#maybe i should start a series of these posts

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[cheeseceli]

When you're rejected by your crush

Pairing: BTS ot7 × Gn!Reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, headcanons, just a bit of angst because you were rejected

Request: Hello! Can you please write headcanons for BTS (they have a crush on the reader) reacting to the reader being sad after finding out that her crush (a coworker or a friend) is in a relationship with someone else?

Warnings: none?

A/n: this was inspired by the "secret crush" series by @7ndipity a bit. If you do not allow this, please let me know and I'll delete this post right away!

Jin

Your friend

That's all Jin wants to be for you right now

Of course, he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel at least an ounce of hope when you said that your friend, your crush, was now dating someone else

But at the same time, he'd hate to show interest in you when you're so vulnerable

So he settles in being only what you need right now: a shoulder to cry on

I believe he'd be the one to wait the longest to tell you how he feels, scared you're not on the same page just yet

Suga

His mind is a mess right now

Nothing breaks him more than seeing your eyes without its usual shine

But he had been praying for the day where you fall out of love with your co-worker

So he really doesn't know how to react right now

He chooses to listen to you talk about how you found out everything and about how you're feeling

Will try to forget his feelings and focus on being the best friend you could ask for now

But as soon as you feel better and your feelings for your past crush start to fade, he might try to make subtle moves on you, scared someone else could catch your attention again

J-hope

I see this going on a slightly different way

He found out about your crush's relationship before you

He just knew you'd be heartbroken

So he tries to let you down gently, saying that maybe the guy wasn't this big of a deal

But when the time comes and you're inevitably sad after finding out, he tries to comfort you as much as possible

Is very hesitant on being flirty right now though

Besides being sad, he'd hate for you to be confused because of him

Namjoon

Honestly, for a second he even forgot he liked you

His mind went blank the moment you texted him about how you were in need of comfort right now

Will fulfill his role as your friend and, before you even notice, you were already laughing through your tears at something he said

Just later that day that he realises what this can mean for your relationship

He finally had a chance now!

Waits for a while though, planning exactly what he wants to do

Jimin

He feels so bloody guilty and selfish right now

Because he's your friend! And you're sad right now!

He should be only focusing on how to make you happy again

But knowing that this means you'll have to eventually move on from your current crush just gives him so much hope

Obviously, he will try to hype you up

But as soon as he can, he will try to make you see him in a different light

Taehyung

Relief floods over him the moment you tell him the news

He was so scared of what could've happened if your crush were to reciprocate your feelings

He had to hold back his smile

Hangs out with you immediately to try to make you forget things for a while

Is already making a plan on how to confess

But for now he's focused on making you feel better

Even thanks your crush with literally no context at all

Jungkook

Deadass smiled when you told him about the situation 💀

Don't get him wrong, he's not happy because you're hurt!

He's happy because he might have a chance now

But he at least was able to hide (part of) his happiness in front of you lmao

And now he's 100% dedicated to make you smile again

He wasn't even that cool, you could find someone better than him anyways

Either way, he makes it his personal mission to distract you from that other guy and make you realise that maybe you're better off without him

And if he ends up being extra boyfriend material throughout it, it was purely a coincidence

Masterlist | you'll probably like: secret crush (by the author I mentioned in the a/n)

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[desceros]

sometimes i think about the future symphony "i should have married you" post you made and it makes me so sad but the other night as i was falling asleep i was struck with absolute agony by the awful idea of "i should have married you" because marrying her would have made her hamato and maybe just maybe then she would have been able to become a hamato spirit. and the brothers most likely would have been able to make contact with the hamato sprits like they do in the series. and because if he married her at least he would have been able to contact her spirit. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh anyways thought i should share hope your day is going fabulously captain desceros

oh, this is awful. allow me to make it even worse :)

we’ve seen in the series that you dont actually have to have the hamato name to be ‘a hamato’ as april demonstrates. we’ve also seen varying levels of. hm. ninj-oscity? ninpo skills? from the boys. like raph and leo doing a ninja mind meld. just. just mikey.

and we’ve always seen that donnie struggles with ninpo the most.

his ninpo is mechanical. when he uses it at its most conscious level, we see it manifest as blueprints coming together. literal pieces, as if constructed with real material. when he panics or doesn’t go through this process, it’s a vague shape that isn’t as strong or as defined in purpose.

so let’s take this scenario you’ve brought to us.

viola-chan would have, unquestionably, been a hamato. and for that reason, i can definitely see her having a hamato spirit.

…..but i dont think donnie would ever be able to communicate with it.

mikey would be the most likely, since he has the strongest ninpo. but he’d be in high demand since he’s so strong, so i think it would tire him and i dont know how much time and energy he’d have to talk to anyone. not to mention the stress he’d feel when donnie would come to him like Hey Can I Talk To My Dead Girlfriend and mikey’s like…. dude i just got home from 24 hours of straight ass kicking i’m about to pass tf out.

and raph, i imagine, died not too long after viola-chan, so whether he could or not is moot.

leo. well. i dont think leo could communicate with viola-chan either. leo is rather avoidant when he feels guilty or ashamed, and (without going into too much of spoiler territory) he’d feel largely unworthy to talk to you, i think. and since we’ve seen that it takes an open heart to use the technique, it wouldn’t work.

and donnie. god. donnie would try. he would try so, so hard. he would try, hours upon hours, every free moment, banging his fists on his thighs as he’d meditate until he’d collapse. reaching out. seeking. already not as strong at this whole ninpo nonsense. unable to calm himself from the need to see you need to see you please just let me see you one last time please please please that would make it impossible to focus. he’d start thinking about tech that could bridge the gap. that’s how his ninpo works, after all. modeling his blueprint. so if he can design a machine that can talk to you. his ninpo can bring it to life.

but he doesnt exactly have a lot of time to dedicate to a personal project like that, let alone one so fucking insane in scale, so actually impossible to do. and as the time passes he grows more and more obsessed with thinking about it. yet simultaneously more and more sure it’ll never happen. i feel like his last moments, alone, bleeding, staring up at the rust-colored sky, he’d be smiling. because of course he he has some kind of death drone army set to go the moment his ninpo cuts off, and it’s one last middle finger to krang. …but also i think he’d be a little relieved. hoping his spirit will find yours and lavi’s.

(do they? who knows. no more hamato exist in that timeline to find out.)

[freelancearsonist]

this is what it looks like, right before you fall

➔ Dieter Bravo x nonbinary!reader-insert!oc - series masterlist

➔ 5.3k words

➔ CHAPTER ONE // You meet the cast and vow yourself to professionalism as filming starts, but one particular costar tests your willpower.

➔ Chapter rated PG-13 for age gap (reader is 21, dieter is 45), kind of pervy!dieter but not in a malicious way/reader reciprocates, some impure thoughts on reader’s part, written with basically no knowledge of how the film industry actually works. [please let me know if i missed any warnings that should be included :)]

➔ this reader insert character is: unnamed, afab and nonbinary (has female anatomy and uses they/them pronouns), neurodivergent, latinx, 21 years old, an actor playing a female character. I’m trying to keep them a physically blank slate but it is mentioned that they have longer hair (past shoulder-length) for the role and they wear a bikini for the role at one point as well. They are mentioned to be shorter than Dieter.

Everyone in this room is a seasoned professional. They move with poise and calculation, like chess pieces assessing their next best move. It’s reminiscent of a muster of peacocks—plumage spread as they strut around and size each other up, each wondering who will win the desperate yet subtle battle for dominance. They mingle amongst themselves and make small talk; all of it is utterly meaningless.

This is your first professional cocktail party, and if this is how they’re all going to be you definitely won’t be attending any more.

But then again, maybe it isn’t always like this. Maybe this is just the mania of the world being deemed “post-pandemic” despite the very real crisis still lurking in the shadows. You can’t blame people for how they cope with isolation and despair, even if it seems a little over-dramatic to you personally.

There’s maybe one other person in this room who seems to realize how ridiculous this whole game is, but you’re too nervous to go over and talk to him.

He looks comfortable amongst the chaos. He doesn’t strut around seeking conversation like the others—he lets them come to him. And they do; despite how formidable he appears to you, they’re all drawn to him like magnets. His presence has its own center of gravity, and everyone around is merely a lost orbiter. He reels them in one by one, chats with them—maybe even insults them a little–and then spits them back out into the stratosphere of the room. And they keep coming back for more, because he’s intoxicating.

