#of course this is the first thing i draw in

[ceesimz]

Best of Both Worlds

Yes, the title is a Hannah Montana song, it fits perfectly. Also, for the sake of fiction, Leah did in fact play at Wembley, thank you!

Possibly the most long-awaited day of Leah's life; her national team return. It was one thing to play for The Arsenal again, but to represent her country whilst wearing the captain's armband at Wembley was an experience that simply couldn't be matched. And that's why it meant everything and more to her that you were in the stands with her family and her name on your back.

It wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing match ever, a 1-1 draw against Sweden, but Leah was back in her rightful place under her rightful role, and that was a win in itself. With each step on the pitch, your heart swelled with pride, knowing the mountain she'd climbed with her injury and how hard it had been mentally with each bump in the road, especially when she had to drop out of the last camp.

But here you were, seated in the same area of the stands her family had been when she had won the Euros, watching on in awe at how seamlessly she slipped back into the team. You had missed that fateful day back in 2022, having only met Leah five months after it at a New Year's Eve party, but with the affection Leah described that day with, you may as well have lived it for yourself. Now, having experienced your first game at Wembley since you hadn't gone to that game last year, you were beaming as you watched your girl command her national team around again.

Sure, you'd been to many a game of her's before, but there was something different about this one. There were obvious reasons of course, her injury and whatnot, but seeing her lead her team out to a stadium filled with the most people she'd ever played in front of, a feeling settled in your chest that was unlike anything before. And when she was back in your arms at the end of the game, you would show her exactly how much you treasured her.

So, as she made her way around the stadium post-game, taking the time to applaud all the fans that had come along to watch and signing things for some, there was a smile of admiration on your face that her cousin beside you noticed. You blushed heavily at the teasing nudge she gave you with a smirk on her face.

"I suggest you wipe that cheesy, love-sick smile off your face before she comes over and bullies you for it." The woman next to you said, the pair of you laughing as you rolled your eyes, both all too familiar with her antics.

But the absence of said smile only lasted for about a minute, because then Leah was making her way over to the area of stands where you and her family was, and she had a down-turned smile on her face, the one she always did whilst trying to suppress her actual one. You were sat on the second row behind Leah's immediate family, so you stood back and waited for her to greet them all, also doing so as to not attract much fan attention. Leah made that hard though, because when her Mum pulled her into a bear hug, she indulged herself fully in it for about five seconds before her eyes flitted up to you and the corners of her mouth finally quirked up.

She jokingly pushed her Mum to the side so that she could reach out for you, and leaned up to hug you tightly. However, you pulled away after a few moments, and she made her disapproval very clear.

"What you doing that for?" She quizzed grumpily, looking utterly unimpressed up at you as some of her family members chuckled at her.

"The fans, Leah. We're at Wembley, think of all the videos." You whispered close to her ear, not quite intelligible for the others to hear.

"Who gives a toss, babe, I've hugged all my family here and you're no different." She responded, and she pulled you back in before you could complain. You wouldn't have complained anyway, because really who were you to deny your girlfriend's hug, your favourite in the world.

"Don't throw a strop later if there's about a million different angles of this." You teased, pinching her side where one of your hands rested around her.

"Doesn't matter, it's still you I get to go home with." She murmured before quickly pecking the spot under your ear and pulling back with one last squeeze. When she leaned back, she saw the light blush to your cheeks and smirked. "A year later and I've still got it."

You shoved her away lightly so that she could chat with the rest of her family before going off to do her post-match routine. Seeing her with her family, who she was so tight-knit with, was always a joy to see and you'd never get tired of seeing it. And as she jogged away back to the tunnel, her Mum turned to you and embraced you too.

"Thanks for coming, darling, it means a lot to her and to us too." She told you, rubbing a hand up and down your back. Praise and gratitude from her never got old either.

"Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." You said back to her, to which she smiled and kissed your cheek.

You and the rest of the group made your way around to the family area inside the stadium to wait for her, making light conversation with them all to pass the time whilst Leah carried out media duties. It was fun and easy spending time with her family, because as a result of your girlfriend's relationship with them, you had grown almost as close with them too. Ever present at family dinners, birthdays, and events like christenings and weddings etc, now it was second nature for you to follow Leah to them. Within only a few months of being with Leah, every invite had your name on it too.

In the middle of your conversation with her cousins, talking excitedly about plans for the summer vacation later that year, you were interrupted as Leah finally appeared in her tracksuit with short wet blonde hair, a soft smile on her face. She spent a bit of time talking some more with her family, before bidding them farewell and wandering over to you.

"Home time?" You wondered, reaching a hand out to brush some of her hair back behind her shoulder.

You had, rather bravely, drove to the stadium today after Leah somehow secured you a reserved parking space, with the plan of driving yourself and Leah home your flat for the night before she travelled back up north to St. George's Park with the team tomorrow.

"God, yes." She sighed, and you smiled up at her.

"Let's go then." You took the hand she offered after pulling up her hood and let her lead the way out of the stadium.

Arriving at your car, with a few curious stares from fans to see if the hooded figure beside you was who they thought it was, you helped her lift her things into the boot of your car before the pair of you clambered in.

For the time it took to drive home, you caught up with her as it had been a few days since you had seen each other whilst she had been at camp. You, ever the safe driver, weren't one to hold your girlfriend's hands whilst on the road, always with two hands on the wheel at all times. Leah teased you of course, her and her English humour never falling to banter you everytime she could, but nevertheless when she was feeling a little clingy her hand would rest on your thigh as you drove, or it would massage and stroke the back of your neck as her arm leaned on your seat's headrest.

Today was a case of her resting a hand mindlessly on your thigh, something you would smile at constantly and glance down at the sight every chance you could get. She didn't notice though, busy talking and too tired to realise. Adjusting back to playing 90 minutes was something she was still in the middle of, not that she couldn't handle them because she obviously can, it's just the tiredness afterwards was something she hadn't experienced in a while of playing professionally.

That meant you weren't exactly surprised when she flopped down immediately on your sofa when you got home, not even bothering to drop her bags off in your room.

"Want some food, love?" You offered, pushing her bags to the side of the hallway so that they weren't a tripping hazard before leaning against the doorway of your lounge.

"You don't have to cook, we can just order a Nando's or something." Leah yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"Well, I thought ahead." You smiled at her, giggling at the tired and confused expression she silently responds with. "I meal-planned for you. I can heat up a plate of that Carribbean chicken and rice and veg if you want."

She gazed at you for a few moments before her head dropped back against the pillows with a groan.

"If I had a ring right now, I'd ask to marry you."

With a laugh, you took that as a yes and headed to the kitchen to do exactly as you said. As you were gone, the blonde put Netflix on the TV and chose the sitcom you had been watching together before pausing the episode to wait for you. She sat up with a groan and slumped back heavily, going onto her phone to reply to some friends and family.

Not so long later, you walked back in with Leah's food, handing it to her before sitting down beside her. Plate and fork in hand, she twisted her body to lean her back against your shoulder and happily tucked into her meal as you pressed play on the TV.

"Thanks for this, babe, I'm really grateful." She muttered as she ate, to which you smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's no problem, Le. I made a plate for myself too but I had a hot dog at half-time so I'm not hungry." You revealed, giggling as Leah chuckled.

"I know it's just a plate of food but... I don't know, means a lot to me that you thought about this." With a light blush, you shrugged nonchalantly and kissed the side of her head.

"I would say I know you'd do the same for me, but everybody knows you can't cook." You jested, grinning when she grumbled under her breath.

"I was only being nice, but alright." She huffed, but you only held her tighter against you.

"I'm kidding. I just love you, s'all. Wanna take care of you, especially after the last year and especially because I know you're a bit of a bottomless pit after a game." You say, and she hums in agreement. "If I'd have known my chicken was so good, it inspired thoughts of marriage, I'd have made it more often."

"I could never say no to that."

You both fell silent at that, more than content to enjoy each other's company with the show on in the background. Spending time with you after a game, just relaxing together, was fastly becoming Leah's favourite tradition. Going to dinners with friends or partying were great, but not much could beat this. Great food with even better company, in the arms of her girlfriend, Leah was finally at peace with the silence she had to greet after a game that was anything but.

That was something not many people would guess was a struggle in women's football. Going from playing in tiny stadiums to bigger venues but hardly any fans, to then playing in sold-out game after sold-out game for both club and country, that was her dream. What she wasn't expecting was the mental challenge that came with it. Spending well over 90 minutes in a booming stadium with fans that never ceased their chants was astounding to her, but the silence that met her when she would go home to a quiet and empty apartment was difficult.

She had worked on dealing with it better since the Euros where it had really picked up, but there was one thing that made it so much easier every time without fail. And that was you.

"You know I do plan to marry you, right?" Leah piped up out of nowhere sometime later, her plate long discarded to the coffee table as your positions on the couch remained the same. At her out-of-the-blue question that took your breath away a little, you cleared your throat and nodded though she couldn't see you.

"Yeah."

"Because I do want to marry you one day. I've known that from early on, I actually know the exact moment I thought that."

"Do tell, my love." You smiled, never one to pass up on a chance to hear just how and when Leah had fallen for you.

"The second time we saw each other after the New Year's party, when you started teasing me for not kissing you again after that night."

Much to Alex's dismay, the night of that party yourself and Leah had spent pretty much all of it talking about everything and nothing, compelled by a desire to get to know each other. That was until the blonde's intake of Dutch courage lived up to its name as she kissed you a little more than what could be described as friendly once the clock struck midnight. And when the night ended, no matter how much you didn't want to leave, you both shared a taxi to your respective apartments and exchanged details. It wasn't long before you saw her again though, in fact you saw her twice in the two weeks that followed, but the defender had been a little too embarrassed at her eager act a few weeks prior to kiss you again. But when you teased her one too many times about it, on the third 'date', she huffed before firmly yet delicately gripping your face and finally kissing you again.

