#people are always surprised by how long it takes to produce a book

[aquitainequeen]

Editor: So the manuscript is probably going to be ready by 1st June; I was really hoping we be able to publish it in November, so that we could have copies for [huge academic conference]!

Me: ......

Me, internally: Mate, even if you submitted the manuscript today, we wouldn't be able to publish it by November.

[ja3yun]

who do you think in enha would love to receive a buodoir album of their girl as a birthday gift?

!warning nsfw (mdni)!

i think jay would love it the most. he always adores to see his girl dress up in pretty clothes and he'd like it even more when they're dressed down. you would do it after he bought you a pretty set of lingerie for your birthday, so now for his you're putting your present to good use. you would have a setting that was clean and elegant, white sheets with a sheer robe to start with, posing in all his favourite positions he liked to fuck you in. you wouldn't go bare naked but elude to it because jay likes that the best, when you tease him just enough to make him want you.

when you give him it on his day once everyone has left the dinner party you arranged for him, you'll leave him alone to flick through it while you put on the lingerie and robe once again, waiting until he flicks the last page before sleeking your way into the bedroom, taking the book from his hands and throwing it to the side.

"how is it? your present?"

his eyes trail up your body lustfully, taking in the beautiful sight before him as his hands grip your hips and force you onto his lap. "i love it, baby. i love it so much. you're fucking sweet to me." your nipples stand at his words and he cant help but latch on, biting them through the lace bra and his tongue swirling gently.

he would roll his eyes as you giggle, his cock throbbing in his pants at the sound. you know he loves you but you will never understand how much he craves you, worships you in every way. he will cherish the book and look at it on days you're away or simply because he loves you so much and he is so happy that you trust him to own something like this.

rest under the cut

_____

heeseung would adore that you thought of doing the shoot specifically for his birthday. he knows that people do this for their partners but considering you're quite shy, he never imagined you would strip down to nothing. sure, maybe a nightie or something sheer but never fully laid bare. you would sit nervously next to him as he looked at it, judging his expressions as he turned the pages and viewed the one of you arching your back, legs long and hair fanned out, he would shut it over abruptly, making you worry. but that worry soon turns into shock as he grips your shoulders and pushes you down onto the bed

"fuck, baby girl, you have no idea how much i need you right now." he would whisper into your mouth as he kissed you, grinding his hardening cock onto your core, "i want to put you in all of those positions...would you let me?"

he sucks on your neck and bites down, causing your back to arch just like the photo. he's smirking as he marks you up, his hands trailing your sides before dipping into your heat.

"i'm gonna make you cum for each photo in that book."

-----

jake would come with you, asking you to do it for him. he had a particular lingerie set in mind, the one you wore for your anniversary and he hasn't seen you in it since, so what better way to get it some sunlight? his puppy eyes did wonders for convincing you, not that it took much, you'd do anything for him. jake is the kind of man to worship your body no matter size or shape so you have never felt uncomfortable in your body around him.

however, what he didn't realise is that partners don't get to watch the shoot but are sent away while it happens. he pouts, hoping to help you with poses and angles, he even brought a change of lingerie for you to mix it up a little. you're also sad because its his birthday and you wont be spending the entire day with him like you promised, but it just means you'll work extra hard to produce the best pictures for him.

he'll hug you goodbye, nuzzling his nose into your neck, peppering kisses softly, "thank you for doing this, princess."

nodding, you kiss him gently on the lips, stroking his cheek, "i'll even throw in a few surprises."

and those few surprises are naked shots, tits up with your arms losely drapped over your head, your eyes shut. as soon as he saw that picture, he whisked you back home, tying your arms above your head and telling you to keep still as he eats you out, his tounge lapping you up eagerly, that beautiful nose of his nudging your clit each time he burried his face into you. the photoshoot was everything he asked for but having you wriggling under him is even better.

-----

for sunghoon, i think he wouldn't want anyone to see your body other than him, female photographer or not. so instead of you going to a studio, he set one up in your bedroom, hired lighting and used his own camera to take the pictures. he left the setting up to you, to add the element of surprise you wanted to gift him for his birthday.

"take the robe off for me, babe, face the wall." he would take his job seriously because you really wanted to do this. he had an air of professionalism about him that was akin to jack drawing rose.

you look so beautiful though, that he cant keep his hands to himself, helping you unclasp your bra, reaching around to squeeze your tits playfully, kissing down your neck as he presses his chest to your back. "how about we take some behind the scenes pictures?" he would whisper seductively.

and who are you to deny him? you lay down on your bed, legs spread as he grabs the camera, snapping a few pictures before slippinging his cock from his trousers, knowing that pictures aren't enough, he needs to fuck you so good that the faces you make are the real shots that make the book. he pounds into you though, forgeting the camera and giving you the attention you deserve, even if it is his birthday.

[notquitecanon]

Tell 'em bout the Twinkie // Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader

Summary: Egon takes care of you after a long night on the town with the other Ghostbusters. While somethings are always the same, you surprise him yet again.

I found this hand written in a notebook from two years ago while I was cleaning so I figured id type it up and post it since there wasn't much new stuff in the tag. Dinner is served.

Warnings: alcohol use, drunk reader, sober Egon (obvi), descriptions of scraped knees and cut hands, blood mention, and first aid. Lots and lots and lots of fluff. Possible cringe. shameless use of Twinkie as an emotional allegory

Dr. Egon Spengler was enjoying a rare night of quiet in the firehouse. Janine had scheduled the whole week around the entire group being free tonight. Peter had insisted a little R&R was due in spades. And for Egon that meant spending a quiet night in, lackadaisically charting his mold and fungus, and catching up on relevant literature at his leisure. 

But for the rest of the Ghostbusters staff, it meant going out to a nearby bar for drinks and music. That included you, the Ghostbusters resident research analyst (as you were listed on their payroll). 

You had been hesitant to leave Egon alone, especially on one of the few nights you wren’t working to the wee hours of the morning or having dinner interrupted by what Winston had dubbed the "bust alarm". Still, the scientist encouraged you to join the others, knowing deep down you wanted to go. 

One of the many reasons he admired you was your easy and outgoing nature, your desire to be out in the world. Due to his introverted and nose in his book habits (even worse when he was in college), your extroverted demeanor was probably the only reason you had managed to befriend him. And because he admired it and profoundly enjoyed your company, he never Egon ever wanted to be the reason you didn’t do the things you wanted to. 

However, that didn’t mean he had the slightest inclination to join you in a Friday night crowded bar: packed with sweaty people he didn’t want to touch, drinks he didn’t want to drink, loud music he didn’t want to hear, smoky air he didn’t want to breath, and sticky countertops he didn’t want to sit at. And that’s just the reasons he got out before Peter gave up trying to convince him. 

So, he was content to gently push you towards the door with the assured promise he’d be happily waiting with for your return with leftover takeout- both of your favorite ways to end a late night since meeting each other as Grad Students. Nothing better than cold noodles after coming home little drunker than you meant to- and well, Egon didn’t drink but did enjoy an excuse for a late night snack (and an excuse to be close to you).

And with the firehouse still and quiet, Egon was enthused, seeing how ectoplasm interacted and affected the growth of his molds, making mental notes to show you. 

Aspergillums wouldn’t grow at all, actively decaying at ectoplasmic contact. Cladosporium both grew and decayed erratically with Ecto contact, creating a cascading starburst affect. Alternaria first grew at unprecedented rates but wouldn’t produce spores. Penicillin frew at normal rates but produced an odd smell. Fusarium grew rapidly and abundantly at first but died off just as rapidly. 

"Spengie!" A recklessly loud shout, Peter no doubt, echoed from the main entrance, "You gotta marry this girl!” 

And thus his quiet night was suddenly over- con. But it meant you were home- pro! Venkman's shout was accompanied by the sound of quick footwork stomping and scuffing above him, and Egon could imagine him doing a little spin around the fire pole. It was Winston’s voice that following in scolding. 

"Peter if you don’t shut the hell up, I will leave you at the bottom of the stairs for the night. We both know you won’t make it up by yourself.” His voice was a warning, but Venkman’s voice was cheeky. 

"After all we’ve been through, Zeddemore?” 

"Especially after all we’ve been through.” 

Egon smirked at his friend’s antics, shaking his head as he removed the Trichoderma slide from the microscope, encapsulated it, labeled it, and sorted it into his hobby file base. A well practiced move as a set of footsteps clunked down the stairs to him. His eyebrows twitched. 

Those weren’t your footsteps. 

And while he loved his friends dearly, they had gotten your company and attention all night. Despite his insistence on your outing, he was feeling uncharacteristically territorial about his night time traditions with you. 

"I’d knock but I don’t have a hand." Ray’s voice called out, sounding three quarters of the way down, chipper tone underplayed by a touch of strain. His steps were unaccompanied and you hadn’t called out to him yet- not even a good night. Had you decided to skip takeout all together in favore of crashing on the upstairs couch? If anything, the couch he had in the basement would be better for your REM cycle. Not to mention Egon was also in the basement.

Nonetheless, Egon answered, inviting him into the lab as he rose from his work stool. Finally, Ray turned the corner, silently answering all the scientist’s questions. Because there you were, wrapped around Ray’s back like a proton pack, your own jacket hanging behind the both of you like a cape, your purse on Ray’s shoulder, and shamefully useless shoes in his hand. Rays arms looped under your lax knees, and your arms were loosely around his neck like the worlds drunkest scarf. Meanwhile, your face had tucked into Ray’s neck, between your arm and his collar, now smudged with your lipstick. 

There was a momentary flash of jealousy until it was squashed by Egon’s sudden attention to your knees. He tensed, seeing a patch of blood on both knees, staining ripped tights and dripping to your ankles. There was a more subtle smudge of injury on both of your palms. 

"What happened?" Egon’s voice was clipped, zeroing in on your wounds as he crossed the lab, suddenly much more worried that you hadn’t even twitched. You were breathing deeply, but hand’t made a sound…

Ray had been expecting this reaction and kept a calm face, "Just took a little tumble, Spengler, see?” 

With that, he shook one of the arms holding your legs, jostling you enough to rouse you a little. Without looking up, one of your bloody hands weakly formed a thumbs up before going limp again. Egon looked between your hand and Ray’s face in a mix of disbelief, worry, and irritation. Stantz swallowed thickly, shifting from foot to foot under his friend’s discerning gaze. 

"That didn’t answer my question, Raymond.”

It only took one more cold look for Ray to start rambling the truth.

"Awww, don’t Raymond me, Spengs, it was all Peter’s fault, honest! It was like graduation weekend all over again. Venkman wanted a rematch, and, you know, (Y/N) had just enough to drink that she was feeling competitive. They agreed to the same stakes as last time and since you weren’t there (Y/N) placed a bet on your behalf." Ray explained quickly, not managing to hide his happy smile as he moved to gingerly deposit you on the couch. Egon was following like a shadow, taking great care to keep your head from falling back uncomfortably. Graduation Weekend had been the last time you had been carried home like this, only Egon had done the carrying that weekend, after going shot-for-shot with Venkman. After that and the subsequent hangover, you had vowed to 'grow up' and never get too drunk to walk for yourself. Until tonight apparently, Egon mused, brushing some hair out of the dried sweat on your forehead and noting your breathing, heavy but shallow. Not unusual after alcohol consumption. As Ray unlatched your knee from his hip, he perked up, "On the bright side, Peter’s cleaning the soot out of the Proton packs’ exhaust vents for a month! Lost on a technicality.”

"Hmmm." Egon hummed, adjusting you into a more comfortable sitting position as you slowly started to wake up, "Get the first aid kit for me?” 

"Sure thing." 

Egon watched your slow, scrunched blinks and how you slowly lifted your head to look at him, squinting before deadpanning until the blurry shape came into focus. It was hard to be irritated with you when your flushed face broke out into an unabated, silly grin, half lidded eyes brightening as you called in sleepy excitement, "Egon!" 

Spengler took the opportunity to analyze the dilation of your pupils-  glassy and dilated, but responsive. Good. He offered you a dry smile to appease you as Ray put the first aid kit beside you. In his other hand were three bottle- another college tradition. A non-FDA approved electrolyte and mineral enriched drink, formulated by Egon when he lived with Peter who was insufferable when hungover. Venkman called it "Liquid Rewind" and begged Egon to patent and copy right it, only after convincing him to add flavoring to mask the terribly bitter taste. 

Spengler nodded a thank you as he plucked the red one from Ray’s hand, giving it to you. Ray watched you pressed the chilled bottle against your warm cheek. This left the already opened grape to Ray who sported a purple ring around his mouth and orange for Peter. 

"Egon, red is Pete’s favorite." Ray pointed out as Egon started unpacking the first aid kit.

"I know." 

"He hates orange." Ray reminded him. 

"I know." 

Ray nodded slowly, he knew how petty Egon could be when he was irritated, and he didn’t plan to attract the scientist’s wrath. Instead, he cheerfully patted Egon’s shoulder and moved towards the staircase, "Alrighty then, she’s all yours now. G’nite, Spengs." 

"Goodnight, Ray. Thanks for getting her home.”

"Well, she sure didn’t make it easy. For a research analyst, she’s pretty slippery." Ray laughed, mostly to himself as he shuffled up the stairs most likely to the bunk room while Spengler pulled on a pair of medical rubber gloves. Egon also knew this from experience- Graduation Weekend he had also done the chasing when you pulled honestly impressive feats of escapism. Now, alone in the lab, Egon was kneeling in front of you in record time. 

He took the first aid scissor and made quick work of ripping off your already shredding tights with such an efficiency that if you were in your right mind you probably would have been too flustered to think straight. 

Egon ignored your little noise of protest, attractive scientist or not, those had been your good tights. The scientists offered you a cocked eyebrow as he rolled the tights down your legs. You simply sighed as he started gentle strokes to clean the blood off you now bare skin.

"Did you have to give Ray such a hard time?” 

The scolding was playful even though delivered with his usual level of directness, still, even drunk you knew him well enough that it made you smile. 

"Well, I was actually giving Peter a rough time, Ray just happened to be collateral damage." Sleep was starting to wear off, leaving your words only a little slurred, as if you were taking great efforts to make sure they were clear. 

"And what did Peter do to deserve your ire this time?" Egon dousing some gauze with antiseptic. He didn’t flinch at the acrid scent, and usually you wouldn’t either, but this time your nose scrunched as Egon moved in even closer. However, you didn’t flinch in the slightest when he started dabbing at the shredding parts of your knees. Instead, you took the chance to appreciate the view of the good doctor kneeling in front of you, overhead lights casting a halo on his dark curls. It would be the perfect distance to lazily run gentle fingers through those curls. You seriously contemplated, but decided not to. You didn’t want to get blood in his pretty, soft hair. Wait- you were supposed to be answering his question… 

"Made an uncouth comment." You sniffed as Egon moved to the next knee to clean the scrape. He hummed again noticing your non answer but not commenting- one problem at a time.  

"Most of his comments are uncouth." He pointed out, pausing to smirk up at you, sighing in relief when you giggled. The was a comfortable pause as Egon focussed in on the deepest gash, but not for long.

"How is the ectoplasm variant going?" You asked after going quiet long enough that Egon wondered if you had fallen back asleep. 

"I’ll have to show you tomorrow. I want your thoughts." Egon informed, a slight smile and point of pride that you had inquired after his work even in your current state as he dabbed antibiotic cream on your knees, "The Cladosporium is behaving particularly erratic." 

"Ugh, my bet was on the Asparagus." You sighed, prodding at the edge of one of the deeper cuts at the top of your knee. Egon gently, but sternly, nudged your hand away, giving you a warning eyebrow before taping large bandage on over one knee. 

"Aspergillus." He correct, almost sounding amused as he moved to the next knee, applying the bandage with just as much care, "Hands." 

"Yes, doctor." You teased, offering both your palms. Egon gently took your left in his larger hand, using his other to repeat the same process. These scrapes were much less deep, mainly superficial, a product of catching yourself before your head hit the pavement, your knees had taken the brunt of it, but Egon was nothing if not thorough. It was quick work to clean and bandage both palms. 

"There, that should prevent an infection." Spengler informed you, holding both of your treated hands in his after disposing of his gloves, he gave them a quick, tender squeeze before pressing the bottle of red ~liquid rewind~ into your grasp, quickly cracking the lid off for you, "Drink that." 

"You know I’m not even that drunk." You scoffed, giving him a playful glare but obeying anyway, taking a long pull of the bottle, only stopping to swallow and breathe before going back in. This time both of his brows were raised as he stood, taking the trash from his impromptu clinic to the nearest bin. 

"How much have you had to drink, exactly?" 

You thought to yourself for a second, raising your eyes to the ceiling and mouthing numbers before tallying them on your fingers while you mentally replayed the night. Egon waited expectantly as he removed his lab coat, getting increasingly more concerned the longer the tally went on. 

"Lets see…. approximately pi cubed divided in half times 1.5, minus six." 

Egon didn’t even have to think about the calculation, instead being bewildered by the sheer amount of liquor you had managed to imbibe. His voice raised just a bit, mostly in disbelief and concern, "17 drinks?! (Y/N)." 

His disbelief sounded more like frustration to you, and your lip wobbled a bit as you lurched forward, regretting the sudden move but powering through as your eyebrows knitted up, looking up to the scientist pleading, voice a whine, "Don’t be mad." 

Egon shook his head with a deep sigh, catching your hand as you reached for him.

"I’m not mad. Surprised you’re coherent? Yes. Impressed at your current equational prowess? Definitely."  He listed as you weakly pulled him back towards you. Egon nudged the forgotten red stained bottle, "C’mon, a little more." 

After a long swallow, you nodded, "Well, after I slipped the boys, I made it pretty far uptown before they found me-" 

You had started almost sheepishly, this time expecting Egon’s crinkled eyebrows and interruption. 

"They lost you?" He repeated lowly, but you just shrugged, squeezing his hand as you continued your tale. 

"Only for an hour, but it was a long walk back home. Well, it was for Ray at least. So I had plenty of time to workshop my math, Ray doublechecked it for me. And I still had time for a nap." You seemed pretty proud of yourself. Egon opened his mouth, eyebrows raising then falling as his mouth closed. 

"I see. Is there a particular reason you needed to escape?" 

"Noooo…."You dragged out, using his hand to pull yourself out of you slouched sitting, using him to keep yourself steady. Egon didn’t budge, allowing the contact. His head cocked ever so slightly to the side, looking at you over the rim of his glasses. You crumbled instantly, "Yes." 

With an innocent smile, you fished into your jacket pockets, patting yourself down with increasing franticness, "I kept going until I could find a 24 hour bodega." 

"You ran off inebriated by yourself in the middle of the night to a late night convenience store in New York City? This neighborhood is basically a demilitarized zone. We’re definitely going to have to discuss that." He muttered, checking you over for any injuries he or Ray might have missed. You were undeterred by his scolding because you had found whatever you had been searching for.  

"Well, where else was I gonna find these at this hour?" You asked earnestly, revealing two only slightly squished Twinkie's. It was your turn to quirk an eyebrow, "What? Did you think I would forget about our late night snack?”

You were interrupted by a overpowering yawn, eyes suddenly drooping, "Gonna be honest though, don’t think cold Thai food is a great move for me at the moment. 

Egon took the slightly squished confection out of your hand, giving it an appraising gaze, before breaking into that signature sideways smile as you leaned into his chest. With all the secrets of the night in the open, you didn’t have much else fighting to keep you awake. Egon his arms around your back, using one hand to rub soothing circles on your back. The good doctor allowed you to stay like that, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. As your breathing slowed, more and more of your weight slumped against him. 

Egon didn’t mind, finally getting that close contact he’d been waiting all night for. Instead, he stared down at the twinkie in his hand. The cream was squeezing out of the sponge cake and smearing onto the crinkled plastic wrapper, but you had ventured countless blocks out of your way, escaping three of New York’s ghostbusters, just to pick up something you knew he’d like.  Even with 17 drinks actively shrinking your neurons, you were always so thoughtful. 

Egon was well aware of how much his friends loved him, and he would always be grateful for finding each of them. But there was always just something different about your love. If Egon possessed a more artistic disposition, he might describe it as a warm ocean wave washing over a beach. Gentle, yet unstoppable. All encompassing. He wasn’t quite sure what he had done to deserve someone like you to love him like you did, but whatever it was he’d do it a thousand times over- even if it meant cleaning you up after a long night out on the town. 

"Did you have a good time tonight?" He asked quietly, feeling you nod into his chest . His sweater was soft against your cheek and he smelled as wonderful as always: earthy yet clean and the slightest hint of something smoky like a full trap or lab experiment gone wrong. After a deep inhale you nodded again through another yawn. 

"Mmmhm. ‘missed you though." Your voice had slowed back down to its sleepy, slow tone that Egon would never admit to loving as much as he did, the warmth of him and quiet lulling you. You were fighting to stay afloat, but Egon’s thumbs working slow circles into your back were winning as he answered. 

"I missed your company as well." 

-

And it was later, when you had fallen into a deep unbothered sleep on the lab’s couch after stealing one of Egon’s t-shirts- the ones he would wear under his jumpsuit-, and using his lab coat as a blanket, that Egon thought about all this, taking a slow bite of his slightly squished gift.

Peter was right. One day, he needed to marry you.

-----

so I tried two somethings new. 1.) tried writing this more from his perspective, which isn't something I really do with any character. 2.) Paired him with a more extroverted out going reader, because I feel like we usually see him paired with more introverted types

anyways I typed this up at 3 am after crying for five hours so please excuse any typos.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I must say: I’m genuinely impressed by how creative all your stories are. I have three questions related to your writing process, if you don’t mind.

1) How do you stay motivated to keep creating?

2) Where do you find inspiration?

3) have you ever had an idea for a scene that you struggled to execute? How did you work through that to write the scene?

I love your stories! I look forward to every chapter of Charlie McNamara.

1) Motivation to create has never been an issue for me -- there's always some new thing to write about! My issue, and the issue faced by a lot of other writers, is the motivation to stick with a project to completion. That's hard. Everyone's got a hundred "works in progress" they'll never touch again because they took a break and when they came back, their attention was on something new and shiny.

My solution to this? Money.

The reason I started Curse Words as a web serial and opened a patreon for it wasn't because I ever expected to be able to make a living as a writer. I'm as surprised as anyone that so many kind people have put their support behind me and let me keep writing these fucked up stories instead of getting a real job. I did it because I wasn't getting my projects finished. I was doing what we all do; getting three quarters of the way through any given project and then finding something more fun to work on instead. And when you risk disappointing readers by doing that, well, that'll get you back in the seat over the little bumps, maybe pull you back to a project a few times. But when people are paying you actual cash in return for consistent output, on time, to story completion? That's a way bigger motivator. Even if it's just one guy. For a long time, I had one patron! It was enough! It worked! It's not about making a lot of money, which is borderline impossible as a writer (again, I still can't believe my supporters are so generous enough that i can make this my career). But it acts as some level of both proof that your work is valued, and an active obligation on your part to keep producing it on a consistent schedule. My readers are giving me something valuable for this. I can't let them down.

