#psychomanteum

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[holycatsandrabbits]

It's weird writing prompt time!

Today: Mirrors: For now we see through a glass, darkly

As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing creepier than mirrors.

The movies know this well, and today we’re going to do a little reflection on the topic (haha) by looking at some favorite superstitions and legends involving mirrors. (And yes, I mean Bloody Mary.) But did you know studies show you really can see weird stuff in mirrors? Here's a good way:

The Psychomanteum

A psychomanteum is a tiny room with dim lighting and a mirror. A subject sits in a chair and gazes into the mirror, and, well— stuff happens. No, really. Dr. Raymond Moody used a psychomanteum in grief therapy, and it gave some people relief via visions of their departed loved ones. It's called the strange-face-in-the-mirror illusion. Why does this work? Why do people caution against looking into a mirror by candlelight? Why do we see Bloody Mary or ghosts or beloved family members in mirrors? When you gaze at a fixed point, the brain stops paying attention to your peripheral vision. And then it starts filling in that space with what it’s focusing on: a human face. In a study under these conditions, people saw relatives, strangers, animals, and monstrous creatures, some scary and some benign. It depends on whether you’re primed to see beloved family members or evil witches. So yes, you really might see Bloody Mary if you look hard enough.

Check out the blog post for the whole story, and some reflective writing prompts, such as:

Let me first say that the psychomanteum did provide comfort for people, so I want to keep sight of that. But as far as fiction, horror prompts for the psychomanteum practically write themselves, even before I say that Dr. Moody based it on the Necromanteion of Acheron, which is a place the ancient Greeks went to speak with the dead. (This is called necromancy.) So yes, let’s put a character all alone in a room with dim lighting and a mirror and see what happens. Maybe it’s a happy meeting. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s that old trope of demons disguising themselves as benign people, or perhaps as a double of yourself (after all, you’re the one in the mirror to start with). Or maybe the whole room is a portal— if you cross over into another psychomanteum, try to remember which side is your own!

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers

Image credit

[zerogate]

Much more detailed accounts of apparent hallucinations are pre­sented by the psychologist Raymond Moody in his report on visions generated by gazing into a mirror. Throughout history, there have been traditions indicating that visions can be conjured up by gazing into reflective surfaces, such as mirrors, crystal balls, or containers filled with water. After running across an old book describing this phenom­enon, Moody decided to carry out his own investigation.

He set up a mirror in a room in an old converted gristmill that he owns in Alabama. People were invited to visit this facility and attempt to see visions of departed relatives by gazing into the mirror. Moody screened his subjects to make sure that they were mature, emotionally stable, and did not suffer from mental disorders. He also eliminated people who subscribed to occult ideologies. He tried to create a peaceful atmosphere in the old mill that would facilitate the altered state of consciousness needed to generate visions.

Moody reports that he obtained unexpected results. Even though he had selected very grounded and reasonable persons as subjects, he found that many of them reported having visions that struck them as completely real. This led him to try to experience a vision himself. As he put it, "I was convinced that if I saw an apparition, it would be different. If I have an experience like that, I thought, I won't be fooled into thinking it is real" (Moody, 1993, p. 18).

Moody states that he decided to seek a vision of his deceased maternal grandmother. In accordance with his experimental protocol, he began by meditating on her. After many hours of meditation on old photos and memories, he entered his "apparition booth" and spent about an hour gazing into the depths of a large mirror that was oriented so as to create an impression of "three-dimensional clarity." The hour passed, and nothing happened. Later on, he was sitting alone in a room unwinding from this mirror session, when a strange woman walked in. After about a minute of be­wilderment, he realized that she was his deceased paternal (not ma­ternal) grandmother. I will quote at length from his description of his encounter with this woman so as to convey the vivid and detailed character of the experience.

At this point I was looking directly into her eyes, awestruck at what I was seeing. In a kind and loving way she acknowledged who she was and ad dressed me with the nickname that only she used for me when I was a child . . . The reason I had not recognized her at first was that she appeared much younger than she was when she died, in fact even younger than she had been when I was born. I don't remember seeing any photographs of her at the age she seemed to be during this encounter, but that is irrelevant here since it was not totally through her physical appearance that I recognized her. Rather, I knew this woman through her unmistakable presence and through the many memories we reviewed and discussed. In short this woman was my deceased grandmother. I would have known her anywhere . . . 

