#in the image i was putting out into the world

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So I saw a post with art about Paulina and Damian being twins in spirit and I thought it was so GOOD AND I CANYVGWY IT OIT OF MY HEADDD

So Paulina and Damian were born in the Leauge, and because Paulina was the girl and the youngest she was treated more harshly out of the two.

Talia couldn’t take it and took Paulina to the states and put her up for adoption and told Ra’s she had died. Damian and Paulina were 5

Damian grew up without his twin, believing she died. He moved in with his father when he was 9 and didn’t mentioned because what was the point of mentioning someone who wasn’t even alive anymore. He also wanted to preserve her memory, he knew his sister as a frieze warrior, and the family’s grief and pity would hurt the image he had of he in his mind

So, when Damian is 15 and is banned from patrol for one reason or another he’s in the batcave, looking over the paper work from the MCOA (meta children of America, a program to try and locate meta children with powers to help them gain control and stability) and discovers two extremely powerful metas in Illinois.

Danny Fenton and Paulina Sanchez

(I think the extensive flagged as a meta gene, and because Danny is a halfa and Paulina pent her early childhood years around the pits and amity, she would be affected)

At first, looking at Paulinas photo hurt him, because she looks so much like his sister.

And he realizes that she is his sister.

Without telling anybody, he boards the next flight to Amity.

Paulina’s life as a civilian was jarring compared to the LOA. She had figured out Fentons identity almost immediately and (for fun) decide to pretend to be obsessed with him.

And when the school had them submit their DNA for the MCOA test, she was a bit worried, but here was nothing she could do at the time.

After the LOA didn’t come knocking, she figured she as safe.

Until she was sitting in Lancers class and her twin brother walking the room.

She doesn’t know that he’s not with the League, so she thinks he going to bing her and she not about to return.

So she brawls him in the middle of class.

They keep fighting, Damian fighting on defense, and Paulina digging on offense until Damian chokes out that he’s not with his mother any more and he’s with his father now

Paulina: oh we have a dad now? How is he

Damian: stupid

Paulina: you must take after him! What his name?

Damian: Bruce Wayne

Paulina: 🫢

Unfortunately, someone records the entire brawl and posts it on social media before they realize, and suddenly the Waynes are in Amity and so is the League.

And once the Leiage takes one look at Phangom with his ectoplasmic abilities like the Lazarus pit they also attempt to capture him.

So now not only does the whole world know that there’s another Wayne girl, but that Damian and Paulina were raised in a cult and that Ghosts are real.

So Paulina and Danny take shelter in Gotham with the Wayne’s and JLA protecting them (the LOA is one of the JLAs enemies)

(Danny x Damian!!)

[yandere-yearnings]

Weird thought rant ‼️

I always see in smuts that the MC gets a belly bulge and all that but okay, hear me out, how about MALE belly bulge? I have no idea if that’s possible due to male anatomy but I just thought that would be something

Join the cause and support Male belly bulge 😸

dw nonnie, i'm alr w/ you😌✨ (+ for reference it is possible!!)

anyway, this, for vio bc i feel like it'd be more prominent on him than my other ocs. also as a little smth for all the vio fuckers who continue to dominate the inbox🥰

NSFW under the cut!

“Shit.” Gasping breaths. Intakes hitched harder and harder. “Fuck, please. Please, I’m sorr-”

Vio's words never quite made it out of his mouth, not when your fingers quickly found their place within the wetness oozing from the space between spongey tongue and roof. Teary greens straining to meet your gaze, pleading mercy like what you were doing to him was torture, even though Vio was the one who slammed his ass back to meet your hips each time, without fail. 

“Aren’t you a fucking mess?” The amusement in your voice was palpable, and you knew it got him off, what with the way he keened, forehead pressing to the sheets and hands fisting the fabric as though it could save his life. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard an apology from these pretty lips,” your point was driven home when he gagged, and your spit-slicked digits slipped out just for you to smear it to a shine on them, “best not start now, hm? It might make me wanna take pity on you and then-”

He cried your name, and you watched the muscles in his back ripple as he convulsed. Sweat glistening, mesmerising in the way rain droplets were when they ran races against glass windows, dripping into the divots of sacral dimples you were aching to dig your thumbs into.

“And then who’s gonna fuck you like this, huh?” Your cleaner hand reached out, wrapped around his throat tight enough to choke him, and pulled him up. It drove you deeper into him — had Vio's eyes rolling to the back of his skull, had him clawing at you with almost the same intensity as he moaned. “Fuck you this good,” your hand trailed to his abdomen, where skin stretched thin, “fill you up, make you scream. You know I’m the only one who can do it for you. Only I know who you are, what you deserve. Right, Vio?”

“O-Only you,” Vio rasped, “only you, Y/N. Please.”

“You keep saying that,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to his jugular absent-mindedly. His pulse was fluttering, light and so fast in a way you thought suited the image of delicacy he’d crafted for the world. The way his body molded to your shape said otherwise, unbreaking, despite your efforts to do just that. “What are you begging for? What have I not given you?”

“Everything.” Wisps of blue flurried in your vision, and they were all you could see for seconds after Vio tilted his head back on your shoulder. The ocean, in the colour of his eyes. Lapping waves that undulated and moved towards you. “This much isn’t enough.” Seasalt at his nape, on your tastebuds, becoming addictive. “Give it all to me.” Threatening to drown you. “Y/N.”

For a second you were gone, and then his voice, weighted only momentarily, had you snapping back into reality, into motion, into him. “Greedy,” you tittered, index up his Adam’s apple to tap on his chin and push it down, “can’t you see that I already am?”

“Fuck.” Vio's eyes widened, the slightest bit — you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t looking. Your palm smoothed over where his belly bulged, applied a little pressure and watched his pupils blow. It was funny to you that he hadn’t noticed before. “Fuck. Y/N, wait.” Between his legs, Vio's dick twitched, clearly not as spent as either of you had first assumed, not with how it was leaking now. “Wait!”

There are things you’d never know about him; what type of pleasure coursed through his veins on seeing the strain you put on him, if it was a physical fulfillment, if it was solely the feeling, or the thought, being claimed, stretched, ruined. You never wandered about it long — after all, it didn’t matter. In seconds, the ocean overflowed for you. He spilt for you.

Vio lost his mind for you.

[paradisewithinpain]

thinking about SIMON RILEY who has no idea how to say no to you and really doesnt want to

you want one of his sweaters? it's yours

you wanna put hair clips in his hair? he's asking you which ones

you wanna go somewhere? he's already buying a ticket or loading up his truck

this is how i personally see things playing out...

"Si! come see this!" you were scrolling through pinterest when you saw a couch that was too good to be true. it was huge, more than big enough to accommodate your 6'2 giant of a boyfriend.

there was nothing inherently wrong with your couch, but you'd be lying if you weren't scared of the framing breaking whenever simon sat down in with all the momentum in the world.

you tilted your head back when you felt a presence looming over you. you excitedly showed him your phone, images of the couch on the screen.

"look at this, it has extra padding and extra bracing at the bottom." you explain, showing him the details of your current find.

he let out a small hum of acknowledgement, gently taking your phone from you.

you had done this enough times to know what he was doing. he was memorizing the product name, the company, probably estimating the delivery time too.

when he handed you back your phone and placed a small kiss on the top of your head before walking away, you smiled to yourself knowing you'd have a new couch by the end of next week.

ultimately, he's pretty much your sugar daddy, boyfriend, and personal plaything all in one

and he wouldn't have it any other way

[spencerxalvez]

spencer reid x fem!reader microfic; 600 words; fluff, athletic reader, slice of life

His chest heaves; every breath tears from his lungs in soft, desperate pants for air. There’s a thin sheen of warm sweat that’s forming over his body: at his hairline, catching in his curls; in the crevices of soft skin at his knees and elbows; along the dip at the center of his back, dripping over his spine. The muscles in his legs tremble delicately, quivering with exertion and threatening to give out.

But there’s her.

He closes his eyes briefly and the image of her remains— all unexpected strength in lithe muscles; soft skin; breath that comes easy and a voice that drifts like summer.

“Need to—” he gasps.

He can tell she’s watching him as he stops moving and the world tilts around him.

“What do you need, Spence?” she asks.

He puts his hands on his knees and looks up into the sunlight, squinting at her. The world rights itself; she’s standing at the center of the path, her hands on her hips and her ponytail caught in the breeze that chills the sweat on his back and makes him shiver unpleasantly. She’s dressed in a matching athletic set and her favorite worn-in running shoes, the hem of the top in line with her just-visible abdominal muscles.

She’s smiling at him, barely out of breath at all.

“Water?” she asks, too sweetly. Spencer swallows hard and shakes his head; he sort of thinks if he tries to drink right now, he might throw up. Instead, he moves toward the grass and tumbles onto it. He hates sitting on the ground, but at the moment anything is preferable to being on his legs. She laughs as he collapses to the earth, and gamely takes a seat next to him.

“How do you do this every day?” he groans eventually.

“I don’t run every day,” she answers reasonably. “Sometimes I take barre.”

Spencer does his best to glare at her. It’s hard, when she’s smiling like that.

“I might be dying,” Spencer croaks, flopping down onto his back and flinging his arm over his eyes.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “when I asked you to go running with me, I thought you’d be a little more in shape.”

Spencer peers out at her from beneath his arm, incredulous.

“What ever gave you that impression?” he asks.

She shrugs. “You’re an FBI agent,” she says. “Don’t you have like, physical mandates and stuff?”

Spencer covers his eyes again. “I’ve been avoiding them every year since the one time that Morgan tried to help Garcia and I train,” he says.

“Spencer Reid,” she gasps. “Are you admitting to being a cheater? Deceiving the Federal Bureau of Investigation? In broad daylight?”

“Stop,” Spencer groans, half-laughing. “Actually, there’s only a twelve-point minimum score required to pass the FBI’s physical fitness test. Mathematically, I can afford to score only—”

She has been running for a mile. Miraculously, when she kisses him, she still tastes like the strawberry jam she ate in her kitchen this morning.

When she pulls away, she’s smiling.

“We should do this more often,” she says. “So that maybe you can actually pass it next time. Oh, and you should definitely try something like—”

This time, it’s his kiss that cuts her off. She smiles into it like she’d wanted him to do it all along, and when they pull apart she’s still beaming.

“Race you,” she says.

And then she’s gone. And Spencer— well, like always, Spencer follows.

[year2000electronics]

I absolutely LOVELOVELOVE your Reverse Falls HCs from what I've seen :). I would love to ask more about so much aspects haha.

What is Reverse Ford's main goal in this universe?

What is Ford' and Stanley's backstory?

Mind sharing some info about Reverse! Dipper and Reverse! Mabel?

HOKAY. i will use this ask to talk a little about the reverse stans' backstories because i have Some Ideas. as always full answer under cut bc its got images and rambles galore

in my mind, the gleeful family association with magic & the supernatural starts with caryn's phone psychic business, and ford having "The Gift" while stan ABSOLUTELY doesnt. but in real terms that means just having a really strong intuition and being able to guess well. (at least thats what filbrick and caryn thing. ford genuinely thinks he has some semblance of psychic ability and so does his mom, but they just havent properly honed it yet) and so ford is the preferred child for that, instead of his smarts really. ford is also obsessed with the supernatural still, but it's more focused on the magical aspect.

ford and stan's relationship ends up being close because stan is the only one who believes ford about magic. i mean there are other reasons but thats very important to ford

ford, seeing how stan has always had his back by believing what he says about magic, offers to try and "tutor" stan into having The Gift. drilling him for hours by holding up cards and making him guess, stuff like that. but yknow, since both of them are kinda clamoring to inherit their mom's business, stan kinda ends up relying on ford for everything, and theyre taking on almost a mentor-student relationship when theyre Literally Brothers.

instead of west coast tech, the scholarship ford is being offered is for a famous performing arts school after his teachers saw him take the leads in school plays year after year. they tell him a scout will be at their school's talent show, and ford decides he's going to put on a stage magic show (with stan as his assistant). this time, not only is stan worried about ford leaving, but also, since they've both been working towards a really similar thing (performing for a crowd), he's really worried he'll never get a chance to show off that HE has skill, too! ford brushes him off about this saying that he'll put a good word in for stan when he's at performing arts school and stan is like "ok." and agrees to be his assistant.

in the middle of ford's show, he goes rogue, trying to show the scouts that he can be just as skilled as ford is, and completely screws up the trick he ends up performing. ford doesnt get that internship, ford is furious, so is filbrick, stan gets kicked out, you know the rest.

ford goes to backupsmore and double-majors in both theatre and whatever he majors in in the show. he plans to move to gravity falls because of its high ratings of weirdness. after stan got kicked out, instead of becoming a traveling salesman, he becomes a street magician who doubles as a pickpocket. stealing peoples' watches and stuff. he runs around all over the place

ford digs up four mystic amulets once he gets to gravity falls and stays there for a while, and is like "oh man i can USE these". so how i imagine the amulets to work is that they're kinda like, a conduit through which you can learn legit magic? like casting spells and stuff. but he probably only needs one so he keeps the other three in his house (and that's how the kids eventually find the others)

and of course thats how he starts up the tent of telepathy!

but he wants more. he wants to make the world pay for ever calling him a six fingered freak. and he wants to prove to the world that his magic IS real. he can't just lie sequestered in gravity falls forever. so he goes hunting for more answers about gravity falls' weirdness, and how he might be able to get more POWER to make a show so good the entire world will see... and that's how he summons will cipher! will tells him about the portal, and how itll open up a dimension of weirdness into his own, and ford accepts on those terms, looking out just for himself. then he asks fidds to come help with the portal, fidds walks out on him, he shackles will to him in a deal, but they both realize they don't have the manpower to run the portal. reluctantly, ford calls stan up, telling him to come and that it's important.

