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poeticpascal · 10 months

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White Lies (Joel Miller x Reader)

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Summary: Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: violence, Joel kills 3 dudes (what murdaaah?), descriptions of blood and wounds, stitches, Joel feels guilt and shame but is also very soppy and very in love, fuff and angst all tangled up, descriptions of chronic pain

A/n: I have had a bloody nightmare the last few weeks with suspected endometriosis, which is what inspired me to write this. In my head, reader has endo and the medicine is some sort of contraception or strong painkillers to help her manage it. But it isn't explicitly mentioned so you can imagine whatever you most relate to. Please do let me know what you think, and as always, requests are open!

It’s a harsh winter, even by Boston’s standards.

The QZ is coated in a veil of thick snow, the blizzard that took hold weeks ago now bruising the streets with an icy fist.

Joel pulls his coat tighter around himself, grateful at least for the cover the snowstorm offered, the skies foggy and grey. He can slip through the alleyways much quicker, much quieter beneath the frost. His footsteps are erased almost as soon as he leaves them, and when things get messy, he can soothe his wounds in the freeze.

Which is good, because things get messy a lot.

Not that he’d tell you that. You were too pure, too gentle; not unlike the snow that paints your doorframe now.

No, Joel keeps those things from you. The world has been unkind enough, and if he has one purpose now, it’s to protect that sweetness of yours. To collect it, each golden ray of sunshine that so easily radiates from you, to give it back and let you bask in the warmth of your own soul.

No one deserves it more than you do. Least not him, and yet you’d given him more love, more sweetness, than he could ever dream of.

That’s why he told you he was working a late shift today - sewage, he thinks he said - rather than where he actually is at 3am, catching his death in an old littered alleyway.

He occasionally shifts to avoid the silver moonlight dripping from the gaps in the fire-escape stairs above him. Tonight’s meeting should be a simple one, free from FEDRA’s strict patrols; he’d done this long enough now to know when, and where, was safest for these things.

He stays on high alert, though. Just in case.

Marco’s late. He isn’t known for being the most competent of dealers, but Joel was getting desperate now, and he was the only crook in the QZ who could get what he needed. He was a small man, a bit pathetic looking, really. But he was smart, and he had connections that even Joel couldn’t make for all his smuggling and dealing.

So when Joel’s supplier told him he couldn’t help him anymore, he didn’t have a choice. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

“Miller, there ya’ are.” Joel’s snapped out of his thoughts, his looming regret of this whole situation, as Marco strolls down the alley. He grins, in the same cocky way he always did, the sort of grin a man who couldn’t win a fight but has enough men who could wrapped around his finger, doing the dirty work for him.

Joel insisted he come alone. Not because he couldn’t handle his goons; he knew he could. Maybe. But it would cause a scene, and draw attention, to something he very much wanted to keep under wraps.

He’s semi-surprised to see the two men walking behind Marco. Deep down, he’d had some faith that the dealer would stick to his word.

“Quiet the fuck down,” Joel warns, seething through his teeth as his eyes search the alley behind them, making sure they hadn’t been heard. “Who are your friends?”

Marco follows Joel’s gaze towards his companions. “They’re just here to observe.”

The men are the same height as Joel, maybe a little taller. He recognises both from the sleazy speakeasies that lie beneath the floors of the QZ. Where the bad guys go.

One is bald, with a jagged scar carved across his cheek and over his eye. He’s scowling, unlike Marco and the other man, who looks somewhat softer with thick hair grown to his shoulders and brown eyes that stayed on Joel like bedrock.

“That’s not what we agreed,’ Joel growls.

There’s tension in the air, thick, and they must feel it too because Marco’s henchmen each have a hand hovering near their sides, where silver blades reflect the white of the snow.

“I recall us also agreeing that you’d get your meds in return for the money. But we’re doing things a little differently today.” Joel remains stoic, though his eyes turn dark and angry, the moon’s light no longer illuminating his features. Marco tiptoes slowly towards him, getting so close that Joel can feel his breath and raising a hand to pick a piece of lint from his flannel shirt. “I want my money. But you might have to wait a little longer for your meds.”

Joel reacts then, squaring up to him, stepping forward and clenching his fists. The other men wrap their hands around their blades, anticipating a fight. Marco just laughs.

“‘Scuse me?” Joel asks, though they all know he understood what was going on.

“You’re gonna give me the amount we agreed. And then, you’re gonna speak to one of your guard friends, and cut me a deal. Then you might get your meds.”

Joel’s anger swells inside him like a beast, his previous care to stay hidden long gone as he imagines driving his fist into Marco’s smug, son of a bitch face again and again and again.

He has to think this through, though. He needs those meds. Marco can see the cogs turning. “Just give me the money, Miller. Don’t make this difficult. You can’t take three of us.”

“No?” Joel retorts, already decided in what he’d do next. “I don’t think it’s worth findin’ out. Give me the meds.”

Marco sighs, dropping his head and stepping away from Joel, leaving him to face his men. “Shame, Joel. You really coulda helped us.”

He nods to his men, who immediately draw their blades and attack. The first lands a punch on his face, the weight of it surprising him as he falls back into the railing. Before he can recover, the other has already plunged a blade through his stomach, right below his ribcage. He controls himself, swallows the yell that claws its way up his throat, tries to think. The cold steel of the rail stabs into his back, and when another fist collides with his cheek and sends him to the floor, he uses it to haul himself up and tackle one of the men - the softer one - to the ground with him.

Marco only stands and watches as Joel throws his weight onto the man and smashes his head into the stone floor. The other grabs his shoulder, spinning him round but Joel’s prepared this time and he dodges the swat of his knife. Instead he throws a punch into his stomach, making him double over which gives Joel the opportunity to grab the knife strapped to his calf and drive it through the bald man’s throat. He stumbles, collapsing to the floor with a choked cry, and Joel turns back just in time to see the other man trying to stand, though the injury to his head makes him dizzy. Joel stands first, easily pushing the man to the ground, and stomping on his head with as much force as his steel-toed boots would let him. Both men stay down.

Marco has regressed into the darkness of the alley, and he looks somehow smaller than usual. He’s pathetic, and if this was any other job, he’d laugh. But this wasn’t a laughing matter, and there was only one target for him; the medication.

The smaller man reaches into his pocket, searching for his gun, but Joel anticipates the move and has already reached him and thrown him against the wall before he can find it. His movements strain the wound in his abdomen, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it.

Joel’s fist pins Marco to the wall by his throat, making him splutter and flail like a fish out of water.

“Where are the fuckin’ pills, Marco?” He just continues to flail, trying to pull Joel’s hand off of him with both of his own, to no effect. Joel scoffs, throwing him to the floor and dragging his knife out of the now dead henchman’s neck. “If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ve got no use for ya.” He uses his shirt to clean the blade, the flannel already soaked in blood, his own.

“For fuck sake, Marco whines, slightly out of breath. “They’re at my place.”

“There anyone else there?” Joel asks, so nonchalantly that it almost sounds like a passing thought.

“No, no one there. But you’ll need me to get you in.”

Joel looks up again, the now-clean knife held in his fist with a vice-like grip. He stalks towards Marco, ignoring his desperate pleas.

“Shouldn’t be a problem-”

With that, he stabs him in the chest, letting him choke and gasp on the floor and searching his pockets for a key. He finds it, and does a quick, final survey of the alleyway. The once perfectly settled snow is disturbed, kicked up in the fight, and deeply stained with blood.