We discussed old times, specific incidents from my childhood. Throughout she reminded me of several events that I had forgotten. Also she revealed something very personal about my family situation that came as a great surprise but in retrospect makes a great deal of sense . . . I did hear her voice clearly, the only difference being that there was a crisp, electric quality to it that seemed clearer and louder than her voice before she died . . . . Although most of my conversation was through the spoken word, from time to time I was immediately aware of what she was thinking, and I could tell the same was true for her.

In no way did she appear 'ghostly' or transparent during our reunion. She seemed completely solid in every respect. She appeared no different from any other person except that she was surrounded by what appeared to be a light or an indentation in space, as if she were somehow set off or recessed from the rest of her physical surroundings (Moody, 1993, pp. 19-21).

One might argue that these perceptions were not really as vivid as people made them out to be. Perhaps they simply suffered the illusion of having a strong hallucination. Or perhaps they confabulated false memories of experiences that never really happened. But then again, one could argue that the subjects really did see images that were highly realistic and detailed. One reason for thinking this is that some subjects said they first saw rudimentary images that later became more realistic.

For example, one subject said that the features of her mother's face formed gradually "like the computerized pictures you see on televi­sion" (Moody, 1993, p. 79). If some images were reported as imperfect, then perhaps the images reported as highly realistic actually warranted that description.

Curiously, many of Moody's subjects reported that before their realistic mirror visions began, they first saw billowing smoke or mist in the mirror, followed by color patterns or geometrical designs. This is reminiscent of Disney's rendition of the Snow White story, with its magic mirror. It appears that there is often some noise in the system before the hallucinatory image is "tuned in." However, in some cases this phase is omitted. Thus Moody's grandmother made her appearance by simply walking into the room.

-- Richard L. Thompson, Maya: The World as Virtual Reality

[dejahisashmom]

Haunted Mirrors, Bloody Mary and Superstitious Mirror Mythology | Ancient Origins

https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends/mirrors-0016245

[psychedelic-ink]

Hello everyone! this month was both fast and stressful for me, so much so I remembered this morning that I haven't made a rec list which is why this is posted on the second and not the first. Thank you to all the amazing writers who give us stunning stories that we can find comfort in. Love you all 💜💜💜

please show your support by commenting and/or reblogging!

categories include: pedro pascal characters (pero tovar, ezra, frankie morales, marcus pike, jack daniels, jack daniels, din djarin, tim rockford, frankie morales, javier p), the last of us (joel miller) marvel (steven grant, tasm!peter parker)

as always don't forget to check the warnings before reading!

click here for last months fic recommendations

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS

Bekväm by @whataperfectwasteoftime (ezra)

spring fling by @/whataperfectwasteoftime (marcus pike)

Between the Raindrops by @jazzelsaur (frankie morales | series)

Pretty Please by by @/jazzelsaur (dieter bravo)

home is wherever i’m with you by @saradika (din djairn | series)

Learned Something New by @wheresarizona (jack daniels)

mando + breeding drabble by @the-scandalorian (din djarin)

you make loving fun by @redahlia-writes (frankie morales | series)

Relaxation Techniques by @mandoblowmybackout (marcus pike)

Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat (dieter bravo | series)

weeknights drabble by @frannyzooey (frankie morales | series)

Only Backwards by @pennyserenade (dieter bravo)

untitled by @boliv-jenta (tim rockford)

neon demons by @pedrito-friskito (javier p)

kudzu by @beskarberry (ezra)

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU by @fuckyeahdindjarin (jack daniels)

Dieter Bravo x Roommates AU by @/fuckyeahdindjarin

Saturday’s with Javier: Sleepless Nights by @wildemaven (javi p)

The Secrets We Keep… by @/wildemaven (dave york)

Meant To Be by @radiowallet (oberyn martell | series)

untitled by @intheorangebedroom (frankie morales)

