and I’m a Satanist, but I don’t vibe with that shit, he is too obsessed. Not every gay is gonna be into Asstrology. Also I cannot moan the name Hilary while giving this man dick without thinking of the Clinton woman. Also Cummins??? That’s an OnlyEnemies name. PS. The movie was bad when the hand turned out to be fake.

Julius O’Hara (Beat The Devil): Oh, no I’m not vibing with the hair again. I’m not into it. Loved his bullshitting, even if he is not very good at lying.

Conseil (20,000 Leagues Under the Sea): Liked seeing him together with my rich successful uncle Lukács, and had some nice fits in the movie, but it’s only slightly above shit tier. Saw tentacles, but got nothing. Absolutely disappointed.

Ahmed (Five Weeks in a Balloon): Racism again. Love his rainbow colored pants. The fez does nothing for me. Because of the earring he gets put higher than shit tier.

Pawlitschek (Bomben Auf Monte Carlo): He’s cute. He knows how to cook. Its fucking goulash of course, but ugggh fine I’ll eat it. Look I love you I’ll eat it. Fucking tourist food that no self-respecting Hungarian is going to touch. It’s just fucking soup.

Otto Fuesslli (What Women Dream Of): He is adorable. Clearly faking that piano play, but he sings like an angle. Docking points for being a cop tho. I’m sorry, but in this house we ain’t fucking cops.

Maj. Sigfried Gruning (Lancer Spy): Okay, I’m conflicted. Not sold on the hair, or the mustache, but I’m a military man, I love a uniform, he has a sword. (Babygirl you wanna see my sword~?) Uhhh… he also doesn’t do much in the movie.

Louis ‘The Dope’ Monteau (I’ll Give a Million): Adowable. A dumb baby. And that is why he only gets put in mid tier. Too cute for my taste. Still good for him and all the other poor homeless guys for pulling off the scam of the century on the rich bastards. Respect.

Polo (I Was An Adventuress): Same problem with Louis. He has too much boi energy. Every time I see that image where he looks up with them big ol’ eyes all I can think about is that meme the “Bitch use your words I don’t speak bottom”.

The Stranger (The Stranger on The Third Floor): Okay… uhm… this is a though one… There’s not much info on The Stranger, we don’t even know his name, we only know that he is mentally ill and killed a man. We all have our faults. I mean in this day and age who isn’t mentally ill and killed at least one person. So… mid tier. Like his scarf tho.

Paul Hyde (Mr. District Attorney): The way he got shot was bullshit. What the fuck was that about?? I hardly even remember this movie.

Joel Cairo (The Maltese Falcon): Okay… I gotta confess… I fucking hate the Maltese Falcon. There I said it. It just rubs me the wrong way that in book context and Hays code movie context Joel is gay and gets beaten up the most. Like finally a highly canon gay one for me and I get this home of phobia. Fuck this. Also I do not like Bogart and I think this movie started it lol.

Pepi (All Through the Night): I’mma get shit for this. But… but… hear me out… sometimes a man thinks with his dick and not with his brain. This is one of them. When he shows up at the bar, dressed up all nice, smoking his little cigarette… I’m weak. And yes I know he is a nazi, but I could fix him. I could fuck the fascism out of him. If not… well… //cocks gun// Mid tier, because I can’t put him higher than that. If not for the fascism he would be A tier.

Jan Bernazsky (The Conspirators): I remember nothing from this movie. I think he was a red herring. He goes in mid.

Slimane (Casbah): Casablanca the musical. Getting very gay vibes from Slimane. Why are you a detective? To catch other men. To hold them close after you shoot them. Wow faggy. Anyway, a bit conflicted and had to dock points, because again cop.

Toady (Rope of Sand): I only watched this movie, because Claude Rains is the same height as me and I was hoping to see them stand next to each other, so I can visualize the height difference. Got a very nice homosexual cig lit scene from it. I have no recollection of the movie besides that scene, but he looks fine.

Japanese Steward on the S.S. Carnatic (Around the World in Eighty Days): I can’t fuck a man on a boat I’ll get sea sick.

