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fluentmoviequoter · 20 days ago

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Different Nervousness

Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

✰ In your previous job as a waitress, your trust was betrayed by a boss who sexually harassed you. Now, your TO Tim Bradford makes you nervous. When Tim finds out why you distance yourself from him, he has a few thoughts he's willing to share.

✰ angst to fluff, mentions of past sexual harassment/assault, protective!Tim, protective!Lucy makes an appearance, fluff and comfort at the end, platonic/pre-romantic pairing, 3.8k+ words

✰ ⦇Pictures from Pinterest ⦈

✰ A/N: @nevereclipse , your Tim ideas never fail to impress me and make me run for the nearest keyboard🤍 (you mentioned CEO!Bucky and if I thought I could do his character justice, I would write a novella with him and this dynamic)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Entering the roll call room of Los Angeles’s Mid-Wilshire police station, you take a deep breath, glance down to check your uniform is neat and tidy, then keep your head down and walk to the front row. You’re the only rookie from your academy class at this station, and the overwhelming sense of being alone and vulnerable hits harder than you expected.

What if this is worse than before? Am I a quitter for moving on the second something bad happened?

You attempt to push the negative thoughts out of your mind, but your first-day jitters stem from something more. As the room fills with officers ready to receive their assignments and start the day, you review a few procedural rules in your mind and then recite your name and badge number. Being prepared is essential for this job, but for you, it’s also a way to stay alive, remain safe and alert, and ensure that what brought you here can never happen again.

Then why do you look over every time someone new comes in? Think it’s him? Someone worse?

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as he enters. “Hollywood and Studio City got first picks of the academy graduates, but they went for quantity, not quality.” He smiles at you, his look welcoming and comforting before he asks you to stand and introduce yourself.

You stand, straighten your uniform, then smile as you say your name and badge number. “I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunity and am eager to apply what I’ve learned and keep growing.”

Grey nods as you sit, and you take a few shaky breaths as he goes over announcements. The room is mostly comprised of male officers, with a few females scattered throughout. You met Officer Lopez in the locker room this morning, and while she seems great, she already confided in you that she’s not working as a TO while you’re here. After you received your station assignment, you looked up some of the officers. Your options for who will train you seem limited, especially with a small academy class.

Tim Bradford is sitting beside Lopez. His arms are crossed over his chest, he glared at you during your introduction like he was trying to draw a murder confession from you, and beneath that intimidating exterior, you saw something like disinterest in his eyes. There are horror stories about him at the academy - plain clothes day washouts, people who gave up on law enforcement careers after the first week, and even a rookie who was arrested for using his badge to lure women home with him. He’s apparently a good teacher if you make it far enough to learn anything. You cross your fingers under the table, hoping you get assigned anyone else as a TO.

But it’s never that easy. Is it? What will I do if I have to spend the first months of my career with someone who makes me nervous? Someone with power over me? What if it’s just like before?

“Last but not least,” Wade continues, “our new rookie will be riding with Officer Bradford.”

“Good luck!” someone jibes from the back of the room.

You bite your lower lip and smile at Grey. Maybe Tim will see your character is good and understand you’re a hard worker, and decide to take it easier on you. As you stand, he’s already shaking his head and looking at his watch.

It’s going to be a long day.

“I don’t get it,” Tim says, breaking the tense silence in the shop.

“Get what, sir?” you reply softly, watching your surroundings.

“You were a waitress, right?”

“I was.” You press your lips together nervously, wondering where this is going.

“What made you decide to make the change from that to police work? I mean, we’ve had people working in blue collar jobs decide they needed to do something with more purpose, military guys desperate for the structure… but a part-time job as a waitress doesn’t typically lead to law enforcement.”

“I didn’t want to be a waitress,” you point out. “It made ends meet, but it wasn’t a career.”

Tim tips his head to the side, but you can tell there’s more he wants to know, to say.

Instead, he asks, “So, why do you want to be a cop?”

“To help the people who need it most,” you reply. “To be there, to fight for those who can’t.”

Tim raises one brow as he glances over at you, and you fight the urge not to sink into your seat. He’s not a huge guy, but he’s not small, either. His attitude makes him seem unapproachable, but if he decided to do something to you, you couldn’t stop him. Sitting in the shop together, you’re less than a foot apart, and even as you try to lean inconspicuously toward the door, you watch his hands warily, internally hoping that they stay on the steering wheel.

“Is that it?” Tim asks. “I expected you to trauma dump or add ‘I want to be the person I needed.’”

Swallowing, you nod. It’s not untrue; given the chance, you will be the person you needed, but you were on this path when you needed someone, so it didn’t change anything. Yet it simultaneously changed everything.

“I worked at the diner to pay rent and buy groceries while I was in the academy,” you confide.

“You were self-supported?” Tim clarifies. “I thought LAPD sponsored the whole class this year.”

“Not me,” you murmur. “The second I got my assignment I called and quit.”

Tim nods, then slams on the brakes in the middle of the street. He turns toward you, and you dig your fingers into the seat, your hands tucked beneath your legs.

“Boot, we’re being ambushed!” he exclaims.

He doesn’t notice how hard you flinch at his raised voice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

“Where are we?” Tim demands. “Less than a minute ‘til we’re both dead unless you radio.”

“Cochran Avenue between West 8th and 9th streets, southwest of La Brea and Wilshire,” you answer, focusing on keeping your voice level more than the panic threatening to send you into fight or flight.

“Good enough,” Tim mumbles as he turns back toward the road.

He props his elbow on the console between you, and you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to keep yourself from crying. He’s close, and Tim Bradford is starting to scare you, making you more nervous than the threat of failing at what you’ve always dreamed of. Nervous of him not as a TO, but as a man.

“Hey,” Lucy Chen greets you in the locker room at the end of your first day.

She was one of Tim’s rookies, you remember. Somehow, she turned out fine.

“A few friends and I are going out for dinner,” she says. “Do you want to come? Celebrate your first day?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t,” you say. There’s no reason to turn the invitation down, but you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold on. You need a hot shower and maybe a good cry, and then you can think about what the best thing to do is.

“Okay,” Lucy replies, smiling kindly. “Let me know when you’re free, and we’ll try again. Maybe the end of the week?”

“That might work. I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re a family, okay? Don’t forget that, even when Tim tests you.”

She pats your back as she passes you, and you stiffen. The last time someone told you a workforce was a family and laid their hand on you, it didn’t end well. As those memories resurface, you close your locker and hurry through the station, desperate to be alone.

In the safety and solitude of your apartment, you turn the shower on as hot as you can tolerate, then stand motionless under the spray. You can’t tell which drops on your cheeks are water and which are tears, but it doesn’t matter. With one hand braced against the shower wall, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Part of you wants to scrub this experience away and move on, but being a police officer is what you’ve dreamed of and worked toward for years. It’s what gave you the motivation and the strength to push through the hardest times. Now, as you think about riding with Tim again tomorrow, you wonder if it was a sign all along - a sign you’re not strong enough, not good enough, not worthy enough. You shake your head and begin humming your favorite song to distract yourself. Your eyes remain closed as you wash your body because you don’t want to face the fear that Tim might see what he saw.

Somehow - a miracle, perseverance, plain luck - you make it to the end of your first week as a rookie. Every second spent with Tim feels like an hour, but he’s a good teacher. You’re still wary of being alone with him, always vigilant of where you are and what he could do. He doesn’t speak to you much; when he does, he asks questions, poses hypotheticals, and encourages you to say what you’re thinking. The last offer is turned down every time because what you’re thinking is dangerous enough for yourself without telling your training officer that he makes you nervous. You spent the week on edge, waiting to be ‘tested’ like Lucy said. Yet, as you close your locker on Friday night, you feel like a student who’s been sitting quietly and taking thorough notes, unaware that the test will come when she least expects it and be different just because the teacher calls the shots.

“Hey, you’re still coming, right?” Lucy checks as she heads for the shower.

You nod, smiling as she cheers. It took three days before you were comfortable enough to shower at the station before heading home. Yet, as you lean over the sink to reapply your lipgloss, you smile at the progress you’ve made. Even if you can’t look Tim in the eye.

You step out of the station behind Angela and Lucy. Stopping when you see Tim leaning against his truck, you curl your hand into a fist at your side to channel your energy into something other than the urge to run.

“You invited a rookie?” Tim asks flatly.

“Yes,” Angela replies. “Because she’s a human. Which means-“

“It was a question, not a ticket to your TED talk,” Tim deadpans. He pushes off the tailgate of his truck and looks at you to ask, “Need a ride?”

“Way ahead of you,” Lucy interrupts, tossing her arm over your shoulder. “We’re going to talk about you all the way to the restaurant.”

“Your personal lives must be horrifying if I’m the best topic of conversation you have.”

“You’re really annoying.”

Tim smiles at her, and you release your hand. If every other woman here can trust Tim, why can’t you?

Because your friends trusted him too.

You and Lucy are the last to arrive at the restaurant, but you’re smiling when you walk in with her. She complains about the parking as you tell the hostess who you’re meeting. When the table comes into view, your breath catches. There are two open seats: one beside Angela and one by Tim. Lucy goes straight to Angela’s side, already talking to Nolan by the time you step toward Tim.

Lost in your thoughts about where you would be comfortable sitting, you don’t notice Angela Lopez watching you. She notices how your eyes skip over Tim, completely ignorant of how he stares at you with poorly concealed concern in his eyes. You can’t see it; most people can’t, but she’s been around Tim long enough to know that he’s not as annoyed with you as he constantly leads you to believe. She’s also seen enough to realize that there is more going on in your head than pondering the ethical implications of having dinner seated beside your TO.

“Take this seat,” Angela offers as she stands. “I can’t hear anything over Nolan anyway.”

“You asked for the story!” he argues, raising his hand from the table.

Angela winks at you, and you sigh in relief as you whisper to thank her. Tim’s jaw tightens as she sinks into the seat beside him. He doesn’t say a word to you for the rest of the night. For some reason, that makes you nervous, too.

You freeze when Tim yells your last name. With your hand on the door handle of your Uber, you take a measured breath before you turn back toward him. He walks toward you with his steps heavy and purposeful. Every muscle in your body tenses as your mind races.

“What was that, boot?” he demands, stopping at least three steps away from you.

“Hey, do you want to get another ride?” the driver asks through the rolled-down window.

“Yes, she does,” Tim answers for you, leaning forward to see the woman. “Thanks.”

The woman nods quickly, then pulls away from the curb.

“That wasn’t your choice,” you argue weakly.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Tim replies tiredly.

Absolutely not.

“So, what was that about?” he repeats.

“What was what about?”

Tim lifts his brows slightly, and you sigh as you look down at your feet.

“I wanted to talk to Lucy and Nolan about their experience as rookies,” you lie.

“You didn’t. I’m not sure you said anything other than your order.”

Was he watching me? You take a step back as you swallow, looking around to see if any of your other friends (or almost friends) are still around. You’re alone. Again.

“If you have a problem with me, I need to know,” Tim snaps.

“I… I don’t have a problem with you, Officer Bradford,” you assure him.

“Then what is going on?” he exclaims, moving his right hand up in question. “We place our lives in each other’s hands daily, and I’m not going to be able to trust you with other officers if you can’t be honest with me about one simple question.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you repeat, moving back another inch. “It’s just…” You make me nervous? Saying that would almost surely get you fired. “I have a bad habit of overthinking things in my personal life, and I didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing.”

Tim shakes his head, clearly not believing you. Still, he says, “I’ll accept that for now. Eventually, you’ll have to trust someone enough to tell them. If not me, Grey or Lopez. But letting that fear control you is not going to end well.”

You have no idea.

“Come on,” Tim sighs. “I’m parked over here.”

“I’ll just get another Uber,” you reply. “I don’t want to put you out. I live kind of out of the way.”

Tim opens his mouth to argue, then seems to rethink it. “Okay. Be careful,” he says before he turns and leaves.

“7-Adam-19,” dispatch radios, “Officer Chen has requested backup – diner at La Brea and Melrose.”

Tim flips the switch for the lights and sirens, and you press your hands against your thighs. The diner where you used to work is at La Brea and Melrose. It’s a popular area, so there’s no shortage of restaurants in that quarter-mile strip of asphalt. Yet, your breaths grow shallow. Tim speaks, but his voice is distorted and distant.

“Boot!” he snaps, drawing your attention.

“Sorry,” you murmur, blinking as your mind returns to the present.

“If Chen gives you a command that contradicts any of mine, listen to her, okay? She was first on scene, which means she has a better understanding of what’s going on.”

“Right. Yes, sir.”

Tim turns into a small parking lot and parks beside Lucy’s shop. You focus on the job, on each second, on each step, anything except how familiar it is to step onto the old tile as the bell chimes above you. In the weeks since you left, the diner hasn’t changed any. The brawl taking place between the booths doesn’t even surprise you.

“Bradford, you wanna try?” Lucy asks. “I’ve tried verbal commands but they’re not listening to me, and I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Tim nods. He takes a step toward the group of men screaming and throwing punches; some are upright, others spread on the floor. Turning, he unplugs the jukebox and plunges the diner into relative quiet.

“You’re all going to jail if you don’t start complying!” Tim yells, punctuated by bringing his baton down on a nearby laminate table.