Dieter Bravo is fucking terrifying for a man who’s shirt buttons aren’t aligned to the proper holes. 

“Hi.”

You hadn’t even noticed him approaching, as focused as you were on looking anywhere except him. His raspy voice makes you jump–makes your stomach lurch like a phantom step on the stairs. His dark eyes are penetrating in the way they stare at you over the rim of his sepia-tinted sunglasses. He’s looking through you, not at you. There’s something so thoroughly appraising about his gaze, as if he’s sizing you up.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You wonder if he’s like a bear, if you need to make yourself look bigger and scarier in order to appease him. But instead, you shrink–he makes you feel so small. Like you’re nothing but a speck of dust on the underside of one of his well-worn crocs; and maybe you are. Maybe you’re in way over your head here.

“I dunno if this is gonna work,” he hums, eyes lecherous and languid in the way they drag over your body. “You’re too hot to be my daughter.”

You choke on your drink, legitimately splutter and cough; of all the millions of things you imagined him saying in your mind, that wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. But he seems completely unfazed by your outburst, waiting patiently for you to regain the ability to breathe like a normal human being.

What can you even say to that? The hottest man in the room–albeit a man who’s more than twice your age–is passively hitting on you. And if he were anyone else, you would be outraged by how casually he does it. But he’s Dieter fucking Bravo, and you think you’d let him get away with just about anything; which says way more about you than it does about him.

Thankfully, he saves you from your swirling mind–redirects as if it was the most casual of passing comments. “Is this your first meet and greet?”

“No, I’ve left my house a couple times before.” It’s an unintentionally snarky comment, the kind that would normally get you in trouble. But Dieter actually laughs–well, it’s more of a snort than a laugh, but its purpose is clear–and you wonder if maybe this whole situation isn’t as bad as it seemed a few short minutes ago.

“First time in front of a camera?” He asks, absentmindedly swirling the neon green liquid–absynthe? antifreeze?–that resides in the crystal glass his right hand cradles. “I tried to find you on IMDb but nothing came up.”

“I’ve done some commercial work,” you admit, feeling a little sheepish; and a little caught off guard, flattered even, that he’s been researching you. “Nothing like this, though.”

“How’d you get the role?” The question sounds deeper than it really is–distrustful, in a way.

You simply shrug. “I guess my audition was good.”

“I guess it was.” You don’t know exactly what he’s insinuating, but you feel like you should be offended. There’s no malice or aggression left in his dark eyes, though–whatever you’ve shown him, he’s liked it. “We’re going to have fun.”

“We are?”

“Mhm.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you can tell he’s trying not to make a face as the radioactive-looking liquid meets his tongue. “We should rehearse lines. In your room. Build our chemistry.”

There isn’t a singular cell in your brain that believes there’s no underlying motive to the invitation. And even yet, you accept. You kind of get the sense that he wouldn’t accept no as an answer, anyway.

He nods his acknowledgement, and then just as quickly as he had appeared, he’s melting seamlessly back into the buzz of your fellow costars.

You don’t realize how hard your heart is beating until he’s not standing over you anymore. With a sip of your drink, you do everything you can to will your breathing back to normal. There’s no reason a simple man should have such an effect on you.

But there’s really nothing simple about Dieter Bravo. He’s imposing. He’s been in this industry for as long as you’ve been alive and it shows in the way he carries himself. There’s confidence in his strut, an undeniable carefreeness to his appearance. He’s a professional; he’s everything you hope to someday be.

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t act up over the star-strewn cast, and you’ve held true to that promise as of yet. But Dieter Bravo poses a challenge. Especially with the shameless flirting and the way his eyes linger on your body, you feel yourself becoming more and more starstruck with each passing moment you’re in his presence.

You’re suddenly desperate for this thing to be over with so you can go back to your room and unwind. Your nerves are taught like an over-tuned guitar and liable to snap at any moment.

Dinner goes as smoothly as it can, albeit slowly. You’re stuck at the end of the table, sandwiched between two other actors who are around your age and clearly know each other from the way they keep talking to each other through you; and Dieter is at the opposite end, which is both a blessing and a curse. At least you’re not close enough to smell the warm, woodsy spice of his cologne—it lingered in your nostrils for a solid five minutes even after he walked away from you earlier—but you’re far enough away that he has a good angle to stare at you.

And stare he does. You can feel his eyes tracking every move you make. He doesn’t even look away when your eyes catch him; the cocky bastard smirks. He looks you right in the eyes over the rims of his sunglasses while the corner of his mouth tilts up and he has to know that it goes straight to your core.

The minutes pass like molasses with his attention on you, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders when it’s finally time to turn in for the night.

You didn’t get a chance to introduce yourself to half of the cast because you were so busy being an unimposing wallflower, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, you’re walking to your room as fast as your legs can possibly carry you.

Shooting starts in the morning, and you really need a good night’s rest. You want to start strong and prove yourself. But you stay up into the wee hours of the morning anyway, laying in your oversized hotel bed and staring at the ceiling, wondering if Dieter’s going to come knock on your door to “rehearse lines” like he suggested.

He doesn’t, and you don’t know why you feel so disappointed about it.

You wake up from your four hours of sleep with a little bit clearer of a mind, surprisingly. Dieter’s hot and he’d be a once-in-a-lifetime lay, but you’re playing his daughter in this show. How seriously do you want to be taken in this industry? Because banging the actor who plays your father in your first serious project is decidedly not the route to being taken seriously as a movie star; in fact, it’s the kind of scandal that could end your career before it even starts.

You shower, do your basic morning skincare routine, get dressed, and head to set. All the while, you chant your new mantra: Dieter Bravo is off limits no matter how badly you want to play right into his hands. His big hands. His big meaty hands that you want all over your–

“Well hello!”

The woman who greets you as you walk into the hair and makeup tent is way too chipper for 7AM.

“Hi,” you say, a little shyer than you mean to sound; at least you can blame it on the early hour and the fact you haven’t had any coffee yet.

“I’m Cynthia, I use she/her pronouns. It’s nice to meet you.” Cynthia is blonde and tall, almost imposingly so. She’s sturdily built and graceful–there’s an almost feline quality to her movements. She’s gorgeous, and not just because of her perfectly styled hair and makeup.

You take a deep breath before giving her your introduction. This is something you’ve contemplated a lot prior to arriving, and even more so in the long, isolated hours of quarantine in your room. She/her doesn’t do the job, and you’ve known it for a while; but you let people use them anyway, because it’s easier to appease them than to constantly be correcting everyone. After intensive consideration, though, you want to go into this new chapter of your life as your true self.

You take another deep breath and then you give her your name, followed by “they/them.”

She smiles so warmly, but she doesn’t comment on it. No, “oh!” or “that’s so brave!” or any of the other thousand responses you’ve gotten to providing the pronouns you’re most comfortable with.

She guides you to her chair and she starts chatting away about anything and everything but your gender identity; that simple, wordless acceptance is such a refreshing change of pace from what you’re used to that you choke up a little bit.

You manage to swallow it down without her noticing, thankfully. You’re going to be dealing with Cynthia every day for the foreseeable future and you really don’t want her thinking you’re a loser.

You look like a completely different person when she’s done with you. Your entire face is coated with a thin layer of makeup that evens your skin tone and shrinks your pores. There’s thin, symmetrical wings of eyeliner on your eyelids, and your hair is curled in perfect blow-out waves. The outfit pulls the whole thing together: a Guns & Roses t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned long-sleeved flannel and jean shorts that hug your waist tightly but taper off around your thighs.

Cynthia’s a miracle worker, truly. You look exactly like the freshly-graduated, soul-searching, 1970’s time capsule misfit teen you’re supposed to be playing for eight episodes worth of HBO drama. It’s like meeting Charlotte “Charlie” Herrera for the first time, except you are her.

It’s a lot easier to get into character when you look the part; although becoming someone else has never been something you’ve necessarily struggled with. You take a deep, steadying breath; and then suddenly, you’re a different person. It’s that simple.

You’ve had some minor success with acting prior to landing this role. You always landed leads in school plays, and you shone in the silly little YouTube videos your high school friends liked to make. Acting comes naturally to you, and when people ask how you do it, what’s your method, you don’t really know how to answer. You just do it.

You’re not humble enough to try to deny the fact that you’re talented. The executive producer called you within half an hour of you submitting your audition tape for this role, and he didn’t stop complimenting you for another half an hour. There’s just some kind of special compartmentalization your brain accomplishes when you have a character to play; you flick off your “you” switch, and flick on your “character” switch.