Sex, Lies and Videotapes by @astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

More Sex, No Lies but still a Videotape by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

indecently dishonest by @lavendertales (javier p)

one step at a time by @foli-vora (pero tovar | series)

little black dress by @inklore (javier p)

warm up by @ezrasbirdie (dieter bravo)

Rockford & Roan by @littlemisspascal (tim rockford | series)

TLOU

Break by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Short Days, Long Nights by @frannyzooey

start carvin', darlin' by @nexusnyx

Threads by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Adjustments by @softlyspector

Old soul by @/softlyspector

surrender by @ezrasbirdie (series)

MARVEL

Cherry Lips by @astroboots (steven grant)

'til kingdom come by @pedrito-friskito (tasm!peter parker)

[tightjeansjavi]

ℙ𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕠 ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕝 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝔽𝕚𝕔 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕤 ♡

𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝔂 𝓣𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓙𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓙𝓪𝓿𝓲

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 (+18) 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩/𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @chaotic-mystery

dbf!joel series (Dbf! Joel Miller x f!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, fluff, implied age gap (legal)

If you are looking for some nasty, toe curling smut, look no further because Maddi has mastered the craft! dbf!joel is just so hot.

___

♡ @loquaciousferret

Country Lovin’ (pre!outbreakJoel Miller x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, alcohol use

Master list for other Pedro works

Love me some pre!outbreak joel

___

♡ @mishasminion360

In an Instant (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) canon typical violence/angst/death

Master list for other Pedro Works

this story absolutely shattered me. Ripped my heart out and stomped all over it. Beautiful writing.

___

♡ @lovers-liability

Close Your Eyes (Joel Miller x AFAB reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) mentions of death, smut/fluff

Jaw dropping, stunning depictions of finding love during the apocalypse

___

♡ @forever-rogue

The Locket (Joel Miller x Fem!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) TLOU canon typical violence, language, angst, mentions of death

Master list for other Pedro works

absolutely heartbreaking read. I loved it so much, I went back for seconds.

ꜰʀᴀɴᴋɪᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @peterhollandkait

Everything I Know Leads Me Back To You (Frankie Morales x AFAB reader/ OC *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) addiction,angst, triggering themes, smut

Master list for other Pedro works

Frankie + Sunny = your heart getting crushed.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ᴘ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @loquaciousferret

Little Games (Javier Peña x f! Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut

Master list for other Pedro Works

One word: delicious.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ɢᴜᴛɪᴇʀʀᴇᴢ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @mirasantidotes

Messy Annotations (Javi G x fem!reader) *series*

Warnings: none, tooth aching fluff,shy!javi G + sunshine! reader

Cutest shit I have read in awhile. Javi G is to die for in this one.

ᴅɪᴇᴛᴇʀ ʙʀᴀᴠᴏ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Series (Dieter Bravo x Intimacy Coordinator F!Reader)

Warnings: mature/explicit content (+18) smut, gloriously douchey Dieter Bravo

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee’s writing of Dieter makes me absolutely feral. I would let this man ruin me any day of the week

___

♡ @whatsnewalycat

psychomanteum (Dieter Bravo x F!Reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) alternating POV, death, drug use, alcohol use, spooky stuff

Master list for other Pedro works

This story deserves to be in it’s own category to be honest. Totally unique, eccentric, a must read!

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ (ᴡʜɪꜱᴋᴇʏ) ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino Series (Jack Daniels x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) flirting, eventual smut, lots horsey details

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee and I became pals after I started reading this story. As a horse girl/equestrian, Palomino just itches my brain in the best way. Oh, and Jack is pretty delectable as well.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏʀɪᴀɴ/ᴅɪɴ ᴅᴊᴀʀɪɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @theidiotwhowritesthings

Familiar & Unfamiliar (din djarin x female!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) attempted assault on reader (not by Din), canon violence, angst, fluff, light smut

Din Djarin Masterlist

This is one of my favorite depictions of Din. Protective, soft, and still a little dom. Chefs kiss

___

♡ @frannyzooey

Take Me To Church (Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Western/AU)

Warnings: mature/explicit (+18) smut on smut on smut

Master list for other Pedro works

AU anything is so good, but this one? Takes the cake. Absolutely delicious in the every way possible.