Joel curses, but leaves, only now noticing the burning pain from his torso. He leans against the wall, now stood out in the street, open; but there are no guards. He doesn’t think he’d care. Instead he grabs a fistful of the snow around his feet, packs it into the wound, hissing at the sharp pain of the ice but quickly feeling relief as it numbs him.

This was going to be a long night.

—------------------

It’s another couple of hours or so before he returns. There were, in fact, people at Marco’s place - but Joel knew that would be the case anyway. They weren’t a problem.

He’d showered in Marco’s flat, after taking out the men hanging out in there. Protecting it, he assumed. And he’d found a med pack that let him stitch up the wound to some degree; it was a hack job, but it should do the trick. He’d had worse.

The most important thing was that he found the meds.

The old door of your place creaks as he steps inside, quickly closing it behind him before the cold could enter. It’s futile, really; the wooden pillars are rotten, decaying so badly that the wind sweeps through the cracks with ease, and he can see dustings of snow on the floor around your windows. But he tries anyway.

“Joel?”

There you are.

It’s scary, honestly, what your voice does to him. Even so quiet, so distant from the bedroom upstairs, it lifts the weight from his shoulders that he thought he’d carry forever.

“I’m here, baby. I’m comin’.” He pulls off his shoes, placing them neatly beside the door just how you like, and heads upstairs. His bloodied shirt is long gone, buried in some forgotten corner of the QZ, where he has a collection of discarded items by now.

You don’t reply, he doesn’t expect you to. He reaches your bedroom, gently opening the door and sighing at the sight of you lying there, curled up between mountains of sheets and pillows.

He’d almost think you look peaceful if he didn’t know how much pain you’re in.

“Oh, honey,” he laments, crossing the distance from the door to you and kneeling down beside your head. You open your eyes, though they’re weighed down by exhaustion, and a small smile creeps onto your lips at the sight of the man before you.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting a gentle hand poke out from the duvet and brush his jaw. He can’t help but grin back at you, the total mess that took place just hours ago wiped from his mind completely, and he leans into your touch.

The both of you just stay like that for a moment, your thumb sweeping across his cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. Then you wince, and no matter how much you try to hide it, he can see the wave of pain inflict your body.

“I’ve got your tablets, sweetheart.” He reaches into his pocket, a desperation to his actions now; he hates seeing you like this. You just nod, pushing a meek but honest “thank you” past your lips, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. His heart swells.

Joel presses out one tablet and hands it to you, then picks up the glass of water that stands on your side table, making a mental note to replace it later. You take the pill, grabbing hold of his hand before he can pull it away, and give it a gentle squeeze. He follows your lead and tips the water to your lips once you’ve placed the tablet on your tongue, gently helping you swallow and squeezing your hand right back.

A look of relief washes over your face, and he finally lets himself relax. He stands, letting go of your hand and leaning over to kiss your forehead, before pulling off the clothes he’d taken from Marco’s wardrobe and climbing in beside you.

He only knew heaven in these moments with you, late at night, when your hands reach for him beneath the sheets and your head nuzzles into his neck. It’s no different tonight; he’s quiet, unsure if you’d fallen asleep in those few seconds, and as much as he wishes you’d rest, he can’t deny the way his lips curl when he feels your gentle touch wrap around him.

“How was today? Doing the sewage?”

Joel swallows. “Yeah, yeah. It was fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart.” His arms envelop you, holding you tight against him, one hand drawing gentle circles on your back. He’s lost in the bliss for a moment, letting it wash over him in waves, when your hand brushes his haphazard and you freeze. So does he.

“Joel,” you say; it’s still a whisper, but not the tired kind you’d given him earlier. It’s like you’re too scared to ask. “What’s that?”

He panics, holding you tighter, trying to think. He can’t believe himself for not remembering to cover it, to make sure you didn’t see.

“There was an accident today. I did some building work before I went to sewage, a pipe fell. Nicked me real bad-” you gasp, forcing yourself to sit up with shaky arms. Joel immediately pulls you back down, his hands grasping your face, staring into your eyes like they held the world inside them. It’s dark, but they glimmer, and he just hopes you can’t see his fear.

“No no. It’s fine, baby. I’m fine. Got seen by the doc, got a couple ‘a stitches. Says i’ll be all good by tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow? Joel that doesn’t sound right-”

He interrupts you. He hates this. “I promise, baby. That’s what she said. I promise.” He wipes a thumb across your cheek, and the way you seem to settle, to believe him, makes him ache. He hates this.

You nuzzle back into his side, placated. You trust him, endlessly, and he hates that he abuses that trust just as much as he needs to protect you. A means to an end, he thinks.

The two of you are silent for a few moments, your hand lay gentle over his wound. Like you’re trying to heal it. He thinks it’s working.

“Thank you for picking up my medicine,” you say.

“It’s okay.” His words are quiet, muffled; he’s got his face buried in your hair now, revelling in your scent, and really, he doesn’t want to talk about this with you. He doesn’t want to lie anymore than he already has.

You’re still oblivious, though. Still sweet.

“I’m so glad you can make my rations cover it. I don’t know what I’d do if they made them more expensive.”

Oh, babygirl, he thinks.

Because your rations don’t cover your medicine. Neither did his. Even combined, they’d hardly cover a drink in the bar these days. He’d seen you work and work and work, in spite of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen and tortured your bones until you could hardly stand up anymore, and he saw the way they laughed in your face and turned you away when you tried to get the help you needed. When you tried to trade your labour for medicine. You were nothing to them.

So he told you he could barter the price down. That it was best if he goes from now on, to make sure you’re not taken advantage of. He takes your rations, stuffs them right back in the savings pot you keep above the shelves in your kitchen, and leaves to make whatever underground deals he needs to in order to get those meds. And you didn’t know a thing.

He must’ve been quiet for a while, because you continue. “And I’m glad you don’t do those scary things anymore.”

That gets his attention. “Scary things?”

“Yeah. Like, the smuggling and stuff.” You take a breath, tighten your arms around his waist. “I mean, I know why you did it. I’m glad you were able to look after yourself.”

Joel curses to himself, unable to wipe the tears that brimmed in his eyes as you spoke, because that would mean letting go of you.

“But I’m also glad you don’t do that anymore. You go out, and you work, even the horrible sewage shifts like tonight.” You giggle, but Joel can’t even force himself to smile. Shame consumes him.

“I’m proud of you, Joel.”

He’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like shit.

If you notice his stillness, you don’t mention it. That alone makes his heart ache; you’d always been so understanding, so careful to make sure he’s okay while knowing exactly how to handle his feelings.

It’s odd, really, how fiercely you protect one another. He doesn’t let the darkness of the world so much as touch you, and you extract the horrors from his veins like a vacuum, making him forget the damage was ever even there.

His eyes flitter down, watching you drift asleep, finally at peace and free from pain. He exhales.

He’d never feel good about lying to you. But some things, he thinks, are worth it.

You are worth it.

And so he brushes away the hair that’s fallen over your eyes, trying to fight the droopiness of his own so he can keep them on you for just a second longer. But sleep overtakes him, and the only reason he lets himself fall into dreamland, is because he knows he’ll find you there, too.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #my writing #poeticbarnes #poeticbarnes writes

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angstyhikka · 6 months

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Hi guys, meet Ludwig's au, there are dicks, criminals and a thousand and one trigger warnings, just the way we like it :))))))

Here's a description from Ludwig herself.

AU without magic, modern world.