...but of course that doesnt go well. stan initiates a physical fight and ford ends up getting sucked into the portal. will is left alone with stan, who tells him he can buzz off because HE certainly doesnt want him around. stan works for the next 30 years to get ford back because he wants ford to finally be the one who has to suck up to HIM and owe HIM something.

at some point, mason and mabel's parents become unable to take care of them and give them to stan. he reluctantly takes them in, but soon after, not only do they find the amulets but also journal 2, and they end up reactivating ford's deal with will, getting passed down to the "next of kin" after stan rejected it. AND THATS SORTA WHERE THE SHOW STARTS. THUMBS UP.

[hyun3hk3y]

Symbolism in "Portrait of Lady Edelgard Von Hresvelg"

This is something that I’ve usually never really felt comfortable doing. If you ever wonder why some artists are a bit more reluctant to actually *talk* about the “meaning” of their work, its because it strikes the same tenor as having to explain why a joke is funny.  If I have to actually lay it out for the viewer why certain decisions were made in the execution of a work of art, the magic of the whole experience may be lost.  Moreover, many artists avoid making definitive statements on their work because they do not wish to deprive viewers the opportunity to derive their own unique explanation. 

While I chiefly view myself as a fine artist, most of my artistic training was as an illustrator.  As an artist, this can lead to an interesting dichotomy when it comes to creating paintings.  During my studies, I was told that the job of an illustrator is to solve pictorial problems for people often by making pictures that tell a story or convey an idea.  Fine art’s definition, in contrast, tends to be more nebulous.  But I digress, on to the painting…

A number of people on reddit and Tumblr have remarked on the candle with the snuffed-out flame.  No interpretations on it have been offered, the mere presence of a candle with a smoldering wick is a strong enough implication.  However, this is one instance where I drew inspiration from art history so I believe it is worth elaborating on.  The animus for the candle originates in the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.  Below is an image of the painting with the pertinent candle circled.

Art history scholars have a number of different readings about the candle’s presence, but the one I was taught in Art History is that the lit candle indicates the presence of the holy ghost or the watchful eye of God.  Three Houses draws from a number of religions for its world building, in the case of The Church of Serios, the developers took the majority of their cues from The Catholic Church.  If a lit candle would suggest Edelgard’s faith in the Goddess, then an extinguished one must imply Edelgard’s *loss* of faith. 

In addition to the extinguished candle, I would also like to direct viewers to the reflection of the candle in the polished wood table surface. In the reflection the candle is still burning very brightly, almost down to the base of the candelabra.

The purpose of this image is to recall a saying from old Taoism Philosophy in China: “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”  Those who are familiar with Edelgard’s back story in Three Houses will find its relevance obvious.  I doubt I am the only one to make the allusion.

This brings me to the next major piece of symbolism I employed in the painting, the dagger and the drapery on the table.  The dagger’s significance should go without saying, but its application as a device will become more apparent after I explain the table cloth.  To put it succinctly, the majority of the dark shadow shapes made by the tablecloth are arranged to evoke the shape of the crest of flames.  Below is another visual to help illuminate this detail. 

The immediate implication here is the detail of Edelgard possessing the crest of flames.  As for why I decided to depict it in a more concealed way…When I first got the idea for this painting, the whole concept was that if a person saw this painting in a gallery, they would be looking at an actual artifact from Fodlan, one that created by an artist who actually lived there.  This is why the second row of the inscription reads “In the Imperial Year” on the left side and “1179” on the right.  This means the painting would have been completed just before Edelgard starts attending Gareg Mach, and long before the greater public would know she has the crest of flames.  How the artist came to know this would remain a mystery.  I like to imagine it as a detail that Fodlan’s historians would debate over for years after the game’s narrative.

There is also a second message that I have intended with the dagger’s placement cutting (heh) across the crest…Gripping the dagger over the crest of flames is a statement about what the path is that Edelgard will take, especially when the crest is examined as representing the Goddess Sothis.  In fact, there are two (technically three) lines of dialogue from Three Houses I had in mind for this symbolism.

That about sums it up!  I may do a couple more posts in the future where I show how the painting evolved from thumbnails, to studies to the finished image if theres interest in that sort of thing.

[hikkisunny]

HYAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH🤬🤬🤬

YOU ALL FAILED. YOU ALL REALLY THOUGHT I PUT MY TORD HSTING WAYS BEHIND ME?

NO

IT WAS ALL A BIG FAT JOKE. NONE OF IT WAS TRUE. TORD THOUGHT HE GOT ME BUT HE IS VERY FAR FROM IT.

When tord came to me saying that he was pregnant with my kids. I knew i was being hazed i knew it was all one RUSE.

Tord would never let himself get pregnant without ulterior motives. And then it hit me. HES TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD. HES TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD WITH HIS DEMON SPAWN. I knew i had to gain his trust to put an END to this.

So while he was at my beautiful house, i pushed him down the stairs and he landed flat on his stomach.. Blood got on my carpet but its ok my papa trained me for this!

BUT THEN HE ATTACKED ME.

I thought i was done for.. but despite tord big head, hes really dumb! So i just pushed him down the stairs again [insert 1st image here]

Turns out even satan himself isnt immune to brain damage, he passed out and i drove him to somewhere he isnt familiar at all with a water bottle. And i have a gun if he ever tries to come back

Goodbye Tord. Dont ever try and use me for your evil schemes ever again! I have a lot of blood to clean up. I actually should clean my whole place up to get rid of all the tord germs. Mostly my room

[flowercrowngods]

The Last Day.

Steve doesn’t remember what drove him here — he doesn’t remember a lot of things lately, not that he’s mentioned that to anyone. They don’t really question these things anymore. Fucky vision, nightmares without sleeping, or things that just get lost in the everyday grind of remembering to do normal things like eat or drink or where the fuck he put his glasses.

So, he doesn’t remember what drove him here, if he was supposed to get something or if he just needed to get out of the gym, needed to breathe some air that’s not filled with anxiety and grief and the pressure of survivor’s guilt and why and how and when around every corner, behind every door, underneath every donated item and in every bite of stale peanut butter sandwiches.

The library was never a place of comfort for him, and he honestly never really cared about it one war or another. If pressed for it, he couldn’t name five books in all of these shelves. He never really looked.

But now, in the semi-darkness, the empty shelves are somehow daunting. All useful books were taken, children’s books donated to all the families that stayed, all science books stolen by people who were sure they could fix this, could get behind this, could build generators and water refineries and all that shit.

Somehow, the negative space in these shelves draws him in, and he takes a deep breath. A breath that Dustin would like, probably. It smells like books. It smells old. It smells like, somehow, somewhere, there might still be a constant in this world. Something that will remain. Like maybe there will always be a library that smells of old books. No matter how often the world will end.

It’s a strange thought. But comforting. He trails the shelves, not really looking at the books, walking too fast still to make out the titles in the dim light, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to stand. To linger.

The next two rows are completely empty, and it makes him shiver. Robin probably has a name for the feeling. Maybe melancholy. Or maybe he’s just haunted. Susceptible to absence.

Or maybe they’re the same feeling.

Blindly, he reaches for a book, because his hands begin to tingle and he really needs something to do before his lungs catch up and his brain finds out that he’s somehow almost about to panic, or to relapse, or to drop to the floor if his legs don’t regain feeling soon.

He keeps walking, the book in hand. It’s a slim edition, bound in leather, and it feels really old. Looks like it, too.

Michael Bruce

He carefully flips it open, the old paper crackling with the movement, and he wonders briefly if this is the part of the library that’s usually watched like a hawk, the part where you’re not allowed to touch the books without supervision and certainly not without reason. Maybe. Maybe this Michael Bruce hasn’t seen a real face in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to find out that they’re mostly poems—and of course they are, old books are almost always filled with poems.

He opens the book at a random page, still needing to settle his hands, his heart, his mind. The title makes his heart drop. “The Last Day.”, it’s called; still his eyes glide over the lines, intrigued.

Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm. I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house, For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Okay. Sure. So, maybe this Michael Bruce dude is not the best company when the world is sort of ending. But somehow Steve can’t stop reading, and for the first time he kind of doesn’t want to stop reading a poem. This one’s different anyway. This one just… it gets him.

Images of Barb flood his mind. Eddie. Chrissy. Max. Everyone who was lost, everyone who has an empty coffin in their grave and an NDA penned to their name.

To the dust We gave the dead.

The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to go back out there. Head to the gym and fold clothes and check the missing posters and make phone calls to find out, to make sure, to keep in touch. The labours of the day. The thoughts of death.

Shaking hands flip the pages, two at once, because he doesn’t want to live the last day; doesn’t want to hear about it. He needs to know how it ends, needs to make sure, needs to find out, just—

A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood : While dim eclipse impaird his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre : Ocean rag'd, And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild.

Suddenly, what little light was left to stream through the windows disappears, stealing the words from beneath his eyes, and before he can look up and breathe, the door to the library bursts open, revealing a panicked Robin.

“Steve?”

“Robbie?”

“You… You better come see this.”

He hears it in her voice. The resignation. Oceans raging as the fainting sun grows pale. Confusion. Helpless, heartless, wild.

He closes Michael Bruce and runs toward her on numb legs, not ready to find out about the new apocalypse he’s gonna find outside the library. And seeing black skies through the windows and pale faces behind them, reflecting against the growing darkness, he wonders if he shouldn’t have skipped through the last day. The Last Day.

Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye ; amazed at the past, And for the future trembling.

Steve, too, is trembling. And Robin’s hand in his is shaking just as much.

Poetical works of Michael Bruce : with life and writings. William Stephen ed. 1895.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

☾ The Prince of Stories and his unbridled ability to avoid all possible clichés.

Summary: After kidnapping you into the Dreaming, Morpheus desperately tries to win your favor. It doesn't go to plan, nothing ever seems to go to plan.

Notes: ~600 words -- Hi, welcome to my new series cause I can never complete old ones, just start new ones.

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of kidnapping in passing, Morpheus doesn't know how to smile and it lowkey freaks you out.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

==> Next

“I can’t seem to reach them, Lucienne. Emotionally, I suppose.” Morpheus paces back and forth in the library. Despite the warm and soft atmosphere, he felt on edge and like he was being used as a pin cushion. 

“My lord,” Lucienne sighs and blinks at his audacity. “You kidnapped her and brought them back to the Dreaming.” The librarian doesn’t finish the rest, hoping the obvious was implied. 

It wasn’t. 

“Women go missing and are kidnapped all the time in Greece. Hades was said to have kidnapped his wife, Persephone, and the last I heard they were becoming amicable.” Morpheus continues his pacing.

Lucienne shoots a look at Jessamy, who only shrugs, her wings rising and falling with her breath. The raven was not a part of this scheme. In fact, she was resting peacefully in her little nest before Morpheus grabbed her on a little impromptu trip to the waking world. And then that little trip turned into a kidnapping scheme. She was an involuntary accomplice. 

“What do I do, Lucienne? Help your king.” Morpheus stops before the librarian. His tone was almost pleading, but he would never admit that and Lucienne would never voice it either. 

“How about a gesture, my lord?” Lucienne caves in. “Get her to… I don’t know, like you?”

“A gesture…” Morpheus hums in thought. He leaves the library in a hurry, never bothering to thank the librarian. Jessamy caws before flying after him. 

His sand takes him to your room that you’ve holed yourself in for the past week. You’re staring out of the glass-stained window, the moonlight casting colors on your figure like watercolors and you’re thinking of home. 

Morpheus knew of a gesture, it was novel in the waking world and everyone seemed to be doing it so surely he thought you would like it, too. Jessamy gives a doubtful look at Morpheus from her perch on his shoulders. 

You sigh, slumping and leaning your head against the window and Morpheus had half of a mind to produce some flowers instead. Flowers were safe, everyone liked flowers, but they were boring. If he is going to win your heart, he has to try something new, something exciting, something that shows you that he is not like any other man. 

He holds out his hand and gives a soft cough to let you know he is there. 

You scream. 

And you continued to scream. His image is terrifying in the dark and sporadic. The ruby crystal illuminates his stoic face from the bottom, making it look like he was scowling at you and your heart and mind widely jumps to conclusions. He gives you a smile, one he hasn’t practiced and it only spurs on your imaginations. 

HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU

HE’S GOING TO EAT YOU

YOU’RE NEVER GOING HOME!

Morpheus' hand was still outstretched; the “gesture” was his middle finger sticking straight up. He’s seen many mortals doing it and thought you might like it. Jessamy starts cawing, her cries echoing around in the room and it only adds to the discordant symphony of your screams. Her wings beat erratically in front of Morpheus’ fingers and he looks down at her with a confused look. 

“Put that away or so help me, Lord Morpheus,” she caws, using her body to block his finger—his misunderstood romantic “gesture” — from your eyes. 

The next day, he’s back to moping in the library, preventing Lucienne from doing any work with his more important woes. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, in fact, he was sure you would like it! Morpheus lets out another obnoxious sigh, he can’t even both to fornicate a form, his body turning into a pile of goop the longer he mopes dramatically. 

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

==> Next

♡ Yours, Layla

[theriverwild]

2.06 Mind Palace

There's been so much discourse about the vision Annatar conjures for Celebrimbor in 2.06. Some have pointed out there are markers that are clear indicators this vision has come from Celebrimbor's memory, and that Sauron is using his sorcery to draw images from Celebrimbor's mind, much as he entered into one of Galadriel's own memories in 1.08. Others resolutely point out many references to the time he spent with Galadriel, and many parallels to his draw towards Galadriel being that of Morgoth's to the Silmarils.

I won't attempt to prove anyone right or wrong. I will simply put forward that we are all of us deceived! Whatever the vision is, it belongs to Sauron. We see what we want to see. And this is brilliant story-telling.

Just like Galadriel and Adar know Sauron is scheming, but do not agree on the mechanism or his full plan. Just like Elrond and Gil-Galad have been unable to see eye-to-eye on the use of the rings and best mode to oppose Sauron. Just like King Durin and Prince Durin are now divided over the power of corruption Sauron has injected into their relationship.

Consider Haldir's words from The Fellowship of the Ring:

Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him. Yet so little faith and trust do we find now in the world beyond Lothlórien, unless maybe in Rivendell, that we dare not by our own trust endanger our land. We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon the bowstring than upon the harp.

And I find an interesting allusion here in the last. By the Third Age, Sauron is no longer playing Galadriel like a harp. And though she might be focused in defense of her realm and the opposition of Sauron (hands upon the bowstring), she has likewise laid down her sword, her blinding quest for vengeance.

(I'll leave it there as the Third Age Galadriel-Sauron relationship deserves it's own series of posts.)

[lyssak09]

Hello. Can you write yandere The Governor ( Philip Blake) ? Please

Yandere Philip Blake (The Governor)

So I've been rewatching his season to get some ideas for this and to refresh myself on his character, and god damn I forgot what a fucking psycho this man can be. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy. Happy reading

The governor could have met you in many ways, finding you during a recon mission, you and your small group finding Woodbury, or maybe he saw you injured while you were doing a scavenge run for the prison, and by god, you’re just so pretty, so how could he not help a pretty little thing like you.

Either way, he’ll fabricate elaborate lies about the fate of your loved ones/group, making you believe they are either dead or have abandoned you. This will isolate you emotionally and make you more reliant on him.

He collects mementos of your time together, ranging from innocent tokens to more disturbing trophies that remind him of you and your bond. These items are kept hidden, serving as a reminder of his ‘love’ for you.

When his control over you is threatened or challenged, The Governor’s demeanor can quickly shift from charming to violently possessive. He may resort to extreme measures to eliminate perceived threats to your relationship or his authority.

 In his mind, The Governor truly believes he is acting out of love and protection for you. He justifies his actions as necessary sacrifices for your happiness and survival in the harsh world they live in.

His love for you is twisted with manipulation. He showers you with gifts and affection one moment, only to use guilt or emotional blackmail to keep you from leaving his side when you express any desire for independence or doubts about his methods.

The Governor uses emotional blackmail, often threatening to harm himself or others if you try to leave or disobey him. He manipulates your guilt and compassion to keep you compliant.

I also wouldn’t put it past him to manipulate your health. If you ever fall ill or get injured, The Governor ensures you receive the best care, but he also uses your vulnerability to further establish your dependence on him. He might even exaggerate or fabricate medical conditions to keep you close.

The Governor often gives you gifts, each a reminder of how much he loves you. These gifts are sometimes eerily personal, like a necklace made from something you once mentioned liking in passing, showing just how closely he pays attention to you.

Any sign of rebellion or disobedience from you is met with stern reprimands or punishments. He uses psychological tactics, like silent treatment or feigned disappointment, to guilt you into compliance.

He constantly checks on you, bringing you gifts and necessities, ensuring you have everything you need. He uses these gestures to remind you how much he cares and how dangerous the world is outside his protection.

He uses his charm and authority to manipulate you into believing that everyone outside of Woodbury is a threat. He often exaggerates or fabricates stories of violence and betrayal to make you dependent on him.

The Governor often goes out of his way to personally inspect any new people who come into contact with you, ensuring they are no threat to you or his control over you.

To you and others, The Governor appears charismatic and caring, often offering a helping hand and creating an image of a benevolent leader. However, on the inside, his possessiveness and manipulation are prominent.

In public, The Governor often displays exaggerated affection towards you, making it clear to everyone that you belong to him. This also serves to remind you of his power and influence over your life.

The Governor keeps a journal where he obsessively documents everything about you – your likes, dislikes, daily routines, and any conversations you two have. This helps him tailor his behavior to be the perfect partner in your eyes.

He has a secret room filled with photographs and memorabilia of you. This is his sanctuary where he indulges in his obsession, convincing himself that everything he does is for your own good.

In his mind, your relationship is destined and he often speaks to you about a future where they rule over Woodbury together, framing it as a utopian dream while ignoring your discomfort.

The Governor involves you in personal projects or missions, making you feel important and valued. These projects are often designed to keep you busy and distracted from thoughts of leaving.

He frequently uses emotional manipulation to keep you dependent on him, going between showing you affection and then subtly reminding you of the horrors outside Woodbury’s walls.

He fabricates stories of people trying to harm you, using these lies to justify his controlling behavior and making you believe you are safer with him.

"Baby girl you don't understand! That man was saying some of the most awful things about you behind your back. There were rumors of him planning to help some bandits raid us! He wasn't right for Woodbury.” Phillip lies right through his teeth to you, you wouldn’t understand the truth, that man was getting in between you too. He also was starting to alert people about Phillip's weird behavior towards you. So, he needed to be eliminated.

The Governor plants false allies in your life, people who pretend to support you but are loyal to him. These spies report back on your thoughts and actions, ensuring he always knows what you’re planning.

He controls the flow of information to you, censoring news and updates about the outside world. This keeps you unaware of potential opportunities for escape or allies that might help you.

He insists on knowing your whereabouts at all times. If you’re late or out of his sight for too long, he becomes furious and demands an explanation, using his anger as a way to guilt/scare you into compliance.

"Where have you been Darlin'? You were supposed to meet us for dinner 15 minutes ago. Someone keeping you chattin'?" He says with a charming grin but if you look close enough you could see his eye twitching ever so slightly. He had planned a romantic dinner for just the two of you and with every minute of you not joining him was driving him crazy. If he had to wait even just five more minutes for you then he might have put out an alert to his security team and started hunting for you.

He manipulates situations to make you see him as your savior. For instance, he might stage a walker attack and “rescue” you just in time to reinforce your gratitude and reliance on him.

The Governor believes that his actions are justified because of the dangerous world they live in. He convinces himself and tries to convince you that his extreme measures are acts of love and necessity.

Despite his controlling behavior, he shows moments of vulnerability, sharing his past traumas to elicit sympathy from you and bind you to him emotionally.

Whenever you tries to escape or express a desire to leave, The Governor stages elaborate scenarios to prove how dangerous the outside world is, reinforcing your fear of leaving the community.

Phillip was breathing heavily, one arm wrapped around you and the other out, gripping a machete tightly. He had just secretly cut open a hole in the fence, allowing walkers to trickle in, just close enough to scare you as he rushes to be your knight in shining armor. Once he’s killed most of the walkers and gotten back up he drags you to a private spot as he investigates to see if you’re hurt at all, enjoying the feeling of you clutching onto him. “This is why you have to stay here baby, with me. Who knows what could have happened if I wasn’t here to save you.” Phillip proclaimed, having to bite back a pleased smirk as you nodded your head yes, still trying to catch your breath. Maybe this’ll stop your talks of leaving for a while.

If you continues to try and escape The Governor quietly sabotages any of your attempts to leave the community. He'll tamper with vehicles, hide supplies, or create barriers that force you to stay. But if that doesn’t deter you then he’ll become a bit more aggressive in keeping you with him and from escaping.

The Governor constantly seeks validation from you, fishing for compliments and gratitude

I 100% believe he’s an attention whore for you. All he wants is for you to focus on him 24/7. He’ll definitely have his attention on you 24/7 as well, even when he’s not with you.

He installs hidden cameras and bugs in your living quarters, ensuring he knows your every move and conversation. He often uses this information to confront you about perceived disloyalty or to manipulate your emotions.

He will become extremely violent if any harm comes to you or if anyone tries to take you from him.

The number of people he has secretly killed many for you, people who threatened you, got too close to you, got in his way, and even people who just didn’t like you. 

Phillip loves you more than anything, meaning he’d do anything for you. So good luck trying to escape him. Maybe if you’re lucky the group (Rick’s group) will manage to save you. 

Keyword maybe

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[nitrowyverine]

I think I write dating sim/VNs/etc reviews now? Anyway,

LOST IN LIMBO REVIEW/THOUGHTS

This VN piqued my interest, so I gave the demo a shot! This review will follow the same general format as my Obscura/Touchstarved review, except there's 7 (!!!) romance options.

Since I totally loved this game, I'm going to put the conclusion promo up here too: if Lost in Limbo interests you, consider playing it Here, Here on steam, and/or backing it Here!

ALSO! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE DEMO!

My (long winded) thoughts are below:

(Banner image courtesy of the Ravenstar Games tumblr account pinned post. Individual character pics courtesy of tumblr posts from the studio. Individual posts are linked in character titles.)

Gameplay design thoughts:

the plot immediately sucked me in, I'm pretty invested in whatever the hell is going on with the protag, the realms, the lords, etc. I think the setup/land are deep enough to draw me in, but not so intimidating in it's depth that I'm afraid to explore more.

I always enjoy a little bit of nightmare fuel in my games, so the voidbound are perfect. They're so gross and horrible, but not just a stock zombie/nightmare creature design. Whenever the voidbound pop up, it makes the back of my neck itch, which is perfect.

I have no idea whose route I'll pick first. Usually I have one candidate that I can pick out as number 1. This game however? I go back and forth all the time, since I love all of them. I do think I have bias for Ara/Gael/Amon/Envy, maybe?

I really want to design an MC to doodle for this, but I feel like I don't know enough about other people in the realm. (Mostly, I'm assuming that standard humans don't have pointy ears? how close to our reality is the regular world?) I might say "screw it" and design an MC anyway (with some speculative clothing for once they get cleaned up)

The backgrounds have been great set pieces so far. Sometimes I catch myself just kinda staring into space at them. They've got a fantastic flavor.

Misc. Thoughts written during a replay

Fun touch to have Evie's rock image from the beginning fortune shop scene line up with the 7 LI's color schemes.

Each of the VA's does a lovely job with their voices. I've been turned off of certain dating sims because of bad voice acting, but the acting in this game is superb so far. It really helps set the richness of the story.

I have a theory that the LI's (and possibly people in Limbo in general) experience pain differently. The characters seem largely uninterested in the MC's stabbed, weakened state, beyond a "Oh that sucks....we'll clean you up later" mentality. I wonder if they have different pain tolerances, or are just less attached to such things. (Then again, Amon and Raeya have full missing limbs/eyes, so they probably have a decent perspective on pain altogether)

What does wielder/non-wielder mean? Xal says the MC "Can't wield, can't see." What do the LI's see that we don't? Ara mentions that the MC seems "Completely normal". Many mysteries.

I need those monster forms like crazy oh my goodness. Please devs PLEASE SHOW THE MONSTER FORMS

Now, to the lovely love interests!

Amon

WHO LET THIS MAN BE OVER 7 FEET TALL? PRIDE YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO

I only just noticed he also has a few freckles, *chefs kiss* (Waaaiit do all of them have little freckle skin textures??? Oh this is a glorious day.)

It's hard not to love a big friendly guy. I was honestly relieved when he first showed up, because I did Envy's route first, and I was thrilled to see a friendly face in the big dark scary woods.

This does not mean, however, that I'm not excited to see what this guy turns into when he's mad.

I like that he has pity for MC when they first show up, but I do worry it makes his resolve weaker. I'm not as confident that he could handle society/reality breaking down as well as the others. Can he put aside his affable nature for when shit hits the fan?