Kurt Bergner (The Buster Keaton Story): Were you channeling some other asshole director from your life? You looked like you knew what you were doing? Anyway, would fuck just so I could get my start in the movie industry, but this relationship ain’t gonna last longer than a headline.

Brankov (Silk Stockings): Glorious Technicolor~ I have issues with this movie. It’s the inferior Ninotchka. The Russian names are once again butchered. The dancing is nice. Go white boy, fuck up the dance floor!! Nothing else to say about it really.

Abdul (The Sad Sack): Mon petite~! If I justified Pepi being in mid-tier, I can do the same for Abdul. He was eager to kill Jerry Lewis’ character and I think the movie would have benefited from it. Still he can’t go higher, because of the… ehh… Hollywood racism. He would be top fucking tier otherwise.

Skeeter (The Big Circus): Not into clowns. (A contradictory statement. If you know you know.)

Montresor (Tales of Terror): I’m in a predicament, because I’m a cat lover and this man was mean to a cat. He is very hot tho. Sorry, babes, but you gotta go into the mid rankings. Also fix your alcohol problem, I cannot let Freud win.

Hans Beckert (M): Okay, this is going to be controversial putting the child murderer so high up on the list, but consider this. He is so pathetic when he gets thrown down the stairs that I just can’t not fuck him. I’m also willing to look past that besides murder he also probably did other things too (yeah that’s a bit harder to get past eugh…). The murder I’m fine with tho. I’m very often locked in a train car with screaming children and I mean that would make anyone start whistling the tune of Edvard Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King. My dick could fix him, but if he wants to murder a child every now and then. I’m all for it.

Redakteur Stix (Die Koffer des Herrn O.F.): This man fucks. And I do mean HE fucks. Polo and Louis wish they were like Stix. He goes into A tier for terrorizing a whole town, getting laid, and getting the girl. Would you like to get the boy as well, hun~?

The General (Secret Agent): This look is absolute horrid… I fucking love it. For someone who is known to be a mustache lover I don’t ever want to see Peter with one. (I’m the one who wears the mustaches in this relationship.) This is an exception tho. It’s a gay disaster look. It’s so bad it’s hot. Extra points for the earring. (The ending to that movie was absolute bullshit tho. General your gun!!)

Prof. Sturm (Nancy Steele Is Missing!): I love it when he is a manipulative little bastard. Also he could have gotten away with it if it weren’t for someone having morals and loving his stolen adoptive child. Absolutely disgusting. The mustache and the glasses combo are acceptable (even if he looks like one of my high school teachers).

M’sieu Pig (Strange Cargo): The other incel. I’m docking points, because for most of the movie I had to watch Clark Gable be a misogynist and I already hate him. All this just to eyeball Peter Lorre… Anyway I would make that piggy squeal. A tier, but only because he shows off a bit of chest hair.

Fenninger (You’ll Find Out): Not particularly fond of this look. I like it better when his hair is a bit messy. Is one third of an evil gay polycule, so points to that. And also the long cig holder. Very gay, hun. And who can forget the og teeth. Would still drag my tongue across those chompers I don’t care what anyone says. (Mainly, because I also have similar fucked up looking messy teeth.)

Signor Ugarte (Casablanca): I’m putting him only in A tier, because he killed nazis at the start of the movie and is a desperate little homo, which is a trait I very much relate to. But Bogart… really… honey you could do so much better. Seriously y’all look me in the eye and tell me that Bogart is hot, when he plays these asshole characters. I’ll wait. Besides I’m right here. I’m ready to top you babe.

Marius (Passage To Marseilles): Love a man who is honest and proud of his professional achievements. And is very much good with his hands hello~ Dies (seriously why???) while fighting nazis. A bit of a scraggly look, but I love it. I also had to look up pics for this and turtlenecks make any man look slutty… and sir… your tits!! I need to feel them through the fabric~ Or just in general~

Dr. Einstein (Arsenic and Old Lace): He is a cute pathetic little meow meow. I want to (the following sentence had to be censored due to violating the Hays code). I am putting him only in A tier, because he is too popular, but I feel like that’s a personal bias.

Johannes Koenig (Hotel Berlin): Again a nice scraggly look. I love it~ He does get his shit together by the end and that’s good, but I wish he’d kept the five o’clock.