"I spoke to Wally after our second date and she called me crazy for knowing I'd marry you when I didn't even have the balls to kiss you again." You laughed loudly at that, a notion Leah soon joined in with as she knew her past-self had acted in a ridiculous and shy way. "But that's the truth, babe. I knew I had to have you, and what better way to show that than snogging the life out of you on a random bench in London."

"Ew, Leah! Why describe it like that? I thought it was such a sweet moment, but you've just described it like we were two horny teenagers." She grimaced at the point you made, regretting it already.

"My bad. It was sweet. If not a bit... desperate." She snickered, grinning when you swatted her shoulder. "So, would you marry me then?"

"Wow. If this conversation couldn't get any less romantic, I think you've just put the nail in the coffin." Leah scoffed and sat up, fixing you with a disapproving look.

"That wasn't my actual proposal, you knob. I just wanna know if you'd say yes when I did eventually ask. Properly, that is." The defender asked with a shy smile, and you couldn't help but giggle at her face, doing so more when she frowned in confusion.

"Yes, I would accept your proposal. As long as it's with a nice ring and a better speech." You answered to put her out of her misery. She lets out a relieved sigh but smiling again.

"Noted."

With that, she stood up, now your turn to be confused. Squealing as she lifted you up bridal style, you laughed when she lay you down on your back length-ways across the sofa. Then, she kneeled against the cushions under your knees and carefully laid on top of you, her head resting against your stomach. Her hands came up to slide under your back and she sighed contently.

"Comfy?" You asked with a smile, your own hands settling on the back of her head.

"So comfy." She hummed, eyes closed as she faced away from the TV.

"If you're gonna fall asleep, Le, we may as well go to bed."

"No." She grunted. "I won't fall asleep. I just want to lay here for a bit."

"Alright." You conceded, your attention fully lost from the TV and instead on the girl draped over you.

You admired the slight view of her face available to you, your hands combing delicately through her almost dried hair as the only sounds shared between you were the calm and quiet breaths you both let out. A few minutes passed by and you thought she had gone to sleep, but she proved you wrong.

"This is my dream, you know."

"What is?" You asked her, moving one of your hands to rest on the side of your face and stroking her skin there with your thumb.

"Going home from a game to someone I love. Who I can fully switch off with." The small explanation had you beaming, beyond happy to hear how special you were to her.

"Well, I'm glad I can help, my love." You replied, a sheepishly proud smile on your face.

"I used to find it hard, y'know... our football blew up in popularity during the Euros, and I struggled with it more than I expected." You hummed curiously, not wanting to disrupt her train of thought but letting her know you wanted her to continue. "Going from being surrounded by up to ninety thousand people, singing and chanting and cheering non-stop, to just... nothing when I got home. Just a cold, empty, silent apartment. The contrast of it troubled me a lot. I worked through it with a psychologist and coped with it better, but it was never perfect."

She paused, adjusting her position so that her hands came to rest under her chin as she looked up at you, that same down-turned smile from earlier returning. Your hands fell to clasp behind her neck, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Then you came around, and now that anxiety doesn't even phase me anymore."

Now, if that wasn't the most heart-warming thing your girlfriend had said so far, you weren't sure what was.

"That makes me so happy, Leah." You whispered, cupping her cheeks with your hands and smiling softly at her.

"One of my favourite things about our relationship is how easy it is for me to switch from Leah Williamson the footballer, to just Leah when I'm around you. Makes coming home after a game much easier."

Shaking your head, you took her hands and urged her to move further up your body so that her head rested against your chest. Wrapping your arms around her, you squeezed her tightly, desperate to convey your love to her in a way words couldn't explain.

"I'll happily welcome 'Just Leah' home all the time."

"Now you're ruining the moment."

[sunflowerpieivan]

This photo was for my mother only, but I find it too silly and funny to hide :)

I found a this bear during last festival I wanted to buy it but price was kinda out of my budget. I hope to see it again😔

[avoidcrowdraws]

I have a Dom/sub AU and I drew a bunch of nonsense sketches for it. Idea is basic, but Laios is a sub who is looking for his first serious Dom (as opposed to is current style, which is occasionally casually playing with his friends) and one friend recommends and introduces him to Chilchuck

Chilchuck has been acting as a Dom in the local community since he split from his wife, and he has a few subs he plays with, but they're mostly half-foot women. He has kind of a Thing against Domming other races though because of the general discrimination, but after meeting Laios he decides to give him a shot because Laios isn't acting like a weirdo about Chilchuck's size and expected authority

Then they agree to terms and contracts (of course Chilchuck has literal contracts about it) and now I can draw or write them doing whatever kinky scenarios I feel like

[newtonsheffield]

The funniest thing about Newton’s bed being in their room is the fact that Anthony and him are roomies.

Imagine Anthony, staring at Newton the first few nights of their marriage, lounging happily on a cushion in the corner of their bedroom.

“Kate, does he have to sleep in here?”

Kate raised her eyebrows, looking at Anthony in the mirror of her dressing table. “Yes? Consider yourself lucky. Normally I would allow him to sleep on the bed with me.”

Anthony frowned, “Well there isn’t room! I only… could he not move into the sitting room, or your study?”

“No, he’ll get lonely.”

Newton seemed to grin smugly at Anthony as she said it and Anthony rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Kate laughed, turning towards him properly now, “Neither did I when we first met-”

“A lie, surely.”

“But I warmed to you. He’ll do the same.”

She picked Newton up and kissed the dog’s forehead gently who wagged his tail excitedly at Kate’s attention but the dog quickly stopped when she deposited him on Anthony’s lap.

Anthony stared at Newton and then at Kate, “What am I to do with him?”

“Pat his head and tell him he’s handsome.” Kate winked, “The same things I do with you.”

Anthony huffed as the dog side eyed him, “Hello, Newton. Good evening. I see you’ve had your dinner already, how was that?”

The dog let out a huff and looked to Kate whining as if to say Do you see?! Do you see what I must put up with?!

“I suppose we can get along for your Amma’s sake.”

Newton didn’t look so sure and he looked downright offended when Anthony took his paw in hand and shook it.

“A gentlemen’s word is binding Newton. And we’ve shaken on it.”

Even so it still feels ridiculous when he’s sat in the drawing room with Benedict and the butler ducks his head in.

“Pardon me, my Lord, but there’s a man delivering furniture and I’m not sure where it’s to go. Lady Bridgerton had it made I believe.”

“Send him in.”

The man entered, his cap tucked under his arm, “Pardon me, Lord Bridgerton, but your Lady Wife commissioned a piece from me some weeks ago.”

Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise when the man brought in an ornate dog bed, complete with what appeared to be a feather mattress.

“Of course she did.” Anthony sighed, “I believe that’ll be going in our chambers, Humboldt.”

The butler inclined his head, “This way, sir.”

Benedict let out a wheeze as the men left, leaving the alone again. “I have to say, I find the idea of you being forced to sleep with a corgi in your rooms very diverting.”

“The dog’s a menace.” Anthony tutted. “But he makes Kate very happy, so I suppose… a small price to pay. Allegedly, he will grow to like me.”

“Like she did you mean?”

“She liked me from the beginning!” Anthony hissed, “You should have seen us riding in that park! It was very flirty!”

[obeymematches]

I saw your MC is a tease/Bully not so oblivious ask. But how do the brothers react to some one like me who literally cannot tell someone likes them unless they open their mouth and say it?

Like seriously, unless you smack me in the face with the info I am completely oblivious.

hahah i like this idea! Though these turned out so long i'll do a part2

Mc IS oblivious!

Lucifer:

● To demonstrate his eternal love, ardent obsession he expresses his feelings through gifting you not just one, but an entire boque of maroon roses. He grows them in his garden. If this doesn't impress you tell me, what will?

● "Ohh! How pretty! You're so sweet Lucifer you really didn't have to! Now where shall I put these-"

● Inside his mind: Okay MC likes them- but perhaps not me? I should've given them something more practical it seems. I must figure out what they prefer."

● His next attempt was much more simple; to your luck, he prefers not to make things more complicated than they need to be. Yes he invited you to a stroll through a nearby park. Yes you had no idea it was a date. Even though it was just you two and you walked around with you hand around his arms, his other hand gently caressing the hand you gave him. Nothing special just a regular Thursday, you thought.

"MC, I must confess, it was my pleasure to spend time with you today. I wish we could do this more often..."

"To tell you the truth I could get used to this, thanks for inviting me for a walk!"

"Was it just a walk to you, MC?"

At this point you felt like you needed to be careful about how you continue the conversation.

"Well- technically, wasn't it a walk?"

"It was. You are right. What I've neglected to tell you is that it was supposed to be a date. You are on my mind every day, in fact, I can hardly forget about you as I work. You are very dear to me despite not knowing you for a long time. I... I'm very fond of you MC. I just wanted you to know."

Mammon:

● As you are aware, he spends most of the day with you. You don't sleep together but besides that you are pretty much together all day.

● You are in your room, laying on your back, scrolling your phone to pass time.

● He enters your room casually, lays beside you without saying anything. With a swift motion he lifts your phone out of your hands, puts it on the bed next to you and lays his head on your chest.

"Mind givin' me attention?"

"I gave you attention all day Mams, whats going on?"

"How come ya always nice to me MC?"

"Uh- You are my first friend here, of course I'm nice-"

"Ya don't have to be so nice cuz of that though..."

"What do you mean Mammon?"

"Ugggh ya gonna make me say it? Cuz I'm not about to-"

"Say what? You're confusing me-"

"Nothin. It's nothin."

● That was it for that day. Same week you were minding your business in the kitchen when you overheard your best friend fight with Levi.

☆Don't ya dare tell MC!!

□ Or what? You'll draw me with a pencil?