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite DIETER BRAVO Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

I Am Touchin', I Am Grabbin', Everything I Can't Be Havin' - @chronically-ghosted

Recovery Road Series @chronically-ghosted

Behind The Velvet Rope Series - @psychedelic-ink Featuring Joel Miller

Hold Me, Love Me, Touch Me Honey - @psychedelic-ink

Bouquet, Bloom & Blossom - @mypoisonedvine CamGirl!Reader

Destiny & Deliverance Series - @mysterious-moonstruck-musings OFC

Working Title Series - @rhoorl

The Hills Have Eyes Series - @tightjeansjavi

Star Struck Series - @ezrasbirdie

Accidently Mrs Bravo & Love To Hate You - @absurdthirst

Sweet Creature Series - @wildemaven

(Met) In The Bathroom - @l0ngschl0ngking

The Devil In Me Series - @aurorawritestoescape Actress!Reader

Dieter Masterlist - @thewayofthemandalorian Couldn't choose just one!

Working Overtime, The Best PA & The Bet - @palioom

Thought I Was Dreaming - @haylzcyon

Midnight Alley Series - @prolix-yuy Dieter playing Tim Rockford

Best Laid Plans Series - @prolix-yuy

Library AU - @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Series - @fuckyeahdindjarin

Bad Idea, Right? - @proxima-writes Ex-Boyfriend!Dieter

Only Backwards, It's Never Over & You Can(t) Always Get What You Want - @pennyserenade

Stop Flirting, Then Stop Teasing - @joelslegalwhre

Walk Of Regrettable Reciprocity - @joels6string

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3 - @wardenparker

Push & Pull - @bbypedrito

Amazon - @guess-my-next-obsession Sub!Dieter

Artist Thot - @simpingcowboy

Psychomanteum Series - @whatsnewalycat OFC

Choke Me - @elvinaa

A Ghost Of You, In The Next One & Bruise - @wannab-urs

The Delivery - @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Exploration - @mandoblowmybackout Featuring Frankie Morales

Prism - @sp00kymulderr GN!Reader

Desperate - @pedrosbf M!Reader

Extra Whipped Cream - @pettyprocrastination PornStar!Dieter

The Boy Next Door - @megangovier20

Closer Than Expected - @ghostofskywalker

Sloth - @whiskeynwriting

It Takes Two - @pedrito-friskito

Celestial Navigation Series - @write-and-buried

Locked Down Masterlist - @something-tofightfor

Hubris & Triumph - @javier-pena

Dominance - @pedropascalsx

Dieter Masterlist - @the-blind-assassin-12 Couldn't choose just one!

A Taste Of Honey - @julesonrecord

It's Always Been You - @alwaysmicado

Closer Than You Might Believe & Love & Desire - @exquisiteserotonin Younger!Dieter

[covetyou]

halloween fic recs

now that clown!Dieter is out there for the world to enjoy, I thought I'd throw together some seasonally appropriate fic recommendations.

aliens, monsters, witches, ghosts, serial killers, you get the gist.

heed individual fic warnings, but almost all are smut and include dark themes or monster/alien fucking. sometimes both. 'tis the season.

🔪 = dark 🩸 = gore

ghosts

psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat - series - Dieter x f!reader - little bit spooky, little bit ghosty, overall incredible. did it scare the shit out of me because it mentions sitting in a dark room and I'm that scared of the dark? maybe it did.

the haunting of dieter bravo by @idolatrybarbie - oneshot - Dieter & reader - smut free spooky shenanigans! genuinely terrifying, and I would like more.

vamps

haunted by @theywhowriteandknowthings 🔪 - oneshot - vampire!Joel x f!reader x vampire!Tommy - vaguely "haunted" house, hot af vampire brothers, DP? literally what is there not to love.

bleed for me by @saradika - series - vampire!Din Djarin x f!reader - this series had me gripped from start to finish.