Sorry, I'm sure you wanted a more uplifting kind of answer. But that's just what works for me.

2) I've never really been sure how to take this question. This is basically the age-old 'where do you get your ideas?' and it... doesn't have an answer. You think of a thing and you write about it. As you resolve the problems and inconsistencies in the thing, that fills out more and more of the world of the story.

Angel is born of a mediocre Goosebumps book called Chicken, Chicken. There's a part in the book where the protagonist, slowly shapeshifting into a chicken, rips all his feathers out every morning in an attempt to slow the transformation. The book isn't really about that but it stuck with me for a good two decades until, stuck in the house for two months at the beginning of Covid, I wrote Angel.

Void Princess and The princess in the Tower are both me musing on the old 'princess kidnapped by a dragon' trope. I get really fixated on this trope for some reason; I have four or five others swimming about in my head that aren't full stories ready for the page yet. Wasting Time is just the song Pushin' the Speed of Light, World Builder was written in a fever right after watching Jacob Geller's The Shape of Infinity, Copykate was initially going to be a SAYER fanfic but required enough alterations to the setting that it worked better as a story of its own. The inspiration is out there, the ideas are out there. It's just a matter of practice to turn them into stories.

3) I try to avoid scenes that are hard for me to depict, but this isn't always possible. I'm aphantasiac and struggle a lot with scenes that have a lot of heavy visual elements. Scenes where there's a lot going on that needs to be fairly precisely depicted are tricky, too.

One particularly difficult scene for me was a fight scene in Time to Orbit: Unknown. There's about six people in a small room fighting over the fate of a bunch of other people who are not present, and the reader needs to be kept up to date on the physical positions/activity/intentions of all the combatants, the villain explaining what he's doing and why (lying), the protagonist figuring out that he's lying, the physical condition (injuries, being restrained, et cetera) of all of the combatants, and the fate of the half of the crew not in the room, all with enough detail that the reader can understand the stakes, consequences, and enough of the moment-to-moment logic of the fight that nobody's decisions are confusing. The whole thing is very fast paced and... it's a lot. It's always a difficult balance in these scenes because you want to be detailed enough to keep the reader following everything they want to follow, but you don't want to dramatically slow down the story by describing every detail. If you're using a limited viewpoint, it's a blessing and a curse; you can avoid narrating the stuff your character can't see or isn't paying attention to, but you also have to find a way to get across information that your character might not be able to see, either by forcing them to see it or by having it conveyed in some other way in the scene. With busy scenes like this, I like to work backwards -- decide what specifically the reader needs to know, decide what is needed to get the characters to the places I want them at the end of the scene, and write a scene with as little as possible in it except for those two things. Sometimes, communicating those two things requires a bit of setup.

In Curse Words, there's an ancient magic spell passed down a family line from parent to child. It's a communication spell that allows people to see through each others' eyes and hear through their ears. Before the existence of long-distance wireless communications, this sort of information transfer was enormously powerful; wars can be turned with that power, trade networks created or conquered. It made its family enormously powerful, to the point where they're the most powerful magical family in the world even in the time of the story, with the spell long buried and its advantage lost to an age of mobile phones and cameras. It's massively influential to the worldbuilding of the story.

I introduced it for one reason and one reason alone -- I knew that eventually, I would be writing a climax to the story where a lot of people were doing a lot of things in a lot of different locations, and the protagonist was only going to be in one of those places. And I knew that I was going to need some way to tell the audience what the fuck was happening while he was running around in caves and shit.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

The Lipless Man: From the casebook of Akechi Kogoro

Translated by Alexis J Brown

[His] thirst for revenge had been inhuman. He was either insane or pure evil. A vampire that fed on fear. How could any harbour such hatred, no matter how badly they felt wronged? Tsunekawa, and even Akechi, recoiled at his speech, which sounded like a curse reverberating from the bowels of hell.

People can bear any horror, no matter how terrifying, as long as it remains in sight. But when something dematerialises before their eyes, like white breath on a frosty day, panic can take hold in an instant.

‘I’ve a funny feeling you’ve both been pulling my leg,’ the Inspector said, strolling in the direction of the temple gate. ‘Both of us?’ Akechi asked, smiling in his customary way. ‘You and the lipless man.’ ‘Ha! What an extraordinary idea!’ ‘It’s like the two of you are playing your own peculiar game. Every hunch you’ve had has been miraculously spot on. And as for the ghoul, somehow he knew it would be you who’d dig up that coffin. He predicted as much in his letter. How could that be, unless you’d both planned it in advance?’ It was not obvious whether the Inspector was joking or not. He looked at Akechi with an unnatural smirk on his lips. ‘Maybe we’re the same person. Like in one of Maurice LeBlanc’s Lupin stories. By day, I’m an amateur detective, by night, a murderous fiend. What a set-up!’ Akechi laughed, long and loud, and eventually Tsunekawa had to join in. ‘Speaking of works of fiction,’ the Inspector said at last, ‘This case has had its own cast of bohemian characters. Artists, writers, and the lipless man himself.’ ‘That may well be intentional. Great criminals have fantastical ambitions...'

There is a dark side to life. An evil lurking in the shadows. Whatever horrors envisaged by the most demonic poet, they're nothing to what takes place in reality.

For hardcore Edogawa Ranpo fans:

One character in this story appears to be loosely based on Edogawa Ranpo himself! Sonoda Kokkō, a writer of detective fiction, is described in the novel as follows:

It appeared Sonoda Kokkō had written bizarre short stories for a select audience with a taste for his brand of grotesque nonsense. He’d produced one piece of fiction a year, often surprising his editors who’d completely forgotten about him. Nobody had known where he lived or what he looked like; not anyone at the magazine that published his fiction, and certainly not the general public. His manuscripts were never sent from the same post office twice, and his fee had always gone back to whatever post office that had been. His landlord and neighbours hadn’t even been aware he was a writer. He’d no friends, and had always kept his doors and windows locked whether he was in or out. All anyone knew about him was that he’d been a loner. ‘The property we searched was in a very desolate part of Ikebukuro. A small detached house. When we looked inside, it was like wandering around a haunted mansion. There were skeletons hanging in the closets, dolls heads, wet with red ink, left on all the tables, and coloured woodblock prints of the most bloodcurdling scenes plastered on every wall. I’m sure you get the picture.’ ‘Fascinating,’ Akechi nodded keenly. ‘His shelves were filled with books on criminology, criminal history, and true crime stories. In the drawers of his desk were pages and pages of unfinished manuscripts...

At one point in The Lipless Man, a story written by Sonoda Kokkō is referenced and used to discover the hiding place of the book's villain. I won't spoil the surprise entirely, but the short story by Sonoda Kokkō is remarkably similar to a famous story written by Edogawa Ranpo!

The Lipless Man was published in 1930, and four years later Edogawa Ranpo moved to a home in Ikebukuro where he lived for the next 31 years. The building where he lived is now The Edogawa Rampo Memorial Center for Popular Culture Studies (The Edogawa Rampo Residence). You can find learn more at their website: https://english.rikkyo.ac.jp/research/research_institutes/rampo.html

[wardenparker]

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 1

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 19.6k Warnings: Drug and alcohol use (duh, it’s Dieter), mentions of dieting/food concerns, past pregnancy scare, young Dieter being a bit sleazy, the absolute sass of these two, emotional damage, self-doubt, puppy love, vaginal sex, protected sex, workplace quickie, one very determined slap, yelling/arguing, anger, mention of addiction. Summary: Taking a new film project at the last minute puts you in immediate proximity with the one man you swore you would never work with again - your old flame, Dieter Bravo. Notes: This story contains flashbacks! Nobody is underage, but it’s worth giving you a heads up, lovely reader, because this story jumps around in time.

It doesn't matter how many times you do this, each table read for a new project is always exciting. The feeling of giddiness starts in your toes and rolls all the way through you to the top of your head. It has you up and awake and ready to go this morning even without the coffee that is piping hot in your travel mug as you pull your car into one of the designated spots behind the soundstage in the studio lot. Ten years in Hollywood have been good to you - really good, if you're honest. And the years on Broadway had been amazing before that.

You've never taken for granted how impressive your resume is or how upward your career continues to climb, and that includes days like today. The studio had asked for you specifically, your agent said on the phone last night. Some timing issue with the original star that the director wanted and the producers were jumping on it to bring you in instead. No audition necessary, all contract terms agreed to with no questions asked. She even managed to negotiate a slightly higher salary for you than usual. Your best paid project to boot and it will be a character-driven drama. Surefire Oscar nominations. Everyone is over the moon about the project, she said. The only thing she didn't know was who you were playing opposite. Doesn't matter, you had told her cheerily. I'm a professional.

For the most part, the cast has arrived already when you walk into the room. There are some faces you recognize and some that you don't, but everyone is chatting merrily as they set themselves up at the table. Your coffee and water, pencil and highlighter all neatly frame the shooting script that the production assistant sets down in front of you when he also sets down your name tag - letting the other people in the room know who you are and who you're playing in the film. There's only one empty seat with five minutes left before the reading is set to begin, and you're busy replying to an e-mail about a public appearance to see the name on the tag of the person who will be sitting directly across from you.

Dieter Bravo.

******

Wincing behind his sunglasses, Dieter stumbles towards the conference room that has been designated for the table read. Unable to fathom why they insist on doing these damn things so fuckin' early. It's not like there's a scene that's going to be shot right after. Groaning, he reaches into his pocket to pull out the bottle where his aspirin, antacids and speed are all mixed together like a colorful little surprise every time he shakes some into his hand. "Goddamn." He huffs, popping a handful of them into his mouth, heedless of what they are and takes the already opened bottle of water that his long suffering assistant is holding out to him as she tries to hurry him along the sharply lit hallway. "Which one is this?" He asks, unsure of exactly what table read he is walking into. He barely pays attention to what his agent books for him anymore, just as long as he is working and there are the drugs he needs supplied, he is fine with whatever at this point.

"The working title is Ego Death." His assistant tells him, though she knows that isn't actually the question he's asking. 'It's the one filming partially in London and France." What he wants to know is where he's going. Where his partial vacation is going to be. This one, though, she doesn't mind so much. Working out of Pinewood Studios is actually one of her favorite places to be if they aren't filming at home in LA.

"Uh huh, uh huh." Dieter bobbles his head as he swallows the water and grimaces. He would prefer wine or a scotch to chase the pills but Desiree had demanded that he drink some water in the morning at least. To counteract all the non-water beverages he drinks later throughout the day. "Like France. The people seem to like me. I always get lucky in Paris."

“I know, Dee.” Of course, Desiree knows. She’s the one who has to fend off the angry one-night stands for a week or two afterward. Almost every single time. She sighs as they round the corner of the hallway. “Here we go. Conference Room C. The production assistant has me on call to come pick you up later, so I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Dieter shakes his arms and his head in an effort to clear his thoughts but all he does is make himself dizzy. Nearly tripping over the carpeted floor when he missteps and nearly goes crashing into the wall. "Fuck!" He yelps, waving her away immediately. "I'm good. Just..." He looks down at his crocks and huffs. "Fuckin' things are trying to kill me."

"Maybe next time you'll wear the tennis shoes I put out for you," his assistant suggests, knowing he never will. "Go on in, Dieter. You're actually on time."

"Why would I want to be on time?" He huffs, rolling his eyes and stopping short of the door so he can root around and look for the candy he had stuffed in his pockets. "Hey, can you get me some uh...some uh...shit?" He asks, forgetting the word for what he wants but he knows she will understand.

"Sweater pocket, not robe pocket." The little Italian hard candies that he likes are mandatory when he has anything to do that lasts more than an hour, like an edible fidget toy. Unfortunately, the fact that he's wearing a cardigan and a robe both with deep pockets means he loses track of things. "And being on time is respectful to your costars, Dee. And to the production staff. Which is why you are on time." She opens the conference room door pointedly. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He wants to grumble at her, point out that he is the star of this particular drama, but instead, he's turning towards the room full of people. Immediately cocking his head as he takes in the group behind the large, dark sunglasses. Smirking slightly at some and then his brows raise when he spots someone he never expected to see at a read through table with him.

You.

"You have to be fucking kidding me..." You look up when you hear the door open, expecting to see your final costar strolling in. Instead you're greeted with the vision of Dieter-fucking-Bravo being nearly shoved through the door by his assistant and your eyes dart down to the last remaining name tag. Dieter Bravo. It reads, and underneath it, his role. This is going to be an absolute fucking disaster.

You’re here. Quickly Dieter schools his expression into one of nonchalance and shuts down the urge to immediately ask why you are here. It’s pretty obvious when you are sitting across from the only empty seat. His seat. You’re his co-star. Dieter hisses under his breath and adopts a careless grin. “Hey everyone. Guess I made it. We can start.”

"Fantastic." The director is excited and nervous, trying his best to look and act in charge of this powerhouse cast that he's been lucky enough to assemble. This is his Oscar bait, right here in this room – the screenplay and the subject manner of the film are icing on the cake. "Welcome everyone. Good morning. The next few months are looking to be very exciting and we're going to get started quickly. This week is hair and makeup trials, costume fittings, and a few location details. Next week we'll be at Pinewood and we’ll finish with the location shoots in France. We're not wasting any time here."

"As long as there is time for playing, I'm good." Dieter jokes as he walks around to the swivel chair in front of a script book with his name on it. "Can't go to France and not play." He glances over at you, watching as you very pointedly look down at your script and inwardly scoffs at the very prim and fashionable outfit you are wearing. Everyone else is in casual clothes, but you are dressed to impress.

A reputation built on talent, hard work, and professionalism has made your name gold in this business, but Dieter never had to worry about any of that. The term nepo baby seems to have been invented just for him and that huge dynasty family of actors, directors, and producers that he's descended from. No wonder he has so little regard for everyone else's time. You shake your head to shake off the anger and flip open your script while the director talks on about plans for a speedy shooting schedule and getting ahead of the studio's timeline. It's the same stuff every director talks about in the beginning, and while you listen you jot down a few notes to yourself of questions you have and requests to pass on to your assistant. The most important being making sure that your hotel room is as far away from Dieter's as possible while you're on location.

Dieter pretends like he's not paying attention. He's good at that. A lifetime spent on stage and behind the scenes of sets leaves him with a sense of boredom when it comes to this kind of thing. Tapping his own pen on the script as he watches you scribble furiously like you are studying for a test.

"Alright, you all know how this works." When he's gotten through the speech that is meant to be inspiring and encouraging, your director sits down at the head of the long table and opens his own script. "Our first AD will read stage directions, you'll all read your roles, and we'll break for lunch before we touch base over questions and concerns." He is practically vibrating in his seat as he looks around. "Unless anyone has something they want to mention before we begin?"

"Yeah." Dieter twists lazily in his seat to look from the director towards you and he pulls his sunglasses down. "How did you come to work on this film?" He asks, smirking slightly as if he knows the answer. Conceited enough that he might just believe that you jumped at the chance to work with him again.

"I was asked." Sitting up straight in your seat, you reach for the travel mug full of coffee that you brought and instantly wish there was brandy in it as well. "I was told there was a timing issue with the previous leading lady, but now I'm wondering if she didn't pull out after finding out who she was going to have to put up with." Something you might consider doing, too, if you had found out before showing up here today. Now it would just give him too much satisfaction to feel like he won something, and you would never give him any satisfaction.

Snorting, Dieter grins as he looks around the room, not even caring that plenty of people are shuffling uncomfortably in their seats. "You mean the only one in this room with that little golden statue?" He asks, eyes finding yours again.

"And the only one who will shove it in everyone else's faces?" He would bring up your most recent snub in a room full of people just to be a dick. It was barely three weeks ago that you lost that Oscar and the wound is still fresh. Of course, it was freshest the next morning, when he had gloatingly sent a Better luck next time style note to your house. How the bastard had your address was beyond you.

"Nahhhh." Dieter shakes his head. "I keep that on display at home. I don't just carry it around." He chuckles quietly at his own comment and shrugs. "Sure that you'll get one, one day."

Your lips are pursed as you look down at your script after taking a sip of coffee, and you scrawl a note in the margins of your script to remind yourself that this would be an excellent picture to elevate yourself to executive producer on. If he's going to be petty, then you're going to be petty's boss.

Bored of bantering with you, Dieter drops his pen and grunts, reaching for his pocket to try to hunt down another one of those candies. Knowing that if he kept up, he would say something that he might actually feel bad about. Which was rare for him.

"Okay. Well." When your director clears his throat it's nervous instead of excited. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Unwrapping a candy, Dieter halfway listens as he opens the script and squints at the page. He needs goddamn glasses but he's too vain to get them and despite snorting powder and popping pills, the idea of sticking his fucking fingers in his eyeballs makes him squeamish.

It's a rocky start. You aren't vain enough to claim otherwise. And the looks on the faces of your castmates and the present members of the production team say so also. Dieter is tripping over his words despite not seeming to be overtly intoxicated and is causing the reading to take twice as long. By the time you get halfway through – to the scene containing a slap, a screaming match, and a smashed prop – you're feeling like this won't be acting at all. Starring in a movie opposite Dieter is going to be exactly as infuriating and maddening as you suspected it would be.

"Who wrote this shit?" Dieter scoffs, irritated with the way that the read is going. "It doesn't flow. It's gotta flow." He looks around for support from some of the other cast and then towards the director. "Not to act like an ass but who talks like this? We are supposed to be in the 1920's not the 1720's."

"Perhaps the problem isn't with the writing but with the reading." After the way he snarked at you in the beginning, you aren't about to let the director take Dieter's vitriol alone.

"Why don't we take a quick five?" He suggests, looking around to see relief on some of the actors' faces as they nod in agreement. "That's five, everyone. Grab a drink or a snack if you need it, bathrooms are down the hall."

Sneering at you, Dieter pushes away from the table and stomps off, needing to piss and to see why the hell the speed he had taken isn't working. Maybe he didn't manage to take any. "Fuck this."

"Hello?" Desiree wasn't expecting to see her boss's name pop up on the caller ID for another hour bare minimum, and she puts down the other half of her sandwich in resignation when she picks up the call. If Dieter is calling, something has upset him. "How's the reading going, Dee?" She asks with a pointedly cheerful tone in her voice.

"Get me the fuck out of this." Dieter growls, holding the phone away from his head. He hates the damn bluetooth built into every damn device. It fucks with his brain waves and he feels weird. "I don't give a shit how, I'm not doing this fucking piece of shit movie."

"You loved the script when you read it." His assistant frowns on the other end of the line. "You have a studio contract, Dee, and you already wriggled your way out of the thriller they wanted you to do. This is it. There's not a way out of this that doesn't involve you getting sued and losing a ton of work." She sighs softly, rolling through the possible things that could have upset him when she lands on the most likely. "Is there someone I need to push to have recast?"

Your name is on the tip of his tongue. Unease and unresolved issues with you curl and curdle in his gut and he opens his mouth to tell her exactly who he wants to have gone. But then he realizes if he does, you win. You would see it as a victory. "No." He grunts into the phone, sighing softly. "Fuck this."

"I'll see if I can arrange some extra goodies for you from the production staff." Desiree offers, knowing that getting him treats of any kind usually eases Dieter's grumpiness. "You contract riders were all agreed to, but there are always upgrades we can negotiate for. I'll see what I can manage. How does that sound?"

"I better get some KitKats too." Dieter huffs, pouting because he's going to have to deal with the sass and snark, the fucking attitude of filming with you. "Lots of them."

"I'll see what extra flavors I can get imported." As his go-to candy, the list of places to procure specialty KitKats and country-exclusive flavors is one Desiree can navigate with her eyes closed and half asleep.

"Okay." Dieter agrees after a long moment. "Hey, uh, can you schedule me an appointment for that surgery to fix your eyes?"

"I can..." Desiree pauses in thought. "I'll have to arrange it for during filming. We won't be able to get an appointment before you have to be on location."

"Do it." He grunts, rubbing his eyes. "Can barely see the fuckin' script."

"I'll pull what strings I have to." Any weakness Dieter actually admits to is worth noting, and she pushes her plate away to pull out her iPad. The agenda she keeps coordinates both of their schedules and even though he never actually checks it, it's invaluable to her. "You should get back to the reading, Dee. I'll take care of everything." After all – that is her job.

In the bathroom, Dieter leans in and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He blows out a sigh, able to see the wrinkles that are starting to crease his face, some of the gray that is starting to creep into the scruff on the side of his face. He's fucking 38 years old in two months. He's getting old. Maybe he'll get his ears pierced.

******

"Sam." As soon as Dieter is gone from the room, you slide out of your seat to go speak to the director. He's not too green in the business, but hasn't been around enough to be jaded yet, which gives you a little hope that he can be spoken to like a reasonable person. "Can I grab you for a second?"

"What's on your mind?" He asks, reaching for his bottle of water and twisting the cap off. Hoping that this tense atmosphere that has descended over the table read is just a one off. Maybe it would count as the trouble on set and the rest of the production would roll smoothly.

"First of all, I wanted to apologize." Humbling yourself isn't exactly a bad idea considering you were half the cause of the ruckus this morning, and you offer the director an appropriate frown. "Obviously that wasn't the first impression I had wanted to make on you, and it won't be repeated. I hope you can forgive and forget?"

"For what?" Sam shakes his head. "I knew that Dieter was going to cause waves. It's one of the reasons I wanted to work with him. He's unpredictable!"

“He certainly is that.” In a way that makes your chest clench on the verge of simply caving in. “I wondered if I could ask you something, Sam? Obviously I’m coming into this late and meeting people for the first time, but the script is wonderful.” Despite what some people say, you want to add, but keep your mouth shut since you just apologized for mouthing off. “I was wondering how your production team has fleshed out. And whether or not you might have room for one more?”

Sam tilts his head thoughtfully and seems to mull it over. "You know...I do." He hums, eyes lighting up. "I'll have to ask Dieter if he wants the billing. It'll go great with the studio."

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked.” It takes biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying something snarky or downright disrespectful. “Unpredictable is great for an artist. But not really what you want in someone controlling the purse strings, if you know what I mean.”

Sam rolls his eyes at himself and sighs. "Yeah. I can see where that would go wrong if Dieter decides to pull some kind of stunt." He agrees reluctantly before turning his gaze on you and studies you. "I'm assuming that you want the spot on the executive production team?"