Question: What level of fight had to happen for Amon to lose his eye? He's already huge, and has some sort of telekinetic powers. My theory is that he was taken by surprise, maybe by someone close to him.....(Envy I'm looking at you)

RIP Amon you would have loved Hawaiian shirts

Conclusion: Most likely to be the camp counselor who hurts his back from always giving piggy back rides. Least likely to keep his composure during a badly timed pun/dad joke.

Raeya

I'm fighting for my life whenever shes on screen good LORD

Similarly to Amon, I GOTTA know the story behind her prosthetic arm. Its so rad looking, but how did she lose a whole arm? (I am also considering that she was also not born with one)

Playing the demo again, she makes a specific comment about the monsters having not "infected a limb" of the MC. My bet is that's how she lost her arm.

I wish I could have spent 1:1 time with her, but it wasn't offered in the demo. I'd love to have like, a sit down discussion with her about history. (Well I'd be fine getting lectured about history and drinking tea and hanging out)

Out of everyone's motivations, I think I understood Raeya's the most. Even if she was against MC, I think her concerns are completely valid. If an alien fell out of the sky from a different reality to earth I'd ALSO be taking every precaution

She and Amon have matching ear chains, that's adorable....

I hope I can take her on a nice date and spoil her and let her relax in the full game, pretty please. Nothing bad will happen right???

Conclusion: Most likely to gently remind the waiter that you said NO pickles with your order, thank you very much. Least likely to admit to being the one who farted in a crowded room.

Envy

every other line from him is "UGGGHHH" and i love that for them.

After playing, I think I've finally realized that I've got a soft spot for grumps. just grumpy lil friends with their pouty faces

I want (vivi's) Envy's nails SO BAD. I need him to do my nails because theirs are perfect. Envy, envy PLEASE

They pretend not to care, but are already getting attached to the MC by the end of the demo. I can't wait to see what they're like when they actually DO get attached

Elephant in the room, what could he have possibly done to get himself demoted so severely? Everyone seems to be fine with him being demoted except Amon, who sheepishly vouches for him when he can.

I just wanna wrap him in a blanket burrito like you do with a spicy kitten. and then give him little smooches

Conclusion: Most likely to be they guy who gets one drink at a party and sits in the corner with the dog/cat all night. Least likely to allow their partner to willingly boop their nose with any regularity.

Pride

Old man yells at cloud? No....old man IS cloud.

The dev's tumblr has mentioned that he's a pathetic old man, but for now at least, I am afraid of his authority and power. since hes like. yaknow. the big god of this world

The VA did some fabulous work for his voice. I definitely got actual chills in certain parts. 10/10

Okay, so WHAT is this guy's deal with mirrors? He looks great, why is he worried about it. I sincerely doubt he's just 52 though, if he's a god. (as a note for all these interests, I have a feeling that the ages are their physical ages, and not their actual ages. Or at least, age relative to ours. I think they're much older in our years than in their years.)

We also didn't get any 1:1 time with Pride in the demo, so I'm fascinated to see what alone time with Pride would be like. Is he quiet? a chatterbox? Just a guy??? does he only play piano and not talk to you. (power move)

Conclusion: Most likely to show up WAY over-prepared for Parent-Teacher conferences. Least likely to understand and survive the cinnamon challenge.

Ara

Certified CUTIE PIE

We got a pretty clear demonstration of everyone's powers in the demo, except for Ara. Unless it was too subtle for me to realize, I'm not actually sure what her cool powers are yet.

If she DOESN'T have plant powers I'd be very surprised.

I keep wanting to think things like "I have to protect her" or "keep her safe at all costs". But then I remember she's likely absolutely terrifying, and I honestly should be actually afraid for anyone who gets in her way.

I would like to remind/inform everyone that so far, she is the only member of the cast who is visibly armed at all times. (Raeya doesn't count even if her arm claws look really really sharp.)

If I have to pick anyone to party with, it's probably Ara. I know she'd throw an absolute rager, but would also make sure you stay hydrated. I wanna hold her hand too. Please?

I'll go butch for her, i'll do it if thats what she wants. I'm weak

Conclusion: Most likely to be able convince you to give her your kidney. Least likely to let you skip a bloodthirsty game of monopoly because you "Have a headache"

Gael

where did he find pants long enough for him.

Okay. So its HIS fault that Amon has the deepest V-cut since time immemorial. Do you think Amon and Gael had an extensive argument about the minimum amount of clothes Amon has to wear at any given time? Because I do.

His powers certainly did not. Awaken anything in me. Nope.

he has the shortest and most perfect arc from stranger -> friendly -> ???? -> BETRAYAL

I am MASSIVELY curious about his dissociation/spacing out during the demo. He was 8 million miles away in the tower for some reason, and I HAVE to find out why. I just KNOW this man is doing some questionable shit with good intentions and I can't wait to find out what it is.

So, he has SOME issue with touch. No idea what it is, but I can't wait to find out what it is. Also noting he's the only one with full-coverage gloves in the cast. Interesting...

Conclusion: Most likely to cry after being sent those sad FB/insta animal stories. Least likely to let you open your own car/carriage/etc door under any circumstances.

Xal

He looks so soft. I have to bully him, in a good way. (Like grim from Date with Death)

I am fascinated as to why he would lie for MC. That's such a great hook to his character. What does a guy who so desperately wants to be left alone have to see to stick his neck out for a stranger?

SOMEONE get this man a NINTENDO DS POST HASTE

THIS GAME HAS TO GET FUNDED BECAUSE XAL SAYS HE HAS A CAT AND I WANT TO SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will do it, I will be the one to tuck him in when he is too eepy. I will carry him to bed and kiss his little head good night

Wait, if he can "Figure something out" by touching it, he could be like, the worlds greatest doctor. Xal please get off the couch and help me diagnose mystery ailments in a medical sitcom

Conclusion: Most likely to injure himself rigging up a Rue Goldberg machine to scratch his back. Least likely take it easy on you once he learns how to play super smash bros. (He's a fox/falco main)

Concerns:

What the Ravenstar team has already been able to accomplish is incredible. I'm worried that with 7 whole love interests (with a possible two more on the way if the kickstarter goes well), i'm worried the devs are taking on a whole lot of work. I think they're fully capable of taking this on, but I hope they don't burn themselves out in the process.

I'm pretty happy to see the kickstarter is moving along, but there's always the chance that something happens, and/or the kickstarter goal isn't met. BY THE TIME I FINISHED WRITING THIS IT GOT FUNDED LETS GOO!!! I still hope this project makes it all the way to completion beyond the kickstarter. Things can always happen, so Ive got my fingers crossed for the Ravenstar team!

OVERALL CONCLUSION:

I loved the demo, and I have now backed the project! The team is trying to hit stretch goals now, so share Lost in Limbo with your buddies! I crave content for this game like nothing else.

[myfavouritelunatic]

More Painful Sacrifices - Chapter Two

Surprise! I was simply too inspired by episode six, I had to continue this! And I've already planned a third chapter as well haha.

Enjoy! ❤️

The clink of the shackle around Galadriel’s wrist rang in her pointed ears. A reminder of her imprisonment, that despite her ‘dinner’ with the orc leader, her freedom was not currently her own. Though this food was more appealing than the bowl of slop at least.

“We will speak again.” Adar uttered as he walked away, leaving Galadriel chained to her seat and staring almost vacantly at the table before her. She felt her mind spiralling, sent down into an endless abyss from which there was no escape. How could a creature such as Adar share a common experience with her? How could he know what it is that he made her feel? Another reason to add to the many of why Galadriel must see to Sauron’s end. And now, with Morgoth’s crown, the existence of the rings… that end might just be possible.

Though she felt… hollow. Breathless. Lifeless. The acknowledgment of the absence of Sauron in her every day… it had put a name to that heartache. And while Galadriel loathed that her and Adar had an understanding, it was strangely reassuring to know that the emptiness she felt was real.

It meant that what they had—

Was real.

“Get out of my mind!” Galadriel hissed at the disembodied voice in her head.

Then you do not wish me to stay? To fill the void my absence created?

“I wish for you to torment me no longer!”

I only want to heal you, Galadriel.

“Stop! Stop it! I am never going to come to you, to be at your side! Cease your futile efforts, Deceiver!”

Let me help.

“You have helped me enough. I am in pain with you, I am in pain without you, my world is forever changed, even more so than after you took my brother from me! I cannot go back to the life I once had because of you! But I would rather you be gone from me than hear your voice grind within my head!”

They still doubt you, Galadriel. Don’t they? They see no other path for you than the one I have laid at your feet. Why not take my hand and walk its way?

“You know very well why! Or are you not as clever as is told?”

Are you? All other roads are blocked to you. I know you do not wish to be alone. I felt it when we—

“No. Do not.” He flashed an image in her mind, the two of them on that log. The moment that haunted her still. Where he had her by the throat with an invisible grip.

Is it not this… feeling between us… is it not that which makes you barren?

“No.”

Remember how it felt, Galadriel. Remember all we did together. Remember how you felt when you looked in my eyes and saw me. Saw your kindred spirit. Saw at last… the one who would share your burden. Who understood your darkness. Remember how it felt. Remember what it awoke.

“Awoke?”

That part of you that had laid dormant so long. Your fëa began to sing, it began to call to me.

“What?”

It knew, the deepest part of you knew you had found what you were meant to find. And in that song a fire did spark, and in me it did rage, Galadriel. Can you feel the embers tickling your skin? Igniting your flesh like dry brush begging to be incinerated?

“Please… Halbrand… I cannot—"

“You can.” His voice whispered in her ear, coming from behind her, like a spectre summoned with the utterance of his name.

Even though it wasn’t his name. Not really.

And they weren’t Halbrand’s hands now either, but Galadriel felt them upon her shoulders, running slowly down her arms, stopping only when one hand came to rest atop her own, and the other hand grasped at her iron cuff.

He was here. Again. Visible only to her eye, but still feeling as if flesh before her.

“There would be no chance of chains with me, Galadriel.” “I beg to differ.” She replied staunchly. Sauron laughed lowly, a sound just for her. “Though… if you insisted…” He breathed on her neck, and the elf could feel, just as he said, her skin being incinerated. She gasped. “Stop resisting me. You only delay the inevitable.”

“Remove yourself from me. I beg you.” “Or what? All I am doing is giving you what you desire. I am the only one that can give that to you.” Sauron stated, before moving himself around to kneel at her side, in an almost gesture of submission. She kept staring ahead, desperately committing to memory every morsel of food upon the table. Doing anything to not see him. Anything to not spend a moment thinking about what desires his irresistible power could fulfill. “I am here for you, Galadriel. Not for myself.” “Deceit. Everything you do is to serve yourself.” “Look at me, Galadriel. Please.” She held fast and kept eyeing a particularly thick bone that had only a sliver of white meat remaining at its tip.

“Galadriel…” His voice fell to a whisper, which matched the ghosting touch of his hand that now moved across her thigh. She tensed. She heard gravel move. He had shifted closer to her, his hand now stretched across her lap, moving slowly across her other thigh, more firmly now. The she-elf still resisted. But then she felt something heavier come to rest upon her, and knowing only what it could be, she feared it. She feared more than ever to glance down at him.

For it would be her undoing.

“Galadriel…”

Halbrand’s voice. Why did it have to be Halbrand’s voice? His song calling back to her, telling her he was ready, that he wanted her equally. That the feeling between them was shared. He was so warm in her lap, it was as if she could feel the fire he spoke of, the flames within him that she had ignited.

She lifted up her free hand with the sudden intention to push Sauron off of her, but was taken aback by something she did not expect. The absence of her ring. Of Nenya. This was the hand upon which it had rested, this ring that had guided her. And even though it was gone now, there was a truth she could not deny.

It had lead her here.

To Adar.

And to Sauron. Just as she knew it would.

It was exactly as he said. Inevitable.

In that moment she finally let her eyes fall upon the beast in her lap. But a beast he was not. All he was, was Halbrand.

Galadriel began to cry.

She watched one of her tears land on his cheek, and he did nothing to brush it away. He only gazed up at her, smiling with that warmth that radiated within him. She could feel his thumb grazing her leg. “H-halbrand…” “Shhh… it’s alright. I’m here. At last.”

The hand she raised in hatred, was now brought down upon him in love, and even though he wasn’t truly here, she could feel him. She could feel all of him. His hair was so soft, and he sighed as she ran her hand through it. Halbrand nuzzled into her, and all the tension Galadriel had been carrying was suddenly released. She let go. She gave in.

She stopped resisting.

“What are we to do?” She asked him, her voice still trembling from the plethora of emotions spilling from her heart. “We will be together soon. Don’t worry.” Halbrand spoke softly into her belly. “But how?” “You need not know how, Galadriel. As long as you know when. That is all that matters.” He suddenly reached for her hand, pulling it down to his lips. His kiss scorched her and lingered like a scar. But it felt so good. She wanted more.

“I told you… what you felt… I can give it to you. If you’ll let me?”

She felt her desire begin to well up inside her, to the point of it expelling from her bright blue eyes, falling down into his heated pools of hazel. Galadriel watched as he kissed her palm this time, not breaking their shared gaze, and his tongue joined his lips to meet her flesh. The she-elf gasped, and Sauron smiled, before he vanished like he was never there.