You’re sure your therapist would say that it’s easy for you because of your natural proclivity for escapism. Your parents would probably just say you’re a psychopath. Whatever it is, you have a knack for acting, and it shows. It’s as easy and natural as breathing.

There’s a flurry of activity around you as you settle on your mark: an unevenly-stuffed floral print couch in the living room of your character’s shoebox home. It’s small, but it feels lived in. There’s photos in mismatched frames of you and Dieter on the walls and it puts a weird sensation in the pit of your stomach; it takes you aback how realistic and natural the photoshop is for set pieces that probably won’t even be in most frames of the show. There’s eclectic trinkets and pieces of period-accurate paraphernalia on shelves and side tables. You could almost believe you’ve been transported back in time if you ignore the huge cameras and empty windows.

Your costar walks in and suddenly the nerves hit you in full force.

This is it; this is your big moment. This needs to be flawless because first impressions stick. Especially to someone like Dalton Amari, who’s been acting since he was in diapers. Even though he’s barely a year older than you, he’s a bonafide star. He’s got an IMDb filmography that’s a mile long and he’s won countless awards. You need to be on your game because you’ll be damned if you’re going to disappoint someone like him.

He’s handsome and imposingly tall as he towers over you, dark-haired and dark-eyed with blindingly white teeth that contrast the light brown tone of his skin. You have friends who swoon every time he posts on Instagram; it’s surreal, being in the same room as him like this, with him smiling at you like you’re important.

“Hi again,” he greets as he sits next to you, body moving closer to you at the instruction of the director.

You feel a little more at ease like this, despite how formidable a scene partner he is career-wise; he’s the kindest of all the costars you met last night. He was one of the few people who actually made an effort to approach you, after all–introduced himself with that charming smile and everything.

“Hi.”

“You look great,” he says with a noticeable scan of your figure. “Just like my grandma used to.”

It’s the exact kind of icebreaker you need to completely melt the tension; you laugh, and he laughs with you.

The director–a man named Jeff with a graying beard thick enough to clothe a family of four–walks over with a smile on his face. “This is the exact kind of chemistry I want onscreen, okay? Nice and light, make it look effortless.”

“Sure thing, boss man.” Dalton’s long, blown-out hair flops into his face when he nods, and you can tell it irritates him. “God, how do people put up with this shit? Remind me to never grow my hair out again.”

“You’re telling me,” you respond with a laugh–your hair is even longer than his.

This first scene is surprisingly easy. He’s so talented that it rubs off on you and builds up your confidence until you’re commanding the scene effortlessly. You lounge on the couch with him and lament over approaching adulthood, recounting the glory days of your characters’ shared high school experiences now that they’re over for good. You feel like you’re really there, in that time capsule moment of late May 1976, shooting the shit with your high school sweetheart boyfriend. It’s easy to forget that you know what happens between Charlie and Trevor, Dalton’s character; that the story has already been told all the way through. Right now, in this moment with his arm around your shoulders and your hand on his thigh, it’s just beginning. You’re three years younger than you really are, and you’re in love with this boy who’s looking at you like you hung the very stars from the sky.

“Cut!” Jeff calls, and you pull away from Dalton’s loose grip. “That was perfect you two, keep it up!”

Just like that you’re you again–not Charlie, not Trevor’s girlfriend, not anyone else. The transition is that simple and seamless.

You catch a glimpse of your smiling face next to Dieter’s in a brass-framed photo, and you feel that weird, twisting sense of complication again. For a blissful moment in time, as Charlie, life was without uncertainty. When you’re her, there’s a script and a set destiny that you know will play out exactly how it’s supposed to. When you’re you, you don’t know what’s going to come next. Maybe that’s why acting has always been easy or you. You crave the predictability and certainty that comes with a scripted ending. You know how the final page plays out, and you know exactly what happens along the way.

Life, unfortunately, isn’t that simple.

“Hey,” Dalton says, voice a little softer than the voice he uses when he’s Trevor. “You did great. Don’t be nervous.”

You don’t know how he knows you’re so lost in thought–probably the incessant bouncing of your left knee.

“Thanks,” you murmur in return, but you can’t meet his eyes. You’ve never been particularly good at taking compliments, even if they’re deserved.

“Alright, it’s class time!” Jeff interrupts with a clap of his hands. He’s notorious for his strict scheduling. “Wardrobe!”

You have two more scenes today and they somehow, miraculously, go just as well as the first. There’s no sign of Dieter, but you knew before you even got out of bed that he wasn’t on the call sheet for today. Tomorrow, however, is a different story. There are four scenes on the schedule, and the last one of the day is just you and him.

You’re glad you have some time to prepare for it, because you know that no matter how hard you try, you’re going to be self-conscious around him. He’s not just attractive or charismatic or any of the other things you’ve come to view him as; he’s something of a role model. You want to impress him, but you also want to learn from him; and you really, really don’t want to make a fool of yourself anywhere in his general vicinity. It might be easier said than done with those big brown chocolate-chunk eyes of his following your every move.

You adjourn to your hotel room and order room service, “untitled episode one” script in your lap. You’ve read it through about a million times, but tonight you pay special attention to your first scene with Dieter. You need it to be as flawless as today’s scenes went. You need him to be as impressed as Dalton was, because his opinion means more to you than anyone’s.

You also pay special attention to that particular scene because it’s going to be a real test of your abilities; looking up into that handsome face and remembering your lines the way you’re supposed to is going to be your crucible.

You check the time around midnight and decide it’s late enough; pushing yourself any further could just serve to undo the effort you’ve put in. A certain Instagram notification on the screen catches your eye: “@bravo69 started following you”. It’s Dieter’s verified Instagram account, and the notification is from two minutes ago.

You stay up for longer than you care to admit ruminating on the fact that Dieter Bravo is scrolling through your Instagram at midnight. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve gotten under his skin the way he’s gotten under yours.

You’re trying so desperately not to get your hopes up, but it’s hard not to.

Cynthia in hair and makeup can tell you’re not sleeping well, even without the way you keep drifting off and jolting awake in her chair. She slathers caffeine under your eyes and does her best to reverse the zombie state you’re starting to transform into.

She gives you a look a lot like a reproachful mother might. “Are you really losing sleep over this? You were fantastic yesterday!”

There’s just something about her that makes you so comfortable–like she’s been a friend you’ve known for years rather than a coworker you only just met yesterday.

“Yeah, but what if it was a fluke and I do horrible today?”

She actually scoffs, like it’s the most impossible thing she’s ever heard, and her smile is so wonderfully disarming. “If you always think like that, you’re never gonna get a damned wink in your life.”

“I’ve never been very good at sleeping anyway,” you admit with a scornful little huff.

“Well, you’d better try your best. There’s only so much I can do for you.” She gives you a cartoon-worthy wink as she looks at you in the mirror, and it makes you loosen up considerably.

She’s right. You’re here, and confidence is key at this stage. If you act like the crew is taking some big chance on you because you’re a new talent, they’re going to see it that way too. If you act like you belong here, it’ll make the whole thing that much easier.

Fake it ‘til you make it, they say. You suppose whoever “they” are, they’re actually right in this situation.

Today’s scenes are a little more important to the plot of the show. Yesterday you worked on character establishment and setting the environment; today is all about the inciting incident. It all starts with pool party part two.

Wardrobe stuffs you in a period-typical orange patterned bikini, carefully selected to not be too revealing while still giving the audience something to appreciate; it’s eye roll worthy, but underneath the corniness of it there’s something kind of exciting about potentially being a sex symbol.

It’s the beginning of summer in the Midwest–at least on screen. In reality it’s late July, and it’s sweltering outside at the little time capsule brick house production rented for this scene. There are teen-aged extras all over the place pretending to be celebrating the end of another school year, all perfectly styled to 1976 as they splash about in the pool or grab vintage-looking Coke bottles from a cooler next to the property’s backyard shed.

Dalton is here, bare-chested and abs gleaming, draped over a poolside lounger. You’re directed into his arms, and the press of his skin is a little uncomfortable. You’ve never particularly liked being this close to strangers, especially when wearing so little, but there’s no backing out now. Every scantily-clad inch of your skin is pressed against his, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close. 