At the center of the plot is (you'd be surprised) poor Philip. In this AU he is a brothel owner and part time drug dealer. He's called the Laugh Seller. All the guys who were members of the Imperial Coven in canon work for him - like Lilith and Kikimora are his right and left hands. Hunter is here too, his duties include running errands and selling merchandise on the street. One day he came to his uncle's house and demanded in an ultimatum to hire him. Despite the fact that Hunter's father, Caleb, is strongly against the two of them socializing. The story with Caleb is also complicated - in their shared childhood with Philip, as in canon, Caleb walked away, leaving his brother in a religious cult where the two orphans were cared for. Philip, after some events that are sometimes banned on the internet for describing, ended up first in an orphanage and then in crime. The reunion of the brothers, although it was without the death penalty, did not go well, and their relationship since then somehow did not go any better. Caleb frankly despises his brother for his occupation and hates to interact with him. Because of this treatment and a difficult past made Phillip often experience depressive episodes, with which he copes with a knife, alcohol and drugs. Luz, who came into his life by coincidence, showing up at a brothel on her coming-of-age day, is a ray of sunshine in this kingdom of darkness. And Archie, who came into Philip's life like a sledgehammer blow to the head, became a constant reminder of the futility of existence and the impossibility of controlling his own destiny. At some point Caleb will come to his senses, and will want to intervene in his brother's life, but it's a long story that will be told in the fanfic.

#toh laugh seller au #laugh seller #phillip wittebane #archie the archivist #luz toh #toh emperor belos #nelos

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raeynbowboi · 7 months

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How to Play the Ultimate Dark Mage in DnD 5e

With Halloween right around the corner, I thought I'd delve into an idea I don't see talked about very much: building the ultimate black mage in DnD. For this build, we're not trying to be the best necromancer, or the best damage dealer. What we want is to find the build that grants us the widest arsenal of as many dark magical powers as possible. In order to give the Sorcerer a fair chance, we're going to homebrew to grant the Sorcerer 25 spells known instead of 15, otherwise there's no chance the Sorcerer is going to win.

DARK MAGIC SPELL LIST

NECROMANCY False Life (Artificer, Sorcerer, Warlock*, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Animate Dead (Cleric, Warlock*, Wizard, Oathbreaker Paladin) Speak with Dead (Bard, Cleric, Wizard, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock) Spirit Shroud (Cleric, Paladin, Warlock, Wizard) Summon Undead (Warlock, Wizard) Summon Warrior Spirit (sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Death Ward (Cleric, Paladin, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock, Alchemist Artificer) Spirit of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Antilife Shield (Druid, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric, Undead Warlock) Danse Macabre (Warlock, Wizard) Create Undead (Cleric, Warlock, Wizard) Soul Cage (Warlock, Wizard) Clone (Wizard)

NECROTIC DAMAGE Chill Touch (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Toll the Dead (Cleric, Warlock, Wizard) Inflict Wounds (Cleric, Oathbreaker Paladin) Wither and Bloom (Druid, Sorcerer, Wizard) Vampiric Touch (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Blight (Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric, Oathbreaker Paladin, Alchemist Artificer) Destructive Wave (Paladin, Tempest Cleric) Enervation (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Negative Energy Flood (Warlock, Wizard) Circle of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Finger of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Symbol (Bard, Cleric, Druid, Wizard) Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting (Sorcerer, Wizard) Power Word: Kill (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

SHADOW MAGIC Darkness (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Land (Swamp) Druid, Oathbreaker Paladin) Shadow Blade (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Summon Shadowspawn (Warlock, Wizard) Shadow of Moil (Warlock) Maddening Darkness (Warlock, Wizard)

PESTILENCE Acid Splash (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard) Poison Spray (Artificer, Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Ray of Sickness (Sorcerer, Wizard, Death Cleric, Alchemist Artificer) Tasha's Caustic Brew (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard) Blindness/Deafness (Bard, Cleric, Sorcerer, Wizard, Spores Druid, Fiend Warlock, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock) Melf's Acid Arrow (Wizard, Land (Swamp) Druid, Alchemist Artificer) Ray of Enfeeblement (Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Stinking Cloud (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Land (Swamp, Underdark) Druid, Fiend Warlock) Sickening Radiance (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Vitriolic Sphere (Sorcerer, Wizard) Cloudkill (Sorcerer, Wizard, Alchemist Artificer, Death Cleric, Land (Underdark) Druid, Spores Druid, Conquest Paladin, Undead Warlock) Contagion (Cleric, Druid, Oathbreaker Paladin, Undying Warlock) Disintegrate (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Harm (Cleric, Druid)

FIENDISH MAGIC Hellish Rebuke (Warlock, Oathbreaker Paladin) Spirit Guardians (Cleric, Crown Paladin) Summon Lesser Demons (Warlock, Wizard) Summon Greater Demon (Warlock, Wizard) Infernal Calling (Warlock, Wizard) Planar Binding (Bard, Cleric, Druid, Wizard) Summon Fiend (Warlock, Wizard) Planar Ally (Cleric) Tasha's Otherworldly Guise (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

ELDRITCH MAGIC Eldritch Blast (Warlock) Arms of Hadar (Warlock) Hunger of Hadar (Warlock) Edvard's Black Tentacles (Wizard, Great Old One Warlock)

CURSES & EVIL Infestation (Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Bane (Bard, Cleric, Warlock*, Vengeance Paladin) Hex (Warlock) Tasha's Hideous Laughter (Bard, Wizard, Great Old One Warlock) Bestow Curse (Bard, Cleric, Wizard, Conquest Paladin, Oathbreaker Paladin) Dispel Evil & Good (Cleric, Paladin) Hallow (Cleric, Fiend Warlock) Insect Plague (Cleric, Druid, Sorcerer) Eyebite (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Flesh to Stone (Warlock, Wizard) Power Word: Pain (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

MIND GAMES & NIGHTMARES Mind Sliver (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Cause Fear (Warlock, Wizard) Dissonant Whispers (Bard, Great Old One Warlock) Silvery Barbs (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard) Crown of Madness (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Oathbreaker Paladin) Tasha's Mind Whip (Sorcerer, Wizard) Antagonize (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Enemies Abound (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Fear (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Conquest Paladin) Phantasmal Killer (Wizard, Hexblade Warlock, Genie Warlock) Dream (Bard, Warlock, Wizard, Land (Grassland) Druid) Dominate Person (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Order Cleric, Trickery Cleric, Conquest Paladin, Oathbreaker Paladin, Archfey Warlock, Great Old One Warlock) Modify Memory (Bard, Wizard, Trickery Cleric) Synaptic Static (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Mental Prison (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Dominate Monster (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Feeblemind (Bard, Druid, Warlock, Wizard) Weird (Warlock, Wizard)

BEST CLASS FOR DARK MAGIC

BARD Necromancy: 1 Necrotic Damage: 1 Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 2 Fiendish Magic: 1 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 5 Mind Games & Nightmares: 10 Total: 20 + Magical Secrets (4-6)

CLERIC Necromancy: 5, 7 (Death & Grave) Necrotic Damage: 3, 5 (Death & Grave), 4 (Tempest) Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 3, 6 (Death), 4 (Grave) Fiendish Magic: 3 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 5 Mind Games & Nightmares: 0, 2 (Trickery), 1 (Order) Total: 19 Death: 26 Grave: 24 Trickery: 21

DRUID Necromancy: 1, 2 (Spores) Necrotic Damage: 3 Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 3, 5 (Spores), 5 Land (Swamp), 5 Land (Underdark) Fiendish Magic: 0 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 1 Mind Games & Nightmares: 1, 2 Land (Grassland) Total: 9 Spores: 12 Land (Swamp): 11 Land (Underdark: 11