Footsteps drew near.

The now familiar stalk of the father of the orcs.

Adar had returned.

But he would not find all of Galadriel waiting for him.

For Sauron had taken her heart.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Friends Without Benefits

Status: One Shot, Complete

Summary: Even if you don't believe it, Dieter Bravo is actually capable of having platonic friendships.

Word Count: 10.5k words

Warnings: strong language, heavy flirtation, sexual tension (no smut--can you believe it??), mentions of past affairs and scandals, alcohol consumption, references to Dieter’s reckless behavior, mentions of drug use, emotional vulnerability, humor, inappropriate jokes (because, Dieter!), legal contract about not fucking

A/N: Okay, I know what you're thinking… another Dieter fic? Yeah, I know—it’s like my fourth one, so clearly, the brain rot is real, and I’m trying to get it out of my system (seriously, I’m trying… sort of). I know I haven’t updated Lifeline in a hot minute, but we’ll get to that later, lol. This fic is a little different from the usual—there’s a lot more fluff and friendship stuff, but I really enjoyed playing with the dynamic of two people who could totally cross the line but decide not to (because, honestly, it’s working for them as is). Also, apologies for any typos—I tried proofreading, but doing it on my phone isn’t exactly ideal. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

P.S. My laptop, which served me well for 5 years, just gave out. With grad school, the recent loss of my stepdad, and ongoing medical bills, finances are tight. I’m currently managing writing commissions and my dissertation from my phone, which is okay but really challenging. If you can help with a donation or by commissioning some of my writing, or just by simply commenting or reblogging, it would mean the world to me. 💜 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support you can offer. 💜🙏🏻

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

It started with a rejection email.

Not the kind that offered hope for future opportunities, but the type that crushed your spirit in one curt sentence:

"We regret to inform you that your application for the Screenwriting Development Program has not been accepted."

She read it over twice, then a third time, hoping something had been missed. A reason, some constructive feedback, anything. But it was just a copy-paste response sent to dozens—maybe hundreds—of other hopefuls like her. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and put the laptop to sleep.

The screen faded to black, reflecting back an image she barely recognized anymore: tangled hair, circles under her eyes, and the lingering trace of a smile she hadn’t used in days.

“Whatever,” she muttered to herself. “I didn’t need it anyway.”

That was a lie.

The Screenwriting Development Program was her shot, her dream, the chance to step out of her day-to-day grind and into the world she’d always wanted. A world where she wrote stories that people would actually care to hear.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. In fifteen minutes, she had to be at the diner. She grabbed her apron off the back of a chair and stuffed it into her bag before heading out.

As usual, the shift was long. And slow. She spent most of her time refilling coffee for the regulars and plastering on a smile that barely reached her eyes. The rejection lingered like a dark cloud, reminding her how close she was to giving up completely. By the time her shift ended, she was so exhausted that she didn’t even change out of her uniform. She just grabbed her bag and headed out into the night.

The long walk up to her apartment felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t until she reached her front door that the next wave of despair hit her like a punch to the gut.

An eviction notice.

She stared at the paper taped to her door, her heart sinking.

“Great,” she whispered bitterly, ripping it off and crumpling it into a ball before shoving it into her bag.

Four weeks. She had four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street.

Later, she sat on her couch in her underwear and a camisole, trying to ignore the cold chill of the eviction notice that still hovered at the edge of her mind. The TV buzzed in the background, Dieter Bravo’s voice filling the small apartment with a familiar rasp. A half-eaten carton of ice cream sat beside her, its contents softening to a puddle as she mindlessly scooped the melting mess.

Hunger Strike was playing again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d watched it by now. Dieter’s performance was the kind that stuck with you, the kind that won awards. It wasn’t just a movie anymore; it was the movie that had put him on the map—had made him a star and earned him that Oscar. She didn’t care if everyone else had moved on to the next blockbuster; for her, Hunger Strike was it. Every look in his eyes, every rasp of desperation in his voice felt real, almost too real. It was like he wasn’t acting at all.

"We don’t need them. They need us!" His character was yelling now, his voice hoarse, raw with intensity. She could practically feel his pain, his determination radiating through the screen.

She wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was everything—her life, the rejection, the eviction notice looming like a ticking time bomb. Or maybe it was just Dieter. Watching him made her feel seen, like somehow, through all the chaos, someone else understood what it was like to be on the edge.

The credits rolled on Hunger Strike, but instead of turning off the TV, she did what any fan would—she went down the rabbit hole. The screen filled with suggested videos, interviews, and, of course, the latest tabloid scandals. Dieter Bravo was all over the place lately. She had seen the headlines—everyone had. It was impossible to ignore him, even if you tried.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through Twitter, where his name was trending yet again.

"Dieter Bravo's Latest Scandal: Sex Tape with Male Assistant Exposed!"

"Gender Identity Crisis or Another Stunt? Dieter Bravo Caught in Love Triangle with Married PA!"

"Oscar-Winning Actor, Homewrecker? Dieter Bravo Linked to Personal Assistant's Broken Marriage!"

She exhaled sharply, half-amused, half in disbelief. Every few months, it seemed, something like this would pop up—another scandal, another explosion in the media circus surrounding him. But this one? A sex tape? With his male personal assistant, who was married to a woman?

It was outrageous. It was chaotic. It was exactly what you'd expect from Dieter Bravo.

How does one even make this shit up? she thought, as she tapped one of the articles. The details were just as wild as the headlines. Apparently, the PA was a guy named James, and he’d been with Dieter for years—right up until last week, when everything blew up.

An article excerpt says: "Sources say that the sex tape in question was filmed during a drug-fueled party at Dieter’s mansion. It shows intimate moments between the actor and his assistant, James, who is reportedly married to a woman. James has since left Dieter’s employment amid the scandal, and insiders claim the actor is ‘unapologetic’ about the affair. This is just the latest in a long string of public meltdowns for the once-revered actor. Dieter Bravo’s chaotic lifestyle has led many to question his mental stability and even his gender identity, as he continues to defy traditional labels."

She snorted, shaking her head. “Unapologetic? That sounds about right.”

It wasn’t that she supported his reckless behavior, but there was something about Dieter that always seemed to push boundaries in every direction. He lived like a car crash happening in slow motion, and yet, people couldn’t look away. The scandals, the chaos—they were just part of his public persona. But there was more to him than that.

She clicked on an older interview from the Cliff Beasts 6 press tour. That was the movie where everything started to unravel for him. The film was supposed to be a big comeback, but instead, it had exposed the man behind the Oscar-winning actor—drugs, sex, alcohol, and a level of unpredictability that no one in Hollywood could quite handle.

Interviewer: “Dieter, after your incredible performance in Hunger Strike, people expected another award-winning role in Cliff Beasts 6, but... that’s not what happened. Can you talk about what went wrong?”

Dieter Bravo (slouching, visibly tired): “Cliff Beasts 6... yeah, man, that was a mess. But, like, it was supposed to be a mess, wasn’t it? I mean, we were trapped in that goddamn bubble for months longer than planned, and by the end, it wasn’t even a movie anymore. It was survival.” He laughed, a rough, bitter sound. “I overdosed on camera, for fuck’s sake. People thought it was part of the documentary. Maybe it should’ve been.”

Interviewer: “So, the extended shoot during the pandemic—did that affect the film’s outcome?”

Dieter (rubbing his temples, shaking his head): “Affect it? It was the outcome. By the time we got to month six, no one gave a shit about the movie anymore. It was just about getting out of there alive. People wanted me to deliver some award-winning performance? Dude, I was barely holding it together. I mean, look at the film—Cliff Beasts was never about art. By the sixth one, it was just... noise. Star-studded, CGI-filled noise. People expected something big, but I gave them a disaster. Maybe that’s what it needed to be.”

Interviewer: “The overdose incident—was that something planned for the documentary, or did things just... get out of control?”

Dieter Bravo (smirking, then shrugging): “Planned? Nah, man, nothing was planned by then. I mean, the cameras were always rolling, right? So when I went down... they just kept filming. Thought it’d make for good behind-the-scenes footage or something. But that’s Hollywood for you.” He paused, letting the weight of it sink in before adding, “People don’t care if you’re falling apart. They just want to know if it’ll sell.”

Interviewer: “That’s pretty heavy. Do you think Cliff Beasts 6 was the start of your... well, decline? It’s no secret you’ve had a rough few years since.”

Dieter Bravo (lighting a cigarette, ignoring the studio's no-smoking policy): “Decline? Maybe. I dunno. I think people were already looking for a reason to tear me apart. Cliff Beasts just made it easier. It wasn’t the overdose that got people talking, it was the fact that it happened while I was making a movie no one cared about anymore. The sixth installment, man. By that point, the franchise was running on fumes, and so was I. But people love a good downfall, right? They see someone on top, and they wait for you to crash. They’ll stick a camera in your face and call it a documentary when really, it’s just a freak show.”

She paused the video, the cigarette smoke still curling from Dieter’s lips frozen on the screen. The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. It was no wonder the media loved to tear him apart; they were practically fed the narrative on a silver platter. His whole life had become the entertainment industry’s favorite sideshow.

She stared at the screen for a few more moments, Dieter’s face frozen in that half-smirk, half-exhausted expression. He was unraveling, and everyone was watching. Cliff Beasts 6 might have been the breaking point, but it wasn’t the cause. No, Dieter had been falling apart long before that.

In a different world, she imagined, she and Dieter could be friends. He’d probably laugh at the mess she just made, tell her not to sweat it. In another life, maybe they’d meet over coffee or work on some crazy indie project together. They’d both be swimming in their own chaos, but maybe that’s what would make their friendship work.

She wasn’t delusional; she knew Dieter Bravo was a celebrity—someone she would probably never meet, never know beyond the screen. But sometimes, when he said things like that, it felt like he was speaking directly to her. Like maybe, in some other life, they’d get along. They’d get each other.

Her eyes drifted down to the eviction notice sitting on the coffee table. Four weeks, it said. Four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street. It was hard to feel hopeful when every option felt like a dead end. And yet, watching Dieter talk about his own collapse, she didn’t feel so alone.

Her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her.

She ignored it at first, assuming it was just another bill reminder. But when she glanced at the screen, her breath caught.

Studio Callback - Screenwriting Internship.

Her heart stopped. A callback? After all this time?

Without thinking, she sat up too fast, the ice cream carton tipping over the edge of the couch and spilling melted chocolate onto the floor. “Shit!” she cursed, grabbing a towel and wiping at the sticky mess with quick, frustrated swipes.

It felt surreal. She had applied for that screenwriting internship months ago and had long since written it off as a missed opportunity. But here it was—another chance.

She stood there, towel in one hand, her phone in the other, staring at the message like it might disappear if she blinked. Four weeks until eviction, a job that barely covered her bills, and now, out of nowhere, this lifeline.

Her eyes flicked back to the TV, where Dieter’s face still stared back at her.

She picked up her phone and, without hesitating, replied to the message. Yes. I’ll be there.

–

The next day…

The waiting room buzzed with the same dreary energy it had since she’d arrived nearly an hour ago. Grey walls, uncomfortable chairs, and that humming fluorescent light that seemed to buzz directly into her brain. She sat on the edge of her seat, fingers tracing the spine of her portfolio, glancing at the door every time it swung open.

But this time, it wasn’t her turn.

It was him.

Dieter Bravo stormed into the room like a hurricane, sunglasses still perched on his face even though the room was dim, his hair a chaotic mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed—or maybe stumbled out of a party. His team trailed behind him, all looking frazzled and overworked. He barely acknowledged them as he flopped into a chair across from her with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Well, this is bullshit,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m a goddamn Oscar winner, and they’ve got me sitting in this dump of a waiting room like I’m some extra on a low-budget indie film.”

She bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement. She knew who Dieter Bravo was the second he’d walked in—who didn’t? His face had been plastered on every tabloid for weeks. But there was something surreal about seeing him up close, in the flesh, like he’d been plucked straight from her TV screen. Don’t freak out, she told herself. He’s just a person.

Still, the excitement bubbled up inside her, and for a moment, she just stared at him, feeling the shock wear off.

He caught her staring. “What? You think this is funny?”

She blinked, pulling herself together, giving him a deadpan look. “I think you’re acting like someone who’s forgotten what a waiting room is.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or intrigued. “And you are?”

She shrugged. “Someone who’s been sitting here for an hour. Pretty sure I’m about to merge with this chair if they don’t call me soon.”

Dieter snorted, sitting up a little straighter, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like that. Not outside his circle, at least. “An hour, huh? That’s it? Try six months trapped in a COVID bubble filming Cliff Beasts 6. That’s real torture.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I saw that movie. Pretty sure it was a crime against humanity.”

He cracked a grin. “Hey, that movie’s still paying my rent.”

“Is it? Seems like you should be able to afford better waiting rooms, then.”

Dieter leaned back in his chair, adjusting his sunglasses even though they weren’t needed. “Touché.”