Charlie’s best friend, Amara–played by none other than Kelsie Burton, an actress who’s been in just about every coming-of-age flick in the past five years–sits on the lounger next to yours. She’s drop dead gorgeous, with freckled pale skin and long, shiny black hair. She’s the archetype, and you feel like a complete foil in every way. You have to take a deep breath and remember that it’s not a competition–and even if it was, you’re technically winning.

The dialogue is a little awkward in this scene, but it’s on purpose. The three characters have been close friends since middle school, but things have shifted ever since Charlie and Trevor started dating. Amara feels like a third wheel, and it’s not exactly unreasonable.

This is the beginning, the first push of the boulder down the steep hill of plot. The three of you sit together pondering what life will be like now that high school is over and discussing ways to make the summer the most memorable it can be. A challenge is made, an oath taken. This summer is going to be the most unforgettable one of all.

You shoot a few takes of the inciting conversation, and then it’s on to the fun part–shooting some filler scenes of pool party revelry.

It’s easy to forget you’re not a fresh-faced teenager anymore like this. The three of you splash around in the water with your “classmates” and laugh and play games and have fun. It doesn’t feel like there’s cameras or crewmembers or anyone else around but you and your friends. And that’s really what they feel like–friends. Maybe they’re both just good actors, but a hopeful little part of you wonders if you might actually be able to build meaningful relationships with them.

The fun can’t last forever though, and the scene wrap comes before you’re ready for it–partially because you’re enjoying yourself and don’t want it to end, but partially because you know what comes next. Dieter.

You’re shuttled back to set wrapped in a towel, still soaking wet but smiling despite the nerves twisting in your gut. Even if this last scene for the day goes to shit, at least you had an incredible morning.

You’re turning a corner on your way to wardrobe when you run smack into someone tall and sturdy. There’s a force to the sudden collision that makes you grunt and lose your balance (and towel), but big, strong hands quickly come to steady you.

You look up, ready to fumble out an apology, when  you find a set of deep brown eyes and a handsome, smirking face.

Whatever you were going to say dies at the base of your throat when you notice the way Dieter’s eyes drag over your soaking wet, bikini-clad form. You can’t help but let yourself do the same; this is the first time you’ve seen him in character, after all.

He seems even broader and bigger than the first time you met him, decked out in this khaki-colored sheriff’s uniform. It hugs his soft yet sturdy frame perfectly, only complemented by the heavy duty belt and the star-shaped badge pinned to his chest. His shaggy hair has been trimmed down to a respectable length, and his signature patchy-stubbly beard has been reduced to a simple, handsome mustache. He’s a time capsule of a man, and he looks so fucking good.

“Is that what they’ve got you wearing for our scene?” He asks, interrupting your moment of observation. His hands are still firmly on your waist despite the fact that your balance has long since been regained.

“N-no,” you stumble over your own tongue. “I’m on my way to change right now.”

“Damn,” he mumbles–he actually sounds disappointed.

It’s been long enough, and his hands are still on your waist. They’re so warm, so big. You hate having your bare skin touched like this, but…  it’s nice. His hands are firm and strong and capable and you’re not thinking of him in a very fatherly capacity at all right now. He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, so close that you could just–

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he finally takes his hands off you and you have to practically gasp for breath. Even as he backs out of your personal space, he knows the effect he’s had on you–if the smirk that takes over his face is any indication, at least.

“Orange is a good color on you,” he murmurs as his dark eyes give you one last once-over.

“R-really?” It’s never been a color you’ve particularly favored, but flattery goes far with you.

He hums in response, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Have you really made this much of an impression on him, or is he just really desperate? Surely he can’t be that deprived–he could have anyone he wanted at the blink of an eye.

“I’ll see you on set,” he vows. And then, just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.

It’s so fucking difficult to get a read on him that you feel like you’re in a tailspin. Nevertheless, you try not to let it bother you too much as you get to wardrobe and finally change into some real clothes. Dieter Bravo is off limits, you remind yourself; but it doesn’t sound nearly as convincing this time.

“Where have you been all night?” His voice is stern, commanding despite the softness to his tone. He sounds almost dangerous–exactly like a cop and a protective father should.

“At that end of the year pool party over at the Clevelands’, the one I told you about,” you answer easily, gently. You’re on thin ice, and you’re stepping lightly. “With Amara.”

“And Trevor.” There’s accusation in his voice–Charlie hasn’t told him about her relationship, but fathers always know. 

“He was there, yeah.”

“How many times have I told you I don’t want you around him?” Dieter looks up at you from where he’s spread lazily in his cozy living room armchair, eyes even darker than usual in the low night-coded lighting of the living room set. His suspicion of Trevor isn’t unwarranted–you’ve read the script in its entirety, you know every little facet of every single character. But Charlie doesn’t know what you know, so you have to take Dieter’s caution as nothing more than the helicopter parenting typical of a teenage girl’s single father.

“I’m an adult, dad,” you remind him. “I can make my own decisions, choose my own friends.”

“You’re still a little girl,” he murmurs. The fight’s gone from him–he looks now as if a long day of law enforcement has caught up to him all at once. “You always will be.”

It sparks the exact kind of anger within you that the script calls for, and most of it isn’t even fabricated. You don’t want him–Dieter, not Sheriff Herrera–to see you like that. What if that’s all this is now? What if he can’t see you as anything else but a child to him? Not that it matters. He’s off limits, you’ve reminded yourself of that a million times. What he thinks of you shouldn’t matter.

“You have to let me grow up eventually,” you growl before storming down the hall to your final mark.

Jeff calls the scene, and you reemerge a little flushed and feeling silly for how real your emotions were in that moment.

“That was perfect!” He tells you with a beaming smile on his face. “Keep that up and we’re gonna get ahead of schedule. Dieter, you were great too.”

“Not as great as them,” the older actor says with a nod of his head in your direction. “You’re a generous scene partner.”

“How so?” You’re still a little flushed, but you’re praying he can’t tell.

“You give off a lot of emotion,” he explains. “Gives me a lot to work with.”

“Oh.” You’ve really got to get better at taking compliments. Was that even a compliment?

You’re so far in your head that you don’t notice the awkward pause until he takes it upon himself to start leaving the soundstage. Desperate for any way to salvage the moment, you address his broad, retreating back and say, “thanks, Dieter.”

He turns his head, looks at you over his shoulder, and fucking winks. “Anytime, honey.”

And then he leaves, like he didn’t just put a fucking puddle in your underwear.

Dieter Bravo is off limits. Dieter Bravo is off limits. Dieter Bravo is off limits. You chant it to yourself the entire way back to your hotel room, but it gets less and less convincing with each repetition.

Would it really be so bad if he wasn’t off limits?

➔ beta: @futuraa-free, @ozarkthedog, @beskarandblasters, and @fhatbhabie (thank u so much my loves <3)

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[yuri-is-online]

What are your ideas on Yutu’s Unique Magic?

Maybe Riddle!Yutu having a countering UM to his father, or Cater!Yutu having one that allows him to see the true in people, etc, etc…

Also, what if Yutu has a sister/brother back in his OG timeline? Did he bring them with or they just got left behind?

for context, check these posts (1) (2) or look at the Fyuuture kid section under series on my masterlist.

oof I have a lot. Unique magic strikes me as something that is supposed to be reflective of who the mage is as a person as well as the Disney character/concept the boy is based on.  Since Yutu is not based on anyone really, we are more free with inspiration for his unique magic, with two exceptions. Idia and Kalim both have lines suggesting that their unique magics are passed down in their family's, though I imagine the incantation is different to each person; it makes sense for their Yutu's to have Gate to the Underworld and Oasis Maker respectively.

Before I really get into the weeds, I do like the idea of Yutu having (a) sibling(s) in the OG timeline, again because that can happen in Fire Emblem Awakening but also because it adds to the angst somewhat. As for whether or not he would bring them back in time, the answer to that is yes. Yutu has a few friends he traveled back in time with that are scattered around Twisted Wonderland with no way to contact each other, and if he had a sibling (with the exception of Malleus! Yutu whose sister is a bit... special) then they would be among that group. If you want some extra angst we can steal even more from FE: Awakening and make it so Yutu's sibling died before he arrived, maybe they turned into a blot monster that follows Grim's overblotted form as a replacement for his hench human.