☆ Ya piece of-

There you were on the doorstep, wondering what the hell is going on here.

Levi: MC! Did you know Mammon likes you??

You: Well- I sure hope he does, we are friends afterall-

Levi: nOOO he likes you more than a friend!

You: Uh... He is my best friend I guess?

Mammon: Levi ya idiot stop right here! Yes MC is my best friend now shut up!

● Life goes on as it is for a couple of days. One night Mams brings you a beer (0% if you don't drink) and sits down with you.

"MC... Imma ask you a question, be honest alright? An' don't laugh okay? So MC... am I really just ya best friend?"

"Yes you are. Why?"

"Listen MC ... I wouldn't be tellin ya this if it wasn't true alright- I like you a lot."

"And I like you a lot too!"

"MC, no. I'm... I... wanna be with ya. No, not just with ya, I just wanna be yours."

"As in....?"

"As in that stupid series you made me watch- "

"Mammon? Are you telling me you want to date me?"

"Uh-huh. I promise I'll give ya anything ya want. If ya'd let me-"

Leviathan:

● my boy is the definition of oblivious, unlucky for you

● Okay at this point it'll take ages for this conversation to happen....if it happens at all.

● By now sending each other hearts in the video game you play is a routine, but strictly IN GAME!

● He visits you in the Human World without complaining

● He doesn't spend much time with anyone but if you want to, he will!

● Very clingy for someone as oblivious as him.

● Both of you starts to give hints at some point and still nothing happens. "Yeah he's so nice." "Ah MC always thinks of me, how sweet." "Don't overthink, don't overthink, don't-"

● Okay I am actually struggling to think of a scenario when he confesses so blutly there is no doubt he means it. I think his plan B is to play it off as a joke so whatever the circumstances it's ambigious.

● So listen MC, Levi's only gonna do it once. If you miss it, you miss him out. That's it.

● Levi: So... MC... I was thinking... how funny it would be if we actually started dating- unless...

You: Funny? Why would that be funny?

Levi: Because you and I.... like great friends!

● Okay here is your chance MC he's nevee going to bring this up again-

[deoidesign]

Happy webcomics day!!!

I'm not home (on a trip right now with family), but I still want to talk a little bit about my process, so I did what I could to find some wip shots 🧡

Plus, I'd also like to update my extremely patient readers with a little taste of what's to come!!!

Step one, of course, is writing.

When I'm writing I have four documents open. A "dump" document, a "yes this!" Document, an outline document, and a drawing canvas!

In the dump document, I put ANYTHING. complete stream of consciousness. The 'yes this' document is where I put anything useful from the dump document, and the outline is, of course, the outline. The drawing canvas is for me to sketch out problems and ideas and get sort of a different angle on things, since I can't really visualize.

Once I have a book completely written, I start thumbnailing!

My thumbnails pretty much look like this. Text, sketchy poses, indications of expression and maybe environment...

I thumbnail the entire book at once. I don't let myself do any edits on it until it's done, but I take note of edits I'd like to make! Then, once the first draft is out, I edit.

I'll move entire scenes, delete whole episodes, bring in bits from the end to have proper foreshadowing... Etc! It's a long process that makes my arcs feel much more complete and something I can be really proud of.

I can only do this when I'm really ahead, though, so that's why I've been on a long hiatus!!! I was forced to work without my process for a few arcs, and the difference is so huge to me that I refuse to let myself do it again. It makes a loner hiatus, but work way more worth waiting for!

Next step is lineart!

Yes, I skip sketches! I go right into lines.

I save every head I've ever drawn, and that lets me copy paste in a basic head angle. Then I redo the face, fix up the hair, etc. so it fits my panel, and then I draw the rest of the body!

This seriously saves me so much time, but less so for the drawing (i still draw a ton of heads and I'm very fast) and more just for helping me skip sketching entirely!

Then I do character flats, which since all my lines are closed that goes pretty quickly (slowest part is Steve's hair, I refuse to use a brush cause every one I've made looks terrible!!!)

And then I draw the backgrounds!

Which, I keep layered, clean, and HUGE so I can use them throughout the arc.

I used to feel bad doing this, but then I realized... It's not like backgrounds "change" irl. So why make them change in my comics...? It saves me so much time, but it ALSO lets me put in more detail per background! I draw probably 3 very large backgrounds per episode like this, and then I draw maybe 5-10 unique backgrounds for single panels per episode as well. I save these too, but they're rarely re-used.

And then my panels are done!!!

So there's a bit of my process for you all!!!

Happy webcomics day 🧡🧡🧡

And here's my comic, if you haven't read it and want to see the end result of this process, or if you have read it and would enjoy a re-read with the extra knowledge:

Or, if you would prefer books I have those too!

Happy to elaborate on any step, as well!

I make comics extremely quickly and as my full time job, and my process allows me to easily manipulate my format as well. I'm happy to share any of my knowledge if you have questions!!!

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

We need to talk about this

because Yuuri's reaction here is a result of his anxiety disorder and his tendency to self-deprecation and having depressive thoughts. That he ends up here is being carefully foreshadowed throughout the series:

First, Viktor said a couple of things that made Yuuri believe that Viktor only wants to coach him until the GPF:

This

and this

is enough to convince and anxious person like Yuuri that Viktor has no intention to coach him beyond the GPF. Note that Viktor never explicitly states that he will coach Yuuri only for the first half of the season - it's the natural conclusion an anxious brain will draw. And that's neither Viktor's nor Yuuri's fault.

And then this, while Yuuri is within hearing distance:

I'm getting a queasy feeling in my stomach just from watching this scene because I relate to Yuuri so much. If I had eavesdropped on this interview, I would have freaked out internally. Like what does that even mean? Is he talking about his career or is this a carefully crafted answer to convince the press to leave him and Yuuri alone for the next couple of weeks? This secret is probably between Viktor and the YOI creators alone (I have theories, but I'm not going to discuss them here because this post is about Yuuri).

Second, although he becomes more confident throughout the show, the self-deprecating part of Yuuri has a low opinion about his own skating. From his perspective, his contribution to the sport seems less valuable than Viktor's, even when he starts to understand that he's far more than a dime-a-dozen skater. The realisation that he is as least as talented as Viktor, only drives home the moment he breaks Viktor's world record.

Because Yuuri has such a low opinion of himself, he doesn't understand how much Viktor enjoys watching him skate, which is another aspect factoring into his decision.

Third, Yuuri genuinely believes that Viktor wants to return to the ice and would rejoice when Yuuri retires. Having seen Viktor watch the other skaters at the GPF cements the decision he made at the Rostelecom Cup. The fact that basically everyone has told him throughout the last 11 episodes that he's keeping Viktor from skating gives more weight to the idea.

Yes, you got that right. Yuuri deided to retire, before he proposed to Viktor and before he bought two matching rings and put one of them on Viktor's finger. However, now Yuuri knows that Viktor would coach him for as long as Yuuri wants to keep skating, which forces him to release Viktor from his duties at the point he believes Viktor wanted to stop coaching him initially.

"Let's end this" is not about breaking up. Yuuri is releasing Viktor as his coach. He is sacrificing his career so that Viktor can keep pursuing his own career which Viktor once sacrificed for him.

Of course he's surprised that Viktor bursts out in tears.

Yuuri has the right to retire whenever he wants. He doesn't need to consult Viktor. If he thinks (for whichever stupid reason) it's time, he can make this decision on his own.

Is it selfish?

Lol no. Only Viktor thinks it is because he's conflating the coach and the partner and takes it personally. He's hurt and feels rejected because he doesn't understand that Yuuri did it for him and that causes a drama Yuuri was not prepared for.

Is it stupid?

Absolutely. But poor communication skills, Yuuri is too caught up in his mental issues to even think of having a discussion that would lead them to a solution with which both would be happy (both training in St. Petersburg *wink* *wink*). It's not malice, insensitivity, or shitty behaviour that drives Yuuri to this point. It's all about his mental issues. And love.

[vampbunnis]

boothill x writer&reading enthusiast!reader!!

wc: 680

tags - fluff!!!!!, hurt/comfort without the hurt, so just comfort, this is my first fanfic EVER!?!?!?, lots of projection, probably inaccurate portrayal of boothill srrie, boothill calls u darlin'/sugar, this is really really messy oops

a/n - the story kinda diverges into them just reading a simple book written by someone else but the idea was that they'd slowly work into reading more n more complex stuffs-- which eventually include reader's works !! tbh i like to think even if boothill doesn't fully understand yet he'd still wanna know what reader is writing. i'll probably rewrite this sometime in the future with the same concept, diff execution b/c this lowkey didn't turn out how i wanted it to ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

he feels bad and a little insecure about his illiteracy!! because he bets you're so so talented in what you do but he literally cannot appreciate what you write :((

sometimes he wonders if you'd be happier if you were with someone who was able to fully understand all of you-- all of your cute rambles about the usage of different literary devices in the books you were reading, all of the times you cried over dystopian novels and heart-crushing personal narratives and profound, emotional sentences that he just didn't have the capacity to understand.

when he sits you down one night and confides in you about this, your first course of action is to comfort him (obviously!!).

"trust me, i don't love you any less just 'cause you dunno how to read," you coo, peppering his warm face with loving kisses. "if i had to be with anyone else, i'd be sad forever knowing you'd still be out there. i love you, don't forget that, 'kay?"

you can see his worry-addled face relax a bit as you remind him of just how much you love him-- but you can still notice the crestfallen look in his eyes. you realize he has been worrying about this for a while; possibly since the first time you told him you were a writer.

you come up with a plan.

he's a little confused the first time you lay in bed earlier than usual with a book in hand, gesturing excitedly for him to join you under the covers. you usually read books on your own, no?

it didn't take him long to notice a difference between the book you were holding and the books you usually read.

he saw a few of the books you'd read previously-- they were thick, way thicker than the book in front of him now, and definitely way smaller in size. the covers also had pretty big differences. the covers of your usual books were much more mature-looking-- like they were meant to be read by adults. this book, however... had a fat, crudely drawn green caterpillar on the cover.

his metallic body slips underneath the sheets, relaxing on the mattress. he protectively wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"what's this, darlin'?" he asks, pointing to the book with his free hand.