There was a pause, a silence between them that felt more comfortable than awkward. They were sizing each other up, like two kids sitting next to each other on a school bus, deciding if they wanted to be friends.

“So,” Dieter said, shifting his gaze toward her again. “What are you here for? You in trouble, too?”

She smirked. “I’m always in trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah, well, me too.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking around the room as if just noticing how drab it was. “You work here or something?”

She shrugged. “Depends if they think I’m good enough to work here.”

“Good enough for what?”

“I’m a writer,” she said, half-smiling, but there was a vulnerability in her voice. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up with genuine curiosity, which caught her off guard. “A writer, huh? You got anything out there I’ve seen?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Only if you read stuff on Medium and Tumblr.”

Dieter laughed, the sound deep and unexpected, like he wasn’t used to laughing like that. “Tumblr, huh? So you’re a real writer.” He gave her a playful look. “What do you write? Fanfiction about guys like me?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a teasing glint in her gaze. “Nope. But if I did, it’d be better than that train wreck you called Cliff Beasts 6.”

Dieter clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Right in the ego.”

She smirked. “Ego as big as yours can take it.”

For a second, he just stared at her, genuinely caught off guard. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this—like he was normal, not some Oscar-winning disaster wrapped in a scandal. She didn’t seem to care who he was or how many headlines he’d been in. It was refreshing, and he found himself more interested in her than he had been in anyone outside his usual crowd in a long time.

“So what do you do?” she asked casually, keeping the banter going.

Dieter laughed, a full, deep sound that made him look younger than he usually did in the tabloids. “What do I do? I’m a professional disaster. You haven’t heard?”

She chuckled, nodding toward the door. “I think you’re better at it than you are at acting.”

Dieter looked at her for a beat, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You know, I don’t get a lot of people talking to me like this. Most people, they want to kiss ass or they just want something from me.”

She shrugged, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

He leaned forward, intrigued. “You like books?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of books?”

“The kind that make people uncomfortable.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “I see you’ve read Camus.”

He grinned. “The Stranger. Ever read it?”

“I did. Twice. Though I’m more of a Kafka fan.” She paused for a beat, her voice deadpan. “I like my existentialism served with a side of why is everything a nightmare and also I’m a bug.”

Dieter laughed again, clearly impressed. “You’re alright, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, her tone casual, but inside, she couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation. With Dieter Bravo. Of all people.

They stared at each other, neither blinking, as if trying to see who’d crack first. But before either could say anything more, the door opened again.

“Mr. Bravo?” A frazzled assistant appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as they motioned for him to come in. “We’re ready for you.”

Dieter groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he stood up. “Finally.” He paused, turning to her with a smirk. “Don’t go anywhere, book lover. We’re not done with this conversation.”

She gave him a small smile, though inwardly she rolled her eyes. Yeah, sure. Like you'd remember me in two minutes, she thought. Dieter was famous for being distracted, for forgetting people as soon as he turned a corner. Everyone knew about his ADD—it was practically part of his public persona. He’d probably forget her name before the door even shut behind him.

Inside the meeting room…

Dieter slouched into a chair, his eyes flicking toward the group of studio executives sitting across from him, all with tight-lipped expressions. They weren’t here to chit-chat. They were here to clean up his mess. Again.

“Alright, what’s the damage?” Dieter asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

One of the executives, a tall man with silver hair and an expensive-looking suit, sighed heavily. “We’ve already settled with James and his wife. They’ve agreed not to divorce, but we’re paying for damages—and couples therapy.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow. “Couples therapy? Really?”

The man didn’t blink. “Yes, Dieter. Really.”

The room was thick with tension, the kind that only came when the stakes were sky-high. Another executive chimed in. “The headlines are out of control. We need to distance you from this. Fast.”

“What do you want me to do? Apologize? I already said I was sorry.” Dieter’s voice was tired, edged with sarcasm, but underneath, there was a flicker of frustration.

The silver-haired executive leaned forward. “Dieter, this isn’t about a simple apology. You’ve gone beyond that. Your lifestyle—this hedonistic, Roman emperor routine you’ve got going on—it’s not just damaging your reputation. It’s hurting us. The studio. The people you’re supposed to be representing.”

Dieter blinked, caught off guard by the harshness in the man’s tone.

“We’ve invested millions in you,” the executive continued, “and right now, you’re a liability. There’s talk of ending your contract early. Cutting ties before you bring the whole house down.”

Dieter’s jaw tightened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” the man said coldly. “I’m not.”

For a moment, Dieter just sat there, staring at the man, trying to process what he was hearing. They were serious. He was this close to losing everything.

Another voice chimed in—his publicist, trying to smooth things over. “We’re not saying it’s over, Dieter. But we need to fix this. Charities. Positive press. You need to lay low for a while.”

The executive nodded. “No public appearances, no parties. We’re going to find some charity work for you, get the public to see a new side of you. You’re going to disappear for a bit. When you come back, you’ll be better. Clean. Understood?”

Dieter clenched his fists, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

“And we’ll get you a new PA,” his publicist added. “Someone who can keep you grounded. Keep you out of trouble, hopefully, someone you could not fuck.”

Dieter waved them off, already bored with the conversation. His mind drifted back to the waiting room, to the girl sitting across from him, trading quips like they were old friends. At least she’s interesting, he thought.

Back in the waiting room…

She sat there, slumped in her chair, staring blankly at the wall. The interview hadn’t gone well. She hadn’t gotten the job. The casting director had been polite but distant, and she could tell by their expression that they already had someone else in mind. Her stomach twisted with disappointment.

No extra job. No extra paycheck. And no way to make rent by the end of the month.

She stared down at her portfolio, feeling the weight of her failure settle in. She’d have to start packing soon. Maybe call her mom, tell her she was coming home. She could already imagine the conversation.

“We told you so,” her mom would say. “You should’ve gone into nursing. Writing was never going to pay the bills.”

Her stepdad would nod in agreement, disappointed but unsurprised. “Creative writing? Really?” he’d say. “What did you think would happen?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to think about it. But the thoughts kept coming, relentless. She’d have to pack up, move back home, admit defeat.

God, I’m such a screw-up.

The door creaked open, and Dieter stepped out, glancing around. His entourage had already disappeared down the hall, leaving him standing alone for once. He spotted her instantly.

“Still here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She forced a small smile, shrugging. “Didn’t get the job.”

Dieter nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well... my meeting sucked too. They’ve decided I’m officially the next Caligula.”

She snorted. “That bad?”

“Worse,” he said, shaking his head. He stood there for a beat, looking around the room, then back at her. “You know what? Screw this. Let’s go grab a drink.”

She blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Dieter said, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and exhaustion. “I need a drink. You’re funny. Let’s go.”

She stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. But he wasn’t. She could see it in his eyes—he was serious.

“You buying?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter grinned. “I’m an Oscar winner. Drinks are always on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly stood up, tucking her portfolio under her arm. “Alright, Bravo. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He smirked, leading the way. “Baby, you don’t know who you’re talking to.”

–

The black Audi’s engine purred as Dieter navigated the dim streets, his phone vibrating endlessly in the cupholder. Text after text, call after call—all from his team. They were probably losing their minds, wondering where he’d disappeared to. He glanced at the notifications, scoffing, and shoved the phone further out of reach.

“So,” she said, glancing at him from the passenger seat, “do you do this often?”

Dieter smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Do what?”

“Pick up random strangers and ask them to grab drinks with you.”

He laughed, the sound low and lazy. “No, I mean, I pick up random strangers... just not usually for drinks.”

She chuckled. “Well, you should probably get better at vetting your strangers. I could be a serial killer, you know.”

Dieter shot her a quick glance, grinning. “Even better. Might actually enjoy being murdered by you.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You really are a disaster, aren’t you?”

“Disaster, masochist, artist... depends on the day.” He glanced over at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ve got a hell of a sense of humor, though. I like it.”

“And here I thought you were the sadist for thinking being murdered sounds fun.”

“Nope.” Dieter grinned. “Definitely a masochist. But don’t let that scare you off.”

She smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Too late. I’m terrified now.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering through the tinted windows, casting shadows on Dieter’s face. It felt surreal, sitting in the passenger seat of Dieter Bravo’s car, heading to God-knows-where. But she didn’t feel uneasy. In fact, she felt strangely comfortable. It was weird how easily they’d fallen into this rhythm, like they’d known each other for years.

“So,” she asked, breaking the silence, “where exactly are we getting these drinks?”

Dieter’s smirk grew as he pulled into a parking garage, winding his way up to the fifth floor. “Here.”

“Here?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter parked the car, and without another word, led her to the elevator. When the doors slid open, she was met with the sleek interior of his penthouse. Glass walls, dark furniture, and a view of the city that stretched on forever.

“Oh,” she said, stepping inside, taking it all in. “I thought we were going to a bar or something.”

Dieter chuckled, locking the door behind them. “Yeah, well, I’ve been told not to be seen in public too much for a while. You know... the whole ‘clean up the image’ thing.”

She turned, leaning against the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Right. The scandal.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, that.”

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, should I be worried now? You could be the serial killer. I didn’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

Dieter grinned, moving toward the bar in the corner of the room. “Well, if I am, at least you’ll die with a good drink in your hand.”

Dieter’s penthouse bar looked like it had been pulled straight out of a high-end hotel. Polished wood, rows of bottles perfectly lined up, and a set of cocktail tools that would make any bartender proud.

He moved behind the bar with a familiar ease, pulling out a few bottles and setting them on the counter. “What’s your poison?”

“Vodka, Negroni... surprise me.”

“You got it.” He started mixing, moving around the bar like he’d done it a thousand times. She followed suit, sliding behind the bar beside him, the space between them feeling natural.

As they worked, they fell into a rhythm, like two old friends who’d done this countless times before. It was easy, the way they passed bottles back and forth, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating their conversation.

“So,” she said, shaking her drink, “you always this smooth with your guests, or am I special?”

Dieter smirked. “You’re special. I don’t let just anyone behind the bar.” He watched her expertly pour out the drink, nodding in approval. “You’ve got skills.”

She chuckled. “I bartend. Well, I used to, now I just work at a diner, but it counts.”

He laughed. “I used to bartend, too. Before all this.” He gestured vaguely to his sprawling penthouse. “I kinda miss it.”

“Miss what? Making drinks for drunk people at 2 a.m.?”

He shook his head, grinning. “No, the simplicity of it. The quiet moments before the rush. And, I guess, the people. You get to talk to all kinds of weirdos.”

She handed him the cocktail she’d just mixed, and he took a sip, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Not bad. Actually, really good.”

She smiled, taking a sip of his creation in return. “Yours isn’t half bad either, weirdo.”

He snorted as he finished drinking, “Looks like we’ve both still got it.”

They clinked their glasses, a quiet laugh shared between them.

–

They moved to the couches near the window, drinks in hand, and the night outside stretched on in glittering silence. It was one of those rare moments when the city was alive, but they were in their own little world, insulated by glass and a few too many drinks.

She stretched out on the couch, swirling the last of her drink in the glass. “So, this is what it’s like, huh? Being Dieter Bravo. A penthouse with a killer view and a bar that puts most cocktail lounges to shame.”

Dieter leaned back, grinning. “You sound impressed.”

She tilted her head. “I mean, it’s nice. But I’m not that impressed.”

He snorted. “Figures. I’ve gotta work harder to impress you, huh?”

“You said it, not me.”

There was a beat of silence before he broke it. “So, what’s the story? Why’re you still working at a diner when you’re clearly way too smart for that?”

She shrugged, taking a sip. “You make it sound like I had a choice. You think I want to be a waitress?”

“No, but...” He trailed off, clearly thinking. “I don’t know. You strike me as someone who should be... doing more.”

She arched an eyebrow. “More, like what? Writing fanfiction for Cliff Beasts 7?”

Dieter laughed, the sound filling the space. “God, no. Please, spare me.”

She grinned. “It’s not for lack of trying. I just... haven’t found my place yet. It’s not as easy as, ‘Hey, I’m talented, someone notice me.’” She shook her head, her voice growing quieter. “It’s a lot of failing. Mostly failing.”

Dieter nodded, leaning back in his seat, his expression more serious now. “I get that.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice softer but still edged with sarcasm. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty damn successful.”

Dieter looked at her, really looked at her this time. “You think success means you stop failing?”

She didn’t answer, watching him with curiosity.

He set his drink down and ran a hand through his hair. “You fail more when you’re successful. Trust me. People are just waiting for you to screw up. And when you do... they’re there to watch you burn.”

“You’re talking about the scandal.”

He nodded, taking another sip. “It’s not just the scandal. It’s everything. There’s always someone out there with a camera, waiting for you to mess up. They don’t care about what you do right. Just the crash.”

“So you’re saying you’re a slow-motion car crash?” she asked, her tone dry.

He smirked, nodding. “Exactly. A car crash people pay to watch.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mind working through his words. “That’s... kind of tragic.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his grin fading. “It is, isn’t it?”