We could even make it so Yutu's sibling doesn't have any magic, just like Yuu. You know. For the parallels ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Riddle! Yutu

Riddle! Yutu having a magic that counters his dad is such a good concept, especially for someone who initially hates him. There are two types of magic that we have seen counter Off With Your Head: Trey's Doodle Suit and a strong shielding spell used by Leona.  I can think of a few directions to take this line of thinking, so let's start with the most grounded.

A strong shielding spell, one that can be applied to multiple people, sounds like a spell that thematically fits Yutu.  We don't know a lot about how these spells function, but they're important for combat magic and shielding multiple people seems to be implied to be difficult.  Let's say in this case it's natural for Yutu and essentially the same for him as shielding himself.  This sort of spell feels like it should have a card themed name, Big Blind maybe?  It's a term that refers to the minimum bet required to continue a poker game if I understand what I read correctly. The only card game I know how to play is yugioh

The less grounded approach could be a sort of spell that creates an anti magic field… it's a concept I did toy around with mostly because I was thinking about more Alice in Wonderland themed names for a unique magic, and thought up “Everything is Nonsense” or something along those lines.  My one sort of caveat to this concept is that I think a spell like this would be heavily stigmatized, probably cause a lot of blot build up for a caster, and I'm uncertain of how it would work mechanically. Well that and I have an idea for a different Yutu who this spell would fit a bit better... but that would require me to cook with a different type of fire.

I did mention in my post about Riddle! Yutu that I liked the idea of his unique magic allowing him to shrink or grow because of Rule 42 in Alice Adventure's in Wonderland saying all people more than a mile high must be rejected from court. If Riddle is the Queen of Hearts, well then any time they argue all Yutu has to do is grow and then he won't be allowed to yell at him any more so there. As a side note do you think this logic could apply to the Chimera in the Prologue? Because I could see that being darkly funny if it comes up in game in that context.

Cater! Yutu

I had a really well thought out idea about Cater being able to see a limited amount into the future before I realized that I was describing the sharingan from Naruto so fuck me I guess.

So just hear me out, you know in twst battles you can see at least one of spells the enemy is going to use? That's sort of what I thought Yuu's unique magic would be if they had it, but I also like the idea of it being Cater! Yutu's. It would function more like an instinct than an actual vision (*clenches fist* just like naruto) but he can use his magic to tell what a person intends to do before they fully think it. Cater is skilled at divination so a unique magic that lets his kid see a little bit of the future feels like it could work for him.

Speaking of divination, I sort of also like the idea of Cater! Yutu having a magic that has something to do with stars and starlight. Maybe he can turn into a void like being made of cosmic energy, similar to how Cater's Split Card is symbolic of his many faces, Yutu's void form could be symbolic of how he feels displaced in the world.

Ace! Yutu

We don't know what Ace's unique magic is (yet) but there are a lot of theories. Time travel, something that steals another person's spell, something related to optical illusions?

I think it would be fun if Ace! Yutu could do something with reflections/mirrors. As in he can reach through mirror and attack, similar to how Hanged Man works in JoJo. The further the distance the more magic it takes, it can also work with things like water but that takes a lot more magic too.

Either that or he's able to travel between mirrors on his own without the dark mirror. That might be a much more difficult thing to do though...

Jade! Yutu

I have a very clear idea for what I wanted to do with Jade! Yutu's magic, but it's a bit complicated to explain because I'm not a physicist.

The basic idea was that Yutu is able to exert magical force on an object, so long as he knows it's exact dimensions and what it is made of. I called it "Crush the Heart" because I wanted both his and Floyd's Yutus to have magic to follow their dad's naming theme. To activate it he has to be looking at where the object should be and picture it in his mind, the more precise the crush the more concentration, control, and magic it takes.

The name could in theory be quite literal, but Yutu isn't quite there yet in his knowledge of biology or magical control.

Floyd! Yutu

Like I said, I want the twin's Yutu's to have a name that is similar to their dad's. Floyd's Bind the Heart uses Kanji that literally translates to "coiling tail"... which I guess is more similar to the magic I gave Jade! Yutu than the "gnawing teeth" that Shock the Heart does, but that magic is supposed to be something that requires calm collected control, which Floyd and his son simply do not have. Still, lets play off that and give Floyd! Yutu a magic that has something to do with shocks and teeth.

I think Floyd! Yutu should have a taunt. Floyd already loves the idea of a good fight, his son is really good at combat magic, and they both talk so much shit that the idea of that literally being his unique magic just sort of works.

Functionally the spell would work similarly to Jamil's, where the person has to look him in the eyes for it to work. The name of the spell could be something like "Reveal the Heart" but that does sound sort of stupid to me so I'm not sold on it. The spell makes a person unable to focus on anyone other than Yutu and wares off after a certain amount of time, it can fail in fashion similar to Riddle's if the enemy mage has a protection spell up.

Azul! Yutu

Another Yutu who I know exactly what I wanted to do with, I got the idea while playing Darkest Dungeon of all things. I feel like it's a bit lame though.

Azul! Yutu can create phantom limbs out of cosmic magic. When he is in octopus form those limbs take the form of human arms, and when in human form they take the form of tentacles. He says when asked that what he is doing is manipulating shadows because he likes to keep people on their toes (or fins take your pick) and he finds it very funny to watch people squirm when they realize there really is no escaping his grasp.

It is a very difficult magic to use, he needs physical strength to use those limbs because they are only as strong as his real ones, so he works out and a lot to make sure he doesn't hurt himself while using it.

Ruggie! Yutu

Laugh With Me is a perfect magic for a hyena to have, and it suits Ruggie's personality really well. Actually... I did write that his Yutu shares his laugh and I think it would be so painfully cute if that extended to his Unique Magic too. Ruggie makes a big deal about how he's kind of a crappy mage, how he has to do a lot of extra work to make up for his low mana pool and poor upbringing. Can you imagine how embarrassed, proud, and awed he would be if his son inherited his spell? That's something only great mages are supposed to have, not little guys like him. Good thing neither Yuu or Yutu care about that huh?

Vil! Yutu

I haven't done a post about Vil! Yutu really beyond this bit about him bonding with Vil, but I did mention what I think his unique magic would be.

I can't find it but I read a myth once about a painter who drew animals with a magic paintbrush that would bring them to life if he gave them two eyes, so he only ever gave them one. I thought it would be neat to have a spell like that and it feels like something that would fit Yutu Schoenheit very well. His magic allows him to create temporary familiars similar to Lilia's bats, bigger creatures take more magic and focus.

I wrote the name for this spell as "Technicolor Dream" since I thought it would be nice for the name of Yutu's magic to nod towards his father's job and his dreams about having his family back.

I have a lot more Yutu's chilling in my inbox, so I'll revisit this topic (lilia! yutu has a whole ask about his um that I really like) once we are done with round 2 of Yutu posting.

[swordsmans]

today on ao3 tips, here's a quick follow up to this post about the ao3 "mark for later"/TBR/save for later function! ive seen some stuff going around lately lamenting that there's no easy way to filter out "character x reader" or "character x OC" fics from search results, but there absolutely is!

very quick and simple fix, just add "-reader" and/or "-original*" to the "search within results" bar (not "other tags to exclude", which might be where the confusion is coming from). it looks like this:

here is what it looks like with both filtered out:

the "*" after original is an indicator for the filters to catch the "original female--", "original male--", and "original character" tags, which is why is should be included! as a caveat, this also removes anything that has the word "original" in the summary or tags, so do be aware of that. (meaning this will also grab anything that has original characters tagged even if they AREN'T in a pairing, plus anything that uses the word "original" in the normal sense)

also, || designates "OR" for the filter search, so it is optional (and can be replaced with just a simple space) but i like to include it to be extra sure. i have checked and both results work.

anyway, happy reading, everyone!

[shirozora-draws]

When you’re minding your own damn business homeworking and your brain decides we need to draw a Mandalorian helmet right now right now draw him right now we have to draw hIM RIGHT NOW DO IT NOW.

Anyway, have another semiweekly sketch to keep my head from boiling over.

[edwards-exploit]

Troublesome Tangmere and 249 Squadron Reliable Rebecca!

In an ideal world, we could've had a story where Tangmere causes good old Sundrian Confusion and Delay and then promptly eats shit.