"the very hungry caterpillar," you reply, a bright smile on your face. you pause for a bit before speaking up again.

"i feel like i've been making you feel bad by leaving you out of my passion for literature-- i mean, reading, and writing and whatnot. i'm not the best teacher, but i still wanna share this part of me with you."

he has to try his hardest not to explode on the spot.

"'s alright, sugar, 's not your fault," he murmurs, gently caressing your side in an attempt to comfort you. "did 'ya get this book just f'me?"

you nodded, the solemn look on your face suddenly being replaced with one of excitement.

"this book is real simple, so i can read it to 'ya and hopefully you might learn a few things," you smile, giving him a peck on the cheek as you open the book.

since he barely knows how to read, you have to read the entire book out loud to him. that doesn't bother you, not in the slightest. in fact, you'd say it's even more fun that way.

he starts to snicker as the drawing of the caterpillar slowly gets bigger and bigger, eating food in larger quantities as the pages flip.

after you shut the book closed and put it on the nightstand, you turn to him. "how'd you like the book?"

"it was so stupid," he grins. "that [beautiful] caterpillar was still hungry after eatin' all that?"

you burst into giggles, hugging him tighter as you laugh. "mhm, i guess so. it's like me whenever you take me out to get fast food."

"oh, don't compare your pretty self to that thing," he smirks, tucking the both of you under the covers.

[pomefioredove]

hiiii I would like to ask for headcanons for pomefiore when they discover that her s/o fem is actually an angel ~ but mc doesn't behave exactly like one, she is unruly, cheerful and doesn't like to follow orders even so she has this warm aura that radiates ksks I'm sorry if it's a complicated idea, that's all, thanks in advance

since this page is for gender neutral reader only, I'll be writing for that. I use you/yours pronouns so essentially nothing changes :) thank you!

I feel woefully unprepared to tackle the idea of what it means to be an angel, assuming this is the loose pop culture-y definition rather than a specific religious one, I hope I do alright?

summary: angel s/o type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook, epel additional info: short, romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

there are two clear, distinct sides to you:

the elegant, radiant, otherworldly one, that of which captured his attention in the first place

and the unruly one which doesn't care to listen to a thing he says

it was, perhaps, your potential that drew Vil to you. after all, he'd never met anyone with such a distinct... glow

...as in, an actual glow

he'd truly never come across such a powerful force of energy, and for a while, he was determined to mold it in his image

obviously, that didn't get him very far

if anything, finding out the truth made him feel a little bit better about his inability to tame you, so to speak

the reality of knowing he'd have to mold to fit you is a daunting one, though perhaps it's you who has a thing or two to teach him about beauty

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

he already knows

"what do you mean he already know?" he already knows

Rook isn't being poetic or figurative when he calls you his ange

from the very first moment he set eyes on you, he knew something was quite different

the sort of beauty you possess is one he's never encountered before, something not of this world

it's purely radiant, warm, captivating

of course he has to know more about it

over time, he finds himself enthralled by your personality, as well

it so starkly contrasts your elegant and gentle look, does it not?

you're unruly, upbeat, almost wild, in a sense, which only serves to draw him in further

a mystery he aims to solve

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

okay

so... maybe he's been a little oblivious

he could never quite seem to understand the strange looks and comments Vil and Rook kept making about his s/o, why they continued to stare as if you'd grown two heads

you're pretty, sure, anyone can see that!

it was that sense of grace and warmth that drew Epel closer in the first place

but were you really such a sight that his housewarden (and vice) felt the need to give each other odd looks every time you were in the room together?

it almost made him feel insecure, even though you'd chosen him

besides, Vil was always commenting on how you two were peas in a pod; completely resistant to authority, running wild like animals

so, the big reveal comes as a surprise to him

...but also a relief

and he's honestly pretty okay with it

might be a little intimidated at first, but... it's still you

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptadoodledoo; land o Goshen, this was a tough one, so thanks for sticking with me]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) 12: family (13)

Breach imminent

MH

Sherlock groans, shoving his phone between couch cushions and drawing a sleeping Rosie closer to him. 

'Bad news?' John asks from his chair. He looks over his reading glasses at where Sherlock is curled around his daughter, and feels affection sting so hard in his chest that he absently rubs at it.

'The worst,' Sherlock answers sullenly

John runs through the likely options in his head, then goes with his gut. 'Your parents are coming to town?'

Sherlock opens his eyes and stares at John, his expression full of surprise, then affection, then shammy casualness. 'I have been a good influence on your deduction skills, clearly.' 

John chuckles. 'That, or your brother advised me to clear my calendar and clean the flat.'

'Meddling queen,' Sherlock mutters into Rosie's hair. Then his phone pings again. 

I haven't told them.

MH

John doubles down. 'He knows, I take it? About our… development?' 

'You are doing very well today.' 

'Feelings, Sherlock. I'm good at people and their feelings.'

'Yes, yes, that's why I keep you around. Of course he knows; I let him keep the surveillance up in the stairwell in exchange for having none in here.' 

'Ah.' John had suspected as much, though admittedly he had not considered it at the time of the first (very unplanned) tryst. 'Has he told your parents?' 

'Apparently not.' 

Silence stretches. They've come a long way, but John feels too keenly the risk/reward scenario here, and is undecided.

This time it's John's phone that pings. 

It's up to you, of course, but rest assured: they would be inordinately pleased. 

MH

John's eyebrow quirks. 'Your parents like me?' he finally says, going for casual but missing, and he knows it. 

'You're very likeable.'

'You know, from anyone else that would be a compliment.' 

Sherlock doesn't answer beyond a grunt. It's somehow safe to have this conversation in this arrangement, with the comforting stretch of the room and the gorgeous sleeping toddler between them. They're connected, but not so much as to overwhelm. 

'How much time have we got, do you reckon?' John asks, almost to the air.

'Far too little,' Sherlock grumbles.

'Right, but from you that could mean three months.'

'Yes, well, seeing as your birthday is in two weeks, but tis the season of primroses so they have to schedule us in between, I'm surmising it to be about three hours, in actuality.'

John snorts. 'That's a bit harsh.'

'No, no, they're beautiful primroses.'

'Hang on,' John says suddenly, running back through what Sherlock has said. 'They know when my birthday is?'

'Of course.'

'They care when my birthday is?'

'Don't be daft.'

'I'm trying, but they hardly know me. And what they know of me is not altogether flattering.'

'I said don't be daft.'

John can't stop a frustrated noise. 'Then explain it better.'

Sherlock opens his eyes, considers him for a moment, then he breaks eye contact and buries his nose in Rosie's hairline. 'They know of my affections for you. And that's enough for them.'

John's breath deserts him for a moment. 'Sherlock…'

'Don't let's make a big thing out of it, please.'

John wants to laugh. It's already literally the biggest thing in his life. 'Alright,' he says instead. 'But... let me be the one to tell them, yeah?'

Sherlock goes very still, not lifting his gaze. 'You'd be amenable to that?'

Sod this, it's been long enough. John shunts his reading glasses aside and stands, listening to his bones crick as he crosses and crouches in front of the two most important people in his orbit. 'Yeah, course.' He presses his lips against Rosie's forehead, then Sherlock's, without hesitation. 'Try and get rid of me.'

Sherlock finally, finally meets his eyes, and John feels so much he wants to tackle both of them and just cocoon for a little while. Tell the world to bugger off.

So, of course, there's a knock at the door. Sherlock groans, and Rosie's face scrunches up in the universal expression of, "How dare you wake me up, you rude creature."

'Three hours?' John says while scooping his daughter out of Sherlock's embrace. She needs a change. Maybe he should use that baby magic and let Sherlock's parents do it, he thinks with a grin.

'I am not in control of all variables, unfortunately,' Sherlock mutters into the sofa, where he's pressed his face.

John's mouth curves into a smirk as he heaves up (bloody hell, getting older is not for the weak) and turns towards the door. He wishes fleetingly that Sherlock was behind him, in solidarity if nothing else.

Then, suddenly, he is, his mouth pressing against Rosie's sleep-rumpled cheek over John's shoulder. He doesn't turn to John, but he doesn't have to. 'Into battle?'

John nods, then reaches for the door.

[❤️]

[craacked-splatters]

ur crossover prison dimension au intrigues me @imagionationstation do u have any more stuff to share about it? 👉👈

Sleep deprived so feeling a lil loopy(sorry for any incoherent babble) but Shsjdks yeah yeah adding this 2 the "stuff 2 draw for" pile here

I kept coming back to this au. More specifically the part where Dee and Leon r trapped in the prison dimension. Like Rise animators did a cool job on animating the squishy fleshy organic dead alien race stuff in the movie! Look at this!

Ooey gooey icky ew ^^^ I love it

And also the prison dimension looks so sick and cool

I imagine surviving in a dead wasteland full of decay and corpses and echoes with a lunatic hunting u down 24/7 wouldn't be fun. What horrors do u think they would witness while trying not to bleed out and die? What trauma would Kraang inflict on these two? Revenge and rage are the only things fueling that war criminal & truly I don't think there's anything holding that guy back (for the love of everything I hope the bois don't have to fight any other rise kraang tech, it's genuinely terrifying they're literally gonna die Do NOT let that maniac get their tentacles on anything else besides the weird corpse armour they're wearing plz & thank u)

These poor kids. Leon went from the movie events to this, and Donnie literally got poofed to atoms before popping up in the middle of a child murder. Wowza how overwhelming. The one thing that keeps popping up into my mind is the two of them huddling together under some ruins or holding hands bcuz they're too afraid 2 end up separating and dying alone. How strange would it be. To have a different version of ur brother(- not quite a stranger bcuz there's still similarities that he shares with ur own, he's a brother, he's not urs but there's another versión of u running around, there's a whole nother universe bcuz of course there is and somehow ur still bros in it and he's here instead of his home he's right here) how strange it must be to this different face, different voice and eyes and mannerisms an entire new soul as ur only anchor. To be the only thing to keep u from falling apart. To see each other as a constant reminder of what they wished they had, of wanting to their families, of wanting to just leave this hellscape where things don't make sense and just go home.