They both went quiet, the weight of his words settling between them. But then she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You ever think about, I don’t know... getting out of the car? Stopping the crash?”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “And do what? Go back to bartending? Give up the Oscar for a shaker and ice?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, her voice light but serious underneath. “Or maybe just... do something real. Something that’s not about everyone else’s expectations.”

Dieter looked at her for a long moment, something in his expression shifting, like he was seeing her in a new light. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. Look, I might not be some hotshot writer, but I’ve always believed that what matters is the stuff that’s real. The art you make when no one’s watching. The stuff people don’t get to tear apart.”

“Yeah, but the problem is, everyone’s watching.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “So maybe that’s their problem.”

Dieter laughed, and this time it wasn’t the careless, guarded kind of laugh he usually gave. It was genuine. “You’ve got a point.”

“Of course I do. I’m always right.”

“Okay, Camus,” he teased, rolling his eyes. “You’re officially hired as my life coach.”

She leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t know if you could afford me.”

Dieter snorted, swirling his drink. “How expensive are you?” he asked, playful but intrigued.

She paused, pretending to consider it for a moment. “Depends… do you personally know Gérard Depardieu?”

Dieter grimaced, raising an eyebrow as he took another sip. “Gérard Depardieu?” He repeated, blinking in confusion.

She nodded, downing the rest of her drink in two big gulps, the alcohol warming her throat. “What? You don’t know him?”

“I mean, I do, but wow...” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a chuckle. “That’s a... pretty weird choice.”

“Well, what can I say? I like them like that.” She shrugged, her expression completely serious as she set her glass down.

Dieter threw his head back, laughing harder than he had all night. It was loud, unfiltered, and completely genuine, the kind of laugh that came when he wasn’t performing for anyone.

“You’re a trip, you know that?” he said, still grinning as he wiped at his eyes. “Gérard Depardieu. Damn. Haven’t thought about that guy in years.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, are you saying you don’t have weird celebrity crushes?”

He tilted his head, considering the question for a second. “I mean... I am the weird celebrity crush.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “How humble of you.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “You should hear the shit people say about me online. I’ve been everything from someone’s ‘gay awakening’ to someone’s inappropriate uncle.”

She snorted into her drink, barely containing her laughter. “Jesus. People are wild.”

Dieter smirked, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, c’mon. Who else you got? Who’s on your weird celebrity crush list? Lay it on me.”

She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the moment, then said with a completely straight face, “Willem Dafoe.”

Dieter almost choked on his drink, eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at her like she’d just told him she was into cryptids. “Dafoe? Willem Dafoe?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely deadpan. “What’s wrong with Dafoe?”

He blinked, still recovering from nearly spitting his drink out. “I mean, nothing’s wrong with him, but... wow, that’s... unexpected.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “I already shocked you with Depardieu. What were you expecting? Besides, Dafoe... he’s got range.” She gave him a wicked grin and added, “Plus, you know he’s freaky in bed.”

Dieter let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly doubling over. “Holy shit... you’re a freak. A true freak.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely not a bad thing,” he said, still chuckling as he reached over to refill her glass. “I’ve met some freaks in my time, but this? This is different. I like it.”

She eyed the freshly poured drink, tilting her head. “Not sure if I should feel good about that comment.”

Dieter grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “You should. Trust me.”

They both chuckled, the easy, playful energy between them lightening the mood even more. But then Dieter leaned back, giving her an amused look. “You know, I actually know Willem.”

Her eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. “No way. You know him?”

Dieter nodded, taking a slow sip. “Yeah. Great guy. Not as intense as his characters would make you think. Really down to earth. Freaky in his own way, sure, but... I get it. I guess I see what you see in him.”

She smiled, leaning back. “Well, that’s comforting.”

Then she paused, glancing down at her drink before adding, “I actually met him once. Worked as an assistant on a theater production he starred in a couple of years ago.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up. “No way. Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” she said, nodding. “It was this small indie thing in New York. I wasn’t his assistant or anything, just part of the general crew, but I did get to work around him a bit. He’s... different, in a good way.”

Dieter leaned forward, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve really got my attention. You’ve done PA work before?”

She shook her head, swirling the ice in her glass. “Not really. That was more of a part-time gig while I was in school. I applied for a real PA job a few years back, but it didn’t exactly go well.”

Dieter’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

She sighed, her smirk fading as she stared down at her drink. “Well, I got all the way through the interviews, and then the celebrity—someone old-school—told me I was too chubby to work for them. Said I wouldn’t look good in photographs.”

Dieter’s face immediately twisted into a mix of shock and disgust. “Wait, what? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” she said, the bitterness in her voice barely masked by the nonchalance she was trying to project. “I didn’t even bother applying for PA jobs after that. Figured it wasn’t worth the hassle.”

Dieter shook his head, clearly appalled. “That’s... Jesus. I mean, I get that people in this industry are eccentric as hell, but that’s way too much. Who the hell cares what you look like in photos? You’re supposed to be doing a job, not starring in the damn pictures.”

She shrugged, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, some people care. Guess I wasn’t the image they wanted.”

Dieter looked at her, his expression softening with empathy. “That’s seriously messed up. I’m sorry you went through that.”

She waved him off, smiling more genuinely this time. “It’s fine. Honestly, it was a while ago. I just stuck to writing and waitressing after that.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Dieter said, leaning forward, “that guy was a complete idiot. You’d make a damn good PA.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks. But I think I’m done with that world.”

Dieter studied her for a moment, then raised his glass in a small toast. “Well, here’s to not being the kind of asshole who judges people by how they look in photos.”

She clinked her glass against his, smiling again. “I’ll drink to that.”

The conversation lingered in the air after their laughter died down, a comfortable silence settling over them. She leaned back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the massive windows overlooking the city, the skyline glittering like a distant dream.

“Gotta say,” she began, her voice soft but still playful, “this penthouse is... something else. It’s almost too perfect, though. Feels more like a set than a home.”

Dieter glanced around the room, smirking faintly. “Yeah, that’s because it’s not home.”

She raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “It’s not?”

He shook his head, swirling the last of his drink. “Nah. It’s just a place I own. I use it for... all the shit you probably hear about in the tabloids.”

She snorted, leaning in. “You mean the orgies and sex scandals?”

“Pretty much.” Dieter chuckled, but there was something more behind the laughter. His expression softened as he set the glass down on the table. “It’s not where I live. My real home is out in Sherman Oaks.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Sherman Oaks?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s an actual house. Big, built for a family, but too large for just me. I don’t bring anyone there. Not my... conquests, not my parties. Just me. I paint there, you know? I’ve got this studio in the back, and when the world gets too loud, that’s where I go. It’s the only place I feel... I don’t know, settled.”

Her eyes softened as she listened. She hadn’t expected this level of honesty from him, but the vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable. “That sounds... nice, actually. Quiet.”

“It is,” he agreed, his gaze distant, as if he could picture the house in his mind. “But the silence can get too loud sometimes. Especially now that I’m older. That’s when I come back here. The penthouse. To drown it out.”

She frowned slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “The silence?”

Dieter nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah. You wouldn’t think silence could be so damn loud, but it is. Especially when you’re used to everything being... chaotic.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just watched him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a loneliness there, one that no amount of parties, conquests, or tabloid headlines could fill. It wasn’t just about being alone—it was about being seen. About finding a place where the chaos didn’t define him.

She took a breath, her tone gentle but sure. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes the noise. Not really.”

Dieter blinked, turning his gaze back to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, people see the chaos, the headlines, the scandals. But I don’t think that’s really you.” She paused, her voice steady. “You’ve got a whole world inside you that no one bothers to look at. You’re not just the guy who parties and ends up in the tabloids. You’re more than that.”

His eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe, or recognition. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued before he could.

“They don’t see the parts of you that matter. The parts that create, that make something out of all this mess. The fact that you’ve got a studio and you paint—that tells me a lot. You’re more than just an actor, Dieter. You’re an artist. And not because you say so, but because you are.”

For a moment, Dieter just stared at her, as if her words had landed somewhere deeper than he’d expected. She was looking at him like no one had in years. Not like a star, not like the scandalized mess the world saw. She saw him. The real him.

His throat tightened, and suddenly, the air felt heavier. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’re not just memorizing lines. You’re putting something into the world that most people don’t even take the time to understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s real, Dieter. And it matters.”

He blinked, the familiar burn of tears stinging behind his eyes. It was strange—he hadn’t felt this exposed in so long. The vulnerability, the rawness of being seen for more than just the surface.

A tear slipped down his cheek, slow and steady. He swiped at it quickly, but another followed. It wasn’t a sobbing mess, no dramatic breakdown. Just a quiet release, like the weight of everything he’d been carrying finally had somewhere to go.

“Damn,” he muttered, laughing softly through the tears. “You’re really messing me up here.”

She smiled, nudging him gently with her elbow. “You needed to hear it.”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning despite the tears. “Guess I did.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was comfortable, filled with an understanding that went deeper than words. In the quiet of the penthouse, with the city lights twinkling in the background, Dieter felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

But of course, Dieter couldn’t let the moment just sit there. He leaned over slightly, raising an eyebrow as a mischievous grin spread across his face. “So... is this the part where we kiss?”

She burst out laughing, her head falling back as she clutched her sides. “Oh my God, Dieter, you’re such an ass.”

For the first time in a long time, Dieter didn’t feel even a twinge of offense at being laughed at. In fact, her reaction made him laugh, too—a deep, real laugh that didn’t feel performative. It was just them, laughing like idiots in the middle of a moment that could’ve been serious, but wasn’t.

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, had to shoot my shot.”

She shook her head, still giggling as she nudged him. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me,” he teased.

“Debatable,” she shot back, smirking. “But that was not the move, Bravo.”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright, no kiss. Got it.”

She rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her expression. “Seriously, though. You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Dieter said, smirking. But beneath the joking, there was a warmth in his eyes, a softness that hadn’t been there before. He liked this—being around someone who could take his nonsense and throw it right back at him, without missing a beat.

–

They had been hanging out for days—Dieter laying low like his team had asked, and her finding herself more and more wrapped up in his world. It was easy with him. The lazy mornings that bled into afternoons, the spontaneous outings, the hours spent talking about nothing and everything. It was like living in a bubble, where the real world and all its mess didn’t exist.

But it couldn’t last forever.

They were lounging in his penthouse, another aimless afternoon with the TV buzzing in the background, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“So,” Dieter began, his tone casual, but there was an edge of hesitation in it. “I’ve been thinking...”

She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. That sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled, but there was a nervousness in his smile. “No, I mean... I’ve been thinking about you. Us, I guess.”

She frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze for a moment. “I think I... I really like you. And I want to stay friends, you know? If you’re cool with it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course he liked her—they got along too well not to. But she knew what had to happen next.

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.”

Dieter’s face fell, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? Why not?”

“I can’t afford to stay in LA anymore,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’m going home. To my mom’s and stepdad’s. The diner job just doesn’t cover rent or utilities, and figuring things out in this city isn’t really feasible for me right now.”

Dieter stared at her, the words slowly sinking in. His expression shifted from confusion to something deeper—sadness, maybe even panic. “You’re... leaving?”

She nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah. I’ve got no choice.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she’d just ripped the floor out from under him. Then, true to form, Dieter went into full dramatic mode.

“Are you serious?” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Like, ever.”

She laughed, despite herself. “Dieter, stop.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, flopping onto the couch like a petulant child. “You’re leaving me to fend for myself in this godforsaken city, and for what? Your mom’s house in the middle of nowhere? This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

She rolled her eyes, amused but touched by how much this seemed to affect him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Where’s your loyalty?” he muttered dramatically. “I thought we were in this together.”

She snorted. “I didn’t realize hanging out with you was a lifelong commitment.”

Dieter sat up suddenly, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just had the greatest idea of all time. “Wait a second...”

She eyed him warily. “What?”

“You still need a job, right?”

Her eyebrow arched. “...Yes?”

“I still need a PA,” he said, the excitement building in his voice. “My team hasn’t found anyone, and let’s face it—they’re probably going to stick me with some lifeless corporate robot.”

She blinked, not expecting this. “Wait, are you offering me a job?”

“Hell yes, I am,” he said, grinning like a kid with a new toy. “You’d be perfect. I mean, you know me. You get me. And you’re already here half the time anyway. Why not make it official?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t know, Dieter. It feels like... I don’t know, like you’re just offering it because you feel bad.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “No, I’m offering it because I need you. And not in a weird way, okay? I mean, yeah, it’s a job, but it’s also more than that. I trust you. And I don’t trust a lot of people.”

She bit her lip, still uncertain. “Yeah, but it comes with a paycheck, right? That’s gonna make me feel... really dirty.”

Dieter laughed, leaning back into the couch. “Oh, come on. It’s a legit offer. And I’m paying you well, so you’ll get used to feeling dirty real quick.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone softening again. “Think about it. It’s not charity. It’s not a handout. I really need your company, and I think you need this too.”

She exhaled, staring at him for a moment. “I’ll... think about it.”