Rebecca as 249 Squadron wasn't my idea, but it's been ingrained into my head nonetheless. I like the idea of a Rebecca that spent most of her life in scrapyards and storage and then still coming out singing- quite literally! But the trauma of it is still very much there, just... lingering. I imagine 'What Rebecca Does' was one of those moments where her anxiety and self doubt got the better of her- she only spent a short while on rails, and while she did pull expresses like The Night Ferry back on the mainland, here on Sodor it seemed that everyone is much more.... experienced and worldly and cool, and most of all, they got modifications and rebuilds to work around their design flaws while Rebecca is still very much an unrebuilt bulleid pacific. Poor girl's not sure what she can really do, after all these years and with her mechanical problems. This isn't even getting into when she WAS in service- her family was fine, and quite loving actually- and the ex SR engines were a decent sort! Everyone else, however...

[moviestarmartini]

where she goes. — brahim díaz x reader.

tranquilita tu siempre te roba el show / una perversa le vo'a dar dembow / si se pone en cuatro i go where she goes.

summary: (based on this request) you slept with brahim full knowing he only did it to get over his ex. when he comes asking for more you decide to ignore him and disappear, full of pride. too bad he knows where to find you.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: yet again basic sentences in spanish (some i translated), nsfw (18+), stubborn mfs, alcohol consumption, prideful mfs, unprotected sex but what's new (not endorsing it!!!!), p in v, fingering, dom!brahim, he's a bit mean here whoops, spanking (nothing too extreme i promise), praise, aftercare, he's a lil shit here.

A/N: i stalled for a second but i'm so happy how this turned out !! thank you reina @thelvsickgirl for the request mwah mwah i hope you like it 🤍

now playing... where she goes by bad bunny

You stared at the messages in disbelief. You knew very well you were just a rebound, and though it was very well the best fuck of your life, you doubted if that was the case for him too. It was just your ego controlling your every thought, embarrassed you were the second option for him to come back to every time he found himself lonely. After not long consideration, you decided to listen to your pride and ignore the messages. 

Brahim stared back at the blue gray check marks, noticing how you went online on and off but no typing. There was no true intention to reply, thus meaning you didn’t want to respond, and you wanted him to know that. The same sense of pride invaded the two of you. ‘Fine. If she can ignore me, I can ignore her back. Game on.’ and he ignored you ignoring the messages, chest puffed with toxic dignity. 

But it wasn’t easy, not as much as he’d imagined. Each time he closed his eyes to rest, the ghost of your body haunted him, and he yearned to have your tits smothering his face once again as you bounced up and down the length of his cock. When he passed by the living room the carpet was still soaked in a stain remover from the red wine you spilled that night, the same one that had gotten you tipsy and stained your blouse, prompting you to remove it. 

And then, as the situation escalated, he replayed it in the same exact way in his mind until he tore himself away from the thought and moved on. Moved on to the thought of what you were up to; if you were seeing someone else, someone that had your voice stuck in the back of your throat like he did. 

Even some considerable time later, he just gave into the urges, the need to see your ass bouncing against his pelvis when he ordered you to get on all fours just to ram you from behind. He knew you well enough to know you were going to be at that club that night, so he sat and waited patiently, being a wingman to his own friends as he waited upon your arrival. 

And God, it did not disappoint. 

You sauntered in as if you walked into your own living room, the act was flawless as you stole gazes and forced them to look at you. But Brahim couldn’t help but smirk when he noticed you were only looking back at him. He watched as you hurriedly excused yourself from your group of friends and trotted over with those stiletto heels, sitting in the empty chair next to him. 

“Stalking me now, aren’t we?” You muttered, calling the bartender over. You couldn’t even bother as Brahim raised his hand to catch his attention first. 

“Un espresso martini para la señorita; lo agregas a mi cuenta.” ‘A espresso martini for the lady; add it to my tab’ The corner of your lip twitched as he knew exactly what you wanted. That also came true as he placed his hand on your knee, caressing a scar from the time you rolled down a hill when you were six.

“When are you giving me another chance, huh?” He inched closer, searching for your eyes. “I came all this way…” He thanked the bartender with a nod, giving you enough space to sip on your drink. “I surrender, okay?” 

You laughed, not even knowing what type of war you found yourselves in. “Surrender to what? ¿Qué está pasando por esa cabecita tuya, Brahimi?” You hummed disinterestedly, taking a long sip before placing the glass down. But there wasn’t any type of humor in Brahim’s eyes, not even with the nickname. He leaned in closer, nose brushing against yours. 

He seemed to straighten up and almost fix his attitude towards you, clearing his throat and brushing his hair back. “Can we… talk somewhere more private? My car, maybe?” He offered, eyes full of regret. 

You convinced yourself for the past month or so you weren’t going to give in so easily. You knew it was just sex, all his compliments and excuses were the pathway straight into his bed, or his couch, or the kitchen counter. But there you were, gulping down the last of your drink before getting dragged out of there, hurriedly texting your friends.

You sat in his car, the air thick as the engine roared awake. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?” You turned to him, still playing hard to get. The act dissolved the second he crashed his lips in yours furiously. “Ay princesa…” He sighed against your lips, his hands messing up your hair. “I want to feel that pussy again.” 

The nod you gave him was enough for the man next to you behind the wheel to break almost seven traffic laws on his way back to the apartment, and you squirmed on your seat, extremely turned on. 

The walk to the elevator was fuzzy, but as soon as you got inside, he almost slammed you against the wall with the rough push, subsequently having his lips take yours. It was sloppy, his lips and surrounding areas tinting in your lipstick, hands exploring under your dress to the point you wondered if he’d gotten you naked entirely. 

He was hungry, insatiable almost. When you reached his floor, the door wasn’t even closed, and you believed he knew how tightly you were wrapped around his finger. You stumbled inside to reach his living room couch, the same place where it all began a few weeks ago. 

You sat in his lap, legs to either side of his body. His hands forced you to arch your back, clothes chests against each other.  “Take off that dress. Keep the heels,” He ordered, pulling your hands away and letting you stand. He wanted a show, and you gave him just that. Your eyes didn’t leave his as you unzipped the little black item, letting it slowly slip down your body and pool at your feet. You brushed your hair to the side, giving him those eyes that chanted ‘slut me out!’ over and over again. 

“Who’s been seeing you in those?” He pointed with his nose to the lacy items that dressed your body under the regular items. He parted his legs, his growing boner becoming more evident.

“You know I wear these to feel pretty.” You replied with equal sass, and he tutted, leaning back. “What?” He saw right through you, and that was only part of it, not the entirety. With no other reply he patted his lap, inviting you to sit in it again. 

You knew better than to disagree, and as soon as you placed your legs on either side of his body, he captured your lips in his. The kiss was frenzied, he grabbed the plush of your ass and kneaded it. The groping made you grind on his lap, the excuse of a piece of fabric rubbing against his clothed boner. 

Brahim broke the kiss, leaving you wanting more. But he kept you away, holding you tenderly by your jaw, but still squishing your cheeks a little. “Don’t lie to me, mamita,” He cooed, voice dripping with sweetness before a smack filled the air, knocking the air out of your lungs. “Who’s been seeing you in that lingerie?” 

“No one, I swear!” You whined, writhing under another spank to your ass. “I kept wearing it in case I ran into you. I never got the courage to get on with someone else.” You heard a small laugh come from him, and sweet pecks soon placed at your chest. 

“Was that so hard to admit?” Brahim brushed your hair back with the palm of his hand, almost petting you. “Too bad you were just a lil’ too stubborn to text me back, eh amor?” His nose brushed against your neck, now depositing the sweetest kisses down its length. His hands played with the clasp of your bra, and it brought small giggles to your slips that mixed in with the moans. 

But the giggles didn’t last long as his hands cupped your breasts, massaging and squeezing them. “Fuck, I missed these,” He groaned, his lips applying sucktion on your shoulder. Surprised, your hands brushed the short strands in the back of his neck before tangling into the longer ones at the top. 

“Eres mía, ¿oíste?” Once his hands left your breasts, his fingers brushed against the newly formed mark. You nodded, breath hitching when his fingertips descended down your torso, hand stuffing inside your panties. He hummed in satisfaction at your wetness, grazing lightly at your clit. His eyes dissected the way you could barely stay straight, sinking further into his clothed thighs. “That’s good, isn’t it?” 

But the way he stared at you also meant he wanted a vocal answer, and with a trembling voice you reassured him, “So good, I swear,” His movements were painfully slow, until he moved his hand further down to tease your entrance. You nodded in consent, feeling two digits push inside. But there he was again moving slowly, taking his sweet time. 