But when they do finally get rescued there is no feeling of safety or realness or even a home to greet them. Only a sense of wrong & confusion & hurt & the equally trembling hand holding ur own and those scared haunted eyes that followed u since the horror show of the prison dimension.

(Trauma bond!! Yay🎉)

How would Leon and Dee interact with each other at first and how did it change as they continued to survive? What was it exactly that made them start clinging to each other? Would it become a habit for them both to go reaching for the other even when nothing is said or done?

And and!! I was thinking about the 2 angst paths u set out too. They're both sooo good!! Honestly u have such a big brain where do u keep coming up with these genius ideas! The custody battle route is very angsty :)) heehehehe. Rise splints and Don having no problem stopping Dee from going home with his family for Leon is so sweet and also AUUUGHH!! They're literally willing 2 do whatever is needed to keep their family safe & happy and I cry but then I remember the 2012 fam being the same & then i cry again

Also ur so right d 2012 bros have never been apart for long, they literally spent 15 yrs of their life together bcuz together meant safe and safe meant home. They're literally heat seeking missiles for each other even in the show. With them it's either they all die or none of them do. How painful it must be to be ripped apart so suddenly like that :((

Um anyways so yeah very good au👍 will continue to doodle gonna sleep now

[odinsblog]

“I'd say a couple of things. One actually goes directly to the comparison to the Holocaust. I think that maybe I was very focused from afar on the part of the comparison that deals with numbers.

What I think is a deeply cynical way of phrasing the description of October 7th as the largest massacre of Jewish people since the Holocaust. And the reason I think it's cynical is because, you know, it does all this sort of normal, for that kind of thing, things of conflating Israel and Jews, framing the Hamas attack as an antisemitic attack, which I don't think it was. It was an anti-Israeli attack.

And of course, drawing that line directly to the Holocaust, what I think I wasn't hearing was the other part of the comparison, which has to do with defenselessness. And I was interviewing someone who said that they were watching the first videos early on October 7th and seeing Jewish people once again as naked without an army. I find that very interesting and compelling because of course, the Holocaust is not only the number of people who were killed, it is also the experience that went on for six years of a people without an army.

And if you read contemporary thinkers, like for example, Hanna Arendt, a lot of her essays written during the war were about the need for a Jewish army. So that, you know, the light bulb went off for me that, oh, this, you know, this comparison, in addition to the sort of the, what I think of it as kind of cynical dimension also has an experiential dimension. That fear of being naked without an army.

And, you know, that didn't make me change my mind about what I think of its political uses, but it made me understand better the emotional experience behind it. I think the other thing that I saw when I was in Israel a few weeks ago that I didn't realize was just the extent to which it's still October 7th in Israel, and the extent to which that helps Israelis not see what's happening in Gaza. Because of course, everything that is happening in Gaza, that has happened in Gaza, has happened in the last now almost seven months that have elapsed since October 7th.

But if you are living in October 7th, then it's not just the media that aren't facilitating you're seeing what's happening in Gaza. It's like you're stuck, the calendar is not letting you see what's happening in Gaza.

…I should have made it more clear that when I was talking earlier about not seeing what's happening in Gaza, I was referring to Jewish Israelis. I think the experience of Palestinian citizens of Israel is completely different. They're living the daily events in Gaza.

They wake up in the morning to check whether their friends and family are still alive and to read all the different telegram channels and watch Al Jazeera and really to keep following in minute detail what's happening there and add to that the growing violence and poverty in the West Bank that is also very much a part of their daily reality.

…Well, you know, you asked me about things that struck me when I was in Israel, and one thing that struck me was that even people on the left, whom I held to be sort of, generally speaking, accurate perceivers of the world, had really bizarre ideas about what was going on on American campuses, like this idea that American campuses are hotbeds of antisemitism, seem to have been very well communicated to everybody.

Ayelet Waldman discussed this, so some of this will probably be a little repetitive, but I think the points that she made were that, no, these are not hotbeds of antisemitism. They are crazies and outliers in every movement.

But very rarely do crazies and outliers in a movement, especially widespread social movements such as this one, get separate articles in the New York Times the moment something emerges. This idea that these protests are antisemitic is wrong, misguided, counterfactual, and promoted by mainstream American media, unfortunately.

But, you know, and I'm not saying that there are no antisemites in these protests. And I'm not saying that there were zero antisemitic incidents. I'm saying it's a hot mess.

And we know for a fact that there's a lot of spinning of these protests as antisemitic that doesn't reflect the bulk of what the organizing is about the views of the individuals involved and the messaging coming out of these campuses. And most of these kids, at least on a campus like Columbia are Jewish, not on a campus like City College of New York, which has almost no Jewish students, but Columbia, which has a lot of Jewish students, has a majority of protesters who are Jewish.”

��Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses student protests (part 1 of 3)

[dgcatanisiri]

When it comes to Jacob in ME3, there are two storylines that ALWAYS jump out first to me as what they could have done with him.

First, that he is reconnecting with and getting back to duty the Corsairs, the group he mentions having been a part of before Cerberus recruited him. Draw on his background, plus expand the universe a little more as we learn about this group of agents the Alliance could disavow.

Alternatively, and this would involve reworking Miranda's character arc in ME3 so that she isn't just rehashing her loyalty mission from ME2, have Miranda attempting to seize the Illusive Man and Cerberus's resources, and Jacob is acting as her right hand. On Miranda's side, I see it as her becoming a squad mate and working on the Normandy, while Jacob acts as her agent in the field, updating her and acting where Miranda (and, since she's a squadmate, Shepard) would attract too much attention.

Either way, I have NEVER liked how his character was handled. Like, yeah, sure, I do get him working to get defecting Cerberus scientists to safety, that's fine, if not really drawing on his actual character arc. But everything about him and Brynn Cole just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And not just because it's trashing the romance arc for the sake of this hookup no one asked for - I mean, I'm a male Shepard player, romancing Jacob isn't even an option for me.

But nothing about Brynn and Jacob rings true. Literally, if you avoid the right dialogue options, you don't even hear any indication of them being in a relationship - for a romance that would supposedly overpower anything he had going with Shepard, that's a pretty big nothing-burger of a thing, if sidestepping mentions of it entirely is an option.

To say nothing of the how of the "break up" - not even a Dear John letter, it's finding him AFTER he hooks up with Brynn and knocks her up, and his excuse is "I thought I'd never see you again, what was I supposed to do, wait?" This after Shepard's prior game romances were still otherwise single after two years of presuming Shepard dead, rather than six months of Shepard being in lock up. ON TOP of him saying that he spend some of that time on the Mediterranean, so physically the closest to Shepard of anyone...

And, of course, you can never lose sight of the optics of things, where the only black man is hardcoded to cheat on and dump Shepard...

Yeah, there's just no question, Jacob was done so dirty by ME3.

[marquezian]

#literally them in our pregnant marc hooking up with bezz au <- will counsel please approach the bench and explain

SCREAM… APPROACHES CAUTIOUSLY… we have nothing concrete its just vibes. and deranged and incoherent.

sarah @girl2dirt (everybody say hiiiii sarah.. shes new here) and i's favorite topic has been pregnant marc recently and we've also been talking about how, unrelated to pregnancy, marc and bezz should have sex thats like, marc getting his needs met purely a physical thing its not about bezz (or vale) or anything its just. marc notices bezz is willing. its post-injury marc this is post sepang marc hes more clinical more methodical more guarded. harder better faster stronger.mp3. so for marc its literally like ok. let me take care of my needs. this is fine. its of course earth-shattering mind melting sex for bezz though!!!!

this convo has led to me receiving the following message from sarah yesterday: "marc pregnant vale’s baby has sex with bezz bc horny and convenient question mark send message" and i promptly blacked out…

how and why marc is pregnant with vales baby isnt important (can i get a yay for an emotionally fucked up 2024 rosquez one night stand thoughhhhhh) the important thing is the premise of pregnant marc so horny hes like a genuine omega in heat due to pregnancy hormones. needs someone to fuck. and we were like discussing vale doesnt want to be in the picture, so the fun angle would be bezz accidentally blabbing to vale that hes been seeing marc.

why are you seeing marc, bezz? ehhh we've been hanging out. hes my friend now. allora bezz… since when is he your friend you didnt tell me..

vale grills him but has of course figured it out as soon as bezz says hes been seeing him LOL ! remembers instances of sheepish guilty puppy bezz evading questions about where hes been recently but they all thought hes just been slutting around. it all adds up immediately.

yayyyyyy !

this switches a flip in vales brain that bezz will forever wish had never been flipped because his relationship w vale will never be the same. it activates vales worst impulse.. he now sees bezz as a rival, yayyy sexual competitiveness… but its also the catalyst for marc/vale reconciling properly in this lil universe…stay with me

so we were like talking about all that leading to a threesome between bezz vale marc. theres immediately an air of vale Watching what bezz does, instructing him and guiding him bc he knows marcs body best, still, even a decade after they were first together. and bezz watches as vale does things to marc that marc never mentioned to bezz that he likes.. touches marc in ways bezz has touched marc but with bezz they never made marc quiver and react like hes reacting to vales touch… constant pangs in bezzs stomach… but its also like. bezz Notices for the very first time that vale is playing with him. vale wants to make a point vale wants to draw a line for bezz, that this isnt his playground. that BEZZ crossed a line doing this with marc. bezz sees something cold and calculating in vales eyes when he looks at him, hes only ever seen this directed at others never at him, it breaks something in him… he never forgets it ! never forgets how the realization that hes been cast out of the inner chamber of vales heart is so tied to vale instructing him to cum inside marc, and bezz cumming harder than ever before.

on the other hand marc also obviously notices vale being vale about bezz so now marc has genuine sympathy for bezz and starts liking him more. humiliatinggggg for bezz. for vale all is fine with bezz now that he drew that line in the sand :) like he made is point ! bezz "listened", its all good! conflict resolution a la valentino rossi. bezz wishes he could go back to before he and marc ever had sex. YAY

threesome leads to marc and vale having sex regularly... getting back together... vale DOES desperately want to raise that baby with him.