A few days later, she was back at the penthouse, this time with Dieter’s manager, his lawyer, and Dieter himself, all sitting around the sleek kitchen island. It felt surreal.

The manager went over the details of the contract, but it was hard to focus on the specifics when her mind was spinning with how fast everything was happening.

“And, of course,” the manager added sternly, “we have to include the no-fucking clause. If you two get involved, it’s not only grounds for termination but also blacklisting.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, looking slightly offended. “Seriously? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

She snorted, waving it off. “It’s fine, Bravo. I don’t think you’d want to fuck me anyway.”

He frowned, almost hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The manager chuckled, shaking his head. “He fucks anything that moves.”

She furrowed her brows briefly, her face showing a flash of disgust at the comment, but she kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to start an argument with his team. Still, she couldn’t shake the sour taste the comment left in her mouth.

Dieter noticed her reaction and shot his manager a look, but the moment passed quickly as the lawyer handed her the contract to sign.

Once the papers were signed, it was official. She was now Dieter Bravo’s new assistant.

After the contract signing, they were back in the quiet of the penthouse. She stretched her arms out, feeling a mixture of excitement and disbelief at the day’s events. Dieter leaned against the counter, still processing it all too, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there in silence.

Then she clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Okay, Bravo, I’m treating you to dinner.”

Dieter blinked, confusion crossing his face. “Wait, what? You’re treating me?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yeah, to celebrate. You know, new job and all.”

He hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “You just signed a contract. You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

She waved him off, rolling her eyes. “Take a chill pill. I just landed a sick new job with a really dirty paycheck. I’m excited, let me have this.”

Dieter chuckled, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’ve taken way too many pills in my life. Not sure I remember which one the chill pill is.”

She burst out laughing, grabbing her jacket. “Well, then this will be the antidote. C’mon, we’re getting Five Guys.”

Dieter’s grin grew wider, his eyes lighting up. “Damn, baby, you know I can’t say no to Five Guys.”

She shot him a smirk. “Then let’s go.”

They drove in Dieter’s car, windows heavily tinted, cruising through the LA streets as the sun dipped below the skyline. They grabbed their order from the drive-thru window and found an empty parking lot, parking under the dim glow of a streetlight.

Dieter reclined his seat all the way back, pushing the front seats to give them more space to lounge. She did the same, their legs stretched out as they unwrapped their burgers.

“So,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fries, “what now?”

She shrugged, her voice muffled as she stuffed more fries into her mouth. “Idunno.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the radio playing softly in the background, the quiet hum of the city far off in the distance.

Dieter glanced at her sideways, studying her face. “You seem a little... off.”

She paused mid-chew, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, biting into his burger. “I dunno. Just felt like something’s been bugging you since we left the penthouse.”

She exhaled, setting her burger down, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well... your manager pissed me off. Big time.”

Dieter stopped chewing, his eyes widening a little. “What? Why?”

“That comment he made,” she said, rolling her eyes, “about you humping everything that moves. It was gross. And unnecessary.”

Dieter’s face reddened, the blush creeping up his neck as he rubbed at it, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh... that’s just how he is.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

He chuckled awkwardly, setting his burger down. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. You’ve heard the stories, read the articles, right?”

She stared at him for a beat, then sighed. She knew he wasn’t trying to defend his manager, and in a way, she found that endearing—his loyalty to people even after everything they’d said about him. All the rumors, the scandals, the affairs. But she tucked that thought away for another time.

“That’s not the point,” she said, shaking her head. “As someone who works with you, the first thing your manager should be doing is protecting you—even from your own team.”

Dieter blinked, her words hitting harder than he expected. He felt something crack open in his chest. She wasn’t wrong. And hearing her say it so plainly made him realize just how much he’d let slide because of loyalty. Because of fear.

He smiled softly, biting into his burger, his voice quiet. “Thanks for saying that.”

She shrugged, offering him a small smile in return. “It’s true.”

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned over, wiggling her eyebrows. “Besides, you haven’t tried to fuck me yet, so I don’t think what your manager said was true.”

Dieter choked on his soda, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat. “What? Am I not fuckable enough for Dieter Bravo?”

He immediately shook his head, his voice firm. “No, baby–you’re...fuck– you’re hot. Like, really hot. And I’m an idiot for not jumping you the second I met you.”

She snorted, clearly amused. “But?”

Dieter sighed, running a hand through his hair, his voice quieter but more grounded now. “Look, if we hadn’t had that first conversation, that night in the waiting room... I probably would’ve tried to sleep with you.”

She gasped dramatically, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Excuse me? What made you think I’d even want to sleep with you?”

Dieter burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Oh, c’mon, I’ve got ways. If I really wanted to, I could have charmed you into it.”

She snorted, shoving another fry into her mouth. “Yeah, right. You can’t charm your way into everyone’s bed, Bravo.”

Dieter stared at her, deadpan, raising an eyebrow. “Uh... yes, I can.”

They both broke into laughter, the moment light but laced with a shared understanding. Once their laughter died down, he leaned back, the humor fading slightly as he spoke again, this time more serious.

“But seriously,” he continued, his voice softer now, “I didn’t want to cross that line with you. Because... you’re different.”

She glanced at him, curious now, the playful energy between them simmering down as he opened up.

“I’m a messy person,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel, fingers idly tracing the edges. “In every sense of the word. My life, my relationships—they don’t end well. And I’ve ruined... too many things that mattered. I can’t ruin this. I won’t.”

She tilted her head, watching him closely. “Why do you think it would ruin things?”

He took a deep breath, the vulnerability flickering in his eyes as he finally met her gaze. “Because when I sleep with someone, I lose track of... what’s real and what’s not. It always starts out fine, but I mess things up. I make it complicated, and then it all falls apart. And I don’t want that to happen with you.”

She studied him for a moment, seeing the weight behind his words, the sincerity he rarely showed to anyone. This wasn’t the over-the-top, scandal-filled Dieter Bravo the world knew. This was a man who was genuinely afraid of ruining something good.

“Wow,” she muttered, trying to break the heaviness. “So you’re saying I was basically a goner if we hadn’t talked that first night?”

He chuckled, giving her a teasing grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really are full of yourself.”

“No, I’m just honest,” he said with a playful smirk. “But really, I don’t want to just fuck this up. You get me, more than anyone has in a long time. And I don’t want to lose that because I was... impulsive.”

She looked at him for a long moment, their earlier banter giving way to something deeper. It was clear that he meant every word, and it made sense in a way she hadn’t expected. Dieter Bravo might have been a disaster in relationships, but he was choosing not to be a disaster with her. And that meant something.

“Well,” she said, her smile returning as she reached for another fry, “that’s good to know. I mean, you’re still a complete disaster, but you’re my kind of disaster.”

Dieter’s grin widened, the tension finally easing as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll take it.”

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then added with a smirk, “Besides, now I’m legally being paid to not fuck you.”

He laughed, throwing his head back in genuine amusement. “And I’m legally paying you to not fuck me.”

She nodded sagely. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.”

Dieter chuckled, the heaviness of the earlier conversation replaced by their usual playful energy. “Yeah, it’s working out pretty well so far.”

They both sat there, comfortable in the aftermath of the conversation, knowing that while the chemistry between them was undeniable, the friendship was what mattered most. And neither of them was willing to risk it, even if they joked about it.

They sat in the car, the remnants of their Five Guys feast scattered on the console between them. The night had slipped into a comfortable quiet, the kind that came from hours of laughter, honest conversation, and greasy burgers. Dieter stretched, glancing over at her with a lazy grin.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You heading home now?”

She nodded, finishing the last of her fries. “Yeah. Gotta pack up my stuff and get ready for the big move.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Right. Moving in with me. Never thought I’d reach this point in my life where a woman’s moving in with me... and I legally can’t fuck her.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she leaned back into her seat. “Welcome to adulthood, Bravo. Full of responsibilities and boundaries.”

Dieter’s grin widened, leaning a little closer. “So, about this moving in thing—are you planning on, like, wearing layers of clothing at all times? Because I don’t need to make this harder for myself than it already is.”

She shot him a look, deadpan. “Harder for yourself?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know what I mean.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. “Listen, I promise to be fully covered in the ugliest, most unflattering pajamas you’ve ever seen. Think, like, thermal underwear, oversized sweaters, maybe a balaclava if I’m feeling extra considerate.”

Dieter threw his head back laughing, slapping the dashboard. “Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.”

“Both,” she said with a smirk, grabbing the last fry from the bag and popping it into her mouth.

Dieter leaned back, sighing contentedly. “I still can’t believe it though. I’m actually gonna live with a woman. And she’s not some wild fling, but an assistant I’m paying not to fuck. Talk about a plot twist.”

She laughed, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well, you better get used to it. I’ll be back in the morning with all my crap.”

Dieter grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Bright and early. So you better get your beauty sleep.”

He chuckled, looking at her fondly. “I’ll try.”

She reached for the door handle, pausing for a moment before looking back at him, her tone soft but teasing. “Try not to miss me too much tonight, alright?”

Dieter winked. “No promises.”

She stepped out of the car, waving as she walked toward her building. “See you tomorrow, Bravo.”

He watched her go, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back into the seat. “See you tomorrow.”

[blazehedgehog]

This is a stand in ask that I lost. It was about Sonic Frontiers. It was a four-part ask written kind of smugly about the open zone areas of Sonic Frontiers, and how all the random clutter (springs, dash panels, etc.) and high level of scripting/railroading doesn't fit in very well with open world design. They suggested Sega would have to go back to the drawing board and really change the design for whatever follows next.

So I wanted to redo this ask because I feel like I had a pretty good response.

I opened this ask jokingly calling the anon out for sounding a little snooty, because it used some big words. But my main opener was: Haven't you played Super Mario Odyssey? Each level in Super Mario Odyssey is effectively its own little open world, particularly something like Tostarena.

it's this huge area dotted with a town, ruins, and other landmarks, with big stretches of empty space between them. The landmarks are where the traditional gameplay is -- platforming challenges, enemies, puzzles, and so on, and you have to traverse across the desert to reach them.

I also think about Jak & Daxter, maybe one of the first open world platformers ever, and how it has kind of a hub-and-spoke system. Generally you are working out of a base, like a workshop or a village or something, with roads that lead out of, around, and back into that base area (or to other buildings that act sort of like self-contained dungeons).

Each "road" takes the place of a level. Now, there's nothing keeping you on the road, which is part of the fun, since you can cross between roads, go around obstacles, and so on. But roads are definitely setup to guide you through a space like a level would.

And as someone who plays a lot of it, I think in the context of Fortnite, which is this huge island covered in a spiderweb of roads and pathways leading to, from, and around POIs (Points of Interest).

It's a system that drives all good open world design, and was kind pioneered in Disneyland all the way back in the 1950's. Disney didn't call them "points of interest", he called them "weenies" -- big iconic areas that you can see from long distances that are interesting enough to make you want to explore them, while also helping you stay oriented in the overall space.

So take this screenshot of the current Fortnite map:

My car is parked at a crossroads. Directly ahead of me and a little to the left is a shack where Gwenpool is roaming around. Further in the distance is the POI of "Reckless Railways", which houses the map's Grand Central Station, where the train rolls through and restocks its supplies. Further beyond that are the snowy mountains and the massive Grand Glacier hotel. To the far left, on the edge of the image, is the forge at Dr. Doom's castle.

Roads are meant for traveling quickly down. They lead you to points of interest, where you slow down and comb through an area carefully. And, obviously, there's all kinds of little landmarks dotted all over the place between major POIs, encouraging you to get off the road and go exploring. Gas stations and ruins and little shacks and stuff.

It's extremely easy to adapt these concepts to a Sonic game, which is what's so baffling about Sonic Frontiers being such an incoherent mess.

Roads should be your boost Sonic zones. It can't be a random collection of junk, it can't be something you unlock as a means of "fast travel." There has to be an identifiable road, a series of pathways leading you around the island. You put grind rails and boost pads and dash rings along this road. This is where players are supposed to go fast. Roads = travel.

These roads will lead you to points of interest and other landmarks. A POI, like in Super Mario Odyssey, is where puzzles, platforming, and exploration are mostly done. I do not mean "four stone buildings" like in Sonic Frontiers. I mean a place that feels like a place. A location that feels like it has character. Personality. Something you work your way through, absorb, and conquer. Again, like Odyssey.

And then you stash little secrets and landmarks off the beaten path for players who want to go offroading.

2-3 islands per game, 2-3 biomes per island. You can have specific race or time trial missions to and from different landmarks, you can have POI exploration missions, you can have missions to change the state of these POIs like blowing up power plants or unlocking gates. Maybe Eggman has a giant pipe he's using to pump toxic chemicals into the water, so you have to turn off the pump and then you get to run down the inside of the empty pipe like an F-Zero GX track.

It's easy to design this game. You don't even need cyberspace levels. Heck, remember GTA5? Most missions had bronze, silver, and gold medals. You can still have a ranking system in an open world game.

Look, I even drew art of this concept, what, four years ago? five?

Somebody should pay me a livable wage for this kind of stuff