other spooky creatures

the devils backbone by @ezrasbirdie 🩸- series - alpha!Frankie x omega!ofc - a/b/o fic with monsters and fucking, but no monsterfucking. it's gory, spooky, scary, and just so so good.

boundless by @spacecowboyhotch - series - Marc Spector x f!reader - a witch and a witch hunter, can it get any better. it's early days but I'm so excited for more.

week of horror masterlist by @sweetercalypso 🔪 - event - every single fic has been perfectly spooky and horny thus far. we have ghosts, poltergeists, incubus/succubus, ghostface, vamps, it's got it all.

oh honey by @lincolndjarin 🔪🩸- series - Joel x f!reader - horror and suspense, gory as hell, monster fucking. incredible. criminally underrated.

dream within a dream by @gasolinerainbowpuddles 🔪🩸 - oneshot - incubus!Ezra x f!reader - so beautiful, so creepy, also kind of sad and hot at the same time?

jizz fingers by @gasolinerainbowpuddles - oneshot - splorgimum!Joel x f!reader - insane alien crackfic. that's it. read part 2 too.

mothman fever by @beskarandblasters - oneshot - Joel x f!reader - I've legitimately been thinking about this ever since I read it.

serial killers

slasher!Joel by @toxicanonymity 🔪- oneshot collection - Joel x f!reader - it's funny, it's dark, it's creepy, it's horny. he's a pathetic little murder man and I love him.

sanity is a cozy lie by @patti7dc 🔪🩸- series - Joel x f!reader - incredible serial killer Joel series with a twist. I cannot get enough.

hostage by @atticrissfinch 🔪- oneshot - Joel x f!reader - creepy serial killer in the woods? yes.

scream queen by @hellishjoel 🔪- oneshot - ghostface!Joel x f!reader - it felt like reading a scene from a movie. the ending got me so good.

do you have any spooky recs? send 'em my way!

[pedropascalsx]

3000 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION POST!

- The fanfiction edition.

Hi friends! I don’t know how it happened but I hit 3000 followers recently and I feel unbelievably lucky! I joined this site just over a year ago and I have met many wonderful people and gained multiple friendships from doing so.

And I wanted to celebrate YOU guys and show some appreciation for the fanfics that have taken up space in my heart.

I will be posting a few different celebration posts, one for fanfics, one for people I follow and one more for the GIFs and fics that i’ve created and that i’m proud of.

The list is below in no particular order! They just happen to be posted in a way that my brain let me remember them. I limited the list to ONE fic per writer as I wanted to showcase as many people as I could; so please check out their entire master lists!

1. Weeknights by @frannyzooey - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

2. Notes on Tutoring by @honestly-shite - Dave York x F! Reader.

3. Lay It On Me by @lavendertales - Javier Peña x F! DEA Reader.

4. The Crush by @the-ginger-hedge-witch Javier Peña x OFC Isabel!

5. Consent by @fuckyeahdindjarin - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

6. Celestial Navigation by @write-and-buried - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

7. Run to You by @foli-vora - Marcus Pike x F! Reader.

8. Silent Affection by @kteague - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

9. Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat - Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella!

10. Another Way by @theewokingdead - Din Djarin x F! Reader.

11. Stitches by @djarinsbeskar - Din Djarin x F! Reader.

12. Stranger At My Gate by @leslie-lyman - Pero Tovar x Modern! OFC.

13. Sunshine on a Cloudy Day by @pedrito-friskito - Frankie Morales x F! Reader.

14. Intimidation Tactics by @whataperfectwasteoftime - Marcus Pike x Dave York x F! Reader.

15. Peñas Anatomy by @guess-my-next-obsession - Javier Peña x OFC/Reader Lucky.

16. Cognitive Dissonance by @prolix-yuy - Agent Whiskey x F! Reader Sugar.

17. Fix You by @astoryisaloveaffair - Frankie Morales x F! Nanny Reader.

18. My Best Friends Dad by @whiskeynwriting - Dave York x F! Reader.

19. Sinners by @brandyllyn - Pero Tovar x F! Reader.

20. Façade by @furious-rogue-stuff - Dave York x F! Reader.

21. Lie to Me by @iamskyereads - Javier Peña x F! Reader.

22. Ego & Black Powder by @psychedelic-ink - Pero Tovar x F!Prison Guard.

23. Saturdays with Javier by @wildemaven - Javier Peña x F! Reader.

24. Black Sheeps by @charnelhouse - Dave York x F! Reader.

25. Like a River by @radiowallet - Macus Moreno x F! Reader x Frankie Morales.

I also wanted to share TEN of my all time favourite stories by @absurdthirst because it’s literally impossible to pick just one.