[freelancearsonist]

all that we see or seem

➔ Dieter Bravo x AFAB!Reader

➔ 5.7k words

➔ You moved to Hollywood in hopes of chasing your dreams; you get a lot more than you bargained for from your new boss, Dieter Bravo.

➔ Rated MA // dark fic, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used) and generally able-bodied, age gap (unspecified, reader is younger than dieter), vampire!dieter, blood/both consensual and non-consensual blood drinking, knife use, slight self-harm, gore of the mouth variety, pet names, takes place in 1983 bc i’m a sucker for changing settings

➔ this was requested from this prompt list by the very lovely @sp00kymulderr!! happy birthday darling, sorry this took so long but i hope it's worth the wait <3 thank you so much to @missredherring for this AMAZING header graphic ily 🖤

Los Angeles is a far cry from the little town you grew up in. It’s a seemingly endless maze, with more possibilities than you ever could’ve dreamed. It’s a little daunting, really. You step off your plane with your suitcase in hand, and you feel like the world is in the palms of your hands.

The harsh reality comes crashing in without warning.

LA is expensive, especially on your own. As the money you’d saved up to get you started dwindles much quicker than expected, your dreams only get further and further out of reach. Life always finds a way to fuck you over, and the city of angels does it quicker than anywhere else. The glitzy neon nightclubs and the glamor of Hollywood swiftly become an omen of doom rather than a beacon of hope. You’re in over your head, but it’s too late to back out now.

Auditions get put on the backburner. You work yourself to the bone as a server in a dumpy little diner, but it’s still barely enough to cover your basic expenses.

You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to sleep. The cycle repeats itself so quickly that your days all merge together into one, long, neverending nightmare.

The light at the end of the tunnel appears shortly before the first anniversary of your move. You’re scanning through the paper during your meal break when you see a help wanted ad. It’s normally the type of thing you would ignore, but a few things about it draw you in. The part that really catches your eye is the large, bold letters that proclaim “work closely with one of the biggest names in hollywood!” It seems too good to be true, and certainly something you’re not qualified for. But it could be a start–a way to get your foot through the door of the industry that brought you out here in the first place. Really, what’s the harm in trying?

You go to the library, type up your resume, and mail it in to the address listed in the ad. Realistically, you know that there must be hundreds of other applicants and you probably won’t get so much as a rejection letter back; but the needling little ‘what if’ in the back of your mind gives you a boost of hope that you’ve lived without for an achingly long time.

You get better than a letter–a broad, handsome man shows up at the diner late one night asking for you three days after you drop your resume into the local mail slot at the post office. Janine, the shaggy-haired waitress you work with almost every shift and have sort of become friends with, nudges you excitedly while you’re handing a ticket back to the kitchen.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” She nods her head over her shoulder towards a table in the corner of her section and you try to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course you know who that is. His face is everywhere in this stupid town–magazine covers, billboards, movie theaters. Even with sunglasses obscuring the dark brown eyes that have made thousands swoon, you recognize Dieter Bravo. He’s bigger than Hasselhoff and Swayze combined.

“He’s asking for you,” Janine whispers. “By name. You know him?”

“Not yet,” you answer truthfully. You know without a doubt that he’s here because of your resume and that your entire world is about to change.

You’ve seen him on the big screen before and now you can definitively say that it doesn’t do him justice. He’s more handsome than any man has a right to be. He’s wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, an ensemble that stands out in the brightness of 1983 but yet perfectly complements the tanned tone of his skin. His shoulders could fill a doorway and his smile might actually melt you into a puddle. You can’t help but notice–with a hint of trepidation–that his canines are the sharpest you’ve ever seen, although that thought is quickly pushed from your mind when he greets you by name.

“Your resume is impressive.”

“No it’s not,” you respond with a little laugh before you can stop yourself, then you have to refrain from banging your head into the wall. What a great start to an interview.

But he laughs, and you can’t help feeling you’ve done something right. You’d do a hell of a lot worse just to hear that gorgeously deep, hearty chuckle again.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said all the right things. You’ve got exactly what I’m looking for as an assistant.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is much too good to be true.

“You’re not from LA,” he states factually. “What brought you here?”

You consider lying–coming up with some story that’s less pathetic than the truth. He’s appreciated your honesty thus far, though, and you don’t want to break a streak. “I wanted to act, but… it’s hard to get started when you don’t have any connections. So I’ve just been kind of… getting by.”

He nods and gives you a look over–assessing, you think. “We all have to start somewhere. But this isn’t an easy job.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice, but you choose to ignore it because you want nothing more than a chance to impress him. It’s not about ‘making it’ anymore; it’s about proving to Dieter Bravo that you’re worth taking a chance on.

“Neither is this,” you reply with a vague wave at the diner around you. “If I’m not covered in fryer grease at the end of the day, it’s a good job to me.”

He chuckles again and it washes over you like fresh water after years of drought. You want more of him–more of his charm, more of his warmth.

“When can you start?”

You ask for two weeks to leave your diner gig on good terms, and he’s gracious enough to accommodate you. As the days tick past, the anticipation ramps up and time seems to move slower. You’ve never been so excited for a new job. Normally, your gut twists with anticipation and your mind swirls with every little minute detail that could go wrong–but not now. No, now you’re just excited. The possibilities of Hollywood finally seem to be within your reach again, and it all starts with this job.

You learn a lot about Dieter within five minutes of starting on your first day. For one, he’s incredibly personable. He greets you himself and vows to show you the ropes. There’s no third party to teach you everything you need to know, it’s just him. Just the two of you. You appreciate that immensely, because you’ll be serving him directly as his assistant. There’s no better person to learn from when it comes to his desires and routines than the man himself.

Two, he wears many different masks. It’s a little spooky, the way his demeanor changes depending on who he’s dealing with. He can be the sweetest, most charming man you’ve ever spoken to, then turn to a producer and be a complete hardass all in the name of getting things done. He knows exactly what persona he needs to wear for each person he interacts with–it’s all very calculated. You suppose all actors have to be capable of that; the mark of a good thespian is being instantly able to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

Still, it’s a little chilling. If you didn’t see it in some form or another with every person you meet on set, you’d be a little concerned. Dieter just makes it look like adaptation–fitting into his surroundings as a means of staying afloat. He’s been in this industry for a long time, he knows what works; and, subsequently, what doesn’t.

As far as the job goes, it’s a nice change of pace from what you’ve become accustomed to. You spend nights on set with him, fetching his coffee order or running little errands while he’s busy shooting. The hours aren’t unreasonable, and it pays double what the diner did. Now that you’re not struggling to get by financially, you have the free time you need to start pursuing your dreams again.

You have only Dieter to answer to, which is a definite learning curve. Directors, producers, and even other actors chase after your favors, but Dieter tells them unequivocally to fuck off. You’re his–it’s a heady feeling each time he  reasserts it. It makes for easy work when you’re not being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously. He asks for what he needs when he’s around and he gives you a list of tasks to complete when he’s not. He’s a little eccentric–he tells you he can only work after dark because his eyes are sensitive–but it’s nice, falling into a routine after so long of working unconventional hours at a job where no two days are the same.

Still, as days turn into weeks by his side, you wonder exactly what version of Dieter he’s presenting to you. Which face is the most authentic? You want to believe he’s himself with you, but you’re not quite naive enough to convince yourself of that. The thing that bothers you the most is that you want him to feel comfortable enough to drop the facades around you. You want to get to know the real Dieter Bravo, underneath all the masks. But you also swore to yourself, when you accepted this job, that you would be nothing but professional–and wanting to get to know him so intimately is definitely a step beyond just being his employee.

To his credit, he’s strictly professional–even if you wish he wasn’t at times. There’s a lot of rumors and gossip about him, about his hedonism and the life he supposedly leads at night, but you don’t see that facet of him. With you, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful. He’s the perfect gentleman–and that’s how you know that you’re not getting a full glimpse of the real him. There’s too much contradiction between the rumors and the Dieter that you interact with. 

No matter how straight-laced you try to be, you can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get a look at the real Dieter Bravo.

You think he starts to peek through when Dieter asks if you would be willing to work longer hours and be more of a personal assistant than a production assistant. You know him inside and out, he tells you, and it would be a pain in the ass to teach a whole new person how to deal with his errands. He even offers you a sizable raise when you pretend to be contemplating it, like you weren’t bursting at the seams to say yes before he even finished asking. 

The sad–maybe even pathetic–truth of the matter is that you’re falling for him. Every facet of his charm, from his darkly passionate eyes to his easy humor, have you completely bewitched and ready to ignore the way your hair stands on end each time his gaze meets yours. You’ll take any small fraction of him that you can get.

He eases you into your additional duties, at least; that much can be said in his favor. He starts you out with small tasks, like ordering his groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Dieter’s so kind and patient as he explains how he likes everything done–he’s particular, but not unreasonable. He even gives you a grand tour of his home so you can see exactly where and how he likes everything done–it’s like finally getting that real glimpse of him that you’ve been hoping for.