“Otherwise what’s the point in asking?” You have a good reputation and an exemplary track record, so your desire to be Dieter’s boss aside – it’s actually not a bad deal for this young director. “I can get you some references if you’re on the fence, but I can assure you ahead of time that they’ll be glowing.”

Tapping the water bottle against his palm, Sam hums. "Yeah, send me an email and I will look it over tonight, okay?" He reaches out and pats your shoulder. "How do you feel about the role? Excited?"

“I really am, yeah.” In fact, the role had endless and exciting artistic appeal before you realized who you were playing opposite. “She’s an extremely intelligent and volatile woman, and I think the audience of people who will be able to relate to her is huge. You’ve got a great picture on your hands here.” As long as Dieter doesn’t fuck it up.

"I know you will be able to bring her to life." Sam offers, his own excitement for the film shining brightly as he starts to twitch. "We are going to make it happen. That Oscar that you should have won this year."

“That’s very nice of you.” Though you do wish people would stop mentioning it. The wound is still a little fresh. “I really think we have something special here. This summer will be a lot of hard work but really worth it.”

"Well, you go get a snack and some water, I'm going to go – uh, use the restroom and we will get the table read done." Sam nods towards you and steps around you to make a hurried rush towards the bathroom.

Satisfied that you saved a conversation that might have taken a very undesirable turn, you let yourself linger at the craft services table and make another cup of coffee to go with the pastry you don’t let yourself grab. You’ll be fine until you can get out of here and have something homemade. Fewer calories that way.

"They have anything with chocolate?" Dieter asks, stepping up beside you as he surveys the table. Slightly disappointed with the options today. If this shit keeps up, he will have to ask that another caterer is brought in. There's too much rabbit food here.

“No.” Tight lipped the second you realize he’s standing next to you, your shoulders tense but you exhale slowly to try not to show it. You know damn well he’s looking for candy and that there’s chocolate in some of the pastries, but you’re not going to tell him shit. “Looks like you’ll have to survive off something other than intoxicants for at least another couple of hours.”

"Well, shit." He grunts, scratching his belly and glancing over at you. "What's got your panties in a fucking twist?" He asks when you don't even look over at him.

“Don’t for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.” You bite out, focusing on not shaking with actual anger or frustration.

"Oh but I used to." Dieter chuckles and decides that he will blow up that bridge that he had been hanging on to. "So tell me..." he leans in and smirks at you. "How's the kid?" The sarcasm is lacing every word and he chuckles again.

“Go to hell, Bravo.” Without sparing him even a cursory glance, you turn on your heel and walk away. Just because you have to work with him does not mean you have to be sociable.

"So, good?" Dieter shouts after you, grinning at the way your back couldn't get any straighter if you had a board strapped to it. You don't even turn your head and after you walk out of sight, Dieter slumps slightly, the victory not as sweet as he had imagined it would be.

Without warning you’re twenty-one again and staring at the walls of your fifth-floor studio walk up the day after he left. Up and left without a word, not even to you. The pregnancy test in the trash and the telephone that never rings both taunt you, speaking volumes without ever saying a word. “Perfect.” You grit out, knowing very well that he knows you don’t have any children. Though he doesn’t know what happened at all.

******

"Hello, gorgeous." Dieter slides into the seat beside you and flashes you a charming grin, eyes lighting up when he sees the way your eyes flutter and your lip is pulled between your teeth. "I hear from a little birdie, you are going to be my co-star." He had seen your audition and actually told the producer of the play that you were his choice for the lead.

"H–hi." God, he's even more handsome in person, is the first thought in your head when you turn your head to see the former child star Dieter Bravo sidling up to you in the theater. You had gotten here early to try to set your mind straight before the first rehearsal but now it's already hazy from his smile. "Yeah, I–I'm playing Catherine." You're playing his wife – his wife – and it even includes an onstage kiss. It's enough to have your nerves on high alert, but you're so excited.

"Your audition was good, great even." Dieter praises, twisting in his seat and making sure you feel the full force of his smile up close. His mother always said his smile was what drew people in. At least when he was younger. Now that he's in his twenties, he's going through that slump that most child actors seem to endure, hoping like hell that he can spend a few years on stage before he gets his chance to show Hollywood what he can do as an adult. "I told Danny he was an idiot if he didn't cast you."

"You liked my audition?" Fresh out of acting academia, auditioning for Broadway of all things was a longshot, but here you are. Your very first Broadway audition turning into your very first Broadway show. With the world's most gorgeous stage husband, to boot. "I...that's so nice of you! I'm just– I'm so excited for this show. A–and to work with you. It's just...it's a dream come true."

"Yeah?" Dieter grins, already sensing the crush you have on him and liking the way your shy and eager smile makes him feel. "Well, we have to make sure that we make all of your dreams come true, Bambi."

"Bambi?" You knew you looked flustered, but do you really look so ridiculous that he's calling you a deer in the headlights? The idea is completely horrifying and you bite your lip again, unintentionally making yourself look all the more innocent and sweet.

"Fuck." Dieter groans, imagining that innocent look on your face as you look up at him from your knees with his cock in your mouth. "Sweet, innocent little doe eyes." He explains, reaching out and brushing a piece of pastry off your cheek from where you had already raided the coffee cart.

"Oh." At least it's nothing bad - nothing you need to be mortified over. Though your cheeks might completely catch fire if he touches you unprompted again. You weren't expecting it and you feel like you're going to spontaneously combust. "I–um...that's very sweet. But are you okay?" Concern shines through, knitting your eyebrows together temporarily. "You swore and it sounded like...pain? Maybe?"

Are you a virgin? Dieter's eyes sparkle and he shakes his head as he grins. "No, nothing I can't handle, though I might ask you for some assistance later on." He flirts.

"Oh, of course!" Nodding before you could possibly hesitate, you're leaning toward him in your seat like there's some kind of magnet drawing you in. "Did you want to run lines after rehearsal or something?"

Chuckling, Dieter nods. "Something like that." He confides, leaning in. "Think we need to run some chemistry tests." He suggests. "You know, so we don't fumble on stage."

"Oh, of course." Chemistry tests were something you had heard about from your friends who had already gone out to LA to audition for movies, but they were rare in theater as far as you knew. Or at least they never got called that. Working with a movie star was going to be so different, you could tell already. "That–that sounds like a perfect idea. The last thing we want is to hold up rehearsals being awkward on stage, right?"

"Sooooooo." God, you are innocent and Dieter's cock twitching in his pants at how quickly you agree to his idea. "I say we do our read through, and we go get dinner." He offers. "You know…talk."

"Right." Your head bobs in total agreement, pulse quickening at the idea of it. Just because you've nursed a little crush on him for about forever does not mean anything else. This is work. Your career. You're just incredibly goddamn lucky that you get to do it – the play – with him. "Yeah, absolutely. Get a...a foundation for knowing each other, right?"

"Right." Dieter grins and bites his lip. "It doesn't hurt that I think you're very beautiful." He admits with a small wink. You are pretty, you are fresh faced but he hadn't been lying. You did have incredible potential for someone right out of your acting class.

If you spontaneously combust on that spot, it will be from that wink and that wink alone. You can barely squeak out a "thank you" without feeling like your entire face is on fire.

"Awww, don't be shy." He coos, even though he loves it and wants you to keep being shy for him. This narrow window before you get comfortable with him is very finite and he wants to enjoy it. "You and I are going to get real close."

"It's such an amazing opportunity." Maybe for him things like this are old hat, but for you? This is a literal dream come true. It flies in the face of every time your parents told you acting could never be a realistic career choice, or every teacher who had told you that you weren't enough somehow. This is the big time.

Grinning, he leans back in his seat and picks up the drink that he had managed to snag before turning his attention to you. Only taking his eyes off you when the producer comes into the room. Casually sliding his arm around you and shuffling closer as the producer starts to speak. "Here we go." He grins, knowing that this will change both of your lives.

******

The hotel they have the cast and crew booked into is right in the heart of London, tidy modern rooms with all the amenities and specifically suited to dealing with large groups of long-term guests. The kitchen does room service 24-hours a day and there is a coffee machine in your room, along with a kettle and a microwave so you can do a few things yourself. It's a suite even if it's on the small side, and you don't mind that. This is work, after all. Not a vacation. If you want to have fun during your free time you can always go out. The view, at least, is fantastic. Sitting out on your balcony to enjoy the view, you're putting off unpacking just a little bit – until the French doors of the balcony next to you open. Why is Dieter in the room right next to you?

Groaning, Dieter opens the door and stretches, making sure that he scratches his stomach as he takes in the view. "Ohhhh shit, I love London." he shouts out, grinning when a few people down on the street below look up at him.

"So much for using my balcony," you grouse, immediately shoving out of the chair and going back inside. You'll have to restrict your usage to when Dieter is passed out or on set without you.

“Oh seriously?” The movement catches his eye and Dieter turns to see you getting up and puffing up like an angry ostrich as you stomp towards your slider door. “You can’t stand to be around me?” He demands, oddly hurt by the idea. “There was a time you loved being in my presence.”

Pausing halfway through the door, you look back at him with an expression that can only be described as undisguised hurt. You had been aiming for disgust and fallen slightly short despite your best effort. "Unbelievably enough, I grew out of it."

“What would you have had me do?” Dieter asks, flapping his hands in the air. “Stay?” He had the opportunity of a lifetime. The break that made him Dieter Bravo, actor and not just Dieter Bravo, child actor. He couldn’t have risked it. Wouldn’t risk it to be trapped by an obvious scam.

Tamping down the urge to just straight out scream at him, you cross your arms over the chest and force yourself to sigh out the angry breath you took. "You could have at least said goodbye."

Dieter frowns at you, unwilling to admit that he had fumbled that. Been unable to say goodbye in his panicked state. He barely remembers packing or getting on the fucking plane. Didn’t help he was blazed out of his fucking mind. “I said I had to go.”

"You told the production team. Not me." You correct him, biting out every word like the English language itself personally offended you. "You didn't say goodbye. You didn't return a single fucking phone call, text message, or e-mail. Nothing. What if I had been pregnant?" Feeling your voice rise, you squeeze your eyes shut and shudder on another deep exhale. "You abandoned me flat and made me the butt of jokes in interviews for years. How am I supposed to forgive that?"

“Forgive me?” Dieter looks personally offended by the question. “Don’t give me some sob story, you tried to baby trap me!” He huffs at you. “Who peed on the stick for you? Mandy? That girl was always pregnant. Sold the pee sticks for $30 bucks a pop to rope whatever poor bastard was on the fence with some girl.”

"I was terrified." The anger is right back on the surface in an instant, and you hate yourself for how close to tears you are. "I was so fucking–" In love with him, that's the real end of that sentence, but you veer off course rather than ever admit that to him. "Scared that I did two whole boxes of tests and went to a doctor the day after you straight out abandoned me. It was a false positive, you son of a bitch. Six of them, to be exact. It took an actual doctor's office to tell me I wasn't carrying a bastard's baby."

The rate at which Dieter deflates would almost be comical, robe tie dragging on the ground when his entire body just seems to slump. He’s held onto the idea you were trying to trap him for years, reminding him of why he was right to leave you without another word. His father’s words ringing in his ears. “Oh.”

"Oh." Your huff of disgust could rattle windows. "Is that all you have to say?"

Dieter frowns, not capable of processing the complex emotions that are trying to creep through his mind. Long repressed feelings threatening to bubble to the surface. He bites his lip and looks up at where you are staring at him. Still fuckin pretty but no longer the innocent 21-year-old you were when he met you. “Do you want—” he licks his lips and swallows, “–to have sex with me?” He asks, lifting his brows.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." It doesn't even deserve an answer and you don't give him one, just turn to walk into your room, slamming the glass door behind you so it rattles so hard it threatens to shatter.

“Fuck.” Dieter hisses quietly, staring at your door for another moment before he decides that he is way too sober to deal with this new information. His emergency stash needs to be broken into and he has a feeling he will eat three KitKats for dinner.

This whole fucking production is going to be agony, you can feel it right in the front of your skull where your migraine is forming as you dry sob on the sofa in the front room of your suite. There's no way you can face anybody tonight – not with the way you're feeling now. It's going to be room service and an early night with aromatherapy, you can feel it.

******

He’s a hell of a lot more alert than he should be, all things considered. Taking several downers last night so he could get the image of your hurt face out of his mind. Grunting as he nurses his coffee and sits in the makeup chair for his call time.

There are twice as many shots of espresso in your travel mug this morning as there should be, but you had overheard some of the production team giggling about how handsome Dieter is as soon as you opened the door to your suite and it had caused you to turn right around and brew yourself a double dose to summon the strength to face the day. Your own assistant – bless her – is walking by your side trying to tell you about the shooting schedule for the day, but you feel like you're walking through fog. "Sadie, I'm sorry," you put one hand on her arm in the elevator and offer her an apologetic expression. "Will you give me that again? I'm not myself this morning."

“Are you alright?” Concern laces her expression as she looks up from her phone. You have been a dream to work for and she cares about you. Not because of her job, but because you don’t treat her like an accessory. “You’ve seemed…off since the table read.”

“I have absolutely been off since the table read.” You can admit that to her with ease. “I’ll be okay.” It’s a small reassurance, as you rub your eyes and lean against the elevator wall. “Just…what scenes are we shooting today?”

“The big argument.” Sadie explains, wincing slightly. It’s always tense when the high emotion scenes are filmed. “They felt like it would be good considering the…tension during the table read.”

“Ah.” You nod, knowing you’ll have no trouble getting mad at Dieter at any point. They always say that drawing from personal experience is the way to portray genuine emotion — well, that will be extremely easy. “I can’t say I blame them. It makes sense to get something that big when you’ve seen the tension first hand.”

“And hopefully that will get it out of the way.” She doesn’t know why there is tension between you and Dieter, but there are already rumors swirling between the production team.

“I sincerely doubt it.” You take a sip of your coffee and look at your assistant, knowing that she has as quick and shrewd a mind as anyone you’ve ever met. She’s more than your assistant – Sadie is your right arm. She’s your friend. “You have that face.” The elevator hits the bottom floor and opens, letting the two of you out. “There’s already talk, isn’t there?”

“Some.” She admits, biting her lip. “More…speculation than anything right now. But I’m sure that someone curious will find something.” If there’s something to be found is silently hanging after her comment.

You swallow a sigh and nod, heading through the lobby with her to the hotel’s parking structure where your rental car waits. “Why don’t you drive us to set, and I’ll tell you what happened? Better you should hear it from me than some gossipy PA.”

“It’s none of my business.” Of course, she desperately wants to know, but she also knows that being vulnerable is probably the thing you hate most with others. She gets the sense you’ve been hurt badly before.

“You’ve been my assistant – and my friend – for six years, you deserve the dignity of the truth.” This is the woman who has taken care of you, shielded you, catered to you, and protected you every single day without argument or complaint. She hears every rumor and knows which ones to squash versus which ones can be stoked. She fields requests from professionals in every area of life. She’s even fended off your father when he came looking for money on multiple occasions. The truth is the least you can do. “Most people in the movie industry don’t pay attention to theater,” you begin when you climb into the little Citroen that has been supplied for you by the production company. “But that’s where I started. After NYU, I got incredibly lucky and I went right to Broadway. The—” It brings back enough memories, vivid ones, that you have to clear your throat to go on. “The male lead was from a dynasty family. He saw my audition and had me cast. And then…promptly talked his way into my bed. I was just a kid and I really didn’t know any better. But he…he always knew exactly the right words. Exactly the right touch. You would feel like you were the only person in the whole world when he gave you his attention.”

Shit. Sadie’s face falls and she sighs softly. She was a huge fan of Dieter Bravo’s when he hit Hollywood as an adult. Enough to know that it sounds exactly like him. She hadn’t put the timeline together until it was laid out for her. “And it ended badly?” The fallout from a failed romance would definitely cause acrimony. Look at Lena Heady and Jerome Flynn.

“That’s a very polite way of saying it.” You look out the window and sigh at the rainy London streets moving by. “It started that first night and kept going the whole time. Until one day before call I…I told him that I thought I was pregnant and he took off without a word. That night his understudy went on and that was it.”

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” Furious on your behalf, Sadie huffs and shakes her head. “Asshole! I hope you enjoy slapping the shit out of him today.”

“Oh, I will.” There are probably few things you will ever enjoy as much in your life. “He had the nerve to say that I tried to baby trap him.” The accusation is still ringing in your ears from last night, and you’re only glad it’s not obvious how much you cried. It’s humiliating to admit that your days of crying over that asshole aren’t over. “I was twenty-one. Having a baby would have ended my career before it could begin.”

“Jesus.” Sadie snorts, shaking her head. “I know that there was a rash of that around that time, but that’s just…cruel.”

“So you can understand why I have been a little more tense lately.” You shake your head and fold your hands in your lap, trying to refocus your energy and not wallow. “I’m sorry if I’ve unintentionally said or done something to upset you while I’ve been distracted.”

“Not at all.” You were probably the best boss she could have ever asked for and in turn, she is highly protective of you. Anyone who wanted to paint you in a negative light would have to hear from her. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Of course it is. Sadie is an inherently kind person who takes absolutely no shit. It’s one of the things you loved about her right from the day you interviewed her. “I don’t know anything about his assistant, but it might be worth making friends early, if you can. He’s exactly petty enough to try to cause problems and he might use them for that.”

She smirks and looks over at you as if you are behind the curve. “We had drinks last night.” She informs you. “So I’m already on that.”

“Oh yeah?” If Sadie ever outgrows you as a client you’ll be damned upset about it. She really is the best. “What kind of poor suffering idiot does he have working for him?”

“His agent suffers no fools and knows exactly who her client is.” Sadie chuckles. “His assistant is very sexy, very gay and would probably do well working as a dominatrix if being Dieter’s assistant didn’t pan out.”

“Gay, huh?” That makes you huff a laugh under your breath, assuming it wasn’t done by accident. A lesbian would never have any interest sleeping with Dieter - making it the smartest possible choice. “Sexy in general or sexy your type?”

“Sexy as in definitely my type.” Sadie confirms with a grin. “She’s got Dieter down, so apparently a lot of his bullshit is just bluster. She says he’s a needy, surprisingly emotional, manchild.” She snorts. “Who talks about Bambi in his sleep.”

“What did you just say?” It’s a good thing that she was pulling up to a stoplight anyway, because Sadie slams on the brakes of the car in surprise and jolts both of you forward. “Did you just say Bambi?”

“What? Something wrong?” Your reaction is far stronger than amusement about a Disney movie. “She just said he cries about Bambi in his sleep, then refuses to talk about it and makes sure to get really blazed right after.” She huffs. “Maybe he dreams about his mother getting shot by a hunter.”

“I—um—” all of a sudden your throat has run dry and your head feels like it’s spinning. “He cries?” You ask, almost afraid to have it confirmed.

“That’s what she said.” The light turns green and she cautiously starts driving again. “Why? Does Bambi mean anything?”

"It–" Your voice wavers with uncertainty, making you pull in on yourself in a way you haven't done for years before this week. "I don't think I have to remind you that there are things you know about me that no one else in the world does."

“Of course.” This will be filed under Tell No One, apparently. A standard NDA is in place, but this is personal. “Not a word to anyone.”

"That's..." After not breathing a word of it to anybody for years, it feels disorienting to talk about. "That's what he called me...Bambi."

“Shit.” Sadie’s eyes widen and her head whips around to stare at you in shock. “You don’t think— no.” She shakes her head. “You think that he’s dreaming about you?” She asks quietly.

"I don't think anything." You murmur, slumping slightly in your seat as she pulls back into traffic to head to the studio. "But if his assistant brings it up again, will you try to remember what she says?"

“I’m planning on having dinner with her tonight.” She reveals and nods. “I’ll try to bring it up casually and tell you what she says.”

"Don't ruin your date with my bad decisions." If Sadie has actually found someone to spend time with despite her crazy schedule - which is your fault - and who understands how demanding her job is - also your fault - then you don't want to sully it with your own concerns.

“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “Talking about her boss’s antics is something she relishes.” She snorts playfully. “Especially since I’m an assistant too.”

"Have fun and don't break any NDAs," you huff a small laugh, glancing at her as she drives. "I'll look forward to some room service and Netflix tonight. You deserve to have fun."

“Why don’t you go out?” She suggests. “We are in London. Go to some pubs. See some sights.” It’s not a wild suggestion, but she doesn’t want you to feel trapped in your room.

"I guess I could." It would save you from being in the room right next door to Dieter for whatever naïve production assistant he talks into sleeping with him. You turn to watch Sadie again before batting your eyelashes at her hopefully. "Could I ask you to load some money onto an Oyster card for me today and tuck it into my wallet so I can go out after filming if I'm up to it?" It will save you from having to hang out at one of the machines, and moving quickly means you're more likely to blend in and not be recognized, although it is an extra stop for her to have to make today.

“Done.” Sadie will take care of that just as soon as she gets you into hair and makeup. Knowing that you will feel better when you go out and see some things that will interest you. Get away from Dieter. “I will even come up with a map to show where to go for some things you will like.”

"You're an angel." She really does take such impressively good care of you, it's unbelievable. "Put your dinner tonight on my credit card, okay? Take her someplace over the top, even if you have to use my name to get the reservation."

“Thanks.” She pulls into the parking lot where trailers and tents have been set up. The production team has been working around the clock to get everything ready and she sighs. “Well, now you just have to survive the first day.”

"Think happy thoughts for me." With a sigh of your own, you haul yourself out of the car and double check that you have everything before waving goodbye and heading for your trailer.

******

Dieter has his eyes closed, murmuring his lines to himself as Monique, a goddess of a makeup artist, finishes his look for the scene. Peaceful now that he’s had his coffee, he leans back in the chair with a small sigh.

You had desperately been hoping that he would already be done in the hair and makeup trailer before you went in, but when you open the door he's right there with his eyes closed and that stupid slappable smirk on his face and you bite back a sigh. "Good morning." Focusing on the fact that the production was amenable to bringing your own makeup artist along for the production, you give Rivkah a hug. "Ready to do this?"

"Absolutely." Rivkah gives you a brilliant smile and smirks over at where Dieter is sitting. "It won't be hard this time, huh?" She teases quietly as she starts to pull your hair back and pin it so that not a single strand will get in her way.

"Today might not be." You'll flip through your pages one more time while you're in the chair, but this fight scene is going to be a doozy. Thrown furniture, punching holes in walls, and throwing each other around a little in addition to the slap means that this scene will be the only thing you film today and that you'll have a stunt coordinator on sight, but it will be worth it to get some of this tension out.

"Ohhhhh don't lie." Dieter cracks one eye open and points it towards you. "You know you're looking forward to it."

"Slapping you?" You clarify dryly without even looking over at him. "I'm practically giddy about it."