SORCERER Necromancy: 3 Necrotic Damage: 9 Shadow Magic: 2 Pestilence: 10 Fiendish Magic: 1 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 4 Mind Games & Nightmares: 11 Total: 40

DIVINE SOUL SORCERER Necromancy: 8 Necrotic Damage: 12 Shadow Magic: 2 Pestilence: 12 Fiendish Magic: 4 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 8 Mind Games & Nightmares: 11 Total: 57

WARLOCK Necromancy: 9, 12 (Undead) Necrotic Damage: 9 Shadow Magic: 5/5 Pestilence: 4, 6 (Fiend), 6 (Undead) Fiendish Magic: 6 Eldritch Magic: 3, 4/4 (Great Old One) Curses & Evil: 6, 7 (Fiend), 7 (Great Old One) Mind Games & Nightmares: 12, 14 (Great Old One) Total: 54 Fiend: 57 Great Old One: 58 Undead: 59

WIZARD Necromancy: 11 Necrotic Damage: 12 Shadow Magic: 4 Pestilence: 11 Fiendish Magic: 6 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 6 Mind Games & Nightmares: 17 Total: 67

Not only does Wizard come out on top with an impressive 67 dark magic spells, it is the only class that can learn all 67 spells. The Warlock learns 15 spells and 4 Mystic Arcanum, plus a few more through Eldritch Invocations, Clerics prepare level + WIS so they'll never prepare more than 25, and we had to cheat to give the Divine Soul Sorcerer 25 spells, or else it only gets a measly 15 spells plus one spell based on the alignment of your divine bloodline. We're also cheating a little with the mind games and nightmares category as while mental manipulation is scary and evil, it isn't necessarily the stereotypical evil one invokes with a dark mage. Although Wizard is the clear winner, it's worth pointing out certain interesting data. The Undead Warlock is the master of Necromancy, with the Wizard close behind at 11, separated only by access to Death Ward. Warlock is also the master of Shadow Magic and Eldritch Magic, but that's kind of the Warlock's whole shtick. The Divine Soul Sorcerer is the master of Pestilence magic, making it a great fit for a Plague Doctor type character, as well as Curses & Evil magic, narrowly beating out the Fiend Warlock. The Wizard is the clear master of Mind Games & Nightmares, and the Wizard and Divine Soul Sorcerer are tied at using Necrotic Damage spells. Wizard and Warlock are evenly matched at wielding Fiendish Magic. While the Bard is pretty much restricted to curses and mind games, it is possible to build a bard that uses exclusively dark magic. They just won't be the greatest dark mage of all time. In terms of who wins the most categories, the Divine Soul Sorcerer wins Pestilence, Curses & Evil, and ties for Necrotic Damage. Without considering subclasses, however, Wizard wins Necromancy, Mind Games & Nightmares, and ties for both Fiendish Magic and Necrotic Damage.

THE BUILD

There are a few good choices for race when building the ultimate dark mage. The Fallen Aasimar's Necrotic Shroud feature adds proficiency bonus Necrotic damage to every attack while the necrotic shroud is active. They also get darkvision and resistance to both necrotic and radiant damage. The Dhampir not only gets dark vision, it lets you stop breathing and make vampiric bite attacks to regain hit points. Reborn are even harder to kill, with advantage against poison, and disease, resistance to poison damage, and advantage on death saves, on top of not needing to eat, drink, sleep, or breathe. But they don't get dark vision. And of course, the Custom Lineage can give your dark mage 60 ft of darkvision, and any feat, letting them take feats like Magic Initiate, Resilient (CON), Shadow-Touched, Eldritch Adept, and more. Ultimately, I feel that the Fallen Aasimar and Reborn are the strongest candidates as they are innately dark and creepy, whereas the Custom Lineage can be made dark and creepy. We'll treat this build as a Fallen Aasimar mostly because Reborns don't get darkvision and that is a pretty huge hindrance. Otherwise, we'd go with Reborn.

Haunted One is the darkest background possible and is also the default background of The Dark Urge in Baldur's Gate 3. We're going to ignore the background's options in order to take Intimidation to bully our way through the campaign and religion to study burials and undead. Since we know we're going Wizard, we'll also pick up arcana to study magic and medicine to study the body, blood, bones, organs, and everything else. However, if you want a sneakier dark mage, you could also go with Deception and Persuasion from our background to maintain a personable façade.

WIZARD SCHOOL OF NECROMANCY

Of course, necromancy is our subclass of choice. The power to raise a stronger horde of undead and it not being tied to specifically Animate Dead does make the Necromancy Wizard pretty useful. And the Command Undead feature really makes the mastery of dark magic vibe feel earned. There is a case to be made for Evocation. The Overchannel feature that sacrifices HP for damage is very dark mage. However, one feature stacked against an entire subclass of dark magic is no real contest. So, we'll go with the School of Necromancy.

The School of Necromancy also has a feature called Grim Harvest, which heals the Necromancer any time they kill an enemy with a spell, and more-so if it was a Necromancy spell. The spells Wither and Bloom, Vampiric Touch, and Enervation each damage the target with Necrotic damage, then heal the caster by half the damage dealt. These two healing factors can stack, making these very useful spells, and Wither and Bloom and Vampiric Touch can be chosen as Signature Spell and Spell Mastery, giving your necromancer an unlimited use of a way to regain hit points, even if it's rather low. It's more effective as a means to patch oneself up between fights, killing a few squirrels or birds to regain hit points for no cost. A 1 level dip into Life Domain can not only give the Wizard Heavy Armor proficiency and access to the Inflict Wounds spell, it can also further boost the self-healing gained from these three vampiric necromancy spells. Although False Life is on the Wizard spell list, the Eldritch Invocation Fiendish Vigor can give your Wizard a way to spam False Life between every encounter, making them just a little less squishy.

SPELL LIST

C Chill Touch, Infestation, Mind Sliver, Poison Spray, Toll the Dead 1 Cause Fear, False Life, Ray of Sickness, Shield, Silvery Barbs, Tasha's Caustic Brew, Tasha's Hideous Laughter, 2 Blindness/Deafness, Crown of Madness, Darkness, Melf's Acid Arrow, Shadow Blade, Tasha's Mind Whip, Web, Wither & Bloom 3 Animate Dead, Antagonize, Bestow Curse, Enemies Abound, Fear, Speak with Dead, Spirit Shroud, Summon Lesser Demons, Summon Shadowspawn, Summon Undead, Summon Warrior Spirit, Vampiric Touch 4 Blight, Edvard's Black Tentacles, Phantasmal Killer, Sickening Radiance, Spirit of Death, Summon Greater Demon, Vitriolic Sphere 5 Cloudkill, Danse Macabre, Dominate Person, Dream, Enervation, Infernal Calling, Modify Memory, Negative Energy Flood, Planar Binding, Synaptic Static 6 Circle of Death, Create Undead, Disintegrate, Eyebite, Flesh to Stone, Mental Prison, Soul Cage, Summon Fiend, Tasha's Otherworldly Guise 7 Finger of Death, Power Word: Pain, Symbol, Tether Essence* 8 Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting, Clone, Dominate Monster, Feeblemind, Maddening Darkness 9 Imprisonment, Power Word: Kill, Weird

INFERNAL SOUL SORCERER

The Divine Soul Sorcerer did pretty well for itself, so I figured I'd give a 25 spell list known for the DSS as a little Halloween Treat.