His Sherman Oaks mansion looks like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel on the outside, yet the inside is a testament to the warm side of his personality that you’re more familiar with. It’s decorated in shades of orange and red, with patterns that are a little out of date but still manage to feel intentional. It gives the impression of someone who was more comfortable and sure of himself in the 70’s, or at least someone who hasn’t quite adjusted to the new trends that came with the turn of the decade. The walls are covered with art–most of it signed with his familiar “DB” in the bottom right hand corner. It’s neat, but not so neat that it feels staged. It fits the Dieter Bravo that you know perfectly, and it even starts to feel like home to you when you start spending more time there with him.

There’s never anyone else around when you’re there. For someone who has a reputation for throwing the liveliest parties in all of Hollywood, he doesn’t actually do a lot of partying. Not when you’re around, at least. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide that aspect of himself from you. If he has to host, he sends you home early or lets you know in advance that you’re getting a paid night off. You’re almost disappointed–parties have never really been your thing, sure, but you feel like you need to experience at least one of his.

Plus, people are starting to talk. You hear it on set first; his co-stars whispering about how he’s gone soft, how he’s gotten boring. Even the tabloids are starting to wonder if they’ve seen the last infamous Dieter Bravo party, which were once highly coveted and exclusive events. The few times he’s hosted lately have been small, quiet affairs–definitely not the big, star-studded shebangs that he’s gained a reputation for.

A rumor even starts circulating that he’s finally decided to settle down with a nice girl, which makes your stomach twist with a little green monster that shouldn’t be there. He’s your employer, you reason. That’s all. No matter how friendly he is, no matter how much he flirts with you, no matter how much he compliments your perfect cup of coffee, that’s all he is. Your boss. And yet, despite your constant self-assertion, your brain just can’t seem to accept it. You know you shouldn’t want anything more than that, and yet you just can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping.

“What’s going on with you?”

You’re in the midst of trying to sort through the files in his upstairs home office so you can find out when his insurance needs to be renewed when you hear the voice, loud and clear due to the open floor plan downstairs. Sound travels like crazy up the double-wide staircase with Dieter’s office door right at the top. You couldn’t shut it out even if you wanted to–and you don’t. God help you, you’re a little nosy and a little curious.

“Nothing.” That’s Dieter’s voice, but you don’t recognize the other.

“Bullshit. You’re not yourself.” It’s a deep, rich tone that you’ve never heard before and it immediately has your interest hooked. Dieter doesn’t get many visitors, much less such purposeful ones. Most people like to schmooze him, but evidently not this unidentified man.

“I’m trying to be different,” Dieter explains half-heartedly. “It’s time I cleaned up a bit.”

“No. Cleaning up your act is nothing more than a good way to get yourself caught. Things happen in the party climate, that’s how you fit in. Things don’t just happen to nice rich actors.”

Caught? Caught doing what, exactly? You creep closer to the open door on light feet, curiosity peaked.

Dieter sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up? Waste away after… how long?”

“Maybe I should,” Dieter retorts–there’s grit in his tone now, maybe even bitterness. “Maybe I never should’ve taken the deal in the first place. You don’t see how fucked up this all is?”

“So, what? You’ve gotten everything you could’ve possibly wanted, and now you’re tired of playing the game? Pathetic.” There’s a sneer in the tone of this unidentified speaker and you don’t like it. You want to jump to Dieter’s defense, but something tells you this is a conversation that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.

“Whatever, man,” Dieter scoffs dismissively.

There’s noise downstairs now–a slight thud and what sounds like Dieter grunting as if the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“What changed?”

“Fuck off,” Dieter spits.

“What. Changed?”

“You weren’t fucking honest with me.”

“Bullshit,” the stranger growls back. “You knew exactly what you were getting into.”

“No, you said everything I wanted, that was the deal. Remember?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if Dieter’s pacing. He does that, when he starts to get stressed. “I’m still alone, though.”

“That’s your own fault,” the stranger replies–voice a little softer now. “I didn’t say I would hand you your dreams on a silver platter. You make your own destiny. Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten that little qualifier.”

“I can’t bring someone else into this shit and you know it,” Dieter replies. The venom is gone from his voice now–he just sounds done. Exhausted and spent.

“You can, but you won’t.” There’s a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Start acting like yourself again before you raise too much suspicion.”

“Fine,” Dieter sighs heavily. 

There’s a few long moments of silence, and then you hear the heavy solid oak front door shut. Presumably the guest has gone, and while you’re eager to sneak down and see if you can catch a glimpse of who it might’ve been, it’s far too risky with Dieter down there. Something tells you that he should never find out about the way you just eavesdropped on that conversation. You don’t know who he was talking to, or what kind of deal they were discussing–you just know that it’s serious, and definitely above your paygrade.

“Did you find that paperwork?”

You didn’t hear Dieter come upstairs–his sudden question from right behind you makes you jump and whirl around to look at him. You fight to keep your calm as you catch your breath; the last thing you want to do is clue him in that you overheard his conversation with his unknown guest.

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here,” you answer after a thick gulp.

“You’re a doll,” he proclaims with a wide smile. How easily he picks up the face he wears with you after a conversation that clearly upset him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you hum with a smile. “This entire room is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you ever find anything. You need to get, like… some filing cabinets. At the very least.”

“I’ll, uhh… get right on that,” he says in a way that makes you sure he definitely won’t get right on it.

Despite the nerves still thrumming through your veins, you laugh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a doll,” he repeats with his trademark grin. “Oh! Hey, uhh… you have tomorrow off. Paid, obviously.”

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

He seems surprised–you don’t normally ask questions, especially about paid vacation days. “Work stuff I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“Okay,” you answer with a slight frown. “Sure I can’t help?”

He actually does seem to be contemplating it for a moment–his eyes scan over your body, and it’s like he’s considering you more than the actual offer. “No, honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” You take a short breath, then head towards the door–this was the last task on your list for the night. “Anything else you need before I head out?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he follows you down the stairs. “No. Thanks, sweetheart.”

You feel heat fluttering underneath your skin at the pet name–he uses them often and they never fail to make your heart pick up pace. It’s like he can tell, because his eyes linger on your lips for a moment before trailing down to the pulse point on the left side of your neck. You wonder for a second if he can actually see it beating, but you quickly push that ridiculous thought away.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you tomorrow?”

His eyes are still trained on your neck like he’s completely zoned out or something. You watch as his tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip, trance-like; it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers after a long moment–he’s standing so close now, you didn’t even notice him closing in. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” You want nothing more than to grab him and pull him in, to kiss him like your life depends upon it. He sounded so upset and every bone in your body is screaming to comfort him. The way he’s looking at you right now, you don’t think he’d mind at all. 

Instead you take a deep breath, grab your bag from the bench next to the door, and bid him goodnight.

Dieter doesn’t seem to realize that you’re always working, whether you’re on the clock or not. Even on ‘off’ days, you get loads of calls for scheduling requests and other tasks. Your saving grace is your trusty day planner—it holds both of your schedules, all neatly color-coded for maximum efficiency.

The worst thing you could’ve done on a weekend leading up to awards season is leave it in Dieter’s home office—and yet, as you frantically dig through your tote bag and your desk, that seems to be exactly what you’ve done.

You know Dieter’s got whatever event he’s hosting at home, but you can’t keep taking calls and scribbling notes on napkins without your schedule in front of you. The last thing you want to do is overbook him at a time where every single interview counts.

With a heavy sigh, you dial Dieter’s home number. It rings for what seems like eternity, and just as you’re about to hang up an unfamiliar voice answers.

“Hello?”

With a sigh of relief, you ask, “Hi, is Dieter there?”

“He’s busy.” The voice is high and sweet, yet her tone says she couldn’t be more irritated.

“Okay… umm, it’s kind of important.”

The stranger sighs dramatically. “I can take a message.”

“I just… I left something there, and I need to come get it as soon as possible. But I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

This time when she speaks, her tone is considerably more friendly. “Oh! Yeah, come on over. The more the merrier!”

You can’t help your intrigue, although you really don’t want to intrude without Dieter’s say-so. “Are you sure? I could always come tomorrow, I guess.”

“No no, come! It’s a party, everyone’s welcome!” Then the line goes dead without any further discussion.

You consider redialing in the hopes of speaking and clearing your visit with Dieter, but you doubt you’ll actually get through to him–and really, what harm would a quick visit do? You know exactly where you left it, on the desk in his office. It’ll be five minutes tops, a quick in and out. He might never even know that you’d been there.

You shake off the curious sense of foreboding that overtakes your mind as you grab your keys and lock your apartment door behind you.

It’s a twenty minute ride to Dieter’s house–a lot of time to spend thinking. At the forefront of your mind is that peculiar conversation you overheard last night; you’re not entirely sure why, really. Whoever that man was sounded almost as if he was in some kind of position of power over Dieter, and you don’t have even an educated guess at who that could possibly be. Dieter’s his own boss and he doesn’t take bullying–you’ve never heard someone get away with bossing him around like that before. He’s constantly in some weird form of pissing match with the directors and producers of whatever film he’s working on; he’s never seemed to be good at taking orders, even when he’s supposed to. You’ve heard many a rant about how much he values the ‘freedom of expression’. It all serves to make the mysterious visitor more confusing. Who does Dieter have to answer to?

The cab pulls up in front of his gated home before you’re able to find a plausible answer. You instruct the driver to keep the meter running since you’ll only be a minute before you step out into the crisp late-January air.

The grounds are a lot quieter than you expect them to be as the guard on duty opens the gate and closes it behind you. One thing Dieter’s famous for is noise–his parties are always reported as loud and exciting affairs akin to the fraternities in his favorite movie Animal House. There's no noise at all today, though, and it makes you curious. Is it really a party? Or was the stranger who answered the phone maybe his only guest? If the latter is the case, why would she want you to join in?