The men slow down and stop yelling, but don’t stop.

“That’s our window,” Tim says. “Chen, get the guy off the floor. Boot, the apron.”

It’s a job. You’re not alone. Cuff him and don’t listen to a word he says.

You pull the diner employee out of the group, pushing him onto a booth seat to cuff his hands behind his back. It goes smoothly as Tim and Lucy apprehend their respective suspects, but then the man before you realizes who you are.

He pushes back against you, but you’ve already cuffed him. When he realizes he can’t do what he wants, he turns and hooks his ankle around yours.

“You’re all under arrest,” Tim says, watching the other men. “The rest of you grab a table and keep your heads up.”

The men amble to the other side of the diner, lean against the shaky tables, and glare at one another as Lucy secures zip-tie restraints around their wrists.

“Remember what I told you about uniforms?” the man beside you murmurs, trailing his eyes up and down your body.

You push him back against the booth, turning him so his face is down toward the worn red pleather upholstery.

Tim turns quickly, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the cuffed man. “You two know each other?” he asks.

“Oh, you have no idea. Unless you do; I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Tim glances at you, but you’re now watching the other men to ensure Lucy is safe. You shake your head slightly, trying to ignore him.

“I see,” Tim murmurs. “Which makes you?”

“She didn’t tell you she worked here? I was her boss… in and out of work,” he brags.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Tim decides, his voice even and low. “What do you think, Chen?”

“More than enough,” she replies, turning with disgust evident on her face.

You didn’t even know she was listening. Six patrol cars arrive outside as your former boss smirks at Lucy.

“One more word,” Tim dares. “To either of them.”

“Honestly, I’d love to see you do it,” Lucy adds.

“I think I’d like a lawyer,” he mumbles, shrinking into the booth.

“Officer Janssen,” Tim says when the door opens. “Take this one into custody right away, and maybe let the nice folks looking into fraud and workplace safety know that the boss of this establishment has some interesting business tactics.”

Janssen nods, then leads him out of the diner. You release a breath, then straighten your spine and wait for your next instructions. Tim and Lucy don’t move, watching you as the other men are led to the waiting shops.

“Are you alright?” Lucy asks when the door closes behind the last officer.

“I’m fine,” you answer, sending her a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, glancing at Tim. His hands are curled into tight fists, but his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen.

“Come on,” he says, tipping his head toward the door. “Chen, we’re going Code 7 for a bit.”

“I’ll let dispatch know,” she replies. “Call me later for anything, okay?”

You nod, wringing your fingers together as she moves toward the door. Ready to get out of the diner and away from all the reminders of your past, you follow her. Tim hesitates briefly, then trails you back to the shop. In your seats, he turns off his body camera and instructs you to do the same. Wordlessly, he drives to a restaurant and orders your favorite drink, then parks in an empty area behind a strip mall.

It's a good time to be honest. And Tim stood up for you, so maybe – just maybe – he’ll understand that he was never the problem.

“You made me nervous,” you admit softly, looking at the lid of your drink.

Tim turns his head toward you but doesn’t reply.

“I don’t know why. Maybe it was just that you seemed annoyed with me from the beginning. Or it’s been a long time since I could trust someone so close to me.” You shrug and move your straw. “I-“

“I get it,” Tim interrupts. “He abused your trust.”

“Not all he abused,” you mumble.

Tim’s voice changes. Harder and laced with anger, he asks, “What?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does. Listen to me, whatever he did didn’t change you and no one is going to blame you for the scars it left.”

“It started when we were working a graveyard shift alone,” you confess. Finally looking up at Tim, you add, “It got worse until I quit.”

“Did he…” Tim trails off, watching you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“He didn’t do anything I could prove,” you answer. “Grabbed me over my clothes, lewd comments, threatened to go farther. He said he’d cut my uniform to get me more tips, and he- he said if I was lucky and he was right about what was underneath, he’d give me more than that.”

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows at Tim’s apology.

“No one should have to deal with that,” he continues. “And I should have realized that you weren’t comfortable when I got close to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “Not anymore.”

“And I appreciate the trust, but it’s not enough.”

“Sir?”

“I will work for your trust; make you see that I’m not just taking it. I respect you, but even if you were still working as a waitress, taking back your life and getting what you deserve is your right.”

You nod as Tim shifts into drive. The moment seems to have passed, but you don’t mind when your hand bumps against Tim's when you reach for the cupholders at the same time.

“You didn’t have to threaten him,” you say, smiling at Tim as you replace your body cams.

“I’m going to do more than that,” Tim murmurs.

“Sir?”

“I also think we should get a redo on dinner, but that’s up to you.”

You lean back against the seat and smile. Tim might have made you nervous before, but now that you can realize he saw past your fear and the marks your past left, you’re glad he’s on your team. And the idea of dinner with him sparks something similar yet completely different than the nervousness you felt before.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#when I saw the diner pic I wanted to make this longer and tension FILLED... maybe someday

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renthony · 1 year ago

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Nimona: a Story of Trans Rights, Queer Solidarity, and the Battle Against Censorship

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

The 2023 film Nimona, released on Netflix after a tumultuous development, is a triumph of queer art. While the basic plot follows a mischievous shapeshifter befriending a knight framed for murder, at its heart Nimona is a tale of queer survival in the face of bigotry and censorship. Though the word “transgender” is never spoken, the film is a deeply political narrative of trans empowerment.

The film is based on a comic of the same name, created by Eisner-winning artist N.D. Stevenson. (1) Originally a webcomic, Nimona stars the disgraced ex-knight Ballister Blackheart and his titular sidekick, teaming up to topple an oppressive regime known as the Institution. The webcomic was compiled into a graphic novel published by Harper Collins on May 12, 2015. (2)

On June 11, 2015, the Hollywood Reporter broke the news Fox Animation had acquired rights to the story. (3) A film adaptation would be directed by Patrick Osborne, written by Marc Haimes, and produced by Adam Stone. Two years later, on February 9, 2017, Osborne confirmed the film was being produced with the Fox-owned studio Blue Sky Animation, and on June 30 of that same year, he claimed the film would be released Valentine’s Day 2020. (4)

Then the Walt Disney Company made a huge mess.

On December 14, 2017, Disney announced the acquisition of Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. (5) Industry publications began speculating the same day about Blue Sky’s fate, though nothing would be confirmed until after the deal’s completion on March 19, 2019. (6) At first it seemed the studio would continue producing films under Disney’s governance, similar to Disney-owned Pixar Animation. (7)

The fate of the studio—and Nimona’s film adaptation—remained in purgatory for two years. During that time, Patrick Osborne left over reported creative differences, and directorial duties were taken over by Nick Bruno and Troy Quane. (8) Bruno and Quane continued production on the film despite Blue Sky’s uncertain future.

The killing blow came on February 9, 2021. Disney shut down Blue Sky and canceled Nimona, the result of economic hardship caused by COVID-19. (9) Nimona was seventy-five percent completed at the time, set to star Chloë Grace Moretz and Riz Ahmed. (10)

While COVID-19 caused undeniable financial upheaval for the working class, wealthy Americans fared better. (11) Disney itself scraped together enough to pay CEO Bob Iger twenty-one million dollars in 2020 alone. (12) Additionally, demand for animation spiked during the pandemic’s early waves, and Nimona could have been the perfect solution to the studio’s supposed financial woes. (13) Why waste the opportunity to profit from Blue Sky’s hard work?

It didn’t take long for the answer to surface. Speaking anonymously to the press, Blue Sky workers revealed the awful truth: Disney may have killed Nimona for being too queer. The titular character was gender-nonconforming, the leading men were supposed to kiss, and Disney didn’t like it. (14) While Disney may claim COVID-19 as the cause, it is noteworthy that Disney representatives saw footage of two men declaring their love, and not long after, the studio responsible was dead. (15) Further damning evidence came in February of 2024, when the Hollywood Reporter published an article quoting co-director Nick Bruno, who named names: Disney’s chief creative officer at the time, Alan Horn, was adamantly opposed to the film’s “gay stuff.” (16)

Disney didn’t think queer art was worthy of their brand, and it isn’t the first time. “Not fitting the Disney brand” was the justification for canceling Dana Terrace’s 2020 animated series The Owl House, which featured multiple queer characters. (17) Though Terrace was reluctant to assume queerphobia caused the cancellation, Disney’s anti-queer bias has been cited as a hurdle by multiple showrunners, including Terrace herself. (18) The company’s resistance to queer art is a documented phenomenon.

While Nimona’s film cancellation could never take N.D. Stevenson’s comic from the world, it was a sting to lose such a powerful queer narrative on the silver screen. American film has a long history of censoring queerness. The Motion Picture Production Code (commonly called the Hays Code) censored queer stories for decades, including them under the umbrella of “sex perversion.” (19) Though the Code was eventually repealed, systemic bigotry turns even modern queer representation milestones into battles. In 2018, when Rebecca Sugar, creator of the Cartoon Network series Steven Universe, succeeded in portraying the first-ever same-sex marriage proposal in American children’s animation, the network canceled the show in retaliation. (20)

When queer art has to fight so hard just to exist, each loss is a bitter heartbreak. N.D. Stevenson himself expressed sorrow that the world would never see what Nimona’s crew worked so hard to achieve. (21)

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

While fans mourned, progress continued behind the scenes. Instead of disappearing into the void as a tax write-off, the film was quietly scooped up by Megan Ellison of Annapurna Pictures. (22) Ellison received a call days before Disney’s death blow to Blue Sky, and after looking over storyboard reels, she decided to champion the film. With Ellison’s support, former Blue Sky heads Robert Baird and Andrew Millstein did their damnedest to find Nimona a home. (23)

Good news arrived on April 11, 2022, when N.D. Stevenson made a formal announcement on Twitter (now X): Nimona was gloriously alive, and would release on Netflix in 2023. (24) Netflix confirmed the news in its own press release, where it also provided details about the film’s updated cast and crew, including Eugene Lee Yang as Ambrosius Goldenloin alongside Riz Ahmed’s Ballister Boldheart (changed from the name Blackheart in the comic) and Chloë Grace Moretz as Nimona. (25) The film was no longer in purgatory, and grief over its death became anticipation for its release.

Nimona made her film debut in France, premiering at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival on June 14, 2023 to positive reviews. (26) Netflix released the film to streaming on June 30, finally completing the story’s arduous journey from page to screen. (27)

When the film begins, the audience is introduced to the world through a series of illustrated scrolls, evoking the storybook intros of Disney princess films such as 1959’s Sleeping Beauty. The storybook framing device has been used to parody Disney in the past, perhaps most famously in the 2001 Dreamworks film Shrek. Just as Shrek contains parodies of the Disney brand created by a Disney alumnus, so, too, does Nimona riff on the studio that snubbed it. (28)

Nimona’s storybook intro tells the story of Gloreth, a noble warrior woman clad in gold and white, who defended her people from a terrible monster. After slaying the beast, Gloreth established an order of knights called the Institute (changed from the Institution in the comic) to wall off the city and protect her people.

Right away, the film introduces a Christian dichotomy of good versus evil. Gloreth is presented as a Christlike figure, with the Institute’s knights standing in as her saints. (29) Her name is invoked like the Christian god, with characters uttering phrases such as “oh my Gloreth” and “Gloreth guide you.” The film’s design borrows heavily from Medieval Christian art and architecture, bolstering the metaphor.

Nimona takes place a thousand years after Gloreth’s victory. Following the opening narration, the audience is dropped into a setting combining Medieval aesthetics with futuristic science fiction, creating a sensory delight of neon splashed across knights in shining armor. It’s in this swords-and-cyborgs city that a new knight is set to join the illustrious ranks of Gloreth’s Institute, now under the control of a woman known only as the Director (voiced by Frances Conroy). That new knight is our protagonist, Ballister Boldheart.

The film changes several things from the original. The comic stars Lord Ballister Blackheart, notorious former knight, long after his fall from grace. He has battled the Institution for years, making a name for himself as a supervillain. The film introduces a younger Ballister Boldheart who is still loyal to the Institute, who believes in his dream of becoming a knight and overcomes great odds to prove himself worthy. In the comic, Blackheart’s greatest rival is Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin, with whom he has a messy past. The film shows more of that past, when Goldenloin and Boldheart were young lovers eager to become knights by each other’s side.

There is another notable change: in the comic, Goldenloin is white, and Blackheart is light-skinned. In the film, both characters are men of color—specifically, Boldheart is of Pakistani descent, and Goldenloin is of Korean descent, matching the ethnicity of their respective voice actors. This change adds new themes of institutional racism, colorism, and the “model minority” stereotype. (30)

The lighter-skinned Goldenloin is, as his name suggests, the Institute’s golden boy. He descends from the noble lineage of Gloreth herself, and his face is emblazoned on posters and news screens across the city. He is referred to as “the most anticipated knight of a generation.” In contrast, the darker-skinned Boldheart experiences prejudice and hazing due to his lower-class background. His social status is openly discussed in the news. He is called a “street kid” and “controversial,” despite being the top student in his class. The newscasters make sure everyone knows he was only given the chance to prove himself in the Institute because the queen, a Black woman with established social influence, gave him her personal patronage. Despite this patronage, when the news interviews citizens on the street, public opinion is firmly against Boldheart.