"Mhmmm." Dieter hums knowingly and closes his eyes again. "Have to make sure I don't get too excited." He jokes, knowing that he doesn't actually like to be slapped around. He doesn't even like it when he stubs his toe. Pain isn't his idea of a good time. "Might need some breaks."

"I promise not to make Monique's job any harder than it already is." It only adds insult to injury that Dieter grew from a handsome and charismatic young man into an even more attractive and charming adult, but you know that the version of himself he presents to the camera is only one dimension of the man. He had been comfortable enough with you back then to let you see more than just that side of him, which had been one of the things that convinced you then that you truly had feelings for him. Now, it just means that you can bruise his ego a little with only a few words.

Dieter huffs, frowning slightly and then remembering the wrinkles in the mirror, immediately tries to relax his face. Hurt by the implication that he was hard to make look good, especially when you used to coo over him and tell him how fucking sexy he was. "Least your tits aren't saggy." He shoots back. "Get 'em done?"

"On what planet would I answer that?" There's no keeping the annoyance out of your voice, but at least you don't huff at him. "You'll never find out either way." But you do make a mental note to talk to the intimacy coordinator about modesty garments. Hopefully the director won't want to show too much skin.

He snorts, nearly about to remind you that he has seen everything, but he doesn't. Despite his reputation as a dick sometimes, he would prefer to keep that memory private. "Your loss, toots." He dismisses you, settling back into his chair and smirks up at Monique. "She thinks I'm pretty, don't you?"

"Of course, Dee." Monique smiles, coaxing Dieter's chin back into a straight line so she can finish his hair. She's worked in films and television for a decade and with Dieter for almost all of those years. She knows better than to express an actual opinion. Although, in this case, Dieter is handsome.

"See?" Almost as if it was validation, Dieter settles back with a smug smile on his face. "God I love your fingers in my hair." He moans softly. "I could sleep like this. Could I pay you to do that? Play with my hair while I sleep?"

"Not my line of work, unfortunately." It does make Monique laugh, though. A small chuckle from the middle of her chest. "Might make a bit more money if it was, though."

It's all you can do not to react, and you bite the inside of your lip hard while Rivkah starts brushing your hair. The sound of Dieter moaning shouldn't produce such a visceral reaction twelve years later, but apparently it does. That is embarrassing.

"Yeah you would." Dieter sighs out, stretching his legs and flexing them slightly. "God, I hate that trainer." He complains, massaging his thigh gently and hissing at the soreness. "You would think I would sleep better but noooo."

"Calprofen?" Monique gestures to the little kit under her work station that you have to assume is a first-aid kit. Everybody in this room knows he routinely takes things that are much stronger, but not one of you is going to provide it for him.

"Nahhhh." Dieter reaches into his pocket and pulls out an unassuming bottle of aspirin. "I've got some fuckin' Aleve here." Unlike his normal pill bottle, this one is simply the pain reliever. He makes it a point to not pop anything while he is on set. It's unprofessional in his opinion.

When you snort derisively in your chair beside him, it's a knee jerk reaction and not a calculated insult. There's no way what's in that bottle is just naproxen. Not with what you've heard about his pill popping or the obvious smell of pot that emanated from his hotel suite all last night.

Pausing, Dieter stares in the mirror at you for a second, glowering before he pops the Aleve in his mouth and grunts at the uncoated pill. He knows that the other illicit pills he takes aren't coated, but they make him feel a hell of a lot better than Aleve does.

"So, Riv." You shift your attention in the mirror to chat with the woman who has been doing your hair and makeup for almost everything for the last five years. "Planning to do or see anything fun while we're shooting? You always like London."

It's oddly insulting that you ignore him, making him sit back in his chair and cross his arms over his chest. Almost done with hair and makeup so he can go to costuming. Silently listening to you and your artist talk while he pouts.

It’s not that you don’t notice. You notice every second of it. The childish pout of a grown ass man who isn’t getting the attention he wants, so you keep denying him on purpose. Except it doesn’t feel nearly as good as it should, because there is an echo of Sadie’s voice in your head as she tells you that he cries for Bambi in his sleep and dopes himself to forget it. And now it’s guilt crawling in your belly instead of ugly satisfaction.

The second that Monique pats his shoulder, the signal for him being done, Dieter shoots out of his chair. Spinning around and reaching for her to kiss her cheek. "You are a goddess." He praises softly, giving her a wink. "One day, one day you'll give in." He teases playfully. He asked her to sleep with him years ago when they first met and she turned him down. He will joke about it, but he's not pushing for it. "Thank you, love."

“Go on and get dressed,” she shoos him out with affection, years of working together giving her an affection for the man that has grown into respect. When he leaves, though, she sits down in his recently emptied chair for a second before scurrying to clean up.

Why do you have to be working on this movie? Dieter curses his luck as he walks through the sea of trailers that have been set up, hands shoved in his pockets so he doesn't rub his face. He's gone twelve fucking years without having to deal with you face to face unless you count that one afterparty that he had spotted you across the room. Unsure of why he feels so goddamn guilty about the way your eyes had glazed up last night, as if you were telling the truth. You weren't. You are an actor. A fucking phenomenal one at that. You lie for a living and you had been lying about that. There had never been a baby. He reminds himself of that and shakes his head, eager to get today's filming in the can so he can go back to his room and get blitzed.

******

“Come in!” The knock on your dressing room door isn’t unusual, especially since you like to get to the theater early to go over your script and meditate before doing your hair and makeup and getting into costume. You’ve just turned the kettle off and poured an enormous cup – okay, bowl – of tea when the sound comes loudly and clearly from behind you.

"Heyyyyy." Dieter pokes his head into your dressing room and grins at you. "You busy?" He asks, raising his eyebrows and pushing inside the room because he knows you aren't. You always invite him in.

“Not too busy for you.” You immediately put down your brush and turn around to face the door when he comes into the room. Sure you saw him just this morning, but you have a day job that you go to in between waking up in his bed and coming to the theater each night.

"Mmmmm." Walking over towards you, Dieter leans in and drops a lingering kiss on your lips. "How was work?" He asks, knowing that you hate your serving job, but it helps pay the bills. He was lucky enough that the residuals from his work as a child paid for his apartment.

“Awful.” A little pout earns you another kiss, and you immediately move over to sit on the little loveseat in the corner with him. “Some lady accidentally spilled her screaming hot coffee all over me after giving me a bunch of attitude and then she laughed to her friends about it and didn’t tip a single cent.”

“Bitch.” Dieter huffs, annoyed with the woman on your behalf and shakes his head. “Hopefully you spit in her food.”

“Dee.” There’s a stray curl on his forehead and you smooth it away as you shake your head. “You know I would never do that.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re so good.” He huffs, as if it’s wrong that you are. You’re definitely better than he is but he also likes that about you.

“Only sometimes.” The tone in your voice is fully suggestive, as silky and sexy as you can manage without ruining it with a giggle. He likes that you’re a good girl, it turns corrupting you into a game.

“Other times you are very dirty.” Dieter growls, ducking his head down and nipping at your throat playfully. “My dirty Bambi.”

It earns him a reflexive little moan from you, mostly because he knows how sensitive your whole neck and shoulder area is, and you climb into his lap on the loveseat without a single moment’s hesitation. “Just for you,” you promise him, as if there ever could be anybody else.

Dieter chuckles and squeezes your ass, pulling you towards him. “God, you look so cute in this damn outfit.” He groans, knowing there is nothing especially sexy about the sweats and a tank top, but he is hard against your core.

“Dieter…” You’re a goner as soon as you feel that hardness underneath you and he knows that as well as you do. “Did you lock the door?”

“No.” Dieter huffs, kissing along your throat and pulling at your tank top, grinning when he can get his hand under it as soon as he wants. “Fuck no bra.” He breathes, happy when his hand encompasses bare tit.

“You have to let me lock it, baby.” It will mean climbing off of him for a minute, but the last thing you want is to be walked in on by your stage manager. Of course – it’s hard to focus on that propriety when he pinches your nipple just hard enough to make you squeal.

“Who cares if someone sees?” Dieter pouts when you pull away, but uses it as an opportunity to strip down. Pulling his shirt over his head before he unbuttons his jeans to push them down.

“I care.” It takes all of four steps to cross your dressing room, but when you turn back around after bolting the door, he’s already naked. “Fuck, Dee, you’re so sexy.” The expression of near-awe on your face is one he basks in. You know you’re the luckiest girl in the world that he would ever even look at you twice, those deep pangs of puppy love tell you so.

Dieter swears you are better than the best fucking drug he’s ever taken. Your near worship of him a high that he can’t replace. “Come over here.” He begs, wrapping his hand around his cock. “Do you want to have sex with me, Bambi?”

“I always want to have sex with you.” That’s been a constant truth for the last two months, and you’re not about to disguise it for a single second. Any day now he could snap out of it and realize that he deserves a hell of a lot better than you – and you’re not about to let that happen, so you snatch a condom out of your purse and drop your sweatpants to the floor on your way back over to him.

“Fuck baby.” Dieter groans as he watches you walk towards him, ripping open the foil packet with your teeth. “You are so sexy.” He praises. “So goddamn lucky.”

“Yes, I am very lucky.” Leaning back over him, you lean down to flick your tongue across the head of his cock, humming at the musky taste of precum before applying the rubber so you can climb back into his lap. “So fucking lucky you want me.”

“Not– not what I meant.” He groans, gripping your hips and pulling you closer. “Fuck, lemme have a taste.” He begs, right before he plunges his tongue into your mouth.

It’s messy and enthusiastic, like most encounters with Dieter are, and you pour a moan into his mouth while you reach between you to line the head of his cock up to your entrance, letting you sink down on him slowly. This is bliss – with this slightly weird boy and his eccentricities – but you still haven’t said out loud how you really feel about him.

Dieter’s breath bitches as you take him, closing his eyes in the sublime ecstasy of your cunt. “Shit.” He hisses, fingers digging into your skin before he slides them up to grope your tits. “Like velvet.” He groans. “Hot fucking velvet.”

“Biggest fucking dick on the planet.” It doesn’t feel like an exaggeration when it’s filling up every molecule of space in your pussy, but you have no idea if it’s true or not. Dieter knows that he’s the only person you’ve ever been with, but you’ve never said that you hope he’s the only one you ever will.

“Have you seen every dick on the planet?” Dieter still twitches and preens at your praise, rocking his hips up and pinching your nipples again.

“N—no—” Bouncing on his length takes your breath away and you love it, clinging to his shoulders desperately to hang on. “But you fill me up so full baby. It has to be.”

This was supposed to be something simple. A week, maybe a month. Something to fill his time and spark his interest…except, you have this…hold on him. The sex is spectacular and the conversations are surprisingly developed for the after coitus banter. He hasn’t moved on, instead deciding to gorge himself on you while this lasts. Trying to ignore that voice in his head that wishes it would never end. Telling him that it doesn’t have to.

These little stolen couplings in your dressing room never last long. They’re always a chase to a quick finish that has his face buried in your tits and your fingers in his hair and somebody’s hand eventually circling your clit while you ride him like a prized fucking stallion. Everything about it is perfect right down to the throaty moans that absorb into your skin and the way his cock jerks and pulses in your pussy until you both threaten to implode right there in the love seat. It’s perfect. He is perfect. And it takes everything you have to cradle his head in your hands and kiss him instead of saying it.

Dieter pants, grinning against your lips as the two of you try to catch your breaths. Happy that this has become almost automatic. He knows you well enough to touch you exactly how you need to in order to cum before he does. Most of the time. The times that he doesn't, he'll go down on you to finish you off. "You staying over tonight?" He asks, reluctant to pull away just yet. "Gonna go out with everyone tonight to have a few drinks."

“Absolutely.” His arms are tight around you and you wrap around his shoulders as you enjoy the aftershocks still making your pussy flutter every now and then. Just because these encounters are fast doesn’t mean they’re lacking in any way. “I—I may have brought some clean clothes from home…” you admit quietly, panting a little between kisses. “In case you asked.”

"Good." Dieter smirks and kisses your pulse. "But I do like when you wear my clothes too." You've had to borrow some sweats and things before, use his toothbrush. Which he usually doesn't like, but it's pretty cool with you.

“I can always accidentally forget them here and wear your clothes tomorrow.” It’s sexy that he gets a little territorial, and you’re never ever going to discourage it. “Might forget my panties, too.”

"No panties?" Dieter groans and his softening cock twitches inside you. "It's not my birthday yet." He grins and leans in to kiss you again. "Although, I'm never going to mind that."

“A dress and no panties is your favorite and we both know it.” Reluctantly climbing off of him so that he can tie off the condom, you snag another kiss from him and take your dressing robe off the hook by the door to wrap yourself up in.

“Easy access.” Dieter grins with a waggle of his brows. “You didn’t seem to mind it when I bent you over last week when we were reading lines.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” Not for one single second, and you sit back down with him again to prove it. “And I think the fact that I remembered my lines while you were fucking the life out of me should be able to go on my resume.”

“You did squeal your monologue.” He teases, shuffling his pants back up and leans back against the couch to offer you a spot to snuggle against you. “Think you should deliver it just like that.”

“Only for you.” The coo in your voice is just for him, too, but you don’t mind that. He’s reached a part of you that is just indescribable and you never want it to end. “That’s a Bambi Special.”

“Hmmmm.” Dieter grins and wraps his arm around you and turns to kiss your forehead. “Now, where do you want to block from today?” He asks seriously. “I think scene two needs a little work, don’t you?”

“That was my fault.” You’d fumbled last night and you know it, making you frown down at your hands – knowing that he deserves a better lover and a better scene partner than you are is humbling. Thankfully the recovery was quick, and there hadn’t been any critics in the house. “I’ll nail it tonight, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dieter senses the way that you curl in on yourself. You’re a lot tougher on yourself than you need to be. “Just look me in my eyes.” He tells you, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Okay? When you stumble, look at me. I’ve got you.”

“I—okay.” You nod against his hand and swallow another apology, not wanting him to doubt you. To doubt that he can consider you an equal, even if his talent is more effortless. The problem is, staring into his eyes for one second too long, you just can’t keep your goddamn mouth shut and the woods come dripping out of it: “I love you.”

Dieter’s heart nearly stops, blood roaring in his veins and he feels almost lightheaded when he hears you say those three little words. “I love you too.” The words slip from his lips easily, almost too easily because he knows that’s what you want to hear. Even if that voice inside him tells him that it’s true, he offers you a silken smile and tugs you to him. “I love you too, Bambi.”

With a happy squeal, you practically launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and smothering him in endless kisses. That was not at all the reply you expected, but you’re thrilled to not have ruined things. You’ll make this good for him as much as you possibly can for as long as you possibly can. “You’re amazing, Dee. I’m so lucky you love me.”

“I’m the lucky one, Bambi.” Dieter promises between kisses. “Never doubt that.”

******

“You disgusting, two-timing piece of shit!” Under hot camera lights in an itchy costume with almost more Bobby pins than hair on your head, you know your eye make up is running but it works for the scene. The tears are genuine, streaking down your face as you – as your character – advances on Dieter across the tight set with fury in your face. “When you’d used me up, the bottle took my place, and at the bottom of that you found every other woman in Paris.” You’re seething, pouring every ounce of betrayal you actually feel into this moment, and when you raise your hand you know somewhere in your body that this slap will be very real. “How many other women have you abandoned for the sin of boring you, you bastard?!”

Crack.

The sound of skin on skin isn’t tantalizing at this moment, or enticing. It’s ugly, and violent, and leaves a welt on Dieter’s cheek as you crumpled in a sobbing heap like the script instructs. For a solid minute, the only sounds are your very real tears and Dieter’s sharp breathing as he deals with the pain of being hit until—

“Cut!” The director screams out across the set. “Print! One take, ladies and gentlemen!”

“OWWWWWWW.” Dieter wails, the look of fury instantly melting away into one of pain as he claps his hand over his cheek. “You were supposed to pull the slap.” He complains pitifully, his look wounded as he stares at you, “that really fuckin’ hurt!”

“Tell me you didn’t deserve it.” Your tears stop instantly, a professional even through real emotion, and you get back to your feet with dignity, still hissing at him. “Tell me you didn’t deserve it twelve fucking years later.”

He can’t say that he doesn’t deserve it, but he frowns at you. Glowering at the heat of the slap radiating as he his face throbs. “I need some ice!” He shouts to his assistant as he turns and stomps off.

Sadie appears at your side a second later with a bottle of water and a pack of tissues, and you thank her quietly before taking both to walk a few steps to your chair just behind the cameras. A perk of having an executive director credit is proximity. Access. It doesn’t matter that that didn’t feel nearly as good as you thought it would. That a loud part of you actually wants to see if he’s okay and apologize for it. It’s done now. He left, you slapped him for it. It’s done.

“Ow, ow, ow, it really hurts.” Dieter huffs as he takes the bag of ice wrapped in a towel to press his forehead. “Did she have to hit me so hard?” He complains as he rushes back to his trailer. Hurt that you would deck him in front of an entire set, he can’t deny that your performance was spot on.

“At least it was one take?” Desiree offers the only silver lining she can find as she follows behind him, shitting the door to his trailer and pulling out the bottle of anti-inflammatories so his cheek doesn’t swell up.

“Thank god.” Dieter flops down on the small sofa and shakes his head. “Otherwise I'd look like I went twelve rounds with Ali.”

“She’s dedicated to realism, I’ll give her that.” His assistant frowns, but holds out the pills and a drink to him.

“Fuck those pills.” Dieter scoffs and shakes his head. “Give me the good stuff. Or better stuff.” He doesn’t care if they technically haven’t called the day. He’s done.

“Dee…” Desiree bites her lip, still holding out the pills to him. “You still have another scene to shoot today. Two, if you do another one in one take.”

“Nope.” Dieter shakes his head. “Too bad. My face is swollen!” More than that, he doesn’t want to face those eyes of yours again. Not today, not without some chemical assistance.

“I’ll talk to Sam.” Desiree nods, recognizing a stubborn mood when she sees it, and knows that this isn’t going to go over well. It’s only the first day of filming.

“Fine.” Dieter is slightly mollified when he gets his way and looks up at his assistant. “Now where’s the other pills?”

A five second long staring match ensues before Desiree relents and goes to the trailer's smaller kitchen cupboard to retrieve the unmarked white bottle that contains Dieter's homemade cocktail of Pill Roulette. "Here." She hands it to him reluctantly. "I'm going to go talk to Sam. I'll be right back."

Watching Desiree walk out the trailer door, Dieter twists open the cap of the bottle and shakes the pill into his hand. Huffing when there’s only one pill that is what he wants, he still pops it in his mouth, it’s better than nothing.

Five minutes later she’s carefully walking back on set, wondering how badly she’s about to get screamed at for this. “Sam,” she approaches the director with feigned confidence, studiously avoiding getting pulled into any side conversations on the way there.

“Can you get Dieter here?” Sam asks as he looks up from his clipboard. “Lighting has everything set for the next scene. And good work to him for taking that slap. It looks great on camera.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Desiree shifts on her feet, noting that you are nowhere to be found. You must have gone to make up to get cleaned up. “Unfortunately, his entire cheek is swollen now, because of it.”

“What?” Sam frowns, contemplating the shot now that he is learning that there might be a physical reaction. “How bad is it?”

“It looks bad now, but it might go down quickly.” Trying to do right by her boss and the production, Desiree tries to find a compromise. “Give him a half an hour? See if it starts to fade?”

“Half an hour.” Sam nods. “Then he needs to be on set. Some swelling won’t hurt the shot.”

“I’ll make sure he’s here.” She nods and backs off smoothly, only taking off for his trailer again at a damn run once Sam can’t see her anymore.

In his trailer, Dieter is staring at the large welt on his face, wondering when the hell you learned to hit like that. Hissing as he leans in to touch the tender flesh. “You deserved that,” he tells his reflection morosely. “You’re worthless. A loser asshole.”

Two rhythmic knocks on his trailer door let him know that Desiree has returned, and she pushes inside with a sympathetic expression on her face. "I bought you some time, but Sam is determined to go on today." She tells him, hating the expression of self-loathing she sees on his face. Frankly, she sees it far too often. Anyone would think the drugs were a self-indulgence or a carelessness on his part, but it has more to do with intense depression and self-image issues than anything else. The drugs are how he runs away from reality. "How are you feeling, Dee?"

“Sore.” Dieter grumbles, looking away from the reflection and picks up the towel wrapped ice pack again. “Let me lay down and then we’ll shoot the fuckin’ scene.” He is too introspective right now to fight. Maybe playing the character will allow him some freedom from the thoughts taking over. Give him an outlet like acting is supposed to be.

"Half an hour." Desiree moves around the space, lighting his aromatherapy candles and turning on the white noise machine that helps him drown out some of the uglier and more intrusive thoughts. "I'll be back in twenty-five minutes to get you moving, okay?"

“Yeah.” Dieter slumps down on the sofa, still in his costume of a half undone suit and closes his eyes. “Thanks.” His voice calls out softly, nearly breathless as the pill starts to mellow him out.

"Of course." She's quiet when she shuts the door behind her, but Desiree sighs to herself out in the middle of the trailers. Twenty-five minutes is enough to arrange something nice for him tonight. She'll see what strings she can pull to put together a little surprise for him.

******

Dieter is nearly asleep when the knock comes on the trailer door twenty-five minutes later. Making him groan and shake his head, not wanting to open his eyes. “Go ‘way! Still hurts.” He grunts, even as he pulls away the mostly melted ice from his face.

"Let me take a look." His assistant insists, coming inside with a KitKat and a bottle of kombucha. His health really is an enigma sometimes.

“How bad is it?” Dieter asks, fearing that he might be wearing that handprint for the scene. “Maybe it’ll be good right? My character is supposed to be angry with her.”

"It's definitely pink, but I think Monique can dim that a little." It was a hell of a slap, and Desiree bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from babying him or exclaiming too much. She really does like the man, otherwise working for him would be insufferable. "The worst thing is that your eye is bloodshot, but that's okay."

“Shit! Seriously?” Dieter bolts off the sofa to run for the mirror again. Groaning when he sees the tiny bloodshot vessels of his eyes. “Fuck, she hit me hard.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Is that going to affect my lasik?” He demands, looking back as Desiree anxiously.

"Your appointment isn't for two days," she assures him, not wanting to see the pout that will surely form on his face. "You'll be just fine by then."

“It better not.” Dieter huffs, already annoyed at the idea of using his precious few days off recovering from eye surgery, but it’s better than not being able to see shit.