1. Stormy Secrets - Dave York x F! Reader.

2. Starvation - Ezra x F! Reader.

3. Xingjião - Pero Tovar x F! Reader.

4. Married to the Mafia - Dave York x F! Reader.

5. Under His Skin - Dave York x F! Reader.

6. Late for Valentines - Dave York x F! Reader.

7. The Donor - Marcus Pike x F! Reader x Dave York.

8. Protective Big Brother - Frankie Morales x F!Davis Reader.

9. Murphy's Sister - Javier Peña x F!Murphy Reader.

10. Daddy Dieter - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

PLEASE NOTE - I AM DOING A FOLLOW RECS LIST NEXT!

If I follow you and you didn't make it onto this list - you will be on the next one! Also I will be doing a mini post for published and soon to be published books!

I'm sorry if anyone is missing, it's always a pain trying to remember everyone but this is a list of the fics that mean a lot to me and that i love so so so much!

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 13

Howdy folks!!

This week I'm gonna throw in some series I've been reading that have probably been recc'd by me before. I did read a few things this week, but I'm like way behind on these series I've been reading, so I spent more time catching up on those. I also read The Ritual which was... an experience. Oh and if you tagged me in a fic and I didn't get to it I am so sorry!! I'll get there I promise.

And as always you can find the spreadsheet here and the Fic Rec Masterlist here.

Anyway! Recs below the slut Javi

What I Want - a Joel one shot by @proxima-writes

SUB JOEL!!!! Sometimes you need a strong, prideful, world weary man to whimper for you.

Trial and Error - a Joel/Tommy series by @thetriumphantpanda

Am I into breeding kink? No. Am I into making Tommy Miller watch Joel Miller rail me? Yes. I also love how into it everyone is. Someone in the comments said "What if Joel got a secret vasectomy" and like I know that is not true of this version of Joel, but like I also want it to keep not working.

I can see you (Javier's Version)- a Javi P one shot by @proxima-writes

I love a good file room fuck with Javi, so obviously this was just my style. I also love the way Javi gets all frustrated with the teasing. Him crumpling up that note UGHAGH. And then the way you ended it? I won't spoil it, but it made me giggle. I cannot believe you don't write Javi regularly. You nailed it.

Sacreligious - Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

Who doesn't love a little sacrilege in the morning? Fucking in the Mines of Mandalore sounds like a dream... as long as the mythosaur doesn't get you lmao

In Bloom - a Frankie series by @northernbluess

This. Fic. Is. So. Fucking. CUTE! I loved chapter one of course, but chapter two??? My heart UGH. Their date is so precious. And the smut... I have a daddy kink and refuse to be shamed for it THIS WAS SO HOT

a hungry dog on a very short leash - a Joel one shot by @iamasaddie

My Dark Joel Queen never fails to deliver <3 This was so fucking hot. The getting caught cheating thing... the semi-public sex as punishment/blackmail thing. YUMMY YUMMY!! Dead Dove and all that, read the warnings, (are the warnings supposed to turn you on? oops).

some rotten man - a Joel one shot by @iamasaddie

Zero Plot. Just a rough as fuck blowjob. Exactly what I needed... It's so good y'all.

What happens on Coruscant, Stays on Coruscant - a Din/Poe/Cassian one shot by @beskarandblasters

Look we all know the timeline here is a little fucked, but let's pretend they're all around the same age because... Din Djarin, Poe Dameron, and Cassian Andor walk into a brothel and spend the night with you... GOD DAMN that's hot

------- SERIES <333 -