To preserve the comic’s commentary on white privilege, some of Goldenloin’s traits were written into a new, white character created for the film, Sir Thoddeus Sureblade (voiced by Beck Bennett). Sureblade’s vitriol against both Boldheart and Goldenloin allowed Goldenloin to become a more sympathetic character, trapped in the system just as much as Boldheart. (31) This is emphasized at other points in the film when the audience sees Sureblade interact with Goldenloin without Boldheart present, berating the only person of color left in the absence of the darker-skinned man.

The day Boldheart is to be knighted, everything goes wrong. As Queen Valerin (voiced by Lorraine Toussaint) performs the much-anticipated knighting ceremony, a device embedded in Boldheart’s sword explodes, killing her instantly. Though Boldheart is not to blame, he is dubbed an assassin instead of a knight. In an instant, he becomes the most wanted man in the kingdom, and Queen Valerin’s hopes for progress and social equality seem dead with her. Boldheart is gravely injured in the explosion and forced to flee, unable to clear his name.

Enter Nimona.

The audience meets the titular character in the act of vandalizing a poster of Gloreth, only to get distracted by an urgent broadcast on a nearby screen. As she approaches, a bystander yells that she’s a “freak,” in a manner reminiscent of slurs screamed by passing bigots. Nimona has no time for bigots, spraying this one in the face with paint before tuning in to the news.

“Everyone is scared,” declare the newscasters, because queen-killer Ballister Boldheart is on the run. The media paints him as a monster, a filthy commoner who never deserved the chances he was given, and announce that, “never since Gloreth’s monster has anything been so hated.” This characterization pleases Nimona, and she declares him “perfect” before scampering off to find his hiding place.

It takes the span of a title screen for her to track him down, sequestered in a makeshift junkyard shelter. Just before Nimona bursts into the lair, the audience sees Boldheart’s injuries have resulted in the amputation of his arm, and he is building a homemade prosthetic. This is another way he’s been othered from his peers in an instant, forced to adapt to life-changing circumstances with no support. Where he was so recently an aspiring knight with a partner and a dream, he is now homeless, disabled, and isolated.

A wall in the hideout shows a collection of news clippings, suspects, and sticky notes where Boldheart is trying to solve the murder and clear his name. His own photo looks down from the wall, captioned with a damning headline: “He was never one of us—knights reveal shocking details of killer’s past.” It evokes real-world racial bias in crime reporting, where suspects of color are treated as more violent, unstable, and prone to crime than white suspects. A 2021 report by the Equal Justice Initiative and the Global Strategy Group compiled data on this phenomenon, focusing on the stark disparity between coverage of white and Black suspects. (32)

Nimona is not put off by Boldheart’s sinister media reputation. It’s why she tracked him down in the first place. She’s arrived to present her official application as Boldheart’s villain sidekick and help him take down the Institute. Boldheart brushes her off, insisting he isn’t a villain. He has faith in his innocence and in the system, and leaves Nimona behind to clear his name.

When he is immediately arrested, stripped of his prosthetic, and jailed, Nimona doesn’t abandon him. She springs a prison break, and conveys a piece of bitter wisdom to the fallen knight: “[O]nce everyone sees you as a villain, that’s what you are. They only see you one way, no matter how hard you try.”

Nimona and Boldheart are both outcasts, but they are at different stages of processing the pain. Boldheart is deep in the grief of someone who tried to adhere to the demands of a biased system but finally failed. He is the newly cast-out, who gave his entire life to the system but still couldn’t escape dehumanization. His pain is a fresh, raw wound, where Nimona has old scars. She embodies the deep anger of those who have existed on the margins for years. Where Boldheart wants to prove his innocence so he can be re-accepted into the fold, Nimona’s goal is to tear the entire system apart. She finds instant solidarity with Boldheart based solely on their mutual status as outsiders, but Boldheart resists that solidarity because he still craves the system’s familiar structure.

In the comic, Blackheart’s stance is not one of fresh grief, since, just like Nimona, he has been an outsider for some time. Instead, Blackheart’s position is one of slow reform. He believes the system can be changed and improved, while Nimona urges him to demolish it entirely. In both versions, Ballister thinks the system can be fixed by removing specific corrupt influences, where Nimona believes the government is rotten to its foundations and should be dismantled. Despite their ideological differences, Nimona and Ballister ally to survive the Institute’s hostility.

The allyship is an uneasy truce. During the prison break, Nimona reveals that she’s a shapeshifter, able to change into whatever form she pleases. Boldheart reflexively reaches for his sword, horrified that she isn’t human. She is the exact sort of monster he has been taught to fear by the Institute, and it’s only because he needs her help that he overcomes his reflex and sticks with her.

Nimona’s shapeshifting functions as a transgender allegory. The comic’s author, N.D. Stevenson, is transgender, and Nimona’s story developed alongside his own queer journey. (33) The trans themes from the comic are emphasized in the film, with various pride flags included in backgrounds and showcased in the art book. (34) Directors Bruno and Quane described the film as “a story about acceptance. A movie about being seen for who you truly are and a love letter to all those who’ve ever shared that universal feeling of being misunderstood or like an outsider trying to fit in.” (35)

When Boldheart asks Nimona what she is, she responds with only “Nimona.” When he calls her a girl, she retorts that she’s “a lot of things.” When she transforms into another species, she specifies in that moment that she’s “not a girl, I’m a shark.” Later, when she takes the form of a young boy and Boldheart comments on it, saying “now you’re a boy,” her response is, “I am today.” She defies easy categorization, and she likes it that way.

About her shapeshifting, Nimona says “it feels worse if I don’t do it” and “I shapeshift, then I’m free.” When asked what happens if she doesn’t shapeshift, she responds, “I wouldn’t die-die, I just sure wouldn’t be living.” Every time she discusses her transformations, it carries echoes of transgender experience—and, as it happens, Nimona is not N.D. Stevenson’s only shapeshifting transgender character. During his tenure as showrunner for She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (Netflix/Dreamworks, 2018-2020), Stevenson introduced the character Double Trouble. Double Trouble previously existed at the margins of She-Ra lore, but Stevenson’s version was a nonbinary shapeshifter using they/them pronouns. (36) While Nimona uses she/her pronouns throughout both comic and film, just like Double Trouble her gender presentation is as fluid as her physical form.

Boldheart, like many cisgender people reacting to transgender people, is uncomfortable with Nimona. He declares her way of doing things “too much,” and insists they try to be “inconspicuous” and “discreet.” He worries whether others saw her, and, when she is casually in a nonhuman form, he asks if she can “be normal for a second.” He claims to support her, but says it would be “easier if she was a girl” because “other people aren’t as accepting.” His discomfort evokes fumbled allyship by cisgender people, and Nimona emphasizes the allegory by calling Boldheart out for his “small-minded questions.” While the alliance is uneasy, Boldheart continues working with Nimona to clear his name. They are the only allies each other has, and their individual survival is dependent on them working together.

When the duo gain video proof of Boldheart’s innocence, they learn the bomb that killed Queen Valerin was planted by the Director. Threatened by a Black woman using her influence to elevate a poor, queer man of color, the white Director chose to preserve the status quo through violence.

Nimona is eager to get the video on every screen in the city, but Boldheart wants to deal with the issue internally, out of the public eye. He insists “the Institute isn’t the problem, the Director is.” This belief is what also leads the comic’s Blackheart to reject Nimona’s idea that he should crown himself king. He is focused on reforming the existing power structure, neither removing it entirely nor taking it over himself.

Inside the Institute, the Director has been doing her best to set Goldenloin against his former partner. Despite his internal misgivings and fear of betraying someone he loves, Goldenloin does his best to adhere to his prescribed role. As the Director reminds the knights, they are literally born to defend the kingdom, and it’s their sacred duty to do so—especially Goldenloin, who carries Gloreth’s holy blood. This blood connection is repeated throughout the film, and used by the Director to exploit Goldenloin. He’s the Institute’s token minority, put on a gilded pedestal and treated as a symbol instead of a human being.

Goldenloin is a pretty face for propaganda posters, and those posters can be seen throughout the film. They proclaim Gloreth’s majesty, the power of the knights, and remind civilians that the Institute is necessary to “protect our way of life.” A subway PSA urges citizens, “if you see something, slay something,” in a direct parody of the real-world “if you see something, say something” campaign by the United States Department of Homeland Security. (37)

The film is not subtle in its political messaging. When Boldheart attempts to prove his innocence to Goldenloin and the assembled knights, he reaches towards his pocket for a phone. The Director cries that Boldheart has a weapon, and Sureblade opens fire. Though the shot hits the phone and not Boldheart, it carries echoes of real-world police brutality against people of color. Specifically, the use of a phone evokes cases such as the 2018 murder of Stephon Clark, a young Black man who was shot and killed by California police claiming Clark’s cell phone was a firearm. (38) The film does not toy with vague, depoliticized themes of coexistence and tolerance; it is a direct and pointed allegory for contemporary oppression in the United States of America.

Forced to choose between love for Boldheart and loyalty to the Institute, Goldenloin chooses the Institute. He calls for Boldheart’s arrest, and this is the moment Boldheart finally agrees to fight back and raise hell alongside Nimona. When Goldenloin calls Nimona a monster during the ensuing battle, Boldheart doesn’t hesitate to refute it. He expresses his trust in her, and it’s clear he means it. He’s been betrayed by someone he cared about and thought he could depend on, and this puts him in true solidarity with Nimona for the first time.

During the fight, Nimona stops a car from crashing into a small child. She shapeshifts into a young girl to appear less threatening, but it doesn’t work. The child picks up a sword, pointing it at Nimona until an adult pulls them away to hide. When Nimona sees this hatred imprinted in the heart of a child, it horrifies her.

After fleeing to their hideout, Nimona makes a confession to Boldheart: she has suicidal ideations. So many people have directed so much hatred toward her that sometimes she wants to give in and let them kill her. In the real world, a month after the film’s release, a study from the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law compiled data about suicidality in American transgender adults. (39) Researchers found that eighty-one percent have thought about suicide, compared to just thirty-five percent of cisgender adults. Forty-two percent have attempted suicide, compared to eleven percent of cisgender adults. Fifty-six percent have engaged in self-harm, compared to twelve percent of cisgender adults.

When Boldheart offers to flee with her and find somewhere safe together, Nimona declares they shouldn’t have to run. She makes the decision every trans person living in a hostile place must make: do I leave and save myself, or do I stay to fight for my community? The year the film was released, the Trans Legislation Tracker reported a record-breaking amount of anti-trans legislation in the United States, with six hundred and two bills introduced throughout twenty-four states. (40) In February 2024, the National Center for Transgender Equality published data on their 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey, revealing that forty-seven percent of respondents thought about moving to another area due to discrimination, with ten percent actually doing so. (41)

Despite the danger, Nimona and Boldheart work diligently against the Institute. When they gain fresh footage proving the Director’s guilt, they don’t hesitate to upload it online, where it garners rapid attention across social and news media. Newscasters begin asking who the real villain is, anti-Institute sentiment builds, and citizens protest in the streets, demanding answers. The power that social media adds to social justice activism is true in the real world as it is in the film, seen in campaigns such as the viral #MeToo hashtag and the Black Lives Matter movement. (42) In 2020, polls conducted by the Pew Research Center showed eight in ten Americans viewed social media platforms as either very or somewhat effective in raising awareness about political and social topics. In the same survey, seventy-seven percent of respondents believed social media is at least somewhat effective in organizing social movements. (43)

In reaction to the media firestorm, the Director issues a statement. She outs Nimona as a shapeshifter, and claims the evidence against the Institute is a hoax. Believing the Director, Goldenloin contacts Boldheart for a rendezvous, sans Nimona. From Goldenloin’s perspective, Boldheart is a good man who has been deceived by the real villain, Nimona. He tells Boldheart about a scroll the Director found, with evidence that Nimona is Gloreth’s original monster, still alive and terrorizing the city. Goldenloin wants to bring Boldheart back into the knighthood and resume their relationship, and though that’s what Boldheart wanted before, his solidarity with Nimona causes him to reject the offer.

Though he leaves Goldenloin behind, Boldheart’s suspicion of Nimona returns. Despite their solidarity, he doesn’t really know her, so he returns home to interrogate her. In the ensuing argument, he reverts to calling her a monster, but only through implication—he won’t say the word. Like a slur, he knows he shouldn’t say it anymore, but that doesn’t keep him from believing it.

Boldheart’s actions prove to Nimona that nowhere is safe. There is no haven. Her community will always turn on her. She flees, and in her ensuing breakdown, the audience learns her backstory. She was alone for an unspecified length of time, never able to fit in until meeting Gloreth as a little girl. Nimona presents herself to Gloreth as another little girl, and Gloreth becomes Nimona’s very first friend. Even when Nimona shapeshifts, Gloreth treats her with kindness and love.

Then the adults of Gloreth’s village see Nimona shapeshift, and the word “monster” is hurled. Torches and pitchforks come out. At the adults’ panic, Gloreth takes up a sword against Nimona, and the cycle of bigotry is transferred to the next generation. The friendship shatters, and Nimona must flee before she can be killed.