"I made you a dinner reservation for tonight." Hoping to perk him up a little and give him something to look forward to, Desiree had hunted down a fairly elusive supper club that catered to artists and eccentrics as well as anyone who had the money to mingle with them. "I know you were bummed that you didn't get to go to Dashiell's last time we were here, but they had an 8 o'clock reservation open for tonight." The place is incredibly unique, offering a staged performance during dinner, followed by a live band and dancing for those who are interested, and a litany of art supplies for those who would rather sit and observe the dancers. The walls are littered with the art of patrons who have drawn, sketched, or painted the dancers and diners on previous nights. The catch, because of course there is one, is that the tables are all served sociably family style. Every table is for four, and if you go alone you'll be seated with strangers. But it's a great place to see and be seen, and Dieter is a spectacular artist.

“Good.” Dieter bobbles his head, immediately buoyed by that news. “Maybe I can get laid. I need that, I’m tired of my hand.” He huffs, feeling the need for someone to show him some attention, give him some affection. Even if it is fake.

"You usually don't have any trouble with that." The sigh of relief that Desiree breathes is silent but very real, and she offers her boss a smile. "I'll take you over to hair and make up and then I'll run back to the hotel to get you something nice to wear tonight. Sound good?"

“Fuck.” That brings a pout to his lips. “I have to dress up.” The desire to get laid outweighs the annoyance with dressing up. He can put on less than comfy clothes to get what he wants.

******

Sitting in your chair in the makeup trailer, you're really trying your best to maintain composure in the face of how emotional the last scene was and manage your conflicting feelings over how it went. Rivkah is getting you cleaned up and retouched with Sadie sitting nearby, and your angel of an assistant has even grabbed you a hot cup of herbal tea and honey to soothe your voice after all that screaming. The last thing you need is to be hoarse.

Dieter flings the door open to the makeup trailer, halfway inside before he realizes you are in the chair beside his. Stopping short and immediately looking towards Monique, not wanting to see the satisfaction gleaming in your eyes. “Can you do something with this?” He asks, gesturing to his face as he sits down and twists away from you.

"Of course." She's already been told what happened, of course, and what scene she needs to have him ready for, but she gives him a kind smile. "We'll have you looking rugged and intense in no time."

“Good.” He doesn’t glance over at you, twisting open his drink and taking a gulp of it before he puts it between his thighs so he can open his KitKat.

Rugged and intense? You manage not to laugh at it, but you had no idea that Monique was a miracle worker. There's the ghost of a remark on your lips to Sadie, but you catch her grinning down at her phone and nearly giggling, and your expression softens. "You talking to her?" You ask, not saying who in case Dieter would object to your assistants spending social time together.

“Yeah.” Sadie glances up and then slides her gaze over to Dieter. She bites her lip and then opens her texts to you. His face was swollen and bright red. Desiree said he looked like an Oompa Loompa with the makeup streaked over the welts.

You glance up at her and back down at your phone, hating the twisting in your gut and chest. It didn't feel nearly as satisfying as I hoped, you write back.

Sadie frowns, biting her lip as she sighs. Maybe satisfaction will come when you show him you aren’t the girl he thought you were.

Maybe. I hope so. The short reply comes with a nod before you put your phone away and close your eyes for Rivkah to fix your eye make up. You need to be back on set shortly and you can tell already that the afternoon is going to be an internal battle.

Dieter chews on his candy bar as Monique works her magic, closing his eyes and frowning slightly as he goes over the lines in his head. Trying to channel the anger right now isn’t hard to do with the slap you had delivered.

******

An hour later on set is when it comes to a head. This drama follows the ups and downs of a married couple as their marriage and mental health starts to devolve, and it certainly includes more than one fight. Yours was filmed in one take, but Dieter’s is being done in smaller pieces as he chases you around the apartment set. The stop-and-go is exhausting with the intensity of the scene you’re doing, but it’s working. In a purely professional way, the scene is working perfectly.

Dieter, for his part, doesn’t get upset when Sam wants the close ups of his face. The mottled expressions and anger glazed eyes as he rants and rampages and generally terrorizes your character. Resetting after each one, absorbing the praise, there haven’t been any retakes, just different angles for the shifts he has in mind. This one should be the last.

Hissing, Dieter grabs you by the arms and drags you closer to his face, well aware the camera is right to his left. “I never loved you!” he bellows, spittle flying out of his mouth as he practically shakes in fury. “I never loved you.” he repeats again, not shouting this time but just as firm in that resolve as he shoves you away and drags his hands through his disheveled hair. “How could I love you? You’re nothing, less than nothing and you’ll always be nothing.”

For as real as your fury was earlier in the day, Dieter's disgust and hatred seems to build from that same, very real place of personal experience. All of a sudden you're back on the loveseat in your dressing room after finding out he was gone – frantically trying to get ahold of him with one hand clutching your belly as waves of nausea rack your body. I never loved you feels like the most honest words he's ever spoken to you and even though it doesn't indicate you should be doing it anywhere in the script, you're crying again. Silent, stricken tears roll down your face as he shoves you away and you crumple, shoulders pulling in and eyes falling open in dismay and disbelief as Sam screams "Cut!"

“That was great, so raw, so real!” Sam gushes as he rushes out, Dieter instantly deflating and doing almost a full body shake. Hating scenes like those, he wants to get as far away from those emotions as possible, especially the feeling of his character about to hit yours. It’s disgusting.

“Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, looking over at you and wondering if he should check on you. You had turned away pretty quickly.

Thank god you have the forethought to sneak a handkerchief into the pocket of your costume this time, having found one in the costume trailer that worked for the period. It's all you can do to keep your shit together and not run away sobbing, hearing Sam heap mountains of praise on Dieter for being so cold and so cruel. When you hear him ask for another angle on the shot you shudder and recoil like you'd be hit worse than you clocked Dieter this morning.

“I don’t think we should.” Dieter shakes his head. “I think it would be better to play that as one continuous scene. Especially since the rest of this is so cut.”

The way it feels like he's rescuing you after that makes you physically nauseous, and you don't turn around. You're lucky you can manage to drop yourself into a chair and lean over to put your head between your knees and breathe deeply.

“Honestly, I think that if you reshoot this scene, you’ll lose the…magic, of it.” Dieter glances back over at you and worries that you are not doing so well and he decides that he will offer Sam something else. “Why don’t we do the bathroom scene? It’s a solo scene and it would play well after this.”

"Set's not ready for that yet." Sam shakes his head, finally looking over at you and realizing that you're looking a little green around the gills. "Hey, hey, sweetheart." He drops to his knees in front of you and puts one hand on your back. "You good? A little overwhelmed?"

"I'm fine." Pity is what does it. What makes you put your handkerchief away and hold back the last sniffle, putting your head up to look your director in the eye. If you look at Dieter you're afraid you'll say or do something unprofessional. "It's just a little side effect of the jetlag, I think. My stomach's off."

“Yeah, shit, okay.” Sam nods quickly. “We’ll put a lid on today. Call it early. You did amazing and I know it was a set of heavy scenes.”

"Perfect." Without another word you're hightailing it off the set and making straight for the costume trailer with Sadie hot on your heels. "I'm going out tonight," you tell her unilaterally, not slowing down for her to keep up with you. "Need to clear my head."

Dieter is slower to follow, the rolling of his gut not one that he likes, or is used to. Desiree comes up to him eagerly, handing him a bottle of water. “I have your suit here.” She tells him, making him shake his head. “I changed my mind.” He tells her. “You take the reservation. I can’t– not after–” he breaks off, feeling uneasy about even thinking about trying to flirt and take someone back to his room after that. “I’m just going to – you take the reservation and enjoy it with whoever you keep texting.”

"Are you sure?" Her boss isn't usually one to give up on an excuse for bacchanalia, so Desiree is immediately concerned. "Do you need a comfort night?" Normally that entails indulgent take away food and an expensive bottle of something to drink, after which he may or may not paint or just stare at the walls while he goes on a journey in his own mind.

“No.” Dieter frowns, restless and unable to say exactly what he wants or needs. “I’ll just grab an Uber and wander.” He frowns again, thinking about how you had rushed off. “Hey— uh, check on her.” He motions towards your trailer. “Please?”

"You want me to—" She tilts her head in momentary confusion but shakes it off. "Uh, sure. Of course. I'll be right back."

Dieter watches her rush off for a moment before he shakes his head. Costuming will come to his trailer to collect his garments. Right now, he needs a shower to wash the icky feelings away. And maybe another round of pill roulette.

******

"If that's Dieter, you tell him to go to hell." The knock on your trailer door is unwelcome and unwanted, and you can barely stand to look Sadie in the eye right now let alone anyone else.

Rushing towards the door, Sadie has every intention of telling whoever is on the other side to go away. Until she’s greeted with the face of Dieter’s assistant. “Oh! Uh, Desiree…” She says the name loud enough that you know who is there. “Now’s not a good time.”

"He asked me to check on her." Desiree's voice is quiet when she looks up at Sadie, eyes silently communicating her concern over the request. This isn't a social call by any means, but she can sense how important it is to him.

“She doesn’t want to see him.” Sadie answers just as quietly, figuring that Desiree must not know the history between you and her boss. “But she’s tough, she’ll be okay.”

"Who is it?" Not that you really care either way, but since Sadie didn't shut the door in their face you have to assume that it isn't Dieter himself come to gloat over making you sick on set.

“It’s Desiree.” It worries her that you were so in your head that you didn’t hear her before. Testament to how shaken you are by that scene.

You're quiet for a minute before sighing. "Let her in," you decide, blotting your freshest tears on a tissue before you sit up on the sofa. "It'll attract attention if you're talking in the doorway."

Desiree slips inside and bites her lip when she sees how truly upset you are. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She asks immediately, not sure why Dieter insisted on checking on you, but he won’t be happy to learn you are in tears. She can sense that without even knowing the details.

"No." When you shake your head it makes you a little dizzy from all the buzzing in your head, so you stop right away. "No, honey. Thank you for asking, though. It was just a hard scene, that's all." The kettle in your little kitchenette goes off and Sadie steps away again, going to fix you a cup of tea while still keeping a very steady eye on the conversation. "Actually?" Your head tips up again and you try your best to smile but it falls flat. "You can have a really good time tonight. That's what you can do. Sadie works her ass off and I can only assume that you do the same."

“I– we’re going to Dashiell’s tonight.” Desiree can’t even hide her excitement at that news. “I had made a reservation for– uh, my boss, but he doesn’t feel up for that tonight.” She feels guilty for bringing him up, but it’s never a bad thing to remind people that Dieter can be sweet sometimes.

“Well that’s fancy.” You won’t hide your surprise, but Sadie is glowing when she hands you your tea and you can’t help but smile. The first time you’ve smiled in hours - maybe all day. “Have some much fun, you guys.”

“I’m not leaving you just yet,” Sadie promises, though she smiles broadly at Desiree when she thinks you aren’t paying attention. “You still thinking you’ll go out tonight?”

“I’m honestly not sure.” After that, you’re not sure if you want to forget the world exists or just melt into it and forget you exist.

“You should.” Desiree comments softly. “There’s a great little tea and sandwich shop down from the hotel.” She offers. “It’s cozy.” She had to make a list for Dieter before they even got here, knowing how varied his tastes can be.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She seems far too nice to have to put up with Dieter’s bullshit twenty-four hours a day. Hopefully she’s well paid for it. After a second, you look at Desiree again and seem to summon courage out of nowhere. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” She tilts her head curiously and wonders what you could possibly want to know. Especially since you don’t seem to like Dieter.

“I’m curious.” And you don’t mind admitting that it’s a morbid curiosity. “If you know about Bambi.”

“Bambi.” Her eyes widen and she bites her lip, curious as to how you know that name. “Dieter doesn’t talk about it.” She admits quietly. “Refuses to, gets mad if someone says something to him about it the next day.” She sighs. “Whoever Bambi is, Dieter has a lot of regrets about. Or they broke his heart. Maybe both.”

“I doubt it’s the second.” After the way he seemed to look completely through you as he growled the words in your face, it seems impossible. “Bambi was just another notch on his bedpost. Someone to keep the sheets warm while he was waiting for Hollywood to call.”

“Oh my god.” It clicks and her heart plummets to her shoes. “You’re Bambi.” She breathes out, feeling stupid for not putting it together sooner.

“I was.” You nod reluctantly. “A very long time ago.” A time that seems more and more like it belongs to someone else with every passing day.

“I’m sorry.” Desiree murmurs softly. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m sorry.” Obviously it was bad, how it ended, but maybe there were some good times as well.

“Ask him.” You suggest, sitting back in your seat. “My version is bound to be different from his. But at least he still talks in his sleep.”

“I don’t know if he will tell me.” She admits quietly. “It’s like whatever happened, he’s greedily trying to keep that for himself.”

“Greedy might be the right word.” With a sigh, you look between the two women and shift over on the couch. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you the edited version. It might help with context.”

“You don’t have to tell us.” Desiree immediately blurts out, not wanting you to feel like you have to bear your soul to her. You barely know her and she’s your ex’s assistant.

"Just...whatever he says about me?" You grip your mug of tea and remain silently grateful that she didn't want to hear what could be considered incredibly good gossip. "Please take it with a grain of salt. I was very young then." Young, and oh so incredibly gullible.

“Bambi.” The nickname makes sense, and she nods. “I form my own judgments about people. He can be a handful on the best days but he–” she pauses, wondering if she should give you this information but ultimately decides you deserve it. “He’s a wreck of self loathing and desperation to be loved as he pushes people away. A rabid raccoon, if you will.”

"Rabid sounds about right." The description of him actually makes you laugh slightly, though it's more of a huff that shakes your shoulders. "Anyway, it's the age old tale of a girl and boy parting badly. That's all."

“He sent me to check on you.” She doesn’t know why that’s important for you to know about, but it seems like it is. “Make sure you are alright.”

"Are you sure he didn't send you to see how much damage he had inflicted?" It's not meant to be unkind, but you can't believe that Dieter would ever care enough to want to make sure you're okay. You'd put far more money on him wanting to make sure you were devastated.

Desiree frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not trying to change your mind about Dieter Bravo.” She promises you. “But he’s not the type of man to enjoy those scenes, but he’s not the type to check on his scene partner after either.” She draws out the scene for you. “So make of that what you will. And I’m going to tell him that you were laughing and drinking tea in your trailer when he asks.”

"Thank you, Desiree." She doesn't have to be kind, or listen to both sides of things, and she certainly doesn't have to show you any sympathy. "And really – genuinely – I hope you guys have fun tonight. Mine and Dieter's bullshit shouldn't have any effect on you guys."

“But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call Sadie.” Desiree tells you, knowing that if Dieter calls, she will answer. It’s kind of like being a twenty-four hour babysitter for a grown up, but she’s paid really well to do it.

"I'll try not to have an emergency." You promise them both. "If it's an emergency and you don't call, I'll track you down and wallup you myself." Sadie jokes, just glad to see you smiling even a little bit after how broken you seemed coming off set.

Desiree feels like you need a hug, but she isn’t close enough to you to do that. Smiling softly and nodding. “I better go get everything done for the night so we can go.” She says after a moment. “Have a good night.”

“She seems nice.” You look to Sadie after the door closes, letting your mask of strength drop in front of the only person you fully trust.

“I think so.” She murmurs softly, giving you a concerned look. “I can cancel tonight.” She offers. “We can watch movies and eat junk with zero remorse.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s exactly the kind of person that Sadie is, to offer to give up her night to comfort you, but you shake your head adamantly. “Dashiell’s is nearly impossible to get into and I still insist you use my card.”

Sadie hums, knowing she isn’t going to use your card for a night for herself. She doesn’t like doing that even when you insist. You are already generous enough. “Well, let me get you back to the hotel, then.” She says instead, knowing you don’t want to be here any longer than you need to be.

“I think a hot bath is in order before anything else.” And if you’re not feeling up to facing the world, you’ll just put on pajamas and crawl into that big bed and call for room service.

“I know you will enjoy that. I bought some of those bath salts you love last night.” She had planned on giving them to you today anyway so this seems fortuitous.

“You take such good care of me.” She does, and you made a promise to yourself years ago never to take advantage of her. Sadie is paid extremely well, showered with gifts, and given as much time off as you can manage to give while still maintaining a very active career. “I can’t ever thank you enough for being the best assistant in the world.”

“You make it extremely easy.” She promises with a grin and starts to gather her things to whisk you back to the hotel.

******

Almost two hours later, after a half a bottle of wine in a screaming hot lavender scented bath, you manage to get yourself dressed in clean clothes to search out the tea and sandwich shop that Desiree had mentioned earlier. If you can get your hands on any variation of a ham and Brie sandwich tonight, you’ll consider it a win.

Scratching his chin, Dieter stares at the image in front of him, his charcoal pencil tapping on the corner of the page as he studies it. The cooling jasmine tea and the extra large glass of pinot grigio ignored, along with a half eaten club sandwich. Needing to get the sight of your devastated face out of his mind.

The bell over the door chimes delicately when it opens and shuts, admitting a single person. The place is crowded but not unwelcoming, and the teenage hostess seats you without a fuss at the only empty table left in the dining room. It was good that you listened to Sadie, you decide, shifting your hands in your pockets to wrap your fingers around the thin book you brought. Just getting some fresh air will do you good, and fresh air away from Dieter will be even better.

Dieter licks his finger, smudging some of the lines to make them blurry, giving the curve of your jaw a softness that he’s always liked. Your eyes haunt him from the page. Drilling into him again and again as he can see the heartbreak in them. Making his heart burn and he reaches for the bottle for an antacid this time.

A cordial chat with the hostess stops cold when you see that the table she described as her very last is right next to Dieter fucking Bravo of all people. Your expression sours and you contemplate leaving all together but if you leave then he wins. And you’re not sure why you think that or where the thought came from but now it’s the loudest one in your head. Instead you thank the girl with a tight lipped smile and try to ignore the man just two feet away from you. You’ll have your dinner and you’ll be on your way. You’re a fucking adult, after all.

“Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, frowning down at the portrait that he is creating, putting the pencil back to the page as he isn’t quite happy with the image. It’s not what he’s seeing and he needs this. It’s cathartic, to steal a line from the half dozen therapists he’s seen on and off over the years. Mainly from the high priced drug rehab centers that he’s been to.

“No, thank you.” You respond dryly, picking up the menu that was left on the table in front of you but never looking over at him. Whatever he’s fine must be frustrating him. Good.

When Dieter is concentrating on something, he is fully emerged in it, blocking out the sounds around him as he works. Not noticing the movement as someone sits down to his right. Humming to himself when he manages to add depth to your distraught expression that was burned into him.

“Not even a pithy comeback or a bored laugh?” Putting down your menu and turning to look at him, you have a perfect – if accidental – view of what he’s doing. Your own face stares back at you from the sketchbook in his hands, tears and pain etched on the paper for his personal amusement. You see red immediately, reaching out to snatch the book out of his hands in anger, hissing “What the fuck?!” in the process.

Dieter jumps, startled out of his tunnel vision and his first reaction is annoyance. “What the fuck!” He hisses, glaring at whoever dared to touch his sketchbook as he whirls around and sees you. His face freezing and mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh– fuck–” he frowns in confusion as you glare at him. “What? What are you–”

“What the fuck is this?” You demand, clutching the sketchbook in two hands and keeping it just far enough out of his reach that he has to answer you if he ever has a prayer of getting it back. “Immortalizing the memory, are we? Planning on framing it to laugh at on a rainy day? I knew I should have hit you harder.”

He gapes at you like a fish, the surprise of you being in front of him along with the drugs he had taken making it take a little longer to comprehend what you are saying. Until he finally realizes you are accusing him of sketching your pain as some kind of sick thrill. “Give that back.” He hisses, reaching for it but he is out of reach, still sitting in his chair.

“No!” No way in hell are you going to let him keep this grotesque image, and you reach to tear the page out immediately. Hell, if this place had a working fireplace, you’d toss the whole book in it out of disgust. Except…once the page is out and in your hand, the ones remaining flap and you catch a glimpse of another sketch. Another sketch of you. “What the fuck is this?” Your hair is in an old style in this image – a style you haven’t worn since you were very young – and you swallow a sickening amount of bile as you start to flip through the pages. It’s you. The entire book is you. Image after image, younger versions of you as you were when the two of you met versus some others that you recognize as poses from films you’ve been in or promotional shots from red carpets or other events. They’re all you. “You have three seconds to explain this,” you bite out between gritted teeth. “Why the fuck do you have a book full of me?”

Dieter’s chair scrapes back, shooting to his feet as he lunges for the book. “Give it back!” He demands louder, not caring that people in the little shop are turning towards the two of you, chattering ignored because of the pounding of his heart and the rush of his blood in his ears. Cheeks flaming hot because you know. You’ve seen a book that no one else has seen. Ever. “Now!”

“Explain it.” Barely keeping the book out of reach, you shred two pages out of the binding indiscriminately. “What kind of a sick joke is this?” Heads are turning but you’re only seeing red, angry and devastated all over again for reasons you can’t put your finger on or analyze properly as your voice rises.

“Don’t! Fuck, don’t do that!” Dieter is frantic, panicking because of the pages you are shredding, hating that you are destroying the sketches he has spent so much time working on and looking at. Feeling like his security blanket is being stripped away from him like he was seven again and his father threw it in the fireplace and told him to ‘man up’. “Please.” He begs, breathing shallowly and feeling like he’s about to cry.

“Explain.” The demand is harsh, but the way he sounds like he might hyperventilate stays your hand from tearing at more pages. You’re angry, but you’re not trying to send anyone to the hospital.

“It’s– I just– I sketch to get the image out of my head.” Dieter’s own voice is small, quiet as he explains. “That’s it, that’s all. Just–” he swallows harshly and his outstretched hands drop to his sides. “Don’t ruin more of it.” His expression falls as he tries to shut himself off from the emotional connection to the book, knowing you will either keep it or destroy it completely in front of him.

“Why is it all me?” That’s what you don’t understand, and finally stop seething long enough to see the tears in his eyes and the slouch in his shoulders. As furious as you might be, this isn’t a fight in a script. It’s very real, and your confusion has brought you out of the angry haze long enough to see that someone has whipped their phone out. You’re being recorded. “Pay your bill.” You order under your breath, Shoving the sketchbook back at him and trying to compose yourself. “We’re going back to the hotel.” There’s no way you’re letting this go without a full explanation.

Dieter abandons the table and shuffles over the waitress, handing her his card and a murmured comment about the sandwich. His stomach is rolling as he tries to put the pages back where they were but he can’t. Swallowing down the embarrassment of you seeing this. Everyone else here, he doesn’t give a shit about. He doesn’t care about the scene, but you knowing about this makes him want to vomit.

The most you can think to do is apologize to the hostess for causing a fuss on the way out, but other than that you’re silent as you steer Dieter out of the restaurant and back up the block toward the hotel. There’s enough confusion jostling the anger in your mind that you can’t quite think straight, and the tense silence between you stretches right to the hotel elevator.