C Acid Splash, Chill Touch, Infestation, Mind Sliver, Poison Spray, Toll the Dead 1 Bane, Inflict Wounds, False Life 2 Shadow Blade, Tasha's Mind Whip, Wither and Bloom 3 Animate Dead, Antagonize, Bestow Curse, Spirit Guardians, Vampiric Touch 4 Blight, Spirit of Death, Vitriolic Sphere 5 Cloudkill, Contagion, Enervation 6 Circle of Death, Create Undead, Disintegrate, Harm 7 Finger of Death, Symbol 8 Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting 9 Power Word: Kill

#halloween #happy halloween #dnd #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #dark magic #witchcraft #necromancer #necromancy #lich #demon #black magic #all hallows eve #villain #villain pc #villain character #evil campaign

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fizzyginfizz · 1 year

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Believe

For @hinnymicrofic - Prompt 19 - Believe

“I didn’t do it.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to the evidence scattered about the kitchen.

Broken mixing bowl shards.

Two tiny slices on Albus’s left thumb.

Torn flour bag.

Flour on the counter. Flour on the cool box. Flour on the floor. Flour in the cat dish.

Flour on Albus’s shoulder.

Flour in Albus’s hair.

Flour smeared across Albus’s nose.

“Are you sure you didn’t do it?”

Harry crossed his arms, wearing his auror face. The face of interrogation. A face of such chiseled righteousness it intimidated death eaters, illegal potions dealers and dark arts practitioners into confessing their every sin.

Yet, somehow completely useless against his offspring.

“Nope.” Albus popped the ‘p’ with so much fervor, Harry could spy his missing front tooth. “Didn’t do it.”

Overwhelming evidence: a bar of chocolate sliced into tiny pieces, as if an artist were trying to design chocolate chips.

With a pair of scissors.

On the table.

Chocolate smeared on the blades.

“Albus.”

“Didn’t do it.”

An empty carton of eggs on the counter. Broken shells and eight raw eggs oozing off the lip of the counter.

Practice, Harry theorized.

In a second unbroken mixing bowl, four eggs soaked into the only bit of flour not scattered all over the kitchen.

Harry’s crackerjack, detective, auror eyes - intense green eyes that missed nothing - dropped to the final piece of evidence: an incriminating whisk gripped in his son’s little hand.

“I didn’t-“

Both sets of intense green eyes swerved at the whoosh of the swinging kitchen door. Ginny breezed into the room, shining like the rays of the sun, a beacon of serenity and goodness amidst chaos.

Which would have made Albus nervous, if he were older and knew better.

“I know you didn’t do it,” she said, her smile brightening the room, she fixed its brilliance on her son.

Harry mentally tagged out; the cavalry had arrived.

Ginny knelt in front of Albus, her small hands framing his face as she smiled softly at him. Loving. Generous. Her eyes as limpid and huge and guileless as a doe’s. “I know you didn’t, Albus. I believe you,” she said, with earnest innocence. “I know you would never, ever lie to me.”

Harry bit his cheek to keep his face stern.

“You know why?”

Albus’s eyes also went large as his head twitched slightly.

“Lies are like invisible nargles,” Ginny said softly, in the kind of sweet voice normally reserved for bedtime stories, post-bath time cuddles, and soft ‘sweet dreams’ before the nightlights flickered on. “But vicious ones.”

Albus’s eyes slid sideways, unable to hold the serene gaze of an angel.

“This one time,” Ginny scruffed his mess black hair, maternal love laced through the gesture. “Uncle George lied to Grandma Molly. The lie wriggled and gnawed its way right into her heart.”

With an emphatic gesture, Ginny knocked on her chest.

“Then, the little lie chomped and tore through her flesh, until she was gasping for air and coughing up her blood and guts as the lie devoured her from within and all of my brothers started screaming and the clock spun to ‘mortal peril’ the bird started cuckooing ‘dangerdangerdanger’ and she had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s where she was on life support for three weeks and we didn’t know whether she would live or die and Grandpa Arthur had to read the bedtime stories all by himself which was awful because-“

“Dads don’t know how to do the voices!” Albus yelled, panicked.

“They don’t, right? They really don’t.” Ginny exclaimed, wrapping up her big finish. Then, with a bright cheerful smile, she kissed Albus on the head, and stood. “So that’s why I believe you, and why I know you would never, ever in a million trillion zillion years lie-“

Ginny paused, her throat seizing with a tiny, but no less dramatic cough.

“Stopstopstop! I did it!” Albus yelled with his eyes squeezed shut, the whisk dropping from his hand to clatter upon the tiled floor with ringing finality. “I did it,” he groaned, defeated.

Harry tagged back in as Ginny shot him a sassy, absolutely-not-angelic-at-all wink.

Unbelievable.

#hinny #hinny microfic

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thecreaturecodex · 10 months

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Auntie Splitfoot

“witch” © Vladimir Matyukhin, accessed at his ArtStation here

[It will probably surprise none of you that I am a big fan of hags as villains, having written multiple original species of them. Despite this, every time I’ve used a hag in my games, it’s been as a one-and-done thing rather than as a recurring villain. Auntie Splitfoot is my attempt to rectify this situation with a character who both has reasons to let PCs live if they cross paths early in an adventuring career, and who can escape a losing fight by going ethereal.]

Auntie Splitfoot CR 11 NE Aberration This woman has greenish-gray skin and a leering expression. Her hands are claws and her mouth is oversized and filled with sharp teeth. Saw-toothed fronds like the leaves of a plant grow from her scalp instead of hair, and below the waist she has a mass of ribbon-shaped tentacles instead of legs.

Auntie Splitfoot is a dealer in the soul trade, and she values her ability to work with a wide variety of customers and to broker deals between them. She trades equally with all manner of evil outsiders, and even has some qlippoth clientele. The qlippoths typically just want to destroy the souls she sells them, but that doesn’t matter to her. She recently upgraded her own body, allowing herself to be mutated as payment from Doctor Agatha Shiny. Auntie Splitfoot’s sobriquet used to refer to her hoofed feet, and she is delighted that the mutagens used appropriately shredded her legs into tentacles.

Auntie Splitfoot carries a bow to deal with the odd golem and to torment foes from afar, but she much prefers to get close to combat and fight with her teeth and claws. She is remarkably durable, and if she is injured, will typically shift herself into the Ethereal Plane for a few rounds to heal up before resuming battle. Although she is sadistic, she is pragmatic first and foremost, and would rather flee a losing fight, or pay a token bribe, then fight to the death. Anyone who fights Auntie Splitfoot and lets her live, however, will likely deal with nightmares and other retribution as punishment for their victory.

The reason Splitfoot goes by “Auntie” has to do with her primary hobby. She is a facilitator of changelings and hags, often appearing in mortal guise to befriend changelings and slowly gaslight them into accepting their haggish nature. Although she may reunite changelings with their hag mothers, she is just as willing to unite unrelated hags. Auntie Splitfoot has joined several covens as a part time member, especially in order to help them recruit changelings, before moving on. Auntie Splitfoot often kills changelings who refuse to embrace their haggish nature, and their souls make up a significant minority of the ones she sells to the Lower Planes.