After losing Boldheart, seemingly Nimona’s only ally since Gloreth’s betrayal, Nimona’s grief becomes insurmountable. She knows in her heart that nothing will ever change. She’s been hurt too much, by too many, cutting too deeply. To Nimona, the world will only ever bring her pain, so she gives in. She transforms into the giant, ferocious monster everyone has always told her she is, and she begins moving through the city as the Institute opens fire.

When Ballister sees Nimona’s giant, shadowy form, he realizes the horrific pain he caused her. He intuits that Nimona isn’t causing destruction for fun, she’s on a suicide march. She’s given up, and her decision is the result of endless, systemic bigotry and betrayal of trust. Her rampage wouldn’t be happening if she’d been treated with love, support, and care.

Nimona’s previous admission of suicidal ideation repeats in voiceover as she prepares to impale herself on a sword pointed by a massive statue of Gloreth. Her suicide is only prevented because Ballister steps in, calling to her, apologizing, saying he sees her and she isn’t alone. She collapses into his arms, once again in human form, sobbing. Boldheart has finally accepted her truth, and she is safe with him.

But she isn’t safe from the Director.

In a genocidal bid she knows will take out countless civilian lives, the Director orders canons fired on Nimona. Goldenloin tries to stop her, finally standing up against the system, but it’s too late. The Director fires the canons, Nimona throws herself at the blast to protect the civilians, and Nimona falls.

When the dust settles, the Director is deposed and the city rebuilds. Boldheart and Goldenloin reconnect and resume their relationship. The walls around the city come down, reforms take hold in the Institute, and a memorial goes up to honor Nimona, the hero who sacrificed her life to reveal the Director’s corruption.

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

Nimona originally had a tragic ending, born of N.D. Stevenson’s own depression, but that hopelessness didn’t last forever. (44) Though Nimona is defeated, she doesn’t stay dead. Through the outpouring of love and support N.D. Stevenson received while creating the original webcomic, he gained the community and support he needed to create a more hopeful ending for Nimona’s story—and himself.

The comic’s ending is bittersweet. Nimona can’t truly die, and eventually restores herself. She allows Blackheart to glimpse her, so he knows she survived, but she doesn’t stay. She still doesn’t feel safe, and is assumed to move on somewhere new. Blackheart never sees Nimona again.

The film’s ending is more hopeful. There is a shimmer of pink magic as Nimona announces her survival, and the film ends with Boldheart’s elated exclamation. Even death couldn’t keep her down. She survived Gloreth, and she survived the Director. Though this chapter of the story is over, there is hope on the horizon, and she has allies on her side.

In both incarnations, Nimona is a story of queer survival in a cruel world. The original ending was one of despair, that said there was little hope of true solidarity and allyship. The revised ending said there was hope, but still so far to go. The film’s ending says there is hope, there is solidarity, and there are people who will stand with transgender people until the bitter end—but, more importantly, there are people in the world who want trans people to live, to thrive, and to find joy.

In a world that’s so hostile to transgender people, it’s no wonder a radically trans-positive film had to fight so hard to exist. Unfortunately, the battle must continue. As of June 2024, Netflix hasn’t announced any intent to produce physical copies of the film, meaning it exists solely on streaming and is only accessible via a monthly paid subscription. Should Netflix ever take down its original animation, as HBO Max did in 2022 despite massive backlash, the film could easily become lost media. (45) Though it saved Nimona from Disney, Netflix has its own nasty history of under-marketing and canceling queer programs. (46)

The film’s art book is already gone. The multimedia tome was posted online on October 12, 2023, hosted at ArtofNimona.com. (47) Per the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, the site became a Netflix redirect at some point between 10:26 PM on March 9, 2024 and 9:35 PM on March 20, 2024. (48) On the archived site, some multimedia elements are non-functional, potentially making them lost media. The art book is not available through any legal source, and though production designer Aidan Sugano desperately wants a physical copy made, there seem to be no such plans. (49)

Perhaps Netflix will eventually release physical copies of both film and art book. Perhaps not. Time will tell. In the meantime, Nimona stands as a triumph of queer media in a queerphobic world. That it exists at all is a miracle, and that its accessibility is so precarious a year after release is a travesty. Contemporary political commentary is woven into every aspect of the film, and it exists thanks to the passion, talent, and bravery of an incredible crew who endured despite blatant corporate queerphobia.

Long live Nimona, and long live the transgender community she represents.

_ This piece was commissioned using the prompt "the Nimona movie."

Updated 6/16/24 to revise an inaccurate statement regarding the original comic.

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Notes:

1. “Past Recipients 2010s.” n.d. Comic-Con International. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://www.comic-con.org/awards/eisner-awards/past-recipients/past-recipenties-2010s/.

2. Stevenson, ND. 2015. Nimona. New York, NY: Harperteen.

3. Kit, Borys. 2015. “Fox Animation Nabs ‘Nimona’ Adaptation with ‘Feast’ Director (Exclusive).” The Hollywood Reporter. June 11, 2015. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/fox-animation-nabs-nimona-adaptation-801920/.

4. Riley, Jenelle. 2017. “Oscar Winner Patrick Osborne Returns with First-Ever vr Nominee ‘Pearl.’” Variety. February 9, 2017. https://variety.com/2017/film/in-contention/patrick-osborne-returns-to-race-with-first-vr-nominee-pearl-1201983466/; Osborne, Patrick (@PatrickTOsborne). 2017. "Hey world, the NIMONA feature film has a release date! @Gingerhazing February 14th 2020 !!" Twitter/X, June 30, 2017, 3:16 PM. https://x.com/PatrickTOsborne/status/880867591094272000. ‌

5. “The Walt Disney Company to Acquire Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc., after Spinoff of Certain Businesses, for $52.4 Billion in Stock.” 2017. The Walt Disney Company. December 14, 2017. https://thewaltdisneycompany.com/walt-disney-company-acquire-twenty-first-century-fox-inc-spinoff-certain-businesses-52-4-billion-stock-2/.

6. Amidi, Amid. 2017. “Disney Buys Fox for $52.4 Billion: Here Are the Key Points of the Deal.” Cartoon Brew. December 14, 2017. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/business/disney-buys-fox-key-points-deal-155390.html; Giardina, Carolyn. 2017. “Disney Deal Could Redraw Fox’s Animation Business.” The Hollywood Reporter. December 14, 2017. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-deal-could-redraw-foxs-animation-business-1068040/; Szalai, Georg, and Paul Bond. 2019. “Disney Closes $71.3 Billion Fox Deal, Creating Global Content Powerhouse.” The Hollywood Reporter. March 19, 2019. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-closes-fox-deal-creating-global-content-powerhouse-1174498/.

7. Hipes, Patrick. 2019. “After Trying Day, Disney Sets Film Leadership Lineup.” Deadline. March 22, 2019. https://deadline.com/2019/03/disney-film-executives-post-merger-team-set-1202580586/.

8. Jones, Rendy. 2023. ��‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

9. D’Alessandro, Anthony. 2021. “Disney Closing Blue Sky Studios, Fox’s Once-Dominant Animation House behind ‘Ice Age’ Franchise.” Deadline. February 9, 2021. https://deadline.com/2021/02/blue-sky-studios-closing-disney-ice-age-franchise-animation-1234690310/.

10. “Disney’s Blue Sky Shut down Leaves Nimona Film 75% Completed.” 2021. CBR. February 10, 2021. https://www.cbr.com/nimona-film-abandoned-disney-blue-sky-shut-down/; Sneider, Jeff. 2021. “Exclusive: Disney’s LGBTQ-Themed ‘Nimona’ Would’ve Featured the Voices of Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed.” Collider. March 4, 2021. https://collider.com/nimona-movie-cast-cancelled-disney-blue-sky/.

11. Horowitz, Juliana Menasce, Anna Brown, and Rachel Minkin. 2021. “The COVID-19 Pandemic’s Long-Term Financial Impact.” Pew Research Center’s Social & Demographic Trends Project. March 5, 2021. https://www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2021/03/05/a-year-into-the-pandemic-long-term-financial-impact-weighs-heavily-on-many-americans/.

12. Lang, Brent. 2022. “Disney CEO Bob Iger’s Rich Compensation Package Revealed, Company Says Bob Chapek Fired ‘without Cause.’” Variety. November 21, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/film/finance/bob-iger-compensation-package-salary-bob-chapek-fired-1235439151/.

13. Romano, Nick. 2020. “The Pandemic Animation Boom: How Cartoons Became King in the Time of COVID.” EW.com. November 2, 2020. https://ew.com/movies/animation-boom-coronavirus-pandemic/.

14. Strapagiel, Lauren. 2021. “The Future of Disney’s First Animated Feature Film with Queer Leads, ‘Nimona,’ Is in Doubt.” BuzzFeed News. February 24, 2021. https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/laurenstrapagiel/disney-nimona-movie-lgbtq-characters.

15. Clark, Travis. 2022. “Disney Raised Concerns about a Same-Sex Kiss in the Unreleased Animated Movie ‘Nimona,’ Former Blue Sky Staffers Say.” Business Insider. https://www.businessinsider.com/disney-disapproved-same-sex-kiss-nimona-movie-former-staffers-say-2022-3.

16. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

17. St. James, Emily. 2023. “Mourning the Loss of the Owl House, TV’s Best Queer Kids Show.” Vanity Fair. April 6, 2023. https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/04/loss-of-the-owl-house-tvs-best-queer-kids-show.

18. AntagonistDana. 2021. “AMA (except by ‘Anything’ I Mean These Questions Only).” Reddit. October 5, 2021. https://www.reddit.com/r/TheOwlHouse/comments/q1x1uh/ama_except_by_anything_i_mean_these_questions_only/; de Wit, Alex Dudok. 2020. “Disney Executive Tried to Block Queer Characters in ‘the Owl House,’ Says Creator.” 2020. Cartoon Brew. August 14, 2020. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/disney/disney-executives-tried-to-block-queer-characters-in-the-owl-house-says-creator-195413.html.

19. Doherty, Thomas. 1999. Pre-Code Hollywood : Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934. New York: Columbia University Press. 363.

20. Henderson, Taylor. 2018. “‘Steven Universe’s’ Latest Episode Just Made LGBTQ History.” Pride. July 5, 2018. https://www.pride.com/stevenuniverse/2018/7/05/steven-universes-latest-episode-just-made-lgbtq-history; McDonnell, Chris. 2020. Steven Universe: End of an Era. New York: Abrams. 102.

21. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2021. "Sad day. Thanks for the well wishes, and sending so much love to everyone at Blue Sky. Forever grateful for all the care and joy you poured into Nimona." Twitter/X, February 9, 2021, 3:32 PM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1359238823935283200

22. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

23. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

24. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2022. "Nimona’s always been a spunky little story that just wouldn’t stop. She’s a fighter...but she’s also got some really awesome people fighting for her. I am excited out of my mind to announce that THE NIMONA MOVIE IS ALIVE...coming at you in 2023 from Annapurna and Netflix." Twitter/X, April 11, 2022, 10:00 AM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1513517319841935363.

25. “‘Nimona’ Starring Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed & Eugene Lee Yang Coming to Netflix in 2023.” About Netflix. April 11, 2022. https://about.netflix.com/en/news/nimona-starring-chloe-grace-moretz-riz-ahmed-and-eugene-lee-yang-coming-to-netflix.

26. “’Nimona’ Rates 100% on Rotten Tomatoes after Annecy Premiere.” Animation Magazine. June 15, 2023. https://www.animationmagazine.net/2023/06/nimona-rates-100-on-rotten-tomatoes-after-annecy-premiere/

27. Dilillo, John. 2023. “’Nimona’: Everything You Need to Know About the New Animated Adventure.” Tudum by Netflix. June 30, 2023. https://www.netflix.com/tudum/articles/nimona-release-date-news-photos

28. Reese, Lori. 2001. “Is ‘“Shrek”’ the Anti- Disney Fairy Tale?” Entertainment Weekly. May 29, 2001. https://ew.com/article/2001/05/29/shrek-anti-disney-fairy-tale/.

29. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 255. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

30. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

31. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

32. Equal Justice Initiative. 2021. “Report Documents Racial Bias in Coverage of Crime by Media.” Equal Justice Initiative. December 16, 2021. https://eji.org/news/report-documents-racial-bias-in-coverage-of-crime-by-media/.

33. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

34. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 259-260. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

35. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 7. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

36. Brown, Tracy. 2019. “In Netflix’s ‘She-Ra,’ Even Villains Respect Nonbinary Pronouns.” Los Angeles Times. November 6, 2019. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2019-11-05/netflix-she-ra-princesses-power-nonbinary-double-trouble.

37. Department of Homeland Security. 2019. “If You See Something, Say Something®.” Department of Homeland Security. May 10, 2019. https://www.dhs.gov/see-something-say-something.

38. University of Stanford. n.d. “Stephon Clark.” Say Their Names - Spotlight at Stanford. https://exhibits.stanford.edu/saytheirnames/feature/stephon-clark.

39. Kidd, Jeremy D., Tettamanti, Nicky A., Kaczmarkiewicz, Roma, Corbeil, Thomas E., Dworkin, Jordan D., Jackman, Kasey B., Hughes, Tonda L., Bockting, Walter O., & Meyer, Ilan H. 2023. “Prevalence of Substance Use and Mental Health Problems among Transgender and Cisgender US Adults.” Williams Institute. https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/transpop-substance-use/.