Dieter shuffles, his arm around the notebook as if you are going to rip it away from him again. Not sure what to say or why you are so damn angry at him. People draw you all the time, he sees it when he actually remembers the login for his social media accounts or he’s doing promotions for his upcoming movies. Forced promotions, because it was in the contract.

It’s not until you get him into your suite and lock the door that you can find the presence of mind to speak again, although the guilt of having him look at you like a kicked puppy is already gnawing at your insides. “Why?” You ask again, feeling your voice shake. “Do you have a sketchbook full of me?”

“Why not?” Dieter has finally hit annoyed, pissed that you destroyed his sketchbook, messed up his work. “It’s an old book.” He defends, even though he knows it’s a weak argument.

“That you kept for twelve years and decided to add to today, of all days?” His petulance isn’t exactly helping you have any sympathy, but mostly you feel…watched. Observed in a way you don’t like at all. Analyzed in a far more intimate way than a gossip column could ever manage.

“It’s not–” Dieter sighs and closes his eyes. “It’s not that old. I started it about nine years ago.” He confesses quietly. “A therapist told me that it might help.”

“Help what? Assuage your guilt?” It boggles your mind that he would ever have the need to talk about you in therapy, of all places, until you remember Desiree. “You do have guilt, don’t you?” Your voice softens perceptibly, turning curious. “That’s why you still dream about me.”

“How did you–” Dieter realizes he’s talking and snaps his mouth shut. Unwilling to give away if he had been dreaming about you or not. Instead he focuses on the why. “It helps. My brain is all fucked up.” He lets go of the book with one hand to motion to his head like he’s crazy. “She told me it could help get it out. What keeps rolling through my mind.”

“Somebody told me that you talk about Bambi in your sleep, that’s how I know.” While you won’t debate his mental health with him, you also won’t make fun of him for it. No one chooses depression or addiction. One look at his family is enough to show anyone what he’s dealing with – they’re worse than the Barrymores.

“Fuck.” Dieter’s jaw clenched and he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not stalking you. I just– I needed to get you looking at me like I’m a monster out of my head.”

“That doesn’t explain nine years’ worth of sketches, Dee.” It’s barely even a nickname, but it passes your lips without thinking.

“What do you want me to say?” Dieter asks, not sure what exactly you are looking for. You calling him Dee takes him back to the one fucking time he was truly happy, before he fucked it up.

“I—” Having him push back deflates you a little, and you realize you’re actually not sure. You have no clue what you want him to say. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. And you hate not knowing.

Dieter acts like an ass, he knows this. He’s kind of proud of it most days. He is difficult and moody, ‘artistic’ as he likes to call it. But he’s broken. Full of anger and fear, begging for something to change and never being brave enough to try. “Do I feel guilt?” He asks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do.” He huffs, unable to look at you right now while he reveals the deepest parts of himself. “Everyone I’ve ever fucking loved has left me or I’ve fucked it up. Self-sabotaged they tell me. I left the one goddamn person who made me feel normal, worth a damn, because I figured out that I was in over my head and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Someday you might want to tell them that.” Feeling exhausted by a day full of tension and yelling, you drop down in the nearest place to sit and grab a pillow like it was a teddy bear.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, sighing to himself and he knows that you hate him. He deserves it, but he turns around and walks towards the door of your room. Reaching for the handle, he looks over his shoulder. “I just did.” He rasps quietly and opens the door to slip out to his own room.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

My Masterlist!

[cosmal]

𝐇𝐨𝐭 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

day three of my christmas drabbles advent calendar

summary — you bring remus home to visit your family for the holidays. he grows to love spending christmas in summer.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, reader goes swimming, reader has hair long enough to be tied back

note!! — this is a totally self-indulgent fic. and for all my aussie/kiwi marauders fans!!

“This is weird,” Remus murmurs, handing you a tray of prawns. Along with the water dish.

“They’re gross, I know,” you giggle. “My dad loves them.”

Remus shifts in his seat, “No, not that,” he’s smiling, “It’s hot. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas and I’m in a t-shirt.”

"You can take it off if you want," you giggle over the top of your bottle, sitting back in your chair.

"I will not," he gasps.

You love this look on him. He's been here for a week and he's all sunkissed and glowy. If you weren't spending the holidays at your parent's house, you'd have already jumped his bones.

"You'll go swimming with me, though?"

The backyard is full of your family members. Cousins running around with sticky, red iceblocks in their hands - your aunty's chasing them in turn, with wet paper towels. They're loud. Really loud and they really love Remus.

You're not surprised, he's perfect. You think they might love him more than you do. Impossible, obviously. But your dad had sat down with him in the lounge room and seemed genuinely interested in whatever Remus was telling him about his work. Your father has never read a book in his life, but for your boyfriend, he'll listen to him ramble about writing processes and workshops. In turn, your dad will force him to watch the boxing day cricket match tomorrow because Australia's playing England, so Remus must know a thing or two about cricket test matches.

"I told your mum I'd help her with the desserts," he leans over to kiss you on the cheek. His lips a burning heat over your already warm skin. It feels nice.

"Then you'll come for a swim?" you ask hopefully, lips pouting. You know he will, he'll do pretty much anything to make you happy. Sometimes you despise him for it in a totally loving girlfriend type of way. He's already in his swimming trunks. His legs looking fucking lovely.

He gets up from his seat at your outdoor table and it scrapes along your deck, "I'll be 20 minutes," he says with one more kiss. Quicker than the last but still as fond. You think maybe, even more, when he presses his fingers into your scorched skin.

You let him and your mum dish up trifles and a pavlova that always seems to be bigger than the year before. Remus says something really stupid and it makes your mum laugh. A full-on, hearty chuckle that is usually only produced at the cost of your own father. You smile all the way to your room.

Once in your swimmers, a set that you know Remus loves, modest enough in your own backyard, surrounded by your own family, but enough that you'll expect to be stuck to your boyfriend's side for the rest of the day. You walk back out to your backyard to find him in the middle of your lawn.

A cousin wrapped around his leg, another climbing their way up his torso. He's laughing, you're not sure how, because they both keep kneeing him in bruisable areas as they climb him like a jungle gym. Eventually, they pull him to the soft grass and it ends up in a sort of tickle-fight. It's more giggling than anything.

Your chest fills with as much warmth as you think it can allow without you feeling the urge to cry. Watching him get along with your family so well is more than you'd ever expected. He keeps surprising you and then he doesn't because he's Remus. Your boyfriend Remus, and he treats you with so much love and respect that you know that's just him. It's second nature to him and you'd expect nothing less for the people he knows you love also.

You know you're staring, you can't help it. Your cheeks ache with how wide you're smiling. Remus walks up to you once he's toddler free and pokes you in the cheek. You snap out of the little lovesick bubble you'd found yourself in.

"He's strong for four years old," Remus laughs, kissing you on the cheek again like he can't help it. You know he can't because you kiss him just as often.

"My aunty thinks he'll be good at rugby," you giggle.

"Or wrestling."

You lean in to wrap your arms around his waist, he doesn't let you. You startle, confused.

"I've never seen this before," Remus can be smug when he wants to be, sliding a finger under the strap of your swimmers, snapping the tight material against your skin.

"Yes, you have." You go too shy under his loving gaze. His eyes droopy but still full of mirth. You can feel a heat eat its way up your chest. If he makes fun of you for it, you'll be sure to blame it on the sun.

"Right," he runs the material between his fingers, distracted.

"Remus, stop it," you mumble. Completely melted.

"Stop what?" Still smug.

"Just take your shirt off, please. I wanna go for a swim."

Remus doesn't have to be asked twice. He takes his white button-up off, a gift from your family, and you try to ignore the feeling you suddenly have to stare more than would be acceptable in your setting. You also ignore the wolf whistle your uncle let's out.

Remus genuinely blushes.

"I think my family really likes you," you tell him, tracing a scar in the hinge of his elbow.

"I'm really happy they do," Remus pulls the hair tie from your wrist, moving to tie your back from your face. His fingers tickle your neck and you shiver despite the temperature. Remus grins. "I didn't just spend fifteen minutes decorating a Pavlov for no reason."

You snort. "Pavlova."

"Hmm?"

"It's a pavlova."

"Right..." he chuckles.

"Pavlov was the guy with the dog theory."

It's Remus's turn to snort. "Dog theory."

"Yeah."

He traces a knuckle down your cheek, "You're adorable."

"Stop it."

"Really."

"Remus..."

"That's why I'm really sorry." He says. Suddenly serious.

"For what?" you ask. Also suddenly just as confused as he is stern.

He doesn't respond.

"For what, Remus?"

The squeal you let out when Remus throws you over his shoulder is loud and pretty, in his own opinion. That's why he has no problems when you tug at his hair to stable yourself. You're suddenly dizzy, blood rushing to your head. Remus feels worse when you giggle in his ear.

"Remus!" Your protests are broken up by peels of laughter.

"I said I'm sorry!" he laughs.

"Don't! I'm serious."

He jumps in the pool, pulling you under with him and you both come up, smiling like idiots. Your family roars with adored laughter and your smile widens.

You swim towards him where he's standing just before the deep end. His laughter dies down as you pull him down so the water's up to his neck.

"I hate you."

Remus lets you wrap your legs around his waist. Content with holding you up. "No, you don't."

"We're breaking up."

Remus gasps, "Don't tell your dad."

"I think he'd die," you giggle.

"I think I would too."

You press your face into his wet chest, "Don't die."

"Never," he sighs. He has zero problems with kissing you over chlorine-soaked hair.

Christmas in the summer is better, Remus thinks. But only if he gets to spend it with you.

[rispwr]

still with you - JK - SPECIAL - FINAL

pairings : ex!jk x ex!reader, barista/producer!yoongi x reader

genre : fluff, angst

context : after everything that happened, yoongi can't keep this a secret to himself. you deserved to know, little did you know he has a special suprise for you.

word count:1k+ words

warnings/contents : dirty talking, slutty lingerie, yoongi LOVES YOUR BOOBS, oral (m recieving), big c yoongi, praising, yeahh

songs : right side of my neck, the part and after the party, die for you, pied piper.

Yoongi's POV

It's been four years since I managed to get Jungkook and his wife thrown in jail. 

Four years of keeping this secret from Y/N.

 Every time I look at her, the weight of what I'm hiding grows heavier. I know she deserves to know—she has the right to know that justice was served, that those who hurt her paid the price.

 But how do you bring up something like that? How do you tell the person you love that you went behind their back to make sure the people who hurt them were punished?

I've been waiting for the right time, but maybe there's never a perfect moment for something like this.

 The thought of telling her, seeing the shock and pain on her face, has kept me silent for too long. But now... now I feel like I can't wait any longer.

As I sit on the couch, trying to distract myself with mindless TV, an idea suddenly comes to me. A way to tell her that doesn't feel like dropping a bomb on our lives. It's not perfect, but it's better than this gnawing silence.

"Heyyy, babyy! I missed youuu, hm," Y/N's voice rings out as she bursts through the door. She doesn't even pause before she's in my arms, wrapping herself around me like a warm blanket. I hug her back tightly, lifting her chin so I can see her face. There's something about the way her eyes light up when she sees me that makes everything else fade away. I lean down, brushing my lips against hers in a gentle kiss. "I missed you more," I whisper against her lips.

We pull back slightly, just enough to look at each other, but I don't let go. My hand stays on her waist, grounding us both in the moment. She looks up at me with that curious glint in her eyes—the one that always makes me think she's up to something.

"Hey, babe," she starts, her voice soft but teasing. "My friend Joonie told me that Jungkook and his wife went to jail four years ago?" She pauses, watching my reaction closely. There's a slight smile on her lips, as if she finds the whole thing bizarre.

Relief floods through me, but I keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. "Mhm?" I hum, encouraging her to continue.

She tilts her head, that small smile still playing on her lips. "Crazy, right? I didn't even know that. Do you know why he got into jail?"

I force myself to shrug casually, keeping my tone light. "I've heard some things, but I don't know the full story," I lie, letting her take the lead in the conversation. My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my face relaxed, waiting to see where she takes this.

She nods, her expression thoughtful. "I guess it's for the best, though," she says quietly. "After everything... it feels like some sort of closure, you know?"

I nod along, my throat tightening at her words. I want so badly to tell her the truth, to show her that I was the one who made sure justice was served. But I bite my tongue, knowing it's not the right moment yet. Not here, not now.

As the conversation shifts to other topics, I can't help but feel the tension ease a little. We talk about our plans for the evening, and before I know it, Y/N is inviting me to watch horror movies with her later that night. I agree, relieved that she doesn't seem to suspect anything.

Weeks pass, and Halloween is just around the corner. Y/N's been talking about it for days, excited to spend the holiday with her family. She loves Halloween—everything from the spooky decorations to the scary movies, it's like she's a kid again. I decide to surprise her, booking us a Halloween vacation with her family.

The night before we leave, I take her to get her nails done, making sure everything is perfect. I want this trip to be special, not just because it's Halloween, but because I know what's coming. I've been planning this for weeks, and now it's finally time.

We arrive at the vacation spot—a cozy cabin decorated for Halloween—and Y/N is absolutely in love with it. The place is decked out with all the classic decorations: carved pumpkins, cobwebs, and a few strategically placed skeletons. It's perfect.

As we settle into our room, I turn to her, my heart pounding in my chest. "Hey, I have a present for you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. She looks up at me, surprised but intrigued.

"A present? What's the occasion?" she asks with a grin.

"You'll see," I say, my tone teasing. But then I take a deep breath, my expression growing serious. "But before I give it to you, you have to promise me one thing."

She looks at me curiously, her head tilting to the side. "What's that?"

"You have to promise me you won't be mad," I say, my voice soft but firm.

Her brows furrow in confusion, but she nods slowly. "Okay... I promise."

I walk over to my bag, pulling out a folder that I've kept hidden for four years. My hands tremble slightly as I hand it to her, my heart in my throat. "This is for you. Everything you need to know. Just... take your time with it."

She takes the folder from me, her expression shifting from curiosity to something more serious. She opens it slowly, her eyes scanning the contents. As she reads, I see the color drain from her face, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

"Yoongi... what is this?" she whispers, her voice shaking.

"It's everything," I say quietly. "Everything that happened. the reports and the justice that was served. I... I made sure they paid for what they did to you. I couldn't let them get away with it."

Tears well up in her eyes as she continues to read, her hands trembling. "You... you did this? For me?"

I nod, my heart breaking as I see the pain and disbelief on her face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just... I wanted to protect you. I wanted to make sure you were okay before I brought all this up."

She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. "Yoongi... I... I can't believe you did this. I thought..."

I move closer, wrapping my arms around her as she breaks down in my arms. "You don't have to live with it anymore," I whisper into her hair. "You're free now, Y/N. You're safe."

We stay like that for a long time, holding each other as she cries. I can feel the weight of the past four years finally lifting off her shoulders, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Later that evening

after she's had time to process everything, I ask her to come downstairs with me. She's still a bit shaky, her emotions raw, but she nods and follows me.

When we get downstairs, she gasps in surprise. The room is decorated in a soft, romantic purple theme—her favorite color. There are fairy lights strung up everywhere, casting a warm, magical glow over the room. In the center, there's a small table with candles and flowers, and in the background, our favorite song is playing softly.

"Yoongi... what is this?" she asks, her voice filled with awe.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. "This... this is the second part of your gift," I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. I drop down on one knee, holding the box out to her. "Y/N, these past few years with you have been the happiest of my life. You've brought me more joy than I ever thought possible, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you've made me."

I open the box, revealing the ring inside..an elegant design that I know she'll love. "Will you marry me, Y/N?"

Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and happiness. Tears well up in her eyes again, but this time they're tears of joy. She nods, a sob escaping her lips as she whispers, "Yes... yes, Yoongi, I'll marry you."

I slip the ring onto her finger, and she pulls me up into a tight hug, burying her face in my chest as she cries happy tears. I hold her close, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

As we stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, I know that this is just the beginning of our forever. 

later

we then get to our room as i slowly put her on the bed. "baby i love you so much" she said wrapping her arms around my neck, showering me with kisses. "you've been a good boy" she then says as her hands makes its way from my neck to my lips, her thumb caressing my bottom lip, sending shivers down my spine. 

"mhm?" i hummed "i think for everything you've done for me all these years...you need a reward" she gives me a seductive smile. "i think i do" i replied to her. 

my lips then brushed against hers. our kiss becoming more and more intimate, her hands makes its way to unbutton my pants. "impatient much?" i chuckled "mhm so what if i am?" she says. i then pull up her grey silky dress up, revealing her purple lacy panties. 

soaking wet. 

"may i?" i asked her, making sure i have her consent. "ofcourse you can yoongi" she nods 

i then rubbed her clothed, soaking folds. "so wet?" i look at her making eye contact as the more i rubbed the more she releases her arousal. "please yoongi" i then finally take off her dress revealing her bra. 

her lacy purple bra with a tied bow that i needed to untie in order to take it off. "like it? it's your reward baby" she says, smirking at me, her fingers drawing patterns on my arm. "costume made?" i ask as she hummed. 

"best present ever" i murmurred as i gently untie her bra, taking my time to be gentle as much as i can. 

the bra fell revealing her bare breast. i then starts circling my tounge all over her nipple as she lets out whiny noises. 

she then stops me and orders me to sit down, my back resting on the headboard. 

"okay princess. whatever you want" i follow her order and do what she told me to do.

she then lays on her stomach, unzipping my zipper and pulls down my pants along with my underwear. 

she took her hands and teasingly started stroking it "mhm?" she says as she fastens her pace. i rocked my head back from her touch "fuck y/n" i grunt as she then starts putting it in her mouth.

normally with anyone of even my hand it would always take me so long for me to come but with y/n fuck. just her and that slutty lingere can already make me come. 

i felt my orgasm starts getting close "fuck y-y/n...i-i-i'm c-close" i stuttered from all the pleasure i've felt. "can i come??" i asked her, panting. sweat dripping over me. 

as soon as i saw her nod i then finally release my come. she took her mouth away taking my cock to her face as i release my cum on her face. 

she then gives the tip of my cock a kiss before going to me. 

i cupped her face "fuck. you're so beautifull" i praised her, taking my white release from her face to her breast. 

we then switched places. she was now under me.

"can i?" i asked again as my tip brushes her entrance. "mhm" she nods. i then put my cock in, giving her time to stretch herself and adjust to my size. "tell me when i can move" i tell her. "you can m-move now" she replies. i then start to thrust into her, my hands cupping her boobs. 

"f-fuck.. you drive me so crazy y/n" i grunt as i fasten my pace. i then took my hand from her boob to her clit, circling it making her body arch from the pleasure. "a-ahh yoongi!" she screams "like it??" i asks her "m-mhm" she moans. "words baby. words" i said lifting her chin "yes! yes.. please" she replies to me, her eyes rolling back from the pleasure. 

"i'm cumming" she says "me too" i reply. "c-cum in me yoongi. please" she begs me. 

i then finally felt my orgasm again as i finally release into her, covering up her walls into white as our cum mixes together.

i then pull out and gets a wet wipe from the bedside to wipe the mess i made with her, giving her aftercare. "you tired?" i ask her as she gasps for air. "no. care for a round 2?" she fires back making me chuckle "such a dirty girl"

few weeks later Yoongi's POV

The room was filled with soft laughter and the faint sound of wedding planning. Y/N and I were sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by swatches of fabric, invitations, and a laptop open to various wedding venues. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt perfect.

"Yoongi, what do you think of this color scheme?" Y/N asked, holding up a piece of paper with a mix of lavender and deep purple shades.

I leaned over, taking a closer look. "It's beautiful. It'll look amazing with the decorations we talked about."

Y/N smiled, clearly pleased. "I think so too. And what about the invitations? Do you like this design?"

She showed me a mock-up of our wedding invitation, with elegant script and floral accents. I nodded, feeling a rush of excitement. "It's perfect. I think it's exactly what we want."

As we continued discussing details, an idea struck me. I reached for the stack of invitations and picked one up.

I took out one of the invitations and carefully addressed it to Jungkook. After sealing it in an envelope, I set it aside to be mailed

[imponderabillia]

David Sylvian - Perspectives (Polaroids 82-84)

”In the early part of 1982 I had, for numerous reasons, decided to take a rest from songwriting. This was to be the first break I had had since I’d started as a child at the age of 12. It was therefore not surprising that to relieve the subsequent frustration caused by this action, I turned to the only other creative outlet I’d known, and which had been my main preoccupation until my discovery of music, drawing.

The freshness brought on by this change, the naive pleasure of working and learning in a virtually unexplored area for me opened many doors.

Not least of which being my new found appreciation of the world of the arts. Drawings, paintings, sculpture, ceramics, a universe of creativity which had always been hidden from me, suddenly came to life. I had of course been aware of works by various famous artists before, but although I was able to appreciate a lot of what I had inadvertently seen, I had never felt anything emotionally from the work in the way that I could quite naturally feel from music.

Now all was changed. I first realised this whilst visiting a major exhibition by a painter living and working here in England, Frank Auerbach. The depth and intensity of emotion I experienced surpassed anything I had felt in music for a very long time, if at all. I explain this because through these and various other similar experiences my outlook on life and work changed (or maybe matured would be more appropriate) at quite a dramatic pace. In the midst of these changes came my first attempts at Polaroid montage.

It was during a visit to Hong Kong, one of the stops towards the end of a rather lengthy tour, that I first started working with Polaroid film. As was my routine throughout the tour, I would return to my hotel after the day’s performance and there I would stay for the remainder of the evening, reading and drawing sketches. On our arrival in Hong Kong we found ourselves with a day free. However, having been there fairly recently, and not having particularly enjoyed the place, I decided to spend the day at the hotel, and among other things write some letters and complete some rawings. By evening, having filled all the paper space available with notes and sketches and wishing to continue working on ideas formed while drawing, I turned to the only materials available to me at that time, the Polaroids. This is how it started and so it has continued since, constantly developing, trying to find different uses for the same materials, and when a new technique shows itself using it to the advantage of creating interesting photographs/pictures. I feel I must point out that although looking back I know there were other artists working with Polaroids in the same, or similar areas as myself (most notable of these being D. Hockney), at this time (the remaining months of ’82) I was working totally by means of self-discovery as I had no other possible guides. I gradually became more aware of the work of others towards the middle of ’83. Sometimes consciously (and I hope with humour) I place references in my work to that of others.

Prior to my work with the SX-70, my interest in photography was to be found in areas of concept and design. I never intended or expected to become personally involved in photography, indeed even now my knowledge of the practical side of the art is extremely limited. For this reason and also because of the nature of the work I do, I would not begin to think of myself as a photographer. I have far too much respect for the people who spend a large part of their lives working with the camera (Brassai, Kertesz, Riboud, Benton, McBean and Ray) and who give true meaning to the word.