There’s a pale man in a cheap-looking suit waiting just inside the door, a tray of filled wine glasses in his gloved hands. “Take one,” he instructs, his eyes distant like he’s looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh, no thank you, I just need to–”

“Take one,” he repeats. “Master’s orders.”

Master? Of course Dieter would be into that. 

The wine is a deep red, probably that expensive vintage shit that he’s always raving about. You prefer the grocery store stuff yourself, not just because it’s all you can afford. A drink never hurts, though, and you could certainly use something to take the edge off–because that tingling sense of foreboding has only gotten stronger since your arrival.

You take a glass and swirl its currant-colored liquid around. It seems more viscous than any wine you’ve had before–probably a mark of its age, but that’s just guesswork on your part. You take a small sip, then nearly gag. It’s like drinking a pile of melted pennies. You swallow it down with a grimace anyway since you don’t want to make a scene of spitting it out in front of the server. It leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that you’re eager to wash out–thankfully, the kitchen is on your route to the stairs. You quickly deposit the glass on a table once you’re out of the server’s eyesight, then head down the hall in a desperate search for water.

Once you’re out of the foyer, there are people everywhere. Very subdued people, at that–draped over furniture like throw blankets, some even laying on the floor. You consider checking one’s pulse until he twitches and lets out a muffled groan. Clearly high on something, you’re just not sure what. You nearly trip over one person and they actually hiss at you like some kind of feral cat. Your skin starts to crawl with every step you take. Even more important than your discomfort, though, is finding Dieter. What if he’s like this, too? Do you need to call someone?

You notice a dull ache starting in your gums as you make it to the kitchen–thankfully you’re familiar with his home, and you have a glass of water in your hands within no time. It seems that no matter how much you drink, though, that coppery-bloody taste never leaves your mouth. What the hell was that stuff?

There’s a short-haired blonde woman propped up against the wall underneath the mounted phone; she reaches out a lazy hand in some sort of greeting. She looks vaguely familiar, like someone you might’ve seen on the set of one of Dieter’s films.

“You made it!” She says with a lazy smile. She must be the woman you spoke to earlier, although you’re not sure how she can identify you.

“Yeah. Where’s Dieter?” The longer you’re here, the more worried you become. Something isn’t right, and your skin is prickling with apprehension.

“Upstairs,” she murmurs, then her eyes flutter shut and she slumps a little further down. She’s visibly breathing, at least. 

For a moment, you consider picking up the phone and ringing the police. Would that cause more harm than good? Dieter must be aware of what’s going on here–you know you should talk to him before you do anything.

Your mission to find your planner momentarily forgotten, you make your way through the living room towards the stairs.

You check the office at the top first–there’s a few bodies zonked out on the couch, but none of them are Dieter. With trepidation in your very soul, you make your way down the hall. Each room is more of the same–people in varying states of unrest, no sign of the man you’re looking for. Most of them have red-stained lips and you eye more than one smashed glass along your journey. Your own mouth is starting to get alarmingly sore, but you ignore it in favor of finding Dieter.

Each step you take drives your worries deeper into your skull. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s knocked out like all of his guests, or hurt, or something worse?

This is the first time you’ve breached the bubble of his bedroom. None of your work has ever involved this room, and while you’re a naturally nosey type of person, there’s something deeply personal and sacred about the space someone sleeps in. 

Ignoring the steady throbbing in your gums, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Dieter’s alone in his room, sprawled out like a starfish in a sea of rumpled sheets at the center of his massive bed. Something akin to a groan of horror escapes your throat as you see the state he’s in. He’s paler than a corpse and drenched in sweat, chest barely rising and falling with breath.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place. Your entire body breaks out in a cold sweat as you notice the knife in his right hand and the deep gash in the crook of his left arm, right where an IV would normally be set. You can smell the blood draining from him, you can even taste it in the air–or maybe that’s just the lingering taste of whatever you drank downstairs.

Your stomach churns violently with the sudden realization of what you’ve done, of what you’ve drank.

“Dieter!” You manage to choke out while your brain tries to remember how to send the signals required for your body to fucking move. 

He lifts his head shakily, brown eyes widening after a long moment of trying to recognize the face he’s looking at. “No no no,” he whispers hoarsely, “you’re not supposed t-to be here. You’re.. y-you’re supposed to be a-at home.”

A sharp, shattering pain in your top gum snaps your brain back into action. In a flash you’re crawling across a seemingly endless desert of mattress and it feels like you’ll never reach him. Everything is moving so slowly–each movement seems to take a hundred times the effort it should.

You spit out a mouthful of blood as the pain heightens, barely registering the two upper canines that go with it.

“What the fuck have you done?” You sob, uselessly pawing at his slashed left arm. It’s a precise cut straight across the artery–your hands are sticky and soaked with red the moment you touch him. Pressure, your brain screams at you. Put pressure on the wound.

“A real artist must suffer,” he mumbles weakly–then, even quieter, “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re dying.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore. It’s higher, breathier. 

“You drank it, d-didn’t you?” He asks, ignoring your statement. His distant eyes are trained on the sharp fangs that have pushed your canines out. “Fuck. Fuck! You were n-never supposed to…”

“Shut up, shut up,” you plead. Every shaky breath seems to cost him years. “How do I fix this? How do I fix you?”

“Thirsty,” he mumbles. There’s water on the sideboard, your brain reminds you. You don’t even remember bringing the glass with you, much less setting it down. Everything is so fuzzy. Your arm doesn’t move nearly as fast as it should when you reach for the glass, and Dieter’s hand weakly comes up to stop you.

“Not water,” he croaks. “Need… need…”

He can’t seem to form the words required to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to, though. You know.

“You’re not dying on me, Bravo.” You take the knife from his slack right hand before he can stop you and grit your sore teeth together as you slash it across your palm.

“N-no, don’t…” But he doesn’t resist as you hold your bleeding palm to his mouth. His empty eyes flash back to life with the first taste, and then he takes your hand in his own and drinks greedily. You watch with nothing short of disbelief as the cut on his arm seals itself right before your eyes.

“You were supposed to stay away from this,” he murmurs as his tongue sweeps across your palm. “Why the fuck are you here, baby?”

You don’t even remember anymore. Everything is hazy, everything hurts. It’s a chore just to keep your eyes open.

“Damn it,” he growls–pushing your hand away from his blood-smeared mouth seems to take all his willpower. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur as you slump down against his sheets. They’re so soft and light, and you want to cocoon yourself in them for the rest of time. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’d you have to come save me? Huh?” His voice sounds so far away that you’re not even sure he’s really speaking. 

“I love you.” It’s okay to say that, because he’ll never actually find out. It’s just a dream, after all; you’ll wake up in the morning confused but totally okay.

“You were never supposed to,” his voice echoes from some plain of existence far, far away. “Damn it honey, stay awake just a minute longer.”

You try, but your eyes are so heavy. He sighs heavily, as if he knows it’s useless.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you wake up,” he pleads through the tunnel that separates you.

Nodding saps the last of your strength, so you let your eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

You feel his lips against yours and his coppery kiss nearly brings you back from the verge of sleep. In the end, though, your throbbing head wins. Sleep takes hold quickly despite your feeble resistance. 

How strange it is to fall asleep in a dream.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my lovelies <3

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[differenteagletragedy]

Swap AU for @minthe-drawings' Baxter x MC week!!!

Day 1: First meeting

You stood on the shore, gazing out at the ocean and taking everything in. The smell of salt, the light of the sunset reflecting off the water.

The feeling of the warm hand placed so comfortably in yours.

Over the course of your long lifetime, so many memories had been made here on the beach by your childhood home. But if you had to pick your very favorite one, it was really no contest.

"Hey Baxter," you said, turning your head.

Your husband met your eyes, his trademark smirk playing on his face as he answered, "Yes, darling?"

You took a moment to study him. His hair was greying, not the same grey he had as a child, though that was present too -- he'd stopped dying his hair decades ago. Wisps of silver were highlighted in the soft waves that framed his handsome face. Crow's feet and laugh lines could be seen in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth.

Evidence of a life well lived.

Lifting his hand, you placed a kiss along his knuckles. You asked, "Do you remember the day we met?"

He laughed, an easy, bright, beautiful sound, then moved to take you in his arms.

"How could I forget?"

The thing was, you're sure that you both had forgotten lots of things over the years. Not because you didn't want to remember, of course, but because there had been too many things happen between you to catalogue them all. Maybe there was a kiss that you should have tried harder to hold onto, or an inside joke forgotten to time.

You'd spent over 40 years together. More than half of your journey was over -- you didn't know how many years you had left to make those kinds of precious memories, or how well you'd be able to save them.

"Tell me about it," you said softly.

Baxter kissed your forehead and began stroking your hair, then he did as you asked.

He told you all about how his family had moved to Sunset Bird when he was nine years old, and how scared he was by everything. Being in a new town, so close to the ocean that used to terrify him, it had all overwhelmed him. So that very first day, as his parents were directing the movers, he'd snuck away to the beach. He'd wanted to face his fear, to try to conquer it so it didn't eat away at him.

That's what he was doing when you approached him.

"I was so happy to see another child in the neighborhood," he said, moving to rub your shoulders. "And also scared that I wouldn't be able to make a friend."

"That's understandable, but I think it's safe to say you made one."

He laughed again, and when his laughter turned to a smile, he gave you a soft kiss.

"I think so too."

You wanted to share a million more kisses with Baxter. You wanted a million more days on the beach with him, a million more lifetimes with him.

As much as it broke your heart, there really wasn't any possible way to experience those last two wishes. But the first one, you thought with a grin, you just might be able to accomplish.