40. “2023 Anti-Trans Bills: Trans Legislation Tracker.” n.d. Trans Legislation Tracker. https://translegislation.com/bills/2023.

41. James, S.E., Herman, J.L., Durso, L.E., & Heng-Lehtinen, R. 2024. “Early Insights: A Report of the 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey.” National Center for Transgender Equality, Washington, DC.

42. Myers, Catherine. 2023. “Protests in the Age of Social Media.” The Nonviolence Project. February 11, 2023. https://thenonviolenceproject.wisc.edu/2023/02/11/protests-in-the-age-of-social-media/.

43. Auxier, Brooke, and Colleen McClain. 2020. “Americans Think Social Media Can Help Build Movements, but Can Also Be a Distraction.” Pew Research Center. Pew Research Center. September 9, 2020. https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2020/09/09/americans-think-social-media-can-help-build-movements-but-can-also-be-a-distraction/.

44. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

45. Chapman, Wilson. 2022. “HBO Max to Remove 36 Titles, Including 20 Originals, from Streaming.” Variety. August 18, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/hbo-max-originals-removed-1235344286/.

46. Iftikhar, Asyia. 2023. “Netflix CEO Slammed by LGBTQ+ Fans over Cancellation Comments: ‘They Are NOT Allies.’” PinkNews. January 24, 2023. https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/01/24/netflix-ceo-ted-sarandos-cancelled-shows-lgbtq-fans-reactions/.

47. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

48. “Wayback Machine.” n.d. The Internet Archive. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://wayback-api.archive.org/web/20240000000000.

49. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

#original essays #original post #nimona #nimona movie #nimona 2023 #nimona film

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honeyryewhiskey · 3 months ago

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. . . director!jensen x starlet!reader

synopsis ୨ৎ jensen’s magnum opus is finally coming to life after years of meticulous crafting—his first directorial film, the one that will define his legacy. he’s sifted through countless headshots, sat through audition after audition, searching for the perfect lead. then you walk in—soft, a little shy, but with a quiet sweetness that lingers, something he can’t shake. and just like that, he knows. he’s found his girl.

warnings ୨ৎ 18+ mdni, age gap relationship, the artist and his muse, powerful older man and the rising star, obsession disguised as guidance, you belong to me energy, indulgence, claiming through praise

chronological parts ! audition files off the record

Jensen takes you under his wing, molding you into the perfect starlet.

He’s obsessed with every little thing about you. Your expressions. Your voice. The way you move on camera. You’re his muse, and he doesn’t hide it.

During late-night script readings in his private studio, he sits too close, his voice smooth as he murmurs directions. His fingers trail over your wrist when he adjusts the way you hold a prop. His hands linger on your waist when he blocks a scene with you.

"That’s my girl," he praises, voice warm, approving. "You’re perfect, sweetheart. Just like that."

No one knows just how far Jensen’s gone in his obsession.

No one knows how his hands skim over your bare back during a costume fitting, how his breath tickles your ear as he murmurs between kisses, "you’re gonna look so perfect for me on that screen."

No one knows about the way he pulls you into a dark corner after a long day of filming, his praises beginning with words and ending with his head between your thighs, making sure his little muse knows just how proud he is. "You did so good for me today."

No one knows about the late nights in his private trailer, the door locked, your script abandoned somewhere on the floor with your clothes and his. Jensen’s hands hold your hips like he owns them, like he was made to be between them, fucking you into the sheets until you’re whimpering. His mouth claims the expanse of your chest, “you’re doing so well for me, pretty baby,” he praises, “you’re always so good for me.”

He’s protective, possessive. He knows how quickly Hollywood can dim the light of something so new and vibrant. He’s determined to keep you safe from all of that. And to show the world your essence through his carefully crafted lens.

"They don’t get to see you the way I do, doll. Only I get that."

But people are starting to talk.

The way he looks at you during press interviews, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, the way you practically glow under his praise.

They suspect.

But no one really knows.

And as long as Jensen has a say in it? They never will.

sneak peek into the story. . .

Jensen watches you from behind the camera, eyes locked on the monitor, completely still. The hum of the set—the murmur of producers, the shuffle of the crew, the faint scratch of a pen against a clipboard—fades to static in the background. None of it matters.

Only you.

Your face fills the frame, bathed in soft lighting, every flicker of emotion playing across your features like a symphony only he can hear. He watches the way your brows furrow, how your lips part just slightly on the inhale before delivering your lines. The intensity in your eyes—for him—steals his breath.

It’s his vision, the one he’s obsessed over for years, coming to life before him. Through you.

"Cut." His voice is calm, controlled, but there’s a heat beneath it, just enough to make you shiver. The smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You turn to him immediately, searching for approval. He doesn’t hesitate. He pushes up from his chair, stepping between you and your co-star with quiet confidence, his presence commanding without a single word. Around you, the set moves like clockwork—makeup dabs at your cheeks, the props team resets the scene—but you don’t notice any of it.

All you see is him.

The crinkle by his eyes. The weight of his gaze, steady and unreadable. How he looms just a little closer than necessary.

"That was perfect, Peach." His voice is low, intimate, meant for you alone.

His hand lifts, fingertips grazing the collar of your dress, adjusting it with deliberate slowness. You stand frozen, pulse quickening at the soft drag of his fingers against your throat.

"I can do a few more takes if you need me to," you offer, voice steady except for the slight quiver at the end. "Maybe try it with a different emotion?"

He chuckles, a sound that rolls through you like smoke, and nods.

"Sure, sweetheart, we can roll it again."

His fingers brush beneath your chin, tilting your face up, capturing your gaze in his. He holds it, long enough that your breath stutters in your chest.

"Always looking for a way to please me, aren’t you?"

Your stomach flips at the teasing edge in his tone. You barely hear yourself whisper, "Of course, sir. I want it to be perfect."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Approval. Possession. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding something back.

He lets the moment stretch until you feel lightheaded, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll squirm under the weight of his stare. You swallow hard, pressing your feet into the floor to steady yourself.

"Good girl." It’s quiet enough for only you to hear.

Then he steps away, claps his hands once, snapping the rest of the room back into focus.

"Again, from the top."

It’s well past dark, but here you are, in Jensen’s trailer, reading lines despite the hour. He promised from the beginning that he’d help no matter the time, that he’d always answer your call.

“Again.” His voice is soft—patient, yet firm. That tone leaves no room for argument, a steady command that seems to seep into your bones. He stands before you, arms crossed, his posture strong but relaxed. His brow furrows, the familiar, focused crease settling deep into his face.

You let out a slow breath, shifting slightly on the couch. The script is loose in your hands, but it feels heavy—heavy with expectation, heavy with the weight of his gaze on you. You’ve read this line a dozen times already, trying to make it right, trying to please him. But it's still not right. Not for him.

Jensen doesn’t speak, but you feel his eyes on you, sharp, intense. His gaze cuts through the silence like a knife, and just when the pressure starts to suffocate you, he moves.

His fingers skim over your wrist, soft, deliberate, like he’s taking control without even trying. The script slips from your hands, landing beside you with a soft thud.

“Not like that, baby. Here—”

His voice is low, barely above a whisper. He crouches in front of you, leaning in so close that his breath brushes the side of your face, sending a shiver down your spine. The heat of his body presses against you, his presence filling the space between you both. You instinctively shift, thighs pressing together.

He doesn’t look at you like he’s just guiding you; it feels deeper than that. His hand hovers above yours for a moment before settling there, his fingers curling around yours with a deliberate slowness. There’s strength in his touch, but also a quiet command—he’s guiding, but he’s controlling. Every inch of his touch molds you, like he’s shaping you to fit his vision.

“You know the lines,” he murmurs, voice rough with something you can’t place. “Just give it to me straight. I don’t want you to just read the words, I wanna feel it come from here.” His fingers reach up, pressing into the center of your chest.

You nod, but the nerves that always seem to creep up around him are impossible to mask. The script’s words are in your head, but your throat feels tight, your heart pounding.

He sees it. He always does.

“Relax,” he whispers, his tone gentler now with the ghost of a laugh, coaxing you in a way only he can. The edges of his eyes soften as he picks up on the hesitation. It’s just you, and him, and the work he’s watching flow from your being into reality.

“You can do it,” he assures, his voice a soothing balm against your racing pulse. “I know you can.”

j's note ୨ৎ this is my first jensen fic i want to hide under the covers rn bc this is so horny but i've been bit by the old man jensen bug—kudos to @figthoughts bc i probably would not have been daydreaming about him in this way without u <3

tags ୨ৎ @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @cowboysandcigarettes @littlesoulshine @couturewinx @ultravi0lence14 @snowluvvie @flow33didontsmoke comment to be added / removed !

#jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles age gap #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x fem!reader #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles x you #director!jensen #jensen ackles imagines #jensen ackles smut

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lacroixqueen · 11 months ago

Text

i look in people's windows (18+, noncon) stalker deadpool x office worker reader

Summary: deadpool starts stalking reader after seeing her in a coffee shop. breaks into her apartment and does typical depraved wade shit

Pairing: stalker!deadpool x office worker reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: stalking, trespassing, noncon, dubcon

He didn’t realize he was so fascinated with you initially. At first glance, you looked like any other plain Jane office worker in the city: rushing to the front of the cafe to grab a tray of half-cold coffees before bolting out the door.

Why is she in such a hurry, he mused to himself, watching you scurry down the block, the corner of your white blouse poking out of your gray pencil skirt. Acting like she’s saving the world or about to perform brain surgery or something. Another Marvel Jesus wannabe. What makes her think she’s so important anyway?

He went back to sipping his bitter espresso, returning to his original state of solitude, until he couldn’t shake you out of his head. Fuck it. Something urged him to get out of his seat, leave the coffee store, and follow you out.

He trailed behind you by about a block or so. He took note of your black tights, and how your skirt ended at the mid-level of your thighs. And that stupid click-clack sound of your heels against the cobblestone. So self-righteous.

He eventually followed you into a skyscraper building. He watched you weave through the crowd, past the front desk, and into a back elevator. Wade quickened his pace to be able to catch you just in the nick of time.

He darted into the elevator right before the doors were about to close.

“Floor?” you asked politely, looking up at him with those god awful innocent eyes that made him want to bend you over the nearest desk and fuck you senseless.

“I’m so glad you asked!” he piped, ever so chipper. “I’ll be.. Uh. Floor. 85.”

“Oh, this building only has 60 floors!” you said. “Which department are you going to? Oooh, love the costume by the way. Maybe you’re headed to the photo studio? That’s going to be on 54. You take a left, then a right, and.. it should be straight there!”

And so polite too. God, could she be anymore insufferable, Deadpool thought to himself, tilting his head to the side as if to psychoanalyze your disposition.

“Does.. that sound right?” you asked, a bit nervous now that the stranger dressed in all black and red sharing the enclosed space with you was no longer speaking.

“Yes,” he replied, a little bit too quickly for comfort.

You pushed the corresponding button without another word, and then retreated back to your corner of the elevator. A few seconds of silence passed when your phone suddenly started beeping out of control.

“Hello?” you asked nervously. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m coming right away. Yes? Uh huh. Mhm. Okay. Got it. Thank you. Bye.” You ended the call with a subtle click and slipped the phone back into your pocket.

So she’s eager to please. A perfectionist. Interesting, he thought, jotting down a mental note.

The elevator reached an upcoming floor with a crisp ‘ding’, followed by the doors gliding open.

“Have a great day!” you called over your shoulder as you stepped out, about to walk expeditiously to your cubicle, balancing the tray of coffees in your shaky grip. “Oh, and you should take one of these, they are still hot!”

You handed him one of the skinny vanilla lattes in the tray before the elevator doors closed between you.

Wade took it without a thought. And he didn’t hesitate to follow you, of course. Ducking behind office plants and hallway walls just to see where you were going without drawing too much attention. He was quick enough to catch a glimpse of your full name on your cubicle placard.

Bullseye, he thought mischievously to himself, before slinking away into the nearest stairwell.

He somehow directed himself to the records department in the basement, carefully rifling through the employee directory to match your name with any corresponding information.

“Y/N..” he muttered to himself, leafing through the enormous book in the back of the storage room. “Goddamnit. Where the hell are you.. Aha! Full government name, phone number, and mailing address. Who even needs those shady paywalled identity finder websites anyways.”

Later that evening, he made it a point to break into your apartment before you came home. He was methodical, ensuring to cover all his steps, so that no trace was left behind. The lock to your doorknob was easy enough to pick. It look several bent-out-of-shape paper clips of course, and a lot of perseverance, but he somehow cracked the code.

He liked the way you decorated your space. Those cute little succulents in clay pots with smiley faces on them. Colorful candles and warm-toned tarps. Trinkets and crystals adorning cherry wooden shelves. Overgrown plants strewn across the floor. And books. Heaps of them.

“Well I’ll be,” he huffed to himself, standing in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. “I never took you to be an interior designer. Chip and Joanna would have a run for their money if they ever got a load of this..”

He played with the string of beads you hung from the ceiling, until the wooden dresser you had pushed into the corner caught his attention.