I do not see the work in this book as an end in itself. Essentially I believe that there are only a handful of pictures I have produced which transcend the techniques used and show a possibility of standing up to time. The remainder are either very personal pictures and ‘or show and explore germs of ideas which may be followed up in the future by work in other mediums.

My experimenting with Polaroids is about at an end. Although I’m still working with the techniques I’ve developed in an attempt to produce pictures of a more lasting quality. I’ll soon be turning my interests to new areas, using, along with new ideas, the more valuable I have learnt from working with Polaroids."

[wonderlandleighleigh]

The cooking show in ‘78 is a big hit, which doesn’t really surprise Midge, much. She’s always been a whiz in the kitchen, and she’s funny as hell on top of that, and so the combination of her quick humor and delicious food winds up being an irresistible one-two punch.

Susie is happy, too. It’s keeping Midge in the public eye without having to send her on tour. Abe isn’t doing all that great now that Rose is gone, and the kids are a fucking mess, apparently, with Esther’s genius starting to make her life much harder, and Ethan is still trying to decide whether he wants to do his rabbinical studies here in the states or in Israel.

Shit’s nuts, in short.

But the show is fun. It’s low stakes, and every once in a while they have a celebrity guest come on to make one of their own dishes. Gordon Ford came on once for a steak au poivre recipe where he just hit on Midge the entire time. It made for good TV, but Midge left set annoyed as fuck and the two women drank their way through a couple of bottles of wine that night.

Shy Baldwin came on for an episode to make paella and Midge makes lots of jokes about Jewish people and shellfish, while Shy complains about the fact that when he does cooking shows everyone wants him to make fried chicken.

“My fried chicken is terrible,” he laughs. “I gave Reggie salmonella once.”

Midge laughs at that. “You did not!”

“I did! He’s never let me live it down!”

It’s a great episode, two old friends who have mended a long-broken fence giggling their way through a half hour of television, talking about the tour in 1960, and having a frank discussion about Shy’s coming out the year before. Shit gets rave reviews TV Guide, and even Variety picks up a blurb about the two’s warmth and effervescence on screen.

Susie is happy.

“I booked Lenny Bruce for next week.”

Susie is less happy.

“Mike!” she snaps. “What the fuck?! Seriously!? She hasn’t spoken to him since his overdose in ‘66!”

Mike blinks. “I thought they were friends.”

“Before he fucked his life, yeah,” Susie tells him. “They haven’t spoken in years.”

“Do they hate each other?” Mike asks. “Should I cancel?”

Susie blows out a breath and thinks for a moment. Midge doesn’t hate Lenny. Quite the opposite. They just...never got it together. “Let me talk to her. See what she wants.”

“The guy’s been clean since he almost kicked it,” Mike shrugs. “And he’s mostly working behind the scenes producing documentaries these days. I thought it’d be a nice ‘hello, old friend’ kind of episode.”

Susie squeezes her eyes shut. “Just...lemme take her temperature on it.”

*****

“Oh.”

Susie observes her oldest friend quietly as the comedian absorbs the information. Her eyes look sad and wistful for just a moment before she takes a breath and sits up straight.

“It’ll be fine,” Midge says. “It’ll be...nice. To see him.”

Susie eyes her suspiciously. “Will it?”

“I uh...yeah,” Midge nods. “I think the last time we spoke, we ran into each other at a Grammy party he stopped in at right after he got clean. He was...it was nice.”

Susie sighs softly. She likes Lenny. She, too, has run into him here and there, and since getting his shit together and winning his appeal, he’s been good. He was downright sweet the last time, buying Susie a drink. Thanking her for trying to drag his dumb ass out of that hole he was in.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Lenny wound up being husband number five.

“Okay, then. Lenny is on next week,” Susie confirms.

*****

He gets to set a little early to prep, and say hello. He’s quiet now, which Midge finds strange, but he’s clearly happy to be there. They share a friendly peck in greeting and then the work starts.

Susie hovers, whether to keep an eye on him or to keep an eye on her, Midge doesn’t know, but they run through what they’re doing (chicken soup - she can’t believe she hasn’t made it on the show yet), and the director does his usual shpeil, explaining how things work, where to look, where to stand.

Once the cameras are rolling, that old chemistry comes roaring back like a tidal wave. Their banter is fast and funny, and they laugh together. They shamelessly flirt, and Lenny drives her nuts by adding too much chili powder to the soup.

“You like spicy food,” he accuses.

“But chicken soup isn’t a spicy dish, Lenny.”

“Why not? We’re adults. We’re not committing murder. We can make spicy chicken soup.”

It goes off the rails from there, and suddenly they’re adding an entire jalapeno to the soup, and Lenny goads her into doing a party trick she’d mentioned to him long ago; eating an entire hot pepper without incident, which she does. 

They eat the soup, and declare it delicious, surprisingly, with all the spice.

They end the episode with their arms wrapped around each other, and Lenny laughing and trying to avoid her spicy breath as she giggles her way through the outro of the show. Once she gets out her “thank you and goodnight!” she turns to him and huffs in his face, making him jerk back, still laughing.

Susie can’t remember the last time Midge lit up so much with anyone other than Susie herself. It looks good on her, and since her mother died, she’s been down.

“You still out in LA?” Susie asks him as he’s getting ready to leave.

“I just moved back,” Lenny admits. “There are three docs shooting here in the next year I’m working on, and I’ve been asked to be more active, so I got a little place.”

Midge hears and perks up, but doesn’t say anything.

“Well...don’t be a stranger, then,” Susie tells him, patting his arm as she walks off, leaving the two comics to talk, though listening as she goes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were moving back?” Midge asks.

“We don’t talk very much anymore, I didn’t think you’d care to know,” Lenny offers helplessly.

“You’re so dumb,” she accuses. “Of course I care to know. We should throw you a housewarming party.”

“No.”

“Lenny.”

He sighs heavily, as unable to say no to her as Susie is. “Fine.”

Susie smirks and heads for the offices to get a bead on last week’s ratings.

*****

After that, Lenny guests on the show once a month, and even when he’s not there, Midge brings him leftovers. 

END

[a-lucha-brother]

Oh boy, oh boy, let's talk about AEW showing that All In footage. Daddy's gotta eat!

So firstly, I think the reactions online to this have been quite frankly, and to absolutely nobodies surprise, fucking ridiculous and infested with braindead morons (welcome to wrestling in 2024)

And again, to absolutely nobodies surprise, people have completely missed the point (and how cleverly AEW took advantage of the situation to further its ongoing storylines to produce a brilliant penultimate episode of Dynamite) of why it was even done in the first place.

Because for some bizarre reason, people seem to think CM Punk is beyond criticism and revere him to be some all-knowing all-powerful demi-god of infinite credibility and power, which I personally have never bought into (I've been watching wrestling since 1994 so I've been here before, during and after Punks peak) and quite frankly as far as Punk is concerned, never seen the appeal.

For me, I've always seen this as AEW taking an obvious opportunity being presented before them to fit in what I've been assuming for a long time now, a storylined reason/way to open the door for Jack Perry to come back to AEW as not only a MASSIVE heel, but to join The Elite and become THE heel of AEW (I can fantasy book so much shit from this you need only ask).

My case and point of evidence: the fact they specifically make mention of Jack Perry and his current Scapegoat gimmick on MULTIPLE occasions. He's essentially the focal point on the entire spot. CM Punks face isn't even shown, nor is his name mentioned. AEW needed as mentioned before, a really good throughline for Jack to make a return (interfere at Dynasty to help Nicholas and Matthew win?), to create a nuclear build for the tag match at Dynasty between the Bucks and FTR, to create massive babyface momentum for FTR (again, a perfect opportunity since they're friends with Phil).

And think about it, with the promo FTR cut in the ring after, with the Kaz/Pac/FTR/Bucks clash later in the show and all round how the entire production moves around the moment - EVERYONE was in on this and EVERYONE was in tandem and in agreement with how to proceed with using this.

People want to keep pointing out Tony Schiavones reaction immediately after it. Yes, he's gonna be uncomfortable even if he's in on it all, it was a very uncomfortable situation to relive, but how everyone just moves on from it (exactly like what the whole point of FTRs promo was), he's totally fine and chill about it all.

I thought this entire segment and situation was pretty fucking ingenious and did an absolutely fantastic job of create a rocket-fueled build to the Bucks/FTR tag match at Dynasty.

If you have any issues with this, then sorry to say, bud, that's a YOU problem and you may need to grow up a bit, cause everyone else is totally fine with this and using it to make good business with and are all in total consent with each other about it (I'd even go as far as to say that even Punk is in on this too).

So with that, I'm spent, and I'll bid you adieu.

[fanficimagery]

Hawkins Christmas Surprise

Christmastime is the perfect time to let your friends and fans in on a secret you've kept for over a year.

Words: 3.5K Author's Note: Merry (early) Christmas? Haha.

High school was supposed to be a time to have fun and fool around.

It was NOT meant for you to fall in love with the first boy you spent weeks tiptoeing around because you developed a major crush on him. But Eddie Munson got his hooks in you deep and you found you couldn't complain.

You and Eddie didn't have too many things in common, but the two of you learned to like what the other liked or at least tolerate it for the sake of each other's sanity. Eddie loved D&D, but you could barely grasp what was happening or how to play. You loved rom-coms, but Eddie could hardly stand them unless his head was in your lap and you played with his hair.

The major differences were your taste in music, but you supported Corroded Coffin with all your heart and Eddie supported your song writing and the cheesy lyrics you would write down and sometimes leave behind in his room.

At first glance, you and Eddie seemed suited to one another. But the more people got to know the two of you and your different personalities, they couldn't fathom how it was you managed to stick together.

You and Eddie both took your music seriously, so it was a shock to you when you were approached after singing a cover of one of your favorite songs at a small cafe. With some music producer's card in hand, Eddie was the most stoked for you to give them a call and see what the deal was even when you were hesitant in doing so.

For months you spoke on the phone with a music producer and shared some of your unfinished songs with them, and by the time you were set to graduate, you had a studio booked states away so you could record an EP. You were excited and nervous, and afraid of leaving Eddie behind because while he was only meant to be a high school sweetheart, he became so much more in the two years you had dated. But when your hesitancy was made obvious, Eddie encouraged you to live your life and see where this took you. He'd be in Hawkins, because his grades weren't good enough to graduate with you and would only be a phone call away when you needed to talk.

So, you left the comfort of your hometown and Eddie Munson, and you made a name for yourself.

For years you wrote and toured and did interviews, all the while calling Eddie every night that you were able to. Sometimes Eddie, and even his uncle Wayne, would make one of your shows if it was close enough- always sitting in the section you'd reserved for them. And those nights that Eddie would spend with you, you'd lay in his arms and apologize for the long-distance relationship you were subjecting him to. But Eddie never complained. He loved you as much as you loved him, and he vowed to always be there no matter what- through thick and thin.

And Eddie… well, he always keeps his promises.

Christmas is just days away and you're in a slump.

Normally you're excited for the holidays, but you find yourself missing everyone back in Hawkins, and you're exhausted. You need a break, and you need it before you burn yourself out. So, after talking to your manager and explaining how you're feeling, everyone's in agreement that a yearlong break is in order so long as you continue writing here and there so you can get back into the studio after the year is up.

You don't tell anyone you're coming home. You want to surprise them, in more ways than one, and you know exactly how you're going to do it.

Hawkins is throwing a Christmas Festival, complete with food booths, games, pictures with Santa, and music entertainment. And though you're only taking a break because you're tired of performing, you can think of no better way to surprise everyone by entering in the talent portion of their entertainment hour. So, after several calls and explaining your plan, your hometown is more than happy to have you go on stage with a Christmas song.

You call Eddie the day before Christmas Eve and apologize for not being able to make it home. He was ready to drop everything and be with you, but you made sure he did no such thing. You wanted him to spend Christmas with Wayne and his friends and promised to make it home for New Years. And after many reassurances, he reluctantly agreed to stay put.

Your bandmates are visiting Hawkins with you, just long enough so you can perform before flying out to their own families. You told them it wasn't necessary, but when they found out what you had planned, they wanted to be there to see how it all played out.

On Christmas Eve, you send out text messages to your friends while calling your family. You apologize to them once more, and then ask about their plans. It seemed everyone was heading out to the Christmas Festival, and you did your best to not show how excited and relieved you were. Then hidden in the backseat of an SUV, you show your bandmates around your hometown and take in all the decorations they'd put into the festival.

Later that evening, with beanies pulled down over your heads and scarves hiding the lower half of your faces, you and your bandmates are allowed to walk around the festival in order to kill some time. You see many familiar faces, heart pounding when you spot Eddie and your usual group of friends all still hanging out together. Then when the entertainment hour begins, you and your bandmates head to the tent to get ready.

It's basically a talent show for anyone looking to win gift cards to the local stores, and you all patiently wait until they all sing and are judged.

When all is said and done, the announcer keeps everyone hanging around. "So, before everyone disperses, we have a Hawkins Christmas surprise for all of you!" The crowd cheers some, and you and your bandmates fidget excitedly behind the stage. "Fresh off tour, please put your hands together for Hawkins' very own… YN YLN!"

There's a collective gasp and then the crowd erupts when you and your band walk on stage. You laugh, waving to the crowd and take your place behind the mic stand. "Hey, Hawkins. It's been a while." You smile as they continue to cheer and whistle, and you snort when you see Dustin Henderson- complete with reindeer antlers and a red nose- push his way to the front of the crowd. Mike, Lucas, Max, Jane, Will, Eddie, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Wayne, and your parents aren't too far behind.

"You dirty, little liar!" Eddie shouts. "You said you weren't going to make it!"

"Sorry, baby," you muse and the crowd laughs. "Merry Christmas." And then addressing the crowd, you say, "So how about those talented kids, huh? Woo! Congrats to the winner and while they got you all nice and amped up for the night, I'm afraid I'm about to slow things down with my absolute favorite Christmas song. I hope you don't mind."

"Never!" Dustin shouts.

You grin at him before glancing over your shoulder, nodding at your bandmate standing behind a keyboard. Once the crowd catches onto the tune, they fall quiet.

"Oh, Holy Night. The stars are brightly shining…"

You sing the song your mother played nearly on repeat from Thanksgiving until New Years. It's a song you've come to love, and you couldn't pass up singing it, especially as you watch your father gather your mother in his arms, her back to his chest as they lightly sway side to side.

Snow starts to fall and your heart fills with warmth.

"Fall on your knees. Oh, hear the angel voices."

You're not one for religion, but this song just hits different for you. And many others, it seems, as they fall into a trance while listening to your voice.

Once the song ends, the crowd erupts yet again.

"Thank you." You take a moment to stomp your feet, shaking out your arms. "Woo. I forgot how cold it can get here," you muse. Your bandmates and crowd chuckle along with you. "But I wouldn't have this happen any other way because wow. Look around, guys, it's freakin' beautiful out here." 

With the snow falling and the twinkling lights all around, downtown Hawkins really is a sight to behold. "Now before I take my leave to spend the holidays with my family, I have one more surprise for you all." Your lips twitch in amusement as your gaze falls on Eddie. "Edward Munson, will you please join me on stage?"

Some of the crowd cheers and you laugh as Eddie's smile falls. His eyes narrow and you blow him a kiss, laughing when Steve and Dustin shove him forward.

As Eddie hops on stage, you can't help but take in how the boy you loved grew into the man he is now. Corroded Coffin never had their big break, but Eddie threw himself into work and helped support his uncle. He helped so much that they were able to get out of the trailer park and rent a real house instead.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" He asks, murmuring in your ear while pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"We're coming clean." Your eyes sparkle and when Eddie meets your gaze, he slowly smirks.

"'Bout damn time."

Laughing, you face the crowd once more. "So as many of you know, this knucklehead is the one whose been by my side since our high school years. He's the one I bounce all my ideas off of, so he's going to help me out with this brand-new song." The crowd cheers as your bandmates bring out two stools and an acoustic guitar for Eddie. "So, this is my Christmas gift to you all- a brand-new song and… well, let's see who picks up on the second half of your Christmas surprise."

You and Eddie bring the stools closer to the edge of the small stage, taking a seat. He gives the guitar a few strums to make sure it's in tune and then nods at your bandmates to let them know to get ready as well.

Crossing one knee over the other, you hold the mic in your right hand while resting your left between your thighs. You wink at Eddie, and he starts to strum, the chords filling the air with a melody far too soft for the likes of him.

"I met you in the dark. You lit me up. You made me feel as though I was enough. We danced the night away. We drank too much. I held your hair back when you were throwing up."

Eddie snorts, this being the first time he heard the lyrics as another one of your bandmates picks up the melody on the keyboard. You'd only ever sent him chords to the song, letting him play out the melody to get a feel for it. So, while he knows how to play it, the lyrics are a surprise to him as much as they are to the crowd.

Meeting Eddie's gaze, you sing, "I knew I loved you then, but you'd never know. 'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go. I know I needed you, but I never showed. But I wanna stay with you until we're gray and old. Just say you won't let go."

The crowd cheers and awws, and Eddie's dimples make an appearance. You stand up from your stool, gesturing for Eddie to follow your lead. Your guitarist picks up the melody as Eddie puts his guitar down, and then you take his hand in yours.

"When you looked over your shoulder, for a minute I forget that we're older. I wanna dance with you right now." Eddie laughs and spins you with one hand, bringing you back in so your back is to his chest, swaying side to side. "I'm so in love with you and I hope you know. Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold. We've come so far, my dear. Look how we've grown. And I wanna stay with you until we're gray and old."

You step out of his embrace, turning to face him. Your breath hitches when you see his eyes shine with unshed tears, his smile beaming at you brightly for all to see. You step back into his space, left hand cradling the side of his face that's facing the crowd as his hands rest on your hips.

"HOLY SHIT!" You hear one of your friends shout.

"I wanna live with you even when we're ghosts 'cause you were always there for me when I needed you most. I'm gonna love you till my lungs give out. I promise 'till death we part like in our vows. So, I wrote this song for you. Now everybody knows that it's just you and me 'till we're gray and old."

And if the lyrics didn't tip off the crowd to what you were telling them with this song, then the diamond ring on a certain finger on your left hand sure did.

You finish out the song, staring deep into your husband's eyes. And then in front of everyone, for the entire town of Hawkins to see, Eddie pulls you into a deep kiss.

Your bandmates, family, friends, and fans erupt into cheers.

Pulling back from Eddie, you laugh. He pulls on the rope necklace around his neck, taking it off to slip off his own silver wedding band before slipping it onto his finger to show that he's off the market. You, Eddie, and your band all gather together, and then take a bow before taking your leave.

As you walk behind the stage, you hug each of your bandmates as they laugh and thank you for surprising your hometown with such big news.

You and Eddie are left alone, his arms wrapped around your waist and yours around his neck as he rests his forehead against yours. "Did you really just do that? Holy shit."

"No more hiding." You grin and chastely kiss his lips. "And by the way, I'm home for the next year. Merry Christmas."

Eddie's eyes widen. "Christ, I love you."

But just as he leans in for another kiss, there's a crowd of chaos descending upon you.

"YOU'RE MARRIED?!"

"HOLY SHIT! WHEN DID YOU-"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!"

"Calm- calm down." You and Eddie both laugh, stepping apart to receive hugs from your parents and Wayne. "Yes, we're married."

"Got hitched last year," Eddie muses, relishing the chaos around him.

"And we didn't really tell anyone. The only people who knew were my parents and Wayne who were there for the ceremony."

"Well shit. Congratulations, guys," Steve says. "You know we have to have a party now. Right?"

"New Years!" Robin realizes. "It's perfect."

"We don't need a party."

"I don't care. We didn't get to see you say I do, so we're throwing you a party."

"Fine. If you must," Eddie says. He rolls his eyes, but you know he's secretly pleased. In fact, your whole group of friends know if their little grins are anything to go by.

"You know, this makes so much more sense now," Mike says. "I always saw Eddie at your parents' place, giving a helping hand. Your mom was always pinching his cheeks and I swear I heard her call him the perfect son in law-"

"What?!" Dustin screeches. "When did you hear this? Why didn't you tell me?!"

Mike shrinks back. "I just thought she said it to say it. We all knew they were dating. I just thought she said it because they'd been dating for so long!"

"Aww." You coo and pinch Eddie's side. "Look at you being a proper son-in-law." Then glancing at Wayne, you say, "You and me, old man, we're hitting up a bar for drinks on your next day off. My treat."

"I won't say no to free drinks." Wayne chuckles.

"Damn right, you won't." Then glancing around at your friends, you say, "So as much as I want to hang out with you all, I kind of want to take my husband home and cuddle the shit out of him."

"Will we be able to hang out before you're back on the road?" Robin asks.

"Buckley," you slowly grin. "We'll have the entire upcoming year."

"What?!"

"Told my manager I needed a break." You shrug. "So long as I continue writing, I'm home for the year."

Robin jumps up and down in excitement, and you're not surprised when your parents sandwich you in a hug. Eventually they release you, and then you and Eddie are trying to scurry out of the crowd so you can get home as soon as possible.

The house that the Munson's had chosen has two bedrooms, but it apparently came with a basement that they had completely transformed so Eddie could have his privacy. Eddie drags you through the front door, laughing, and you can't help but feel comfort when you see the familiar caps hanging on the wall and the numerous coffee mugs adorning some shelves.

"Never change, uncle Wayne," you murmur quietly.

Practically running down the basement stairs, you almost run into Eddie when he suddenly stops. You're still standing on the stairs when he whirls around, arms going around your waist and lifting so your legs wrap around him. Now that your head is above his own, you gently cradle his face before planting a soft kiss to his lips.

"What are you doing?" You laugh.

He leads the way to the bedroom portion of the basement without even having to look where he's going. "Taking my wife to bed."

"So soon?" You muse.

"Shut up. I haven't properly tasted you since our wedding night. Don't judge me for being eager."

You yelp when he suddenly drops you on his bed, laughing as he hurriedly strips. Then scooting backwards up the mattress, you rest against his pillows as you watch as he gets himself down to his boxers before crawling his way towards you. "Missed you," you mumble as he hovers above you, caging you beneath him. "Missed this," you then say while scratching your nails along his naked torso.

"And to think we're going to have a whole year of this."

Eddie swoops down then, lips capturing yours mid-giggle.

Sunlight filtering in through the small basement windows is what wakes you, and you slowly waken with a stretch and a yawn that nearly pops your jaw. You turn so you're on your back, Eddie's arm sliding along your waist while he still slumbers.