“I’m sorry, is that not enough?” It was as if he was making fun of your moans turning into whining between low chuckles. “Ride them. C’mon.” The situation itself already seemed bizarre, how you ran into him when you most wished you did, only for him to have you completely under his control. You didn’t question him, taking the free pass and allowing yourself to get off, hips rolling on the digits he pumped inside you. You threw your head back, moving upwards and back down again continuously, your slick soon gathering in his palm. 

The moment he curled his fingers to hook against that ragged spot,  heat rose up your body, stomach tickling. Your movements became frantic, eyes glassy as you began to crave that release… only for him to remove his hand from under you, leaving you speechless. He licked his fingers clean with such care, big puppy eyes looking up at you. 

“Cum on my cock, please,” He guided your hand to squeeze the clothed bulge, shivering under your touch. You didn’t waste any time undoing the item, and he helped you out by sliding it— along with his underwear— to rest at his lower thighs. You licked your lips, watching the pink tip leak pre-cum, but decided on kissing him first, hand undoing the buttons of his black shirt. 

But there wasn’t any time to fully remove the item as he rubbed his hard cock against your entrance, knocking the air out of your lungs. “Vamos, princesa.” He encouraged you to sink down the length, his other hand caressing your side. You looked up

at him, only to find his pair of eyes looking back fueled with passion. 

That was enough motivation to check he was correctly lined up before sinking down. A groan in unison burst through the four walls, the grip of hands settling on your sides tightening. You hid your face in his neck, getting used to the stretch. Your bare chest against his own, and for a second you swore you could feel his heartbeat. 

It didn’t take long for you to start bouncing up and down his length, wanting to finish off the job. You were going to grant his wish, the fluids already rolling down to soak the couch a little. He groaned, feeling that peculiar pulsing of your walls, his hands maintaining a hard grip on your waist. 

“Don’t give up on me now, you’ve been doing so great.” Brahim praised, noticing how the build up had thrown off your rhythm. “Let me help.” He urged, positioning your bodies before he thrusted upwards. It was fast and fierce, your moans hitting a higher decibel as he tipped you off towards your orgasm. 

But he didn’t stop, he barely slowed down to give you time to recover before going back to that relentless pace, your head dropping and resting against his shoulder blade. “Mírame” He demanded, his hungry eyes meeting your infatuated ones before he pulled you into a kiss, stopping his thrusts while fully inside you. 

A sloppy makeout, tongues tangled, teeth clashing lightly every once in a while. His cock filled every crevice, his hands explored every inch while you finally removed the button up fully. Without even giving you a warning he switched, and you were under him. “La más bella de todo Madrid, eh my love?” He cooed, hands running down your sides as he took every inch displayed in front of him. 

You couldn’t help but blush, scoffing a little. “Ponte en cuatro,” He asked so nicely you couldn’t decline, hearing how he took off his bottoms, giving you space to get on your hands and knees. Then you could feel him behind you again, giving your ass a light smack before he leaned down to kiss one of your buttcheeks. 

A loud crack followed, and you gasped, looking back at him. “¿Enserio Brahim? This is the second pair! You can’t break things you didn’t pay for.” He tore the lacy thong to shreds easily, ripping it off your body. He only smiled sweetly, blowing you a kiss accompanied by a wink before he was back inside you, thrusting as if his life depended on it. The loud moans and groans— almost pornographic— filled the space once more. Your back arched as your arms gave out, the second release hitting you like a train. 

Brahim couldn’t help but admire your figure as he hit it from the back, a small smile sneaking in from behind his parted lips. He leaned down and circled his arm around your hip to press two fingers on your perked clit, already stimulated enough. Your thighs shook, breath getting stuck in your throat. He had never been a selfish lover, and you knew he wanted you to cum again at the same time he filled you up to the brim. 

“Fuck— fuck, that’s it, one more baby,” He praised as you came undone under him, your legs giving you. He pounded you into the cushions, kissing the back of your shoulder blades. The squeeze your pussy gave him was more than enough to tip him over the edge, glorified chants of your name overshadowed your whimpers. 

In no time he had you cradled in his arms, holding you close against his chest. “Stay the night with me, please,” He nuzzled into your cheek, and you agreed between half lidded eyes. 

You still left the following morning before he could wake up, knowing this was something still casual. He was still trying to get over his ex, and you were the closest person he could do that with; your convictions haven’t changed, even when he spent all night spooning you with his face buried in your neck. 

“You’ve got something waiting on your desk,” One of your coworkers announced as you clocked in on Monday, the others giggling. Curious, you walked slowly to your space to find a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a black box with a pink satin bow. 

You smiled at your coworkers innocently, sitting down to check what was inside the box. Your ears burned as your eyes fell upon the brand new lacy underwear. You closed the box without making much fuss to not attract any attention, checking the note resting on the outside. 

‘ picked them myself so i can break them in peace. 

see you friday, princesa. 

— yours, BD. ‘ 

[theriverbeyond]

something re: the Gideon -> Kiriona evolution that is perhaps not the most important (esp on the scale of other things) but that i keep feeling fairly fixated on is that Gideon hated the Lyctor Aesthetic (”like Silas Oktakisseron threw up in the glitter drawer”) and she is so valid for that but now she’s dressed like “the military wing of disco”. and on a personal level i think her new look is incredibly sexy BUT i cannot help but fixate on how this is now the third outfit she has worn that is not really something she would have chosen for herself (cavalier skull paint, harrow’s body, military disco). and she only gets three outfits in the whole series anyway!! 

something something abt being butch and How We Dress being so related to Who We Are, and having that choice taken away is always some sort of thing. something something abt body autonomy and how she continues to have none despite her proclamations otherwise. she says ”nobody locks me up anywhere” but Kiriona Gaia is arguably locked up everywhere she goes, on account of her body having the fun feature of being able to be turned off by someone else. Gideon started her escape attempts at age four. four!!!!! something something abt how the one thing she has always fought for is her own freedom, and everything she has done and everything she has been through since then has only served to render her more and more under others’ control. on the Ninth she had an ankle cuff and at Canaan House she had the cavalier’s sword and as a prince the leash and collar is her own dead body, which is once again (as always) dressed by someone else. 

[edgycarr0t]

I couldn't choose the colors for this one, so I did both of my options. Which one do you like more?

[misspoetree]

So the lovely @haahka and I were talking about Tay and how it's a bit sad that the fandom only ever seems to send him on shopping tours or focus on his fashion (you guys know that I'm obsessed with the KinnPorsche Fashion myself, but it's just a little...unadventurous, you know).

And then I got waaay to deep into headcanons with the equally lovely @tumsa (I'm not even sorry for the spam 😌❤).

Now, there are two things I want to do: first, I'd love to hear more Tay headcanons - feel free to throw them at me (as an ask, in the tags, added to this post, whatever you prefer). Because I'm really curious. 👀

And second, I'm going to share a few of mine:

Tay is way more capable than anyone thinks. (But no one needs to know that.)

People treat Tay like a princess within the show - I mean, he isn't even allowed to help in the kitchen at Porsche's. But I don't think Tay IS a princess. I think it's a protective façade. Because letting oneself be underestimated is a (survival) strategy in a world of money and constant power struggle, and a smart one at that. Yes, Tay is really good at reading people in general, but I also feel like people tend to let their guard down around him. Because he's kind, and understanding, and compassionate - and he seems harmless, a bit spoiled even. His 'softness' puts people at ease, makes them talk, makes them more honest than they probably should be. He's not a threat after all. I bet he knows a lot of things he shouldn't. I bet he's smart enough to use that knowledge (to help other people, to help himself, if needed). And I bet Tay could be fucking dangerous if he ever chose to (and wouldn't that be exciting 👀).

I also like to think that Tay has a strong survival instinct that goes beyond 'pretending to be incapable'. He and Kinn have been friends for ages, their families know each other, he basically grew up surrounded by mafia. He probably witnessed Tankhun's kidnapping back in the day. The horror and trauma of it. Tay's family is rich. He's close to the Theerapanyakuls. To the future head of the family. But he DOESN'T have an army of bodyguards following him around. And the downside of 'being harmless' is looking like an easy victim. Tay is too smart to be unprepared. So in my headcanon he knows how to handle a crisis, knows how to deal with danger, knows how to survive. Knows how to get out of the country quickly, how to get money without leaving a trail, how to get an unregistered gun. How to land a mean punch even though he hates it, how to apply (good) first aid EVEN THOUGH HE HATES IT. (I do think that he really isn't a fan of physical stuff, so the princess image is not completely off. Or, well, he lets it work in his favour.)