“Ohohohoho, now what do we have here..” he chuckled, prancing around your furniture to open up the first drawer. He was immediately greeted by your collection of underwear, folded neatly and sorted in a way he pictured an office worker would. He flickered his fingertips over the tops of them, as if he was a kid in a candy store picking out his favorite treat.

“So organized and efficient!” he commented, rifling through the perfectly placed rows and columns with curiosity. “It’s like the love child of OCD and a very high grade personality disorder.. color me impressed.”

“Eenie, meenie, minie, you!” he exclaimed with glee, eyeing a pair of stretchy, black tights and lifting it out as if he was plucking a rose from a vine.

Just like the ones she wore this morning, he mused.

His fingers glided across the fabric, gently rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He stretched it out as much as he could, pulling it, teasing it, pretending as if it was on you.

He decided to get comfortable on your couch, playing with your tights in between his gloved fingertips.

“Well, out of all the things I’ve done to be put on a government watchlist, this one definitely takes the cake,” he murmured to himself as he lazily lifted up his mask, licking the stretched out nylon with his greedy tongue. He sucked on it desperately, as if he could somehow taste you on the fabric, his saliva dripping down the side of his chin.

His fingers twirled around the black bows on the sides, pulling so hard one of them came undone. Without wasting another moment, he unbuckled his belt and slightly zipped down his fly, releasing his already hardened cock. Slipping the dainty cloth over it, he began to indulge himself in a way that he never predicted he would this morning.

He tilted his head back into the soft cushion of the sofa, stroking himself with your elastic tights between his fingertips, imagining you were bouncing on top of him with them on.

“Fuck, Y/N..” he breathed, gritting his teeth as he continued to pleasure himself. “Why did you have to wear something so slutty at 7 in the morning? I mean what kind of a sociopath does such a thing? You’d think people would have common courtesy these days, but I guess not.”

He groaned softly as he came into your tights, his cum infiltrating through the thin fabric, leaving them absolutely soaked. Breathing heavily, he got up to toss the tainted pantyhose into the trash.

Finding a scrap piece of paper and pen, he decided to leave you a little note of gratitude on your kitchen table before he left your apartment, scribbling a messy sketch of his mask making a blushing face and a lop-sided heart:

“Thanks for the coffee!”

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ozarkthedog · 11 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed.

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too.

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose.

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings.

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home.

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying.

The shell of a man he used to be.

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long.

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands.

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart.

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead.

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #shortieswritingchallenge

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cherspastries · 15 days ago

Text

MAY THE FLOWERS REMIND US

WHY THE RAIN IS NECESSARY.

LEARNING TO SHUT UP!

Guitarist!George Russell x Manager!Reader

BAND x Manager!Reader (Platonic)

SUMMARY ☆ George finds himself falling for you, his band's new manager! Unfortunately, he and his big mouth royally screws up.

WARNINGS ☆ George is kind of an asshole, hurt w/ comfort, slow burn?

WORD COUNT ☆ 7.9K

A/N ☆ This writing is pure fiction and does not reflect on the true actions, beliefs, or behaviors of the drivers! Some personalities are exaggerated for the sake of the plot. P.S. Experience may be amplified by listening to music! For George, I suggest songs from The Killers, The Smiths, and Oasis. Also, feel free to go vote for whose chapter I release next!

Reblogs, comments, and all support is super appreciated!

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | FAST LANE

“So, uh, what kind of experience do you have?” You’re seated at a plastic, folded table. Across from you are three men, all of varying descriptions. The one in the middle has a curly mop of hair, and he seems to be a little sheepish, like he has no idea what he’s doing here. A stack of note cards in his hand, and a pencil lies lopsided beside him. He’s been scribbling things down after every question as if it were a proper interview.

The other two are on each side of him, occasionally glancing at each other. Their gaze tells you they might have lunged at one another if the man in the middle weren’t present. “None,” you reply casually, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable. The taller fellow reacts visibly, his eyes wide and his hands over his heart– he looked to be quite the drama queen.

“None?!” He repeats incredulously. Your lips are drawn straight to reflect your unimpression of his reaction.

“That is what I said, yes.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the young gentleman in the middle beats him to it, “And… Why are you interested in…”

“Administering.” The one who had been entirely silent so far finally spoke, assisting your interviewer in pronouncing one of the words on the card.

“Really? You couldn’t have just said managing?”

“Hey, this is supposed to be professional,” The diva refutes.

“I’m reading off of note cards-”

“I’m interested because I’ve always been a fan of rock music, and I think I have the organization skills to keep things well-managed,” You replied, just as you rehearsed many times before. It was a complete lie; you were pulling things out of your ass, but they didn’t need to know that. They just needed to know you were capable. This was your last hope.

He shuffles to the next note card, his eyes scanning the text. He squints and brings it closer to his eyes. Suddenly, he slams the thick stack down on the table, scattering everything. You flinch and sit up straight– The other two eye him suspiciously. “Great! You’re hired!”

“Wait, you didn’t even finish-” The Brit is, once more, cut off.

“You’re a perfect fit. I don’t need to hear more. When can you start?”

“Excuse me, I’m the one in charge of this band. I am the lead-”

“I can start today if you want.”

He stands up, holding his hand out with a huge grin. Your eyes shift from his face to his hand, and with reluctance, you stand to shake his hand, smiling. “Welcome to FAST LANE, Y/N!”

You’re flipping through papers on a clipboard while you walk into the recording studio. It’s primarily full of tour dates and notes from record labels– the basics. “Alright, boys, today we need to–”

“Your shoes are a disgrace!” George shouts towards Max. The latter looks down at his feet, confusion written across his face. “You’re totally sabotaging the whole vibe of the band.” He says it so adamantly, like it’s an undeniable fact. You sigh, leaning against the coffee counter. Oscar shuffles beside you, looking unsettled.

“I wear these every day,” Max counters, crossing his arms over his chest. You can practically see the steam coming from George’s ears by now.

“How long has this been going on for?” You whisper to Oscar. He perks up, nearly dropping his cup of coffee as if he wasn’t expecting you to interact with him. You can’t help but smile at this.

“Uh, just…” He pulled his sweatshirt sleeve up to peek at his watch. Oscar swallows thickly, looking shamefaced. “An hour…”

“An hour?” You repeat slightly louder. When Oscar nods, you sigh loudly and slam your clipboard on the counter. George and Max jump and turn to you, faces frozen in anger and shock. “Alright! Both of you, break it up.” You step up onto the stage. “George, quit tormenting him. Max-” You look down at his shoes and you lose your words all of a sudden. “Max, we’ll… Buy you new shoes for the next show-”

“See, they’re awful-”

“Shut it!” You snap, and George listens. Mostly because he’s just utterly taken aback by your sudden burst of confidence. “You two are always fighting like children, and I’m sick of hearing it. Especially from you,” You point an accusatory finger at George. He throws his hands up to look innocent, making you suspiciously squint your eyes. “Quit being so dramatic! You’ll live.”

When you stormed off to grab your things from the counter, you could just barely hear George whispering to Alex, the band’s technician, “Who do they think they are bossing me around?”

“Who do you think you are bossing around the manager you hired?” You fired back casually. You didn’t even turn to face him; you grabbed your clipboard and flipped back to your itinerary for the day. George clenched his jaw, but kept his silence. Good news for you: You’ve gone up the charts in their mental rankings! It’s rare for someone to get their frontman to shut up. “Anyway,” you try to brush past the serious vibe. This was supposed to be fun. “Today, you all need to run through your set list again, this time with Alex.” You gave a nod of acknowledgement to your technician. “Max, I need you to turn your amp up a bit more, and Oscar, I’d like yours to go down. We don’t want you overpowering the lead guitar.”

“Okay,” The younger member nodded, seeming slightly disappointed with this revelation. We can’t all be in the limelight.

“Lando, try to remember to keep your solos within the time given to you…” You scan the rest of the page and nod. “That should be it.”

“Nothing for me?” George asks, his arms crossed. Everyone else has already scampered off to set up the equipment, but he seems more occupied with targeting you. You look up towards the tall Brit, and then back to the page.

“Guess not,” You shrug.

“So… I’m perfect then? I must be if you have absolutely nothing to say. Are you trying to sabotage me?” Holy air ball.

“Mate, I didn’t get anything either,” Charles pointed out as he set up the stand for his keyboard. Max chuckled under his breath, something that went unnoticed by the band’s leader, but not by you. If you were being honest, you usually sided with him anyway.

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean you’re perfect, just means there’s nothing too obvious to point out.”

“Thank God,” Lando chimes in as he raises the seat for his kit. “George, no offense, man, but it was annoying when you’d point out every. little. detail.” He groans to emphasize the point further. “Like… That one time! We didn’t all need to know Oscar was a millisecond from his entrance. Not that you can hear the guy, anyway, because you’re always drowning him out.”

Ouch?

“So you guys are just fine with making mistakes?!” Everyone stares at him silently, making discreet eye contact like they were challenging each other to step up and say what was on everyone’s mind.

“Yes,” you answered for them. “Now get to work.”

“Wait-”

“Get to work.” You had the expression of a mother dealing with a back-talking child. It quieted him down real fast, at least.

Oftentimes, the boys thought they were being slick. They’d hang out in the studio under the guise of personal rehearsals— they’d even tell you that it wasn’t necessary you attend because it was just tweaking song lyrics and chords. In reality, they’d sit around a large table with drinks in hand and discuss things that weren’t music-related. Some include their romantic lives, celebrity gossip (from the lips of George and George only), and commentary on sports.

They operated quietly, keeping these secret meetups on the ‘DL’. They had to swear never to tell you because you’d be a raging—uh, let’s go with ‘lunatic’— if you found out. They planned everything out to go behind your back, and even if they felt guilty—

Yeah, anyway, you knew about it.

You discovered it when you pulled up to the studio to grab the laptop you left behind. You could practically hear their loud banter from a mile away. After listening for a few minutes, you decided it wasn’t anything you wanted to be a part of, so you left them to it. It’s not like they needed the extra rehearsal. Your schedule was doing them just fine. What you didn’t understand is why they didn’t just hang out at each other’s houses. It’s not like you’d want to be invited anyway. Their conversations were less than pleasant, especially with George and Max in the same room.

Today was one of those days, though. They told you ever-so inconspicuously that they would be having another private rehearsal session and that you weren’t required to come. And you, ever-so innocently, pretended like you were clueless and gave them the thumbs up to continue. Let them have their fun… Sure.

But you actually needed to do business at the studio today. Plus, they said you weren’t required to come. That didn’t mean you weren’t allowed. With your laptop and clipboard tucked under your arm, you entered with the intent of heading straight to your office. They didn’t even need to know you were there, and you didn’t need to say hello or anything. You just wanted to make a beeline for your own private room.

But when you passed by the door to the studio, which was just slightly cracked open, you heard your name drift out in casual conversation. So, even though you weren’t there to snoop… You did. You paused, ear pressed to the surface of the door.

“Y/N’s to blame for that.” Charles. You’d recognize that accent anywhere.

“For what? The show going smoothly?” George. The… More annoying accent. His voice made you clench your teeth with indescribable anger.

“Yeah. They work efficiently. It’s impressive.”

Your pride is glowing at the compliment. Maybe being a band manager for a bunch of dysfunctional adult men wasn’t the dream job, but you really had adjusted well. Plus, they were all unique and interesting in their own right. Getting to know them all proved to be a fun side gig.

But you were quickly shot through the heart mercilessly. “Please. It’s not that hard of a job. I used to do it just fine.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Lando interjects with a laugh from Max. “Let’s not get things twisted here. Y/N’s a way better manager than you ever were.”

“Someone’s just feeling petty.” Max cracked open another can of some carbonated drink and added, “Did they hurt your feelings?” in a degrading tone. Thanks Max.

“No, I’m just annoyed at being micromanaged.”

“You’re annoyed at being micromanaged by someone else,” Oscar points out kindly. Even in tense situations like this, he remains so polite. It often surprised you how messy and disorganized the sweet kid was. “You micromanage us all the time.”

“They’re not even that great, guys. You’re just blinded by a pretty girl joining our group.”

Oh that pissed you off. You took a deep breath and turned on your heel, choosing to leave after that. If you heard much more, you might have barged in there to give him a piece of your mind. It didn’t matter if you had work to do. It could wait. For now, you have a renewed sense of revenge.

You were gonna prove that idiot of a frontman wrong and be the best damn manager around.

You proved to be an invaluable member of the group. Just in the last week, you managed to book more gigs for them and smooth out more issues within the band than George could ever dream of. Sure, he laughed in your face about your tactics, but in the quiet of his lonely home, he’d have to admit you were doing pretty well. Everything you suggested always sounded absurd, and he rarely took you seriously, but ultimately, you showed him up.

For example, your therapy session idea. It had been a rough week for every member of the band, so you offered your personal consolation through short one-on-one sessions. It wasn’t anything particularly grand, but in George’s mind, it most certainly was ridiculous. You’d first find him dead before you saw him sitting in a room, pretending to be your client while you pretended to be his therapist.

And yet here we are.

“Tell me, George,” You click your pen and push your glasses up your nose. Whether they’re fake or not, they amplified the therapist's look. “What makes you so bitter towards your bandmate, Max?” You peer at him over the lenses, and he scoffs. You take note of this when you scribble something down on a paper attached to your signature clipboard.