Contreras (Confidential Agent): I love a man who hates his job. So relatable. He does a big no no with being a sellout to the fascists, but he gets his just desserts and surprising doesn’t die from a gun, but a heart attack (and they pull a Weekend at Bernie’s with his corpse later on). He is really pathetic and I cannot control myself.

Johnny West (Three Strangers): //heavy breathing// I want him!! Finally a romantic role!! Babygirl yes!! I know you could do it!! If only you also took the money!!!!!!!!! For that last one he goes into A tier and not higher.

Gino (The Chase): Show off more of that chest hair, slut!! I would also not let this man drive (not that I can either). Besides babes the backseat has more space~

Nick (Quicksand): Blackmailing is fun when it’s not happening to you~ Also if we get together I could probably play the games for free. That’s a plus.

Paynter (Double Confession): This man was so desperate for approval. And y’all cannot tell me that he and Charlie weren’t a bit more than friends. Oh a man saves you and now you would do murders for him (except he’s a loser and is not okay with murder). Babe ditch him I would let you kill people for me. I’m not a pussy.

Dr. Karl Rothe/Dr. Karl Neumeister (The Lost One): Babygirl you have some deep rooted psychological issues that you should get checked out. Still, here’s my number. Call me, when you feel like choking me out, but not in a killing way. (Or maybe in a killing way, depends on how I feel.)

Colonel John Miguel Orlando Arragas (Congo Crossing): The straights looked at each other once and immediately kissed, so that set the tone for me. Anyway he is a cop, but he does do the right thing at the end, but still a cop. The uniform is nice. Doesn’t like his job much, so that’s kind of sexy. Eh, you know, what A tier. He is the exception. (I do hope he doesn’t expect me to say his entire name while I’m d(HAYS CODE) him down and making him swallow my (HAYS CODE).)

Nero (The Story of Mankind): Listen, I have some kinks… if you read my writings you know… I’m also drawn to a man with power, and money, and insanity. (I’m also really glad he didn’t have the chin beard like the real Nero, because that’s a deal breaker.)

Smiley (Scent of Mystery): Absolutely disappointed that this movie didn’t have a Dora the Explorer segment where the characters turn to the screen and ask the viewer if they can guess the mystery scent. Anyway hot. I love a man who knows how to be crafty regarding his job. Cheating, stealing, lying, all traits that make a honest Hungarian. Even stole someone’s wife just for the heck of it. Oh, honey~ Only A tier, because I can’t see this relationship going further than some fun in the backseat, but that’s probably enough.

Comm. Lucius Emery (Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea): He has a pet shark and wears a uniform. I’m already undoing my belt. This movie was… mmm… not good tho.

Dr. Adolphus Bedlo (The Raven): He is an abusive drunk parent. But he is so wet and pathetic. Frued won, I really am just gonna get together with someone who is like my dad (the real one not Béla).

Mr. Strangdour (Muscle Beach Party): He is the strongest man alive and yet I, his silly little kitten get to top him. My only problem with him is that I cannot for the life of me remember his name for some reason so I guess he just gotta deal with being called Sourdough and Stroganoff for the rest of his life. My concern is that his stupid kid is gonna walk in one day and go “Oh, you guys are wrestling, who’s winning? 8D” and I don’t want to deal with that.

Abbott (The Man Who Knew Too Much): He is evil, he is cunning, he has a neat little hair stripe just like me! Would also kill a child, which I personally don’t think is a terrible trait (as we saw earlier). Absolute snack! Baby I’ll be your dragon, I’ll be your right hand arm-man, your silly little homo eye candy!

Dr. Gogol (Mad Love): My favorite incel!! I wanna crack his bald head open with my canines like a hardboiled egg, call him a pathetic loser, and pin him against a wall and tongue him down! But seriously the man is the equivalent of a Reddit user, he has money tho, and if I could be his kept man, I wouldn’t mind.

Colonel Gimpy/Baron Rudolph Maximillian Tagger (Crack-Up): That scene where the plane is crashed into the ocean and his hair is wet and he looks up straight into the camera… //fans self// H-hewwo… daddy… sorry… daddy… sorry… Yeah, top tier. No question.

János ‘Johnny’ Szabó (The Face Behind The Mask): I refuse to use anything, but the correct Hungarian spelling, fuck you Hollywood. Kinda meh about him before the accident, way too happy and optimistic for my liking. I like a man who is bitter and ready to kill. Also something about masks just gives people a certain allure. Gets extra points for being the only Hungarian character Peter ever played and judging from the letter he writes back home, Johnny actually knows the language haha. I wouldn’t have to translate him my stupid memes, we could just switch back and forth. Domestic bliss.

Dr. Arthur Lorencz (The Boogie Man Will Get You): Top fucking tier! The most guy ever! He is a politician, he sells snake oil, he is a doctor, and also the town sheriff, cat lover, gay! Is there something this man can’t do! Love him!

Fritz Bercovy (The Constant Nymph): I know that in the book the character is supposed to be a very antisemitic caricature, but I think it was rewritten in the movie. Also I tried multiple times to check how old Toni is, but I only kept finding it for Tessa, so I’mma just gonna give him the benefit of the doubt and say that Fritz is not a groomer, unlike Lewis. With all that out of the way, I have a confessions to make. This character sent me over the edge and I did a Peter Lorre expy in my novel. I am weak. I saw him in the fur with the cane (and the whole club was looking at her) and… he really be doing boyfriend cosplay with one of my main characters. Also he has money and is willing to spend it on his SO, so… //twirls hair// I’d love to be a kept man~

Cornelius Leyden (The Mask of Dimitrios): This man was put on this wretched Earth to wear bowties and by Lucifer he makes them look good. Also he has little gray hairs on the side. And glasses!!! //heavy breathing// I need to make him scream my name all through the night!

Peter Lorre (Hollywood Canteen): That’s just my mans! That’s just my guy! That’s just my husband! My sweet cheese! My rotten soldier! My good time BOI! How could I not put him at the top? (Disclaimer: The only one topping that man is me ayyyy)

Marko (Black Angel): This man really cannot sit normally, huh. Anyway, he was hot, fruity, and a loving father. And the movie wasn’t bad either. I was actually rooting for the straights in this one.

Victor Emmric (The Verdict): Oh, he is husband material. He is a morbid little bastard, and is also romantic. A bit on the drunk side, but I don’t care. He’s hot. Would love to do art trades with him.

Kismet (My Favourite Brunette): This man is MY favourite brunette. My nasty boyfriend who holds me at knife point and spits in my mouth and calls me his bitch~ (Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me~) I would also help this man get his citizenship.

Peter Lorre (Meet Me in Las Vegas): People who say that they are only into him when he is young and slim are weak as fuck. Oh, so just because this man is old and fat and his biological clock is not ticking anymore you don’t wanna try and get him preganant anymore??? Move over!! I’ll give this man evil milk (read: cum).

Commissioner Lamoret (Hell Ship Mutiny): I love a man who absolutely hates his job and just wants an easy life and is also willing to murder a child for it. We have so much in common~ And with my help, we would have gotten away with it. We’d be spending retirement in Bora Bora, baybeh.

Felix Gillie (The Comedy of Terrors): You see that man? That man, is my husband. We are married. He supports me and I support him. I would lie in the coffin that he made for me. I know that most peeps fall for him in Arsenic, well I’m different. I have the Father Issues and I want stability and I feel like Felix would give that to me.

Morgan Heywood (The Patsy): He was suffering, I was suffering, there was a collective suffering with this movie. Our meet-cute is me absolutely going feral and killing Jerry Lewis right in front of him. Our eyes lock as I’m covered in blood and the cops take me away. He falls in love with me right then and there. Conjugal visits right until the end of my life sentence.

Okay, y'all can go now~

[wackyrumble]

San Marino v.s. Roommate

San Marino - Real life

A European country. Founded when a guy accused of being a woman’s estranged husband fled to a mountain where he then created a church. Its head of government are two captains elected every six months. Was once almost been invaded by Napoleon, and twice by family of the Pope. Read more about San Marino below.

Roommate - Diary of a Tourney Kid

A clone of Adam Ruins Everything that came out wrong. He debunks things in the same way as his original, but completely incorrectly. Bill Cipher turned him into a hand puppet and fused him with a clone of another character. Fought Walter White and his evil shadow self, Walter Black. Read more about Roommate below.

Full description of San Marino:

“Okay look I know it’s a country and not a character but perhaps I can convince you that it’s a wacky guy… the wackiest ever in fact. First of all I believe nothing can top its batshit insane political system. The heads of state are called CAPTAINS and yes it’s plural there are 2 of them. And they are elected… every SIX MONTHS. I shit you not. And even better. They’re usually from OPPOSING PARTIES. How anything gets done is a mystery to me. Anyway moving on to history. It was almost invaded by Napoleon in 1797, but one of their regents prevented that. How? He became friends with Napoleon. Napoleon valued their friendship so much he even offered to extend San Marino’s territory… isn’t that crazy. Also. It was the first country ever to democratically elect a communist government, elected directly after their fascist government mind you. All this while being the fifth smallest country in the world. It happened TWICE that a family member of the pope tried to invade San Marino. There can only be one Italian microstate etc (jk I have no idea what their reasoning was). It’s the fact that the whole country only exists because some guy decided to fuck off to a mountain after a woman accused him of being her estranged husband. So he built a church and there you have it San Marino was created. And yeah it’s the oldest surviving republic in the world with the oldest constitution. That’s simply the San Marino way being so special so wacky so unique…”

Full description of Roommate:

"OK OK OK SO LIKE. HE'S FROM THIS MASHUP TOURNAMENT HOSTED ON SOUNDCLOUD & DISCORD CALLED "DIARY OF A TOURNEY KID, RIGHT? YES, IT IS BASED OFF OF DIARY OF A WIMPY KID IN NAME, THEMING, AND A BUNCH OF THE CHARACTERS IN IT. AND YES, THE ENTIRE PREMISE WAS STARTED BY GREG HEFFLEY TRAPPING A BUNCH OF PEOPLE IN THE DIARY. LOOK. OKAY. THAT ISN'T THE POINT HERE. (including a few real people but. roommate isn't one of those real people, LOL)

so Roommate is, like, a WEIRD case. he's a clone of a TV personality version of a real guy(adam conover specifically the whole thing he does in, like, adam ruins everything), but is SPECIFICALLY STATED TO BE A SEPERATE CHARACTER IN LORE. LIKE. HES A WHOLE OTHER GUY. HE DOESNT EVEN ACT LIKE HIM. HES LIKE. THE SCOOBY DOO VILLAIN EQUIVALENT OF A MAN. all he does is run around and "Debunk" shit but hes getting it all totally WRONG. It's like, if someone who never watched adam ruins everything before took one look at its name, the blonde, glasses wearing combover having guy on the cover, and went. "oh, this guy is gonna be HORRIBLE, isnt he". and in the shows case thatd be wrong but in roommate's case, he's...he's so pathetic. he's not even the same guy at this point. (and also literally isn't. but)

He never even manages to intimidate anyone even once. not even mr beast and ninja fortnite, (part of a team called Dubious Duo) who he just. VERY much annoyed via "ruining" twitch. He also got turned into a meaty handpuppet and fused to another clone of a different character by BILL CIPHER, of all characters but then immediately fell into a hole. He got his shit beaten out of him by a 19 year old punk catboy JUST before this, too. the punk catboys name is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart BUT HE IS IN NO WAY RELATED TO THE REAL GUY. HES LITERALLY JUST. SOME RANDOM TEENAGER.

Also, extra fun facts about him include: during an event that happened on the discord, he canonically went ":3". He made his own ytp and posted it on the soundcloud account, too. he put a bunch of goofy wacky cartoon sounds in it. (his mashups use these sounds a lot outside of the ytp, too.) (incase you REALLY wanted to hear the ytp, though. here it is:

P.S: extra information from a friend because they like to infodump this sort of thing & this isn't nescessary at all. but: He gets the fandom nickname of "Roommate" from his connection to Collegehumor & the Insane Clown Posse song In My Room, which he used in the tournament & is strongly associated with. He's so. He's so normal.

(P.S, P.S: THE IMAGE I SENT WITH THIS IS TECHNICALLY ART OF HIM FROM A CROSSOVER WITH ANOTHER SOUNDCLOUD TOURNAMENT THAT HAPPENED. BUT. its the best render i have that isnt done in like. ms paint LOL. IN SAID CROSSOVER (WITH A TOURNAMENT CALLED "THE PERFECT TOURNAMENT") HE ALSO FOUGHT WALTER WHITE AND HIS. EVIL SHADOW SELF, CALLED WALTER BLACK. WHO WAS LITERALLY HIS SHADOW.)

also: nobody in the fandom knows what his deal is, either. they literally just couldnt catch the real adam conover at first so they (In canon) just went "well! time to make a clone, i guess!" and then he came out WRONG."

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hello! I just found your blog and I absolutely love it! I love your kiss masterlist, and I was wondering if i could request one. Number 23 in relief. With Iceman x reader I just think they would be so adorable! Can’t wait to see what you do!

Hiya! Here's Kiss #23 - in relief - with Iceman x reader. This one actually became really angsty and I love how it turned out! I hope you love it too!

A Kiss to Celebrate (The Beast's Gone Away)

Cancer. It’s been as much a companion in your marriage as your husband has been of late. It reared its ugly head out of the blue. Hearty, hale, healthy forty year olds aren’t supposed to wake up one day and just not be able to talk? Right? Forget men with families - Naval Captains with hearts of gold, keen eyes and the kindest hands?! They should never be struck down at all.

But maybe you’re a little biased. This isn’t just any forty year old Naval Captain you’re talking about. This is your husband, your Tom. You thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the shaky partnership you’ve formed with the beast ravaging your husband’s body and tainting his soul. Then you’d woken up one morning to your three year old laboriously fluttering her little hands in painstakingly drawn out signs as she sat on her father’s lap and told him, “Good Morning Daddy. I love you.” That’s when you realized that your youngest probably doesn’t even remember what her dad’s voice sounded like. That’s when you’d broken, shattered into a million pieces standing there in your kitchen watching your baby and your heart speak in the only way they could. 

In your weakest moments, you cursed everything you could think of for trying to rob Tom from you. But even then, you knew you wouldn’t have changed anything in the world. Your entire life would be different, and you’re not sure it would be a good difference, either. So you’ve been holding onto the good moments, taking things day by day, focusing on being there for Tom and your kids as much as you can. Each day your foundation feels a little steadier as Tom responds to the treatments and as the flush of health seeps back into his cheeks.

“Captain and Mrs. Kazansky? Doctor Wilson is ready to see you.” Your palms are sweaty and damp as you follow Tom into the Doctor’s office. You must black out, emotionally, at least, because the next thing you remember is walking in the wintery San Diego sunshine with Tom. He’s mostly silent, with his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leads you to a bench at your favorite look out point. It was here that he’d proposed to you a decade ago. It was here you’d told him you were pregnant, the first and second times. All of the best things in your relationship happened here. Please, you’re pleading as you sit down - please don’t destroy this place by telling me bad news. Please don’t take him away from me, from our babies.

“Sweetheart?” That’s not what you’d been expecting at all.

“Tom?!” Your voice chokes on a sob. “You’re speaking! Is that okay? I thought you weren’t supposed to strain your voice.”

“I’ve been working on speaking again with my speech therapist. It’s what Doctor Wilson wanted to talk to us about. I’m in remission, sweetheart. The cancer’s gone. We’re going to keep monitoring me, but I have the feeling it’s going to stay gone for good.”

You’re sobbing, tears dripping down your face in hot, salty rivulets as you kiss your husband gently and sweetly. 

“I’m so happy, Tom. I love you.” His smirk is soft as he pulls away.

It doesn’t surprise you at all when he signs back to you, “I love you. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere without you, sweetheart. I love you too much for that.”

It’s with a finally unburdened heart that you curl into your husband’s side to watch the sun set below the waves. If Tom can beat cancer, becoming an Admiral should be child’s play. The future once again looks bright.

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

Want to see other Kisses I’ve written? Here’s the full Masterlist.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.