Tay's reaction to being hurt, being really hurt, is to shut his emotions down completely.

I don't enjoy how Tay's often written as dramatic and over-emotional in his confrontations with Time after what happened at Hum Bar. He isn't sober when he catches his boyfriend shoving his tongue down another man's throat, and well, his boyfriend is shoving his tongue down another man's throat. So of course he's fucking angry. And emotional. Right then and there. But the thing is, Tay had time to think, time to cool off in those other confrontations. And that's just the way to describe Tay's demeanor then: cool, cold, like ice. I like to think that he just freezes over. Turns into a statue of neutral disinterest. Just imagine: someone like Tay, always so kind and compassionate, staring you down with an expressionless face, not reacting to anything you say, looking close to fucking bored. Imagine what that would do to Time, always so full of himself, always so used to getting reactions out of Tay. Walking straight into a wall of ice. Completely out of his element. Really forced to put the work in for once. And it truly is hard work to break through to Tay once he closes his feelings off from you. A little bit of grovelling might be necessary. (That said, dealing with his emotions like that isn't good for Tay either. Of course not.)

There's...'something' between Tay and Vegas, some kind of understanding

I never got over TAY asking after Vegas in the final episode. Or the way Tay watches Vegas as he passes him during the auction. So I'm having a lot of fun wondering about the 'relationship' between Tay and Vegas, or how potential interactions could have gone down.

I mean, Tay 'belongs' to Kinn. We know that Vegas wants everything that belongs to Kinn (I bet he thinks Kinn must have fucked a pretty boy like that at least once. Even though it's not his usual type. Why else would he stick around?). Tay's caring and understanding. We know how Vegas can react...to something like that. (Not him falling in love after one free therapy session or something like that.) Tay is really good at reading people, he is really good at reading Kinn. And we know Vegas is not so different from Kinn (in some ways), even though he would murder anyone suggesting something like that to his face. Or maybe that's exactly what Tay does. Telling that to his face. As Vegas tries to seduce him, in the earlier days. But Tay doesn't try to wound him with that, to be cruel or mean, it's just an observation, spoken in that calm and understanding tone of his. And a younger Vegas is so shocked by that statement that he just...stops? And stares at Tay who just keeps going with that warm look in his eyes and those observations that hit a little too close to home until he can't take it anymore and turns on his heel to...definitely NOT run away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Vegas keeps his distance after that. That princess isn't worth the effort, he tells himself. Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he stops trying to seduce Tay, yes. But they end up talking again. And again. Because Vegas desperately needs to know what Tay meant with those things he said. And there's just... something about their conversations that keeps Vegas coming back. Until (stealing some thoughts from @tumsa here <3) Tay tries to convince Vegas that the competition between him and Kinn is dumb. Vegas does keep his distance, then.

And Tay gives up trying to help, trying to make him see how futile all of this is because it's clear Vegas won't listen to anyone but his father. But he still cares about Vegas, and seeing all the things Vegas does to himself without realising, seeing that ever-growing self-destructive obsession with Kinn sits like a leaden ball in Tay's stomach. The knowledge that he can't do anything to help is a bit like its own form of torture.

Anyways, (stealing again from @tumsa) Tay definitely ends up going to the hospital to visit Vegas. In secret, of course. And seeing Vegas and Pete together, seeing Vegas being changed by love, seeing him try to be a better person for Pete, putting all this effort in to make it work - maybe all of this forces Tay to reflect on his own love life for once. To reflect on the things he wants. The things he deserves, after all.

Nearly everyone had a crush on Tay, one time or another

You guys know the thing we do with Vegas? Like how VegasPete is the holy grail of endgame ships but it's so much fucking fun to ship Vegas with everyone and to imagine all his possible encounters and escapades? Because he's manipulation, seduction and psychological issues stacked on top of each other and wrapped in a velvet shirt?

Well. I like to do the same thing with Tay. For more or less opposite reasons. Because he's understanding and warm and compassionate and smart (and really pretty). In a world full of violence and trauma and repressed emotions, only sharp edges. I mean, who wouldn't crave the warmth, who wouldn't want to bathe in the sunlight for a while? I'm pretty sure people are falling en masse for Tay. And I think Tay doesn't always know how to handle it. Or genuinely doesn't realise what kind of effect he has on those poor bastards for doing nothing more than showing them a bit of kindness. Or maybe he's simply choosing to ignore it because he only has eyes for one person and one person alone.

Anyways, a lot of fun directions to go with this last headcanon for now. (And I'm keeping it intentionally vague and without examples because otherwise, this would turn into a multichapter fanfic I don't have time to write just now. 🤡)

[harrycrozby]

It's Sunday, which means in 3 days, we will get a new episode, and as much as I can't wait to watch the new one, it means there is only one more episode left.

One more. Only one more episode 😔🥺!

And then we need to wait, who knows how long for the next one. 😭😭

[waddles-ex-machina]

oops I forgot to mention that uhh the new wand is done!! it’s been finished for a while tbh, I just procrastinated on gluing it all back together and taking a semi-decent pic. there’s only a couple key changes I made - re-doing it so it has the zig-zag bend ofc and coating the copper base part so it doesn’t tarnish and stays shiny :)

anyway THIS is as close to canon as I can make it!! I’m glad it’s done and I’m very proud of it but also I am never doing this again lol

here are the main ref pics I based it on for comparison:

and here are some closeups of what the gem looks like when light hits it bc it’s so pretty

(how obvious is it that it’s just living as a paperweight on my desk between cons)

[chawarin-panich]

all jokes aside i have been incredibly impressed with the way the love scenes have gone in big dragon. Yes in the technical sense (aesthetics, editting, music) but especially in the narrative sense. The sex in big dragon pushes the narrative forward in quite big ways and reveals things about the characters. Which falls really well in line with the theme of BDSM, a lot of which is about trust and vulnerability. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting Mangkorn to use the videos to lure Yai back to his house. And initially, I didn't really know what to think or feel about it. But damn if i don't feel sorry for Mangkorn in that moment.

Look at Yai, Mangkorn wants him to answer because Mangkorn wants him to accept it, but Mangkorn doesn't need Yai to answer to know that Yai likes him. And the fact that Yai doggedly refuses till the very end, that he chooses to walk away must have...hurt. The show has already established Mangkorn as someone who wouldn't violate consent, who wouldn't take it by coercion. The blowjob scene was played for jokes but this was its main purpose, to show that Mangkorn is playing around with him, but Mangkorn isn't trying to control him even though he very well could.

So the sheer amount of desperation in this had me lying on the floor.

Like you can almost hear the plea in this. He's desperate for Yai to stay and Yai needs an excuse to stay. It almost felt like he was giving Yai permission to be vulnerable with him (in the most fucked up way possible as is their signature style).

And then we cut to the most confusing love scene in the history of the world because we go from desperate, angry on the streets to.... almost joyful in the sheets.

Yai wants to be here, Yai is an enthusiastic participant in this. But most of all he's really, really enjoying this. They both are. They're happy here and that leads well into the domestic, romantic mood of the next morning.

But most importantly this is the point in which Yai accepts that he's fallen for Mangkorn. And I think it's shown quite explicitly when Mangkorn tries to return the SD card to him and Yai refuses. He tells Mangkorn to throw it away but doesn't insist on it. In fact, he watches Mangkorn put it away. It's Mangkorn's to do what he wants with it. In one fell sweep Yai has 1) gotten rid of the excuse he had needed to be with Mangkorn thus far and 2) willingly gifted Mangkorn this power over him.

That all of these profound steps in their relationship is centered around a revenge porn sextape is very...in character and I love it to bits.

[brittlebutch]

The 'Enjoying watch you suffer' line in Broadcast has always been hard to pin down; Tim's leg getting broken is the biggest incident in Entry #35, so it's natural to want to tie the two together, but it seems to fit so indelicately into what we know about the timeline of totheark's internal relationship that it almost causes more problems than it resolves. However, even though it's very blink and miss it, Tim does actually manage to stab Alex in the arm before he gets knocked down -- we hear Alex cry out in pain, can see blood on the blade when Jay picks it up, and then in the recovered corrupted footage from that tape that Jay posts as Entry #36 Alex says "I did what I had to... he'd just stabbed me" -- and that injury being what totheark was trying to call attention to, to me, reads a lot more clear and consistent than anything else does