In reality, you were just making silly doodles. None of this was actually necessary; it was only meant to be a way for the group to simmer down.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” You meet him with that typical Cheshire grin of yours. He sighs and sinks back into the cushiony chair, his hands gripping the edges of the armrests.

“He’s just annoying.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well… He’s always purposely pushing my buttons, and he acts like I’m the only one picking fights with him, but he’s always trying to rile me up, too.” You hum as you continue doodling on your page.

“Interesting. Go on.”

“The rest of the band just agrees with him, too! It’s like, come on guys, I can’t always be in the wrong-”

“I beg to differ. Proceed.”

He shot you a glare, but this time it felt different. When he saw your playful grin, his spite faded into something else; something new—something soft. It was hard to notice, but you did. How could you not when he was looking at you like you were holding the universe in your hands?

It was a weird feeling. You didn’t like it.

You were thankful when he broke the awkward silence, standing up and stretching out his lanky arms and legs. “That’s it,” He said firmly, shaking his head. “Great session. I’ll send in…”

“Lando,” You finished for him, and he gave a curt nod. As he left, you were abandoned with only one remaining thought. You spoke it aloud to yourself. It was a faint whisper beneath your breath, like a secret shared amongst close colleagues. “What the hell was that?”

☆!

While George behaved in his typical party pooper manner, the rest of the group seemed to love your therapy session idea. Now, they didn’t exactly take it seriously, but it was a way to bond with your bandmates nonetheless. It was finally time for everyone to start acknowledging that you were just as important as the rest of them, and that your lack of musical capabilities wouldn’t be the thing to change that.

“Alright, Lan,” You greeted the drummer by gesturing to the seat in front of you. Instead of the sofa chair, he opted for your personal rolling office chair. He sat in it backwards, twirling his drumsticks around his fingers. It was somewhat of a nervous tic. The gestures made you smile, nonetheless. “What do you have repressed in there?”

“Ugh, you’re not gonna believe it.” He put forward a faux, overly dramatic tone as he leaned back, nearly tilting the chair over entirely. “Every night I wake up in a cold sweat after having the same nightmare over and over again… It’s chilling, it’s terrifying, it’s-”

“Out with it.”

“Remember when we were playing at a wedding and I fell right into the cake?” He’s smiling, and it’s only slightly shameful.

“How could I forget?”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my trauma! That moment is deeply rooted in my soul, I can’t ever escape…” He sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Sure you can’t. I’m diagnosing you with a case of embarrassment.”

He peeks through the slits of his fingers and then drops his palms, wiping them on his jeans. “Alright, then I’m diagnosing you with a serious case of chronic sarcasm.” You roll your eyes, but before you can refute, you notice he’s giving you a look. That look.

“What?”

“Are you coming on tour with us?” He asks, his tone suddenly serious. He almost looks like a lost puppy. You hum and shrug. This was meant to be a short, summer job, just until you found a new way to support yourself. But… You were starting to really love it. “Seriously, you make things a lot better. I mean… I don’t think I’ve heard Oscar talk as much as he does now since— well… ever!”

“I’ll think about it, Lan.”

“Okay… But seriously, think about sticking around!” He waves to you on his way out. You smile when he’s gone, somewhat proud of his complimentary praise. You’re in an admittedly good mood for the rest of your mini sessions.

“Charles!” You’re sitting in your office when you hear George shout from the studio. You peek at the clock, one eyebrow quirked with your findings.

“George, it’s 12 in the morning- Why are you still here?” You poke your head out, calling back to him. You don’t get a response for a minute. You wonder if he’s asking the same question, but you have an answer. You had just finished meeting with some agency groups, but they lived halfway across the world, so the timing was bound to be screwy no matter when you scheduled it. You opted to be the one to stay up late, even if your selfish internal voice suggested otherwise.

“Charles!” He calls again as if he’s completely ignoring you— You don’t doubt that he is.

“Charles isn’t here. It’s 12 in the morning,” You reiterate, which draws out a deep sigh from the guitarist. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no. Just tell me. I can relay it to him tomorrow morning.” You and Charles are always the first to the studio for the day. It used to be that mornings were filled with awkward silence and the occasional attempt at small talk, but now it’s actually fairly lively. “Maybe I can help anyway.”

“As if,” He scoffs. You take that as an invitation to enter the studio. He’s sitting at the center table with a notebook and pen, staring at the blank page as if it personally offended him. Knowing George, it probably did. “I’m just trying to write some lyrics, but I can’t get the flow right.”

“Oh, and you think I couldn’t help with that?” His gaze slowly travels up to you with a deadpan expression. You chew at your cheek thoughtfully, brows knitted together. “Yeah, don’t answer that.” You’d hate to be wrong. “Can I see your ideas?”

You seat yourself beside him. You’re close enough that you can sense his arm hairs standing on edge like he’s suddenly become hyper aware of your presence. George hands you the notebook, and you flip back a few pages to see his scratched-out ideas. You can barely make out the words under layers of scribbled ink.

He abruptly stands up and walks to the mini fridge, digging around until he comes back with two cans. You accept when he offers you one, and mindlessly crack it open without even glancing at the label. You’re too focused on the lyrics you’re reading. You take note of where he sits. Close, but further away than he was before.

“These don’t make any sense,” You state firmly, tilting your head as if looking at it from a different angle will help.

“It’s rock music,” George states. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“What? That’s awful. All songs should have meaning.”

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it doesn’t have meaning.” You take a sip of your drink and nearly choke on the bitter taste. He grins at your reaction. “I thought you said in your interview that you liked rock music?”

You freeze, hand on your chest like you were just hitting it with your fist to help the choking subside. Damn. Almost forgot about that. “Uh, well… You know. I usually only listen to rock with lyrics that are… Coherent. You know?”

“Uh-huh. So you don’t like any of the greats. Pearl Jam? Nirvana? Pink Floyd?”

“I never said I didn’t like them. Hey- What the actual hell is this anyway?” You gesture to the drink, and George laughs. It’s casual. He’s leaning against the back of the sofa, sitting sideways with one leg tucked under himself to face you. From what you can tell, he was already a bit tipsy when you walked in. Nothing beats getting drunk when you’re alone at 12 am. Hey, at least he has a drinking buddy now.

“I don’t know, I think it’s Max’s.”

“What!? George,” You groan. “He’s gonna be pissed when he sees I’ve taken one of his drinks.”

“At least it wasn’t his RedBull. Then you’d really be screwed.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You pick the notebook back up and flip a few more pages back. George is eyeing you cautiously— Almost nervously.

You hum one of the band’s latest tunes under your breath as you skim over the words. No matter how much you read from the journal, your mind keeps returning to one draft in particular. It’s a romantic song— Or, it’s written to be one, but it’s missing something.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice somewhat slurred. You turn to him, and then back to the page.

“It just lacks… Feeling. You’ve got all the lyrics, but it doesn’t seem genuine.” Despite your display of distaste for the drink, you chug a few large gulps of whatever alcohol George offered you. The taste settles in your stomach like a pit of negativity. You bite your lip to refrain from hurling. But it would be a waste just to toss it.

“I can see that,” He nods in agreement. This isn’t something you’ve encountered often. George is typically scolding you nonstop, or he’s shooting snarky comments your way. Constructive criticism usually ends in him insisting he’s flawless and can do no wrong.

You like drunk George. He’s a lot sweeter. It softens your heart.

“I should probably leave the romance to Charles. He’s a lot more…”

“Whimsical?”

“Yeah. Whimsical.” He smiles. George likes you finishing his thoughts. Which is weird, because he’s never thought that before.

He’s thinking a lot of new things right now, like how pretty you look in the low light of the recording studio, and how soft your voice is when you’re not competing with five other people to be the loudest one in the room, and how lovely your eyes are when they’re not shooting dagger-filled glares his way. Are those hearts in his eyes, or is it just the light reflecting off his irises? Either way, he’s entranced by you all of a sudden.

“Did you know that Lando sometimes reads fanfiction of himself?” He blurts it out like he didn’t mean to say it. George covers his mouth right after, hiccuping to top it all off. You’re frozen in shock, but it melts away into warm laughter that has him easing up.

“I can see that, actually.”

“I don’t think he’d like me telling you that,” George admitted.

“It’s alright, I can keep a secret.”

“Good,” He looked stressed, and then… “Also, Charles is afraid of the dark. Fuck, sorry-”

“Do you not know how to keep your mouth shut or something?” You tilt your head, laughing again. “Maybe you should cool it on the spilling of secrets.”

“It’s just really hard keeping it all to myself! I feel like everyone needs to know.”

“Well, for future reference, they don’t. I think they can all be glad I’m the only one you’ve told.” He goes completely silent, and you raise a brow. “I’m the only one you told, right?” His silence tells you all you need to know. “George!”

“I can’t help it,” He cries out. “When I get drunk, I tend to share more than I should.”

“Is this why you and Max are always fighting?”

He whistles and looks away. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“George Russell.” Unfortunately, you didn’t know his middle name. You’d have to ask around for future purposes.

“Alright, yes! I may have shared one too many of his secrets.”

“I’d hate you too,” You joke. He should have taken it like an insult with that typical George Russell reaction: hand on the heart and a look of total offense, but instead, he laughed. He laughed, and it sounded like all of your worries floating out the window. It was a sound that encouraged you to make him laugh more, which wasn’t a goal you often set out for.

“I can balance out the damage,” He insists, and you wait patiently for a further explanation. You’ve finally finished your rather volatile drink and tossed it into the nearby trash can— Clink! It hits the rim and falls out, landing unceremoniously on the ground. You’re too lazy to stand, so you just groan in distressed defeat. Oh, the agony! “Wanna hear another secret?”

“No way,” You tilt your head to look at him. He appreciates your soft, sleepy eyes that gaze upon him so sweetly. “Haven’t you shared enough?”

“It’s my own this time.”

You consider it, and then shrug. “Up to you.”

“I’m terrified of goats.” It takes him only half a beat to answer, and the response has you grinning like crazy. “Don’t laugh, this is a moment of vulnerability.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why?” You chew at your bottom lip, tongue pressed to your cheek— anything to hold back your giggles.

“They have square pupils.” You blink, moving your hand in a circular gesture to suggest that he continue. “Is that not reason enough?!”

“Relax! No goats then…” You sigh, shaking your head. “Great, there goes all my plans for future shows!”

“Don’t even joke about that. I’d seriously run off stage.” You both laugh, and the room falls into silence again. But it’s not awkward or tense; it’s like the silence between lifelong friends; you’ve already shared so much, and it’s hard to think of more. But he does. “I have one more.”

“I’m surprised you’re able to keep your own secrets.”

He takes a large swig of his drink and winces right afterwards. George can already tell this night is gonna be a major headache in the morning. But for you, it’s worth it. “This might ruin me.”

“Share with the class— Don’t be shy,” You playfully elbow him.

“Alright…” He sighs, taking another sip to work up the courage. “A year ago, I tried to launch my own candle line and it failed miserably.” He stares at you expectantly.

You blink.

“Sorry?”

“Candles. Artisan bullshit with ridiculous undertones and fancy packaging.” You lock eyes, and he groans. “All based around me.”

“You did not. I don’t believe it,” But you’re smiling and laughing like you do.

“Dead serious, Y/N. It was awful— I’m not surprised it didn’t get anywhere. I had everything planned out. The colors, the labels, the names-”

“Name one.” You say it like a challenge.

“…” His silence speaks loudly. “Guitar strings and sweat.”

“You’re fucking lying.”

“I wish I were.”

“You tried to sell a candle that smelled like rusted steel and body odor?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder it flopped.” You snorted, covering your mouth just as the sound left you. George felt proud in the moment, just because he liked seeing your genuine, raw laughter. “You smell like fancy shampoo and flowers. Why not go for that?”

“That would totally ruin my punk rock persona.” George leaned in just slightly. You could smell the alcohol on your breath, and the tiny sliver of you that was sober knew you probably weren’t any better off. “What about you, Y/N? Got any secrets to share?”

You hum. If you were sober, you’d say no, but you’re not, so instead you say, “I only applied for this job because I was trying to prove my family wrong.” You sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “They own a huge business and want me to manage it someday, but I don’t. They all kept insisting it was my last hope, so… I proved them wrong by finding my own job.” There it was—your moment of weakness.

Before he can even reply, you stand up straight and dust yourself off. “I should probably head home— You should too. It’s late, and there’s early practice tomorrow.” Early meant 10 AM, but you liked to get your beauty sleep!

“I can walk you to your apartment,” He declares as he stands up. You want to say no, but it’s pitch black outside, and having George there offers a sense of comfort, so you allow him to display his chivalric side. The walk home is quiet— not a word is exchanged. He’s just letting your previous confession sink in.

The night officially ends with a wave as you enter through the front door. He lingers for just a bit longer, wanting to ensure your safety until the elevator. Once you disappear past sliding doors, George heads out for the night.

Slowly but surely, those late nights start to turn into a normal thing. It was typically once a week, and now it seemed like every night that George lingered around just a bit longer. You assumed that at first he was just there to work on songs, but slowly he started to migrate into your office, and that feeling faded into an assumption to keep you company. Make sure you had someone to rant to about the difficulties of beginner graphic designing and the struggles of trying to find other artists willing to collaborate with a team that could barely collaborate with each other. However, improvement had undoubtedly been made. It had been a long time since the last serious fight.