You turn to face him, smiling softly as you raise a hand to move the hair out of his eyes. Your fingers trail down his face, your thumb tugging on his bottom lip. His eyelids flutter open and you lean in to quickly kiss his lips. "Morning, sleepyhead."

He groans quietly, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling into the side of your neck. "Mmmm. I've missed waking up like this."

"Me too, love."

"Were you being serious last night? You're home for a year?"

"I am," you tell him. "I love my job, but I love you more. I told my manager I was going to need more frequent breaks if she didn't want me to burn out. My bandmates agreed and there wasn't much she could do. So long as I write so I have something to record when I hit the studio, she won't raise a fuss."

Eddie huffs. "Sometimes I'm glad Corroded Coffin never took off. Can you imagine trying to make time for one another if we were both touring?"

"We'd be miserable."

"So miserable." You grin as he presses a kiss to your jaw. "So how long do you think we have before any of the children come looking to steal you away from me?"

Your breath hitches when you feel his hand beneath the blanket slowly make its way towards your now most sensitive part. "Fuck them kids." Eddie snorts, his hand stopping just right below your navel. You whine and squirm. "I'm not opposed to scarring them for life. It'll be their own fault for walking into your den right after being reunited with me."

"Our den," he then amends. "This place is ours."

"Yeah?"

"Wayne's got a deal with the homeowner. Soon enough, this place will permanently be ours."

"Mhm. That's nice. But Eds, if your hand doesn't continue its descent south in the next five seconds, I will divorce your scrawny ass."

Eddie laughs and playfully nips your shoulder. "What the lady wife wants, the lady wife shall get."

And if you hear screams of scandalized terror and disgust only thirty minutes later, well then, it's your friends' fault for not calling ahead or knocking.

[mooniekive]

Slow Burn | four (preview + link)

Pairing: min yoongi x reader 

AU: neighbors!au | producer!yooongi and teacher reader | they both identify as bi, and reader is aspec (grey-sexual/demi-romantic)

Genre: slow burn, kind of slice of life | fluff, angst

Word Count: 773 words (preview) | 9.3k (chapter)

Warnings: kissing/making out, kind of detailed mentions of food, sickness (unrelated to food), a lot of fluff

Synopsis: 

When one of your best friends and neighbors moves in with his partner, you’re surprised to have a quiet (and attractive) man move in next door. His protective nature intrigues you, and his looks pull you in with a magnetism so unfamiliar to you.

Min Yoongi is so used to being on his own that when he moves into a new place, and into an existing little found family, he’s forced out of his little box. He has no other choice but to finally allow himself to want. To want what he always desired — a place and people to comfortably exist with. 

Preview under cut, or read on ao3

Yoongi follows you to your apartment, hands still intertwined even as you both struggle to get your outdoor shoes off and slip into some house slippers, laughing as you both hop around and almost trip. 

His mind is still reeling when you start pulling him further into your apartment. He can’t believe he’s holding your hand, and that he kissed you. He fucking kissed you. And it was amazing. Yoongi can still feel how your lips melted against his, how your tongue brushed against his with so much want. 

When he was making his way to the roof earlier today, he had no idea his day would end like this. Never would have imagined he’d get to hold you in his arms and call you his.

You are though, and as he follows you into your bedroom, he hears his brain go haywire, mine mine mine, finally. 

Bokshil is curled up on the bed when you both enter, but he immediately stands and stretches after glancing at the intruders. 

“Good boy,” you whisper as you reach to scratch under Bokshil’s chin. 

Yoongi feels a tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach at hearing you say those words, but he shakes his head and pushes any unwanted thoughts that might want to cross that line past his sanity far, far away. 

“Let me put the blanket away,” you say to him when you let go of his hand and turn to face him. 

He hands it wordlessly as he looks around your room. He can count on one hand the times he’s been in here, and it was mainly to get you to come out of your room. A mattress rests on a wooden base between the bathroom door and closet — where you head. A desk on the adjacent corner, a window beside it open that looks out onto the skyline. A vanity table and mirror against the wall in front of the bed. There’s a bookshelf to the right of the bedroom door, so he turns to peruse it. 

There’s some teaching books, as well as regular fiction and non-fiction novels. They look well taken care of and organized neatly by genre. 

The bedroom smells like you, and Yoongi smiles at the fact that he can be in here. He thought it would take a long time before the two of you could be close again. 

A sound like scattering pebbles goes off somewhere outside the bedroom and Bokshil chirps before he bounds off. 

“Automated feeding machine,” you offer as you make your way back to Yoongi. “It’s new but he loves it already,” you muse. 

Yoongi smiles, “That’s cute.” 

You look around your bedroom like it’s the first time you’re seeing it. “You’re here,” you whisper, but the smile you give him makes any anxiety that might’ve appeared at your statement immediately dissipate. 

He wants to respect your boundaries, and he knows that if you didn’t want him here you’d say so. “I am…” he trails off as he moves to stand close to you, naturally feeling the need to. 

Yoongi touches your arm gingerly, his fingertips moving down the expanse of your forearm until he’s holding your hand again. It feels warm and right. 

You squeeze his hand and step closer, “Wanna order food? I’m kind of hungry.” 

Yoongi nods and points over to your bed so you can both sit. You take out your phone and look at Yoongi expectantly. 

“Pizza?” you ask.

“Sounds good,” he says, but before he can tell you what he’d like you’re already whispering as you open up the app. 

“Pan pizza, marinara sauce, meat lovers?” you say. 

Yoongi grins, squeezes your hand, and gives you a nod. 

“Just so you know, I won’t be kissing you after dinner.” 

The seriousness of your tone makes Yoongi laugh loudly, and the fond look in your eyes makes a warmth spread through his body. “Noted,” he says. 

He watches you make the rest of the order, then you drop your phone beside you on the bed and turn to look at Yoongi. Really look at him. His skin feels the heat of your gaze as it moves from his legs — where his pants tighten around his thighs — all the way up to where he pushes hair behind his ears. Yoongi raises an expectant brow, trying his best to hide the electric current currently moving up his spine. He squeezes your fingers once more. 

“Wanna make out?” 

Your words cause a breathy laugh to escape him, almost making him choke in his own saliva. “My gosh, don’t do that to me,” he laughs, but pulls you in. 

read more on ao3

[marscia]

On life post-grad and how I've been, where I've been

It’s been almost a year since I finished my bachelor’s degree. Funny though, I don’t miss university at all, when all I could think of before graduation was how much my life would probably feel so weird without uni. But I think I just felt so burnt out in those last few months that all I wanted was to wrap things up and move on—which I did quite easily, to my surprise. Though, despite wanting to write about my experience in terms of graduating uni and shifting to working full-time in corporate (which was quite the change of environment!) sooner, I just could not get the right words out of my system and was always faced with a blank Word document. Now that it’s been over ten months since, I’m starting to get my rhythm back.

I now work in marketing for an e-commerce website that houses international luxury fashion, beauty, and lifestyle brands. I execute and produce (mostly) video content for the website’s social platforms, mainly Tiktok, Instagram, and Facebook. A lot of people I know describe their first few months of post-grad as overwhelming, confusing, etc., but luckily it wasn’t the case for me (which I’m very thankful for). I was given the opportunity to apply for Vogue and managed to submit my writing portfolio and even snagged an interview, but after receiving a job offer from a different company that met my requests, I took it without hesitation. 

I immediately started two weeks after graduation. So far, the work environment has been wonderful. The company values work/life balance and I always get to enjoy my weekends and hours outside of work. I’m aware that this is a privilege not many people have, so, I’m extremely grateful for it. 

What really threw me off, though, was the sudden shift in where most of my mental energy goes. In university, I was always thinking in the context of theory application and research. But now, at work, I’m required to think in the context of aesthetics and what makes something visually appealing and how to effectively translate that into an equally appealing visual content. It’s a different kind of challenge; though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being directly involved in academics and writing essays.

I still fall behind on some days and forget to eat lunch, or drink water to keep my body hydrated. I sometimes spend way too much time on my phone and lose what could have been a couple more hours of sleep. Reading slumps hit me more often now than it did when I was a student; because no one warns you that when you start working full-time in corporate, you get home every day, tired and socially exhausted, and most days all you want to do is close your eyes and take that nap you’ve been dreaming of since lunch. 

But I try. I’ve managed to get back into the habit of doing my skincare every night before bed. I watch Booktube to inspire me to read and lately it’s been such a big help; I’m slowly getting back into reading again. I bought a new shelf to organize the stacks of new books that have been piling up all over my room the past couple of months—now it looks so pretty standing next to my desk. Last month, I decluttered my closet to make room for new clothes. This weekend, I’m planning to buy new sheets and a comforter I’ve been eyeing for a few weeks now. I’m doing alright.

It’s comforting though, that one day you’re crying about finals and the next, you’re drinking a hot cup of tea on a Monday night after a long day at work, telling yourself that you did good and tomorrow’s another day. And you realize that no one’s after you. There’s no need to rush and everything will be fine. Things always figure themselves out, anyway.

[davekat-sucks]

My friend once told me Hussie seems like the type of guy who would build a sandcastle and if someone complimented it, he would kick it down and stomp on it and say "DO YOU LIKE IT NOW??"

Hussie is going through a mid life crisis, look how he dresses, he's lost his mind. I kinda feel bad for him. What's his deal anymore? What's even going on with What Pumpkin? Why is it so hard to get straight answers about hiveswap? Why does he always produce visual novels? I don't think anyone knows whats even going on neither Hussie himself. Everything is so all over the place and i have to ask again, why? How does it get this bad?

Some theorized it went bad after his father died during the comic's run. He and his father were close. After his death, he likely fell into depression, but couldn't say anything about it to the growing fandom to have time for himself. Maybe he did feel anxious or uneasy at the large Homestuck fandom. He's not quite sociable and puts up the asshole persona as a front. It's the first time one of his works gained traction and is surprised by the large amount of people joining in. He was not sure how to handle it. He was also not a careful planner about how to handle game development. Game development is hard and it was a first for him and WhatPumpkin. Nobody knew how to approach it. Was it because he was surrounded by people like Shelby and others from WhatPumpkin? They were currently his only friends and would get what they wanted out by being his close friend. Perhaps it was burnout that he extended it for this long. Most of Homestuck's ideas and concepts that were shown in the comic were just made up on the fly. He pushed himself into a corner of this extreme large worldbuilding that he didn't want to go further into detail. Dude is a guy who writes cool stuff just cause he thought it would be cool. Even now, he's still tired and has declared to be out from future Homestuck projects AND the Hiveswap development. Same Hiveswap that he started for 11-12 years ago that gained $2 million. How is at that point it's not a scam if he's not the lead anymore? He likely wants to throw WhatPumpkin and anybody who joins for stuff like Homestuck Beyond Canon, under the bus, so he doesn't have to take responsibility anymore. It could be his slight ego too that was his downfall as well. People had been throwing money at this feet and he was too happy that he was getting some fame. The guy is likely living a comfortable life because even if he is not part of future HS works, he still owns the IP and gets money from the books that were still published under Viz Media and Hiveswap game sales. He's MARRIED too. He could kick back and relax now, leaving his mess behind. Whatever the reason may be, we'll never know unless Andrew Hussie speaks up for real. He'll likely never will at this point and will take that to his grave as he lives a life away from what had pushed his current lifestyle. It may as well be both a blessing and curse for him.

[mshroom1e]

Hello, can I make a fanfic request that's a cross between a crack and fluff. How would Raiden Ei has a GN Alchemist S/O, who also has a Hydro Vision. One day, she visits them and her S/O was working on a potion that makes giant bubbles. However, something goes wrong, and they both end up trapped in a giant floating bubble together (that’s breathable by the way), that they can’t pop. So, they end up being stuck in a bubble together for a few hours, until it pops eventually.

Bubble Bubble | Ei x GN! Reader

This request was so fun to write. Tysm for asking for it!

type: fanfic

Summary: [Name] is an alchemist whose experiments seem to always go out of hand. This time, [Name] decides to simulate the abilities of a hydro abyss mage. What better way to use a hydro vision, right? Now, the only issue is that the project was a little too successful.

2.4k words

Warning(s): none

When someone thought of your name, the first thing they were reminded of was how chaotic and disastrous your experiments were. It was an absolute wonder to many, how you, in all your chaotic glory, was able to catch the eyes of the archon of Inazuma. Some speculated that you had added a surprise ingridient to her dango milk to somehow make her interested in you while others accepted it as just another part of your eccentric character.

Your curiosity and want for experimenting knew no bounds. It was the norm to hear explosions coming from your lab at least 7 times a day. This time, you stood at one of your workbenches with your nose buried in a book, eyes pouring over a page that described the abilities of hydro abyss mage in full detail.

Your laboratory was always quite messy, papers and stray books scattered over about a third of the tables in the room, the rest of them jam-packed with test tube bottles, bunsen burners, and other types of lab equptement. Labelled scientific diagrams were plasteted over most of your walls, some of them on top of one another. To someone else, your workspace seemed like an absolute mess, but for you, it was incredibly easy to navigate around the disorganised space and find all the things you needed.

Your latest work in progress was a bubble made from hydro, thanks to the help of your vision. The bubble was meant to mimic the abilities of hydro abyss mages. You modified the formula to produce the bubble so that it was hollow and able to carry items and keep them safe rather than for attacking and drowning an enemy. You worked silently like you usually did, tinkering with your equipment and tossing different ingredients into the mix.

You were planning to create this new wonder as a learning experience for yourself, as well as a small gift to Ei. She had talked about how the items she ordered from the outside during her months-long meditation in her Plane of Euthymia sometimes arrived slightly damaged or a little too roughed up. You were hoping that you would be able to make something that could protect items while passing for long distances or just for a way to preserve them for as long as possible. After all, science is a way to make people's lives more convenient.

So far, the project was a success, and the bubble was able to hold itself for a few hours. The only issue was that the bubble was a little too strong. It couldn't be popped from the inside and the only ways for it to go away was if you waited for it to decompose on its own or if it was attacked with cryo or pyro from the outside.

Standing at your desk was getting a little tiring for your feet. Your body was starting to cramp, and you decided to take a well-deserved break. As you were midway through savouring a cup of tea, which was, of course, made through the use of your alchemical skills, you were jumpscared shitless at the voice that suddenly sounded from beside you.

"Hello, [Name]."

You choked on your drink and began coughing violently, slapping a hand on your chest to force the bevrage rom going down the wrong way.

Of course, you knew who had just appeared. Ei always managed to give you a jumpscare when she appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hello, your exellency," you managed to reply between your sequence of gut ripping coughs. The sound being projected from your airways and oesophagus were akin to that of a donkey and several goats singing in an ensemble and missing every single note. The sound alone was enough to cause the ear drums of any living mortal to bleed. Thankfully, the only other person in the room wasn't human, so her ears were safe for now.

Ei walked around the couch, elegantly sitting next to you. She looked at you, crossing her arms with a small pout. "I thought I told you we no longer have the need for such formalties."

"Yeah, yeah..." You sheepishly smiled and looked to the side.

After all, you and Ei had become close after the time you'd spent together. She would usually visit you when she was free, which was a lot considering she'd made a puppet to deal with her official duties. At first, you respected and feared her like any other citizen of the nation. However, once you saw her show interest in your weird and wonderful creations, you started to feel closer to her. Of course, you still felt the same respect for her.

Despite the pair of you being so close, you still had the habit of addressing her formally, which she tried to correct many times but to no avail.

Ei stared at your work bench, a curious glint in her eye. She stepped closer to the interesting-looking project that was in the making, her eyes practically sparkling. You felt a surge of pride run through your veins as she looked so interested in one of your works.

"And what might this be?" She inquired, taking a closer look at the funny mess of objects.

You soon found yourself sporting a dopey grin, overjoyed that you were actually asked to explain one of your projects, and not force the other party to listen to your ramblings. This was one of the many things you loved about Ei.

You began, detailing the different components of the bubble-making formula, thoroughly explaining the concept behind it and its capabilities, purposefully leaving out the fact that the sturdy bubbles were actually a project made with her in mind.

You flicked through the book you read earlier, mentioning any details you missed about the abyss mages and their deadly bubbles. During your ramble that was at this point sounding like a one sided rap battle, you failed to notice Ei was now poking the bubble with her index finger, watching in amusement as it wobbled and made a satisfying jiggle sound.

She had poked the bubble enough times for it to begin to expand, its enlargement further aggravated by electro energy her whole body overflowed with on the regular. Soon enough, the weird hydro construct grew large enough from being able to swallow the upper part of her body to fully encasing her, and she seemed to pay no mind to it. If anything, she found the whole predicament entertaining.

An eternity later, once you finished ranting about some alchemical topic that the average person would've fallen asleep listening to, you noticed the silence in the room. It sounded like Ei had vanished, or at least, you thought.

Encased in a bubble was the one and only Ei. She was enthralled by the bouncyness of the hydro-based sphere that surrounded her.

"It's squishy," She mused, "It's like dango."

"Ei!"

Your jaw slammed on the ground. You blue screened, your brain going into full panic mode.

'[Name] you absolute dumbass'

'Why is she inside the bubble???'

'Am I going to get executed for harming an archon?'

'Should I trap myself in one too?'

'Maybe I should run away and live in a Shneznayan forest before the Shogunate finds me...'

Your brain was running a mile a minute, intrusive thoughts all bubbling (haha get it) to the surface of your mind. You groaned, running a hand down your face in an attempt to refrain yourself from bashing your head into the nearest wall.

The next (probably the most obvious) thought was to find a way to get Ei out of the bubbly prison. If worse came to worst, you were sure Ei wouldn't mind being locked in a hydro bubble for all eternity. It was exactly like the room uh I mean, Plane of Euthymia she absolutely loved locking herself in. Besides, it could also make her and the current dendro archon locked up twins. So slay. /j

"Hold on, your exellency, I'll find a way to get you out!" You began ransacking your lab which already looked like several ransakings had taken place in the course of a single day, trying to find some sort of sharp object to stab the jiggly wiggly bubble with. You eventually settled for a sword that was left under a pile of who knows what after you had attacked the bubble with everything under the sun. You had even tried using more of the bubble solution, wondering if bubbles could cancel out bubbles. It in fact could not.

Infusing the blade with hydro, you drew it back, slicing off a chunk of it, or so you thought. The hydro of your sword only added to the size of the bubble, dragging you inside it by the arm.

Water only adds to water when mixed, genius.

Now you were both stuck. In an enclosed space. Most likely for the rest of forever. You chuckled nervously, trying to force your embarrassment away. You knew for a fact that you would never live this down.

You let out a strained groan, dragging your hand down your face once again as you reconsidered your life choices. Not only did you get her excellency herself trapped in a silly bubble, but you also managed to trap yourself inside it.

Ei took her attention away from poking the outside of the bubble to you, noticing your frustration. She placed a gentle hand on yours, smiling reassuringly, "This situation may not be as bad as it seems, dearest."

Glancing up at her, you blinked your eyes, attempting to terminate any frustrated tears before they showed signs of welling up in your eyes.

The simple words she spoke were enough to make your chest feel all fuzzy and your eyes to get even more sweaty. As her reassurance set in, you started to feel like yourself again. The wave of frustration passed, and the silliness of your current situation finally set in. Managing to trap yourself inside a hydro construct was no easy feat, mind you.

You chuckled, then giggled, then erupted into a fit of full-blown laughter, doubling over in the small, cramped space you were in. Your giggles were beginning to make your sides hurt.

Ei eyed you, albeit a little concerned but used to your weird antics and outbursts. After all, you just burst into a fit of laughter seemingly out of nowhere. She awkwardly patted your back as your giggles caused you to choke on your own spit. Your laughs became strangled coughs and hacks, trying to clear your airways.

Once you calmed down (and stopped choking), you sighed, "This really is stupid."

"Well, I find it quite amusing," Ei said. She reached over to gently smooth down stray parts of your messy hair. It was something she did often when you were together.

"But..." You replied, "Being trapped in here because of my mistake must be such a waste of time."

Ei laughed. Her laugh was soft, airy, and elegant. Her eyes squinted slightly, and her lips stretched into a pretty smile,

"Any time I spend with you, [Name], is never time wasted."

Your eyes widened a fraction. Ei wasn't one of many words, but it was like she always knew what to say and when to say it. Her words were always reassuring and comforting.

~

About an hour and a half of being stuck in your science experiment, you started getting a little bored. Ei was fine with sitting down and doing nothing since she did that as a hobby. You, on the other hand, needed something to do. You got fidgety, bouncing one leg up and down, wanting something to stimulate your brain with.

Moreover, the position you were sitting in did not help at all. Your legs were in an awkward position, tangled with Ei's, and your back was curved along the edge of the bubble. The bubble was wet, but it didn't wet anything that touched it, thankfully.

"Are you feeling uncomfortable?" Ei noticed your discomfort almost instantly.

"Kinda, and there's not much to do in here," You rested your face in your palm, sighing.

"Hmm..." A lightbulb went off in Ei's head, as if she got the best idea of the century.

You were concerned. You had every reason to be. Every time Ei had that expression painted on her face, she most likely had an idea that sounded good if your ears were plugged and eyes were closed, not hearing or seeing the idea at all. The idea would usually involve a casualty, destruction of property, and/or an explosion. Sure, you were no stranger to things exploding in your lab. However, explosions caused by Ei were enough to wipe out a continent.

Ei's eyes began to glow purple. She reached a hand up to her chest, a glowing sword emerging out of it.

No frigging way.

"Torn to obli-"

"No!" You practically jumped at Ei, sliding the blade back in its sheath? chest? whatever.

"Bad idea!"

"I thought it was a wonderful idea," her eyebrows furrowed a little, and she pouted slightly, "This construct surrounding us would be gone."

"Ei, hydro and electro don't go well together," you began, "your electro on the bubble would've bounced off and electrocuted the both of us!"

"But-"

"But what?"

"Being hit by electro is no different than a little tingle..."

You deadpanned, processing what she said a second time, "That's because your entire body is made of it -"

"What about you?"

"Electro would turn me into fried chicken!"

"Ah I see..." She rubbed her chin, taking in what you said, "Then I'll just have to do it in a way that doesn't let you get hit."

"Ei, no!"

~

It took a lot of convincing to stop Ei from trying to destroy the bubble with her Muso no Hitotachi. Even after you convinced her to stop, she would mumble something about how her idea was wonderful. You just didn't want to get electro'd just yet.

Suddenly, the bubble popped, and you were sent plummeting to the ground. Ei landed gracefully, of course, while you fell flat on your face.

"We're out!" You cheered, jumping up.

"We would've gotten out sooner through my method," Ei protested.

"Haha, maybe next time."

You made a mental note to never try to make an indestructible bubble ever again. It was a fun experience, but it was definitely not something you would do twice.