Auntie Splitfoot CR 11 XP 12,800 Advanced mutant night hag NE Medium aberration (augmented outsider, evil, extraplanar) Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +17 Defense AC 32, touch 15, flat-footed 27 (+5 Dex, +13 natural, +4 armor) hp 122 (8d10+80); fast healing 5 Fort +18, Ref +9, Will +12 DR 10/cold iron and magic; Immune charm, cold, fear, fire, sleep; SR 26 Offense Speed 20 ft., fly 30 ft. (good maneuverability) Melee 2 claws +17 (1d4+9), bite +17 (3d6+9 plus disease) Ranged +1 adaptive composite longbow +14/+9 (1d8+10/x3) Special Attacks dream haunting Spell-Like Abilities CL 8th, concentration +13 Constant—detect chaos, detect evil, detect good, detect law, detect magic At will—deep slumber (DC 18), invisibility, magic missile, mirror image, ray of enfeeblement (DC 16) At will (with heartstone)—etherealness, soul bind Statistics Str 29, Dex 21, Con 30, Int 22, Wis 18, Cha 21 Base Atk +8; CMB +17; CMD 32 Feats Alertness, Deceitful, Improved Natural Weapon (bite), Power Attack Skills Appraise +14, Bluff +18, Diplomacy +13, Disguise +18, Fly +17, Intimidate +16, Knowledge (arcana) +14, Knowledge (planes) +17, Perception +17, Sense Motive +17, Spellcraft +17, Use Magic Device +13 Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Celestial, Common, Daemonic, Infernal Gear +1 adaptive composite longbow, 20 adamantine arrows, 40 arrows, handy haversack, heartstone, 298 gp SQ change shape (any humanoid, alter self), deformities (lame, misshapen), heartstone, mutations (fast healing, flight, mental armor, spell-like ability) Special Abilities Disease (Su) Demon Fever: Bite—injury; save Fort DC 24; onset immediate; frequency 1/day; effect 1d6 Con damage (target must save a 2nd time or 1 point of the damage is drain instead); cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution-based. Dream Haunting (Su) A night hag can visit the dreams of chaotic or evil targets by using a special periapt known as a heartstone to become ethereal, then hovering over the creature. Once it does so, it rides on the victim's back until dawn. The sleeper suffers tormenting dreams and takes 1 point of Constitution drain upon awakening. Only another ethereal being can stop these nocturnal intrusions by confronting and defeating the night hag. Heartstone (Su) All night hags carry a heartstone—a special gemstone worth at least 1,800 gp that is worn as a periapt. A heartstone's magic is fueled by the hag's spirit and proximity—once separated from its owner (or upon the hag's death), a heartstone retains its magic for only 24 hours before becoming a nonmagical gem again. The heartstone instantly cures any disease contracted by the holder. In addition, a heartstone provides a +2 resistance bonus on all saving throws (this bonus is included in the statistics block above). A night hag that loses this charm can no longer use etherealness or soul bind until it finds a replacement gemstone.

#auntie splitfoot #night hag #hag #monster girl summer #age of monsters #age of monsters spoilers #pathfinder 1e #mutant

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minniemariex · 9 months

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only friends ep 2

stream of thoughts

*contains spoilers*

too being capable in his job is a plus in my books

ray. mew said it. he is an addict. and he will have to deal with it at some point. i just wonder what happens for him to get to this point. like even his friends must know by now that the argument is not worth the consequences. like the probably tried their best to keep him from falling so far but it probably didn’t end very well.

loving how assertive mew is.

omg sand you are being so shifty. ray is gonna think you are a dealer. which he probably is but i’d not think it’s the drugs. or maybe.

'a drunkard like you isn’t a threat to me’ wow sand. hit him where it hurts.

omg is sand actually a night worker?? or is it just the distribution??

okay not drugs. plum wine.

omg ray. yo cannot buy friends. or boyfriends. or drinking buddies??

you can see how much chemistry there is between them. and they knwo perfectly how to taunt each other.

okay as a somewhat ace person i do not understand how that works. but good for them. i mean nick is gonna get hurt but still.

'i only do that with my favorite' nick is gonna be huuurt.

i think bostons parents are rich but don’t push their kid to take over. which is nice of them and a nice representation for that type of parents.

of course ray lives in a f mansion. that look of just wonder and like intérêt is a very good look on sand.

and he has to be a dick. cause of course he does.

uuu he like records. that’s gonna be a bonding point. ufff. mums stuff. a bomb. but still music is gonna be a bonding point. and trauma. probably so much trauma.

did she commit suicide? oh no. she drunk herself to death. omg ray. taht explins why he drinks at least. he could’ve gone two ways. no drinking at all or drinking to forget. and he clearly chose the latter. oh honey. that’s a lot to deal with. doesn’t excuse the behavior but a coping mechanism is a coping mechanism.

the way sand is looking at ray when he goes to put music on? god. and the way he sits?? goooood.

TAHT LITTLE SMILE WHEN HE PUT THE MUSIC ON !!! (khao will kill me at some point)

‘just stay with me. i don’t want to be alone.' 'fine i like easy jobs taht pay big’ oh sand you will eat your words the moment you start to realize how much ray drinks and how much you are for him.

i love how sand looks at ray when ray is relaxed and listening to music.

god they really wnet all the way with the budget for this show. that water boarding looks super fun.

top is very clearly trying to get along with mews friends.

the look on rays face when mew said top gets along with his friends. omg that boy is saaaltyyy

ton being meeesy meeesssssy

looool did he get ton to go over the f wall?? to the second stall? how the f did they do that??? i need like a recreation of this move since i refuse to believe it happens with no injuries or loins noises

ton is not happy. not happy at all.

omg is the eating the cookie supposed to be sexy??

i really really like how assertive and sure of himself mew is. it’s refreshing.

ton wtf omg wa snot expecting that

nick you poor poor man with horrible taste in men.

also god ton saying he hates drama is so funny to me (and hypocritical)

ray interrupting sand getting laid is hilarious. also ray fully knowing he’s irresistible when he pleads is gold. he looks soo good. and those hands on the shoulders move?? perfection

loving all of the confidence. sand may be poor but he’s sure of himself and knows his worth. and that he looks good and how to use it to his advantage.

bonding time. showing vulnerability is a great way to someone’s heart. especially when that someone is somewhat interested in you. i do wonder is he’s telling the truth.

that sweater cardigan whatever it is will kill me

the pointed questions. out with it ray. just hit on him

i wonder how many times they had to shoot that scene with the cigarettes.

omg. the tension is magnificent.

the hooker question and sands answer of 'if i’m interested i’d do it for free’ and rays making sure and asking for validation ‘ what about me? interesting enough?' superb

the way sand scooted and leaned back? and reclined? put his hand on the sofa and crossed his legs? took a long puff of smoke?? HOT HOT HOT 🥵

the way ray responds? stu’s kinda curled up but still showing off his good side? and taht drag and kiss?? HOT HOT HOT 🥵

THE WAY SAND LOOKS AT HIM AND JUST TAKES HIM IN AND LJSUT GOD THATS SO HOT

thé interviews show how differently they ar a preaching their relationship. and i wonder how it will all go

that was a very good way to end the ep

#only friends the series #only friends series #only friends #ofs #only friends spoilers #only friends episode 2 #only friends ep2

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 years

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Going Back

Summary: Dieter finds himself in his Agent's office after a successful six month long rehab, when he gets a phone call that puts things into perspective. He goes back home to say goodbye... and meets you.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Rating: T

Warnings: angst, mentions of drugs, cancer treatment, character death, grief, fluff, implied pregnancy

A/N: Never really wrote for Bravo except for the Calls, but wrote this in like 2 hours last sunday. Hope you like it

Los Angeles, California

He did not remember going back into the office of his manager after he ended the phone call with his brother. There were several people whose names he couldn’t even remember in the room who were talking about him, as if he wasn’t even in the room. Or interested.

Then again for the last years he probably wasn’t very interested.

Where these meetings always this boring? No wonder he was on drugs most of the time.

They were talking about him, as if he wasn’t a person but a…. Thing they have to fix. Something to keep their pockets filled.

Okay… Honestly, he did some really really fucked up stuff in the past. The girls, the drugs, the….. 72 hour marriage to a girl named Candy he met in Las Vegas.

But the overdose while shooting Cliff Beasts was a… very unpleasant but loud wake up call. He had never thought about his life as… as something so precious. And he had lived his life. He had a job he loved and people who loved him.

At least he thought they did.

“Dieter are you listening?” Dieter pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, raising his head to look at John, his manager of nine years. He was a shark. He and his publicist had pulled Dieter out of so many fucked up shit the last years. Made him a big star who didn’t have to live from paycheck to paycheck while playing in shitty theatre pieces and made him famous.

He was the Dieter Bravo, almost EGOT (the Emmy was still missing), face of Ray Ban (at least until earlier this year).

“What?” Dieter snapped, wanting nothing more than to call up his old dealer to get… something.

“We’re sending you to another rehab. We know you’re clean… But the public… We need you to work with us, so we can go back to finding you some new roles. To build you back up.”

Dieter breathed in deeply as a woman started talking he had never met before. Or… he did not remember ever seeing before. The last few years were a little foggy.

And… he was thankful for the work these people did for him. But… this, his career, these people…. They were not important.

Nothing was important.

The last thing he felt like doing was to go to another rehab just to have some paps conveniently snapping some pics of him towards the end with a woman his manager would hire that he would end up fake dating just to… get him back out there.

“Simon will pick you up in the morning,” John said.

“No,” was all Dieter said and the room fell silent almost immediately.

“Dieter, we talked about this. Your last fall out was… too much. We need to…”

“We don’t need to do anything. I need to do what you tell me, so I can keep being your golden goose to pay your mortgages.”

“Dieter…”, John said sternly.

“No. If I’m not mistaken your contract as my manager runs out at the end of next month, am I right?”

Dieter saw John’s jaw work before he nodded.

“Good. Then consider this the last time we see each other,” Dieter got up from the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in.

“You’re all fired,” he said, before he grabbed his phone and left the room.

Santa Teresa, New Mexico

You were sitting in your usual place on the old armchair next to Carla.

It was a good day today and you fought against the thought that this could be her last. It had been hard to make the phone call yesterday after the doctor had been here. The medication wasn’t helping her anymore so it would only be days before…

Carla Ramos did deserve better.

She was the funniest woman you had ever had the pleasure of caring for. Since the day you moved into her house almost seven years ago you had felt like part of the family.

Her son, the famous one who you only met once, was the one who paid for you but it was Ramon, his other brother who you were in contact with.

Yes, the woman named one of her sons Ramon Ramos and when you first learned this information you had giggled like a schoolgirl while said son only rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

Carla had been diagnosed with a rare form of kidney cancer and you had been with her through all of it. Every single doctor visit. Every chemo appointment. You had been with her every single day and last night you had allowed yourself to cry after the learning the news that she only had days left.

When Carla learned the news she had only smiled softly and turned her head towards you, telling you that she now has to hurry up finding you a husband.

You had held back the tears until you were in the security of your own room, already grieving the woman sleeping just down the hall who had become like a mother to you.

She was currently sleeping and you were reading in your book when there was a knock on the door. You frowned, not expecting any visitors until the next day when Ramon and his family were supposed to come.

Closing your book you took a look at Carla before you tiptoed out of the room and towards the door where you could already see a man standing. You narrowed your eyes, trying to make out who it was when he turned and you caught a look on his face.

You took a deep breath.

You hadn’t expected him to come. His brother must have called him.

Of course you knew who Dieter Bravo was. You had to have been living under a rock to not know him. You had read your fair share of gossip about him in the last years, but it was the awe with which his mother talked about him that made you feel like you knew him.

She was his biggest fan.

Which was one of the big reasons you grew to despite him in the last years. He had visited once since her diagnosis. Yes, he paid for everything, including you, but…. What kind of person does not take care or visit of his sick mother?

You glanced over to the old piano that had never been played since you got here, catching sight of his Oscar he had brought home the one time he had visited.

He had wanted his mother to have it.

You took another deep breath, knowing that this was not the time to let your anger towards his behaviour get the best of you, before you opened the door.

Dieter had forgotten just how many things there were that he had paid other people to do for him.

Packing his suitcase.

Booking a private jet and then deciding against it and buying a commercial flight ticket.

Renting a car at the airport.

Driving a car by himself.

Yet once he sat in the driver's seat of his rented Toyota it was like no time had passed since he packed his bags and went to chase his dream of becoming an actor. He made his way through his hometown until he parked his car in front of the flower places he had always bought his mama’s favourite flowers. Sun flowers.

Dieter felt like shit.

Not because of how he behaved in the public eye but… how he treated his family in the past. His family who always put up with him no matter what he did.

The therapist at his last rehab, the one he really committed to and got clean (16 weeks and counting) had talked with him about his family. And… thinking back he could admit to himself that shit had started to get really fucking complicated for him drugwise when he had learned of his mothers cancer diagnosis.

Dieter was a mama’s boy. His father left the family when he and his brother were still in kindergarten and his mother became his biggest hero.

Even more so when he was grown up and noticed just how much she had worked to provide for him and his brother.

So the first thing he did from his first big paycheck was buy her a house and get her everything she ever dreamed of.

But all the money and fame in the world meant nothing, when his mother was dying.

It had been a hard reality check, the phone call from Ramon only yesterday. So many things had changed since yesterday. Of course Dieter knew that his mother was sick. He saw the bills and signed the paycheck for the live-in nurse he had hired.

But… he had always pushed it far away in his mind. The drugs had been a great distraction from it. And the women. And men.

He couldn’t cope with the thought of living in a world where his mother wasn’t a phone call away, so when Ramon called and told him that it was time to say goodbye, Dieter had gotten the reality check he had needed.

Now here he was, a big arrangement of sunflowers in his arms, standing in front of the house he had bought for his mother.

Since yesterday he had fired his manager and publicist and hired a lawyer (not the one from his divorce) to handle all of his affairs. Including selling his house in the Hollywood Hills.

He never wanted to go back. He didn’t even know if he wanted to work as an actor anymore. He just wanted to… live. And be Dario Ramos again.

The door opened after he knocked and he put his sunglasses up on top of his head looking at you.

“Mr. Bravo?” you asked.

“Dieter,” he tried to smile, completely caught off guard. He knew that he had hired you. He remembered that he met you once, a very foggy memory much like everything in the last years. How could he have not noticed how… young and beautiful you were?

You were wearing leggings and a too big shirt with a faded Star Wars print on it.

“Would you like to come in?” you asked and he nodded. You stepped to the side to let him in and he walked into the house, feeling like a complete stranger, yet noticing how much had changed since the last time he had visited.

He looked… Different than in the last pictures Carla had shown you.

Healthier.

“Uhm….” he turned around, picking a single sunflower and handing it to you. You tilted your head before you took it, your fingers brushing over his.

“This is for you. I… As a thank you. Which is…. Ridiculous thinking back now. I…” he took a deep breath.

You were touched that he even remembered you.

“Your mother is asleep. She is having a good day. She will be thrilled you’re here,” you said as you turned away from him to walk towards the kitchen. You heard him follow you. Laying the sunflower down on the counter you reached over the sink to get two vases. A small one for the single one and a bigger one for the other flowers. You groaned, getting on your tiptoes when you couldn’t reach them.

“Let me…” you felt his hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him as you took a step to the side and let him pull two vases from the cabinet.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, confused by him. So confused.

You were expecting the cocky drug addict Oscar winner Dieter Bravo, not… this version of him.

He nodded once at you before he walked back and you began to fill the vases with water. You smiled to yourself when you put the single flower for you into the small vase and tried to remember the last time someone had gotten you flowers.

“I’m sorry you know?” he said.

“I… did a lot of fucked up stuff these last years but not being here? Fucking pathetic…”

You turned around.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. You’re…”

“You were here. Every day. While I was getting shitfaced and fucking myself through half of the country.”

You pressed your lips into a hard line to keep yourself from reacting.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this…” he shook his head looking down at his hands.

“Dieter…” you said.

“Don’t call me that,” he sighed and your eyes softened.

“Dario,” you said and he looked up at you.

“Would you like some of your mothers homemade iced tea?”

You didn’t mean to listen in, but you had heard Clara laugh and you stopped on your way back to your room as you listened to Dieter… Dario telling her about the time he had almost peed himself on set.

“You’re a good man, Dario,” you heard Clara say. He sighed.

“I should have been here.”

“You’re here now. You can’t change what happened in the past. Just… promise me to think about it…”

“Mom, no…”

You made yourself walk back to your room, not wanting to listen in in the first place.

Clara had been over the moon when she saw her son and you had kept yourself busy to give them both time together.

It gave you time to think.

Of course the last few years had given you time to form an opinion about your employer. But actually spending some time with him made you rethink some of your foreformed opinions.

There was the picture inside of your mind you had formed. Of the playboy cocky asshole who could have everyone and everything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. Who didn’t care about anyone but himself and where to get his next fix.

You grew to despise this picture of him.

But then there was this other side. The man who facetimes his mother every sunday to have breakfast with her in bed.

You sighed to yourself, sitting in your window seat as you sipped on your glass of wine.

It was always easier to hate someone than to try to understand them. It didn’t give them the opportunity to explain themselves.

Not that he had anything to explain to you.

You were just the help. The woman who took care of his sick mother.

You didn’t know how long you sat there looking at the stars when you heard the soft tunes of a piano down the hall. You set your wine glass down and quietly walked out, checking in on Clara who was soundly sleeping on your way before you walked into the living room.

His sponsor did not pick up the phone.

Dieter wanted nothing more than to get some pills that made him forget just how much of a fucking failure he was. Instead he took a shower and sat down at the old piano that his mother still owned.

He had learned to play on this very piano when he was little. The tunes came to him like an old friend as he closed his eyes and let his fingers fly over the keys. When he opened his eyes he looked straight at the Academy Award with his name on that was displayed next to his Grammy and Tony.

What did all these awards mean anyway?

He closed his eyes, continuing to play to stop the voice inside his head that wanted him to get out of here and get some coke… or pills… or something to make all these feelings inside of him go away.

He ended the song and just sat there in the darkness, his eyes closed.

“That was beautiful,” he heard a whisper and his eyes snapped open to find you standing in the doorway.

“I haven’t played in years,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you should. You looked peaceful while you played.”

He gave you a small smile, one that reached his eyes.

“I put clean sheets on in the guest bedroom next to mine. Ramon and his wife always stay in the room next to your mother’s. I hope that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” he said and you gave him a small smile.

“You know what would make you play the piano even better?” you asked him and he shook his head.

“If you had some clothes on,” you winked at him and he looked down at his body, only then noticing that he was completely naked.

He was about to answer you when he looked up but you were already gone.

He sighed with a little chuckle, smiling to himself before he made his way to his assigned bedroom and fell asleep the moment his head hit the soft pillow.

Clara died in the early evening on the next day.

She fell asleep peacefully, surrounded by all her loved ones.

You gave the family some time, slipping out of the room, before you called the doctor to let him know. He assured you he would make the calls needed and you gave him a watery thank you before you ended the call and walked out to the patio. The sun was setting behind the hill and with it you let the tears fall. You hugged yourself as you tried to keep your sobs quiet.

The door opened behind you and you didn’t turn around, trying to calm your breath as you looked over the wide countryside in front of you.

“All my life I wanted to get away from here,” Dieter began and you closed your eyes.

“When I was a teenager I hated living here. But my mom…. She loves this place. Until now I didn’t understand why, but I think I do now,” he continued and you sucked your bottom lip in to keep yourself from falling apart.

“I’m really really thankful for you being here while I wasn’t. You were… She loved you like her daughter.”

You sobbed, shaking your head.

Slowly, arms wrapped around your shoulders and you let your head fall down, your forehead falling against his chest. You opened your arms to hug him back, as Dieter’s chin rested on your head.

Your finger grasped at the soft fabric of his shirt as he held you while you cried.

One of his hands ran soothing circles on your back and you tried to get even closer to him, breathing him in.

“I should be the one holding you right now,” you mumbled after a while.

“It’s okay. We both just lost someone we loved.”

“I’m so sorry D…” you said, pulling your cheek against his chest. You felt him kiss your hair and you released a shuddering breath.

You didn’t know how long you stood there holding each other, but when he let go as the doctor came, you felt a little lighter.

It was the day after the funeral that you found yourself sitting in the living room of Clara’s house. Dieter was sitting on the sofa next to you, his brother and wife across from you as you looked at Mr. Miller, the family lawyer who was about to read the last will of one Clara Ramos.

You didn’t know why you were here. This was a family affair. Then again… you had nowhere to go.

When you heard your name you looked up.

“You, my best friend, the daughter I never had, to you I will leave this house. This house that you made so much brighter in these last years with your heart, your humour and smile. I know you will disagree with this decision, but sweetheart this is my thank you to you. Make this place a home for you and your future family. And if I die before we find you a husband, please…” the lawyer stuttered and you swore you could see him blush “at least find a man to rock your world. God knows you did not get any action while you stayed here with me.”

You shook your head to yourself with a smile, feeling overwhelmed. You felt Dieter take your hand, squeezing it once before he wanted to let go, but you didn’t let him.

“So… when are you kicking me out?” he asked later that evening. You were both sitting on the porch, you with a beer and he with some iced tea. His brother and wife had left earlier, leaving you and Dieter alone at the house. Your house.

“I still can’t believe that she would just give me this house. It should have…”

“Stop. She loved you. She wanted you to have it and you know better than to argue with her. Even now,” he smiled as he looked up towards the sky, cheering his glass towards it.

“But still…”

You sat there in silence for some time.

“You can stay as long as you want Dieter,” you said after a while and he looked at you from his side.

“Are you sure? People say I can be very fucking annoying.”

You smiled.

“I think these people only know Dieter Bravo. I know Dario Ramos. He’s… He’s pretty okay.”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pretty okay?”

“I don’t know him very well,” you teased.

“Would you like to?”

“What?”

“Get to know him?”

You frowned.

“Dieter can be a real asshole but… I think I would like you to meet me. The real me. If you… If you want to,” he added. He was nervous you could tell.

You shuffled closer to him and he looked at you with those warm brown eyes that held so many secrets.

“I would like that,” you whispered and smiled up at him. He smiled back, his arm coming around your back to pull you against his side as you lay your head against his shoulder.

Five years later

“Mr. Bravo! So good to see you back on the red carpet. You look great. You are nominated for three Academy Awards tonight. Congratulations on the success of “Going back”. What inspired you to write this story?”

Dieter smiled at the camera, before he looked down at the silver ring on his left ring finger. He always wore rings, no one thought much of it. But this one was special. You had put it on his finger.

“Life,” he said, thinking of you waiting for him back home. How you were watching him, probably laying in bed because your pregnant belly was killing your back. You couldn’t travel anymore and he didn’t want to come either tonight but you insisted.

No award would ever compare to spending time with you.

“It was inspired by life.”

#my fic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x fem. reader #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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