Tonight was different. You didn’t have to stay, but you did, for your own sake. You were getting seriously involved with this band, and considering they had a worldwide tour coming up, you needed to extend your knowledge of rock music. You spent hours watching performances from various bands. Your research offered artists from grunge bands like Hole to classic pop-rock, like The Beach Boys. You felt the tragedy of Dexter Holland singing about his near-death experience, but you also experienced the joy of freedom and expression behind Freddie Mercury’s Don’t Stop Me Now.

It took George longer to make his appearance that night. He slithered into your office in a discreet fashion, eyeing you carefully. You hadn’t seemed to notice him— Your eyes were focused on the bright screen that illuminated your face in the pitch black of your office. His attention fell to the contents of your media consumption, and he paused. Your efforts have led you to an interesting place.

You were watching him. It was one of FAST LANE’s original performances, back when they were just a local band trying to get by. They all looked young and dumb, but happy. Free from the merciless jaws of fame and fortune. Your eyes sparkled with wonder. You sat at the edge of your chair as if the sight was a suspenseful horror movie rather than a crappy performance recorded on an old digicam to preserve the nostalgia.

“What are you doing-”

“HOLY SHIT-” You actually jumped out of your chair, scrambling to cover your monitor. You looked like you had been caught watching sketchier subject matter. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could barely hear the soft rhythms coming from the speakers in your room. George stood there, his face barely lit by your device. “Jesus fuck, George… You scared the shit out of me.”

You slowly fell back into your chair, pausing the video to take a deep breath. He laughed, seating himself at the cushioned chair in the corner of your office. He played with the frayed seams of the arms. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m watching an old performance. Thought I should brush up on my knowledge,” You were somewhat embarrassed to admit it. Weeks ago, you had kept telling yourself this was only a temporary job, and now you were preparing to go on tour with five idiots that had completely won you over. You were invested. There was no getting you out now. “Look how young you look!”

“I look like a newborn baby.” He sighed, rubbing his smooth chin. “Still do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“It’s what I do best.” He stared at his former self for a moment longer and then laughed. “I think it was only a year or so before this that I made a shitty audition for a boy band.”

…

“You’re joking.”

“If only.”

“I will be scouring the internet for that later.” He shakes his head and laughs, looking down at the object clutched in his hands. You peek at it, and then look back at him. “Why are you still here?”

He gave you a rather pointed look, and you giggled. You knew why he was there, but you wanted him to say it nonetheless. “Working on song lyrics again.” He knew what your next question would be, so he handed you the book before you could even ask it. You flipped to the dog-eared corner, which represented the last page you had read. “Let me know what you think.”

You scan over the words again, nodding your head along. You learned to imagine beats and rhythms as you read his writing. It was a lot easier after spending so much time around music. It eventually started to consume you and your mind. You couldn’t count the number of times your brain was fixated on things like quarter notes and triplets rather than genuinely concerning matters.

“I like it,” You reply genuinely as you flip to the next page. He suddenly reaches forward, tearing the notebook from your hands. You don’t question it, but you do raise a brow.

“Thanks,” He scrambles to flip it shut. You have to wonder what the hell was in there. Maybe you’d get him drunk one day, and he’d just end up spilling it on his own.

The air was tense.

“It’s late,” You state. It’s just an actual fact, but George knows what it means. It means you want to leave, so he lets you.

But first, he asks, “Are you okay with driving home?”

“Yup.”

No personal escort necessary. Not tonight. He leaves shortly after you, scolding himself for always making things awkward.

It was a bright and sunny day out— Perfect for a bike ride, which is just what you were preparing for. You were about to finish tying your shoes when you heard the overfamiliar tune of your ringtone. You reached over to the coffee table, fumbling with the device before straightening it out to read the caller ID.

Mom!

You bit your cheek thoughtfully before deciding to answer. She rarely called anymore— A talk might be nice. Plus, it could be important family news. What if someone was sick or injured, or maybe—

“Y/N, what the hell is this?!” Her voice sounded distressed. You started to worry, but you had to remember that she always was one to get her feathers in a bunch over trivial matters. “Do you understand what you’ve done? I can’t believe you, going around my back like that-”

“What, Mom, slow down!” You stand up, nearly tripping over your untied laces in the process. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?”

“Have you not seen the news articles? Good grief, child, open my messages!” You switch her over to speaker phone, tuning out her fast-paced rambling as you slide to your text messages. Sure enough, she had sent you a link alongside a bunch of cursing emojis. You tap the article, your eyes scanning with haste. “They’ve got it printed out everywhere! What a disgrace this is-” You hang up.

L/N heir abandons her family to work for a bunch of grungy losers.

What a headline. You almost laugh, but the further you read, the angrier you got.

The band’s frontman, George Russell, claims that Y/N confided about her family background once. “It didn’t sound pretty,” said Russell.

That’s all you needed to see. You stormed out to your car, shoes untied and clothes askew. You drove with the anger of a betrayed woman; you were aggressive. All you could focus on was reaching the studio. You didn’t care if you were interrupting their ‘private rehearsals’ because this was far more important.

You grabbed the rolled-up newspaper from the mailbox as proof of your rage on the way in. The bell rang out loud and clear, indicating your entrance into the building. You could hear laughter from within the walls of the studio. It stopped when you barged in, knuckles pale from how hard you were gripping that phony bullshit of news.

“Oh, shit- Y/N,” Lando greeted with a sheepish tone, embarrassed that you had caught them all slacking off.

“Shut it,” You snapped. You felt guilty for yelling at Lando, but you were clearly pissed off. It was his fault for poking the bear! You stomped your way to the table where they were all sitting, each of them gazing at you with surprise, fear, and… Maybe a little amusement. You slammed the newspaper down onto the table, and it made a resounding ‘SMACK’ of a noise. “What the fuck is this, George?!”

“I don’t-”

“Read it, dipshit!�� You take a small step back, crossing your arms over your chest. He winces like a hurt puppy at your scolding and reaches out for the article quickly. His eyes scan over the words, mouth falling agape and eyes widening.

“Y/N, listen, I-”

“Save it.”

Lando snatched the paper from George, and Charles and Oscar both leaned in to skim it over as well. Max is just staring between the two of you, trying to get a full read of the situation.

You lock eyes with your culprit. He looks… Scared, uncertain, and for some reason, that only worsens your anger. Without another word, you storm out of the room. You can hear heavy footsteps as he chases after you, his hand making contact with your wrist just as the door to the studio shuts, giving you guys an ounce of privacy.

“Look, I’m sorry!”

“Do you know why you’re sorry, or are you just saying that because you think it’ll fix all of this?!” You rip your hand from his grip, and he seems to falter. George doesn’t even know what to say. His silence speaks loudly. “God, just when I was starting to like you, too.” You mutter.

He can feel his heart shattering into a million pieces.

“Good luck finding a new manager who’ll put up with your bullshit. It’s not worth it anymore.” That’s the last thing you say before you leave. He doesn’t follow you. He sits there, dumbfounded and confused.

Worst of all, he truly is sorry. He just doesn’t know how to say it.

He wanders back into the studio where everyone else is waiting. When they see that you’re gone and that George’s head is hung low, they know.

Lando’s both the first and last to speak for the day, “Guess we’re back to our old management.”

It was hard to fill the hole in your heart. No more of Charles’ deep, philosophical advice that actually made no sense in reality. No more of Lando’s stupid jokes that had extremely predictable punchlines. No more of Oscar’s sappy song lyrics that he seemed so embarrassed to share. You even missed Max and George bickering.

You tried to find a new place to call home within a different band, but it wasn’t the same. They were all particularly stuck-up and selfish people, blinded by their own fame. FAST LANE was a treat, you just never got the opportunity to realize that. I guess the saying is correct. You don’t know how good you have it until it’s gone.

But it had to happen. You miss George’s fat mouth the least. That was something you could do without, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that. It was time to forget about how melodious his laughter was, how sweet his smiles were, and how genuine the lyrics he poured his heart into seemed to be.

The band was preparing to go back on stage for their encore. The crowds were loud, screaming their name like it was life or death. The lead guitarist bumped into you, scoffing afterwards. “God, can you just… Not be in the way?” The group seemed to laugh, making eye contact subtly. It was a big inside joke, and you were the punchline of it all.

“Yeah, okay,” You mutter between clenched teeth as you remove your headset. One month of this bullshit? Yeah, you were done. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

You start to grab your things. The bassist, who’s sipping from her water with that stupid smug grin, calls out in a degrading tone, “Where are you going? Off to cry? Did we hurt your feelings?”

“Nope,” You reply casually. You even send them a grin as you walk towards the door. “I quit.”

You felt relief as you left the performance hall, exiting out into the warm summer day. No more musty rooms that smelled like awful body odor and unwashed clothes. No more loud, annoying music that lacked proper rhythm. No more bands. Period. It was time to move on.

“Y/N.”

God damnit.

“George,” You mutter with certainty. His voice makes you stop, slowly turning to face him. He looks the exact same physically, but you can see in his face that he’s been through it. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is messy, his clothes don’t really match, and there are bags under his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a guy enjoy a performance?” You blink, and he deflates a noticeable amount. “Alright. I just wanted to… Check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You grumble. “I mean, seriously, I don’t want you to.”

“I’m sorry,” he calls out before you can leave. “And I finally know why.” This catches your attention, so… You stay where you are, your back turned to him. Maybe it’s not apparent, but this was your way of giving him the time of day. He’d take what he could get. “Because you trusted me, and even if I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, it clearly was. It wasn’t the fact that your secret got leaked that upset you, but the fact I was the one to do it.”

“You really hurt me, George.” You state firmly, your fist clenching around the strap of your bag.

“I know.” As always, the silence seems to settle uncomfortably. It invites itself into spaces it’s unwanted. It speaks louder than words. Always. But this time, George doesn’t let it. “I actually got accepted into that boy band, but Max told me it was a bad idea, so I quit before it even started.”

“What?”

“And I have a secret playlist full of sad modern pop songs that I cry to, even if I have nothing to cry about.” You turn around to face him, tilting your head. Has he gone crazy? Is the lack of sleep getting to him? “I pretended that the makeup tutorial I made a year ago was just for jokes, but in reality, I practiced that winged eyeliner for weeks.”

“George-”

“My notebook is full of secret love songs about you.” Oh. “Because I’m… Well,” He’s gone fidgety, which isn’t common for him. He’s always so full of confidence and maturity, but when he’s around you, he feels like he can be vulnerable. Even when you’re angry… Rightfully so. “I’m in love with you.”

You don’t have anything to say. Your gut is a mix of emotions right now. Anger, hatred, confusion, uncertainty— There’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that makes you feel light, too. But you keep trying to push that one away.

“I’m not just saying that because I miss you, either. I’m saying it because I told everyone your secrets, so now, if you want to, you can tell everyone mine.” You have to avert your gaze because he’s looking at you with those big eyes of his, and it makes you feel incredibly nervous. “It’s not the same without you. We’re fighting nonstop. They all blame me, and I understand why.”

“Because you’re an idiot,” You finish. He smiles. It’s weak, but it’s genuine.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he repeats.

You slowly walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything— just watches. Waits. For anything. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” You mutter right before taking hold of the collar of his shirt and pulling him in. Your lips are pressed to his, and weeks of unrequited, ignored feelings are flowing out into one passionate kiss.

It takes him a moment to find his balance. He feels utterly elated at the sensation of your soft, plump lips and the way your warm, delicate hands hold his face. But finally, after what felt like years of poking and pushing and yearning, George kisses you. His hands settle on your waist, but when you pull away, he realizes he’s not ready and wraps his arms around your torso to keep you there a bit longer.

It’s not perfect, but that’s why it’s so lovely. Nothing should ever be perfect. That’s why you’ve chosen to forgive the idiot.

The vibes are down when you both walk into the studio. He tugs his hand away from yours, and you don’t argue. Maybe it’s best to hold off on telling them— Except for the fact he announces it as soon as you walk in.

“I got the girl!” He cheers as he barges in. They all flinch, and their eyes immediately look towards you.

“Y/N!” Lando shouts. He jumps up to pull you into a hug, squeezing you so tight that your back pops quite loudly. You wince when he lets go to grab your shoulders. “You’re back!”

“Alright, relax,” George ushers him away, guiding you to sit down.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be on tour?” You finally ask, settling in beside your re-established companions.

“We learned we can’t operate without our manager,” Charles admits, making you grin with pride.

“Good to know.”

“George, isn’t it kinda unprofessional for the two of you to date?” Max asks, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

George pauses. He looks at you, then at Max. “I don’t know, we'd better ask our manager.”

They all turn to you, and you laugh.

“Your manager says it’s fine.”

BONUS!!

You’ve all brought out endless drinks to celebrate your return, as well as your laptop to hash out revised tour dates, and a planned apology to the public. George has his arm around your waist and his head on your shoulder, watching you type away through sleepy eyes.

Everyone is winding down. Hardcore rock has faded into soft music as you all settle on the sofa, squished together like sardines. Without even thinking, you blurt out…

“Did you guys know George cries to pop music?”

“Hey!”

It's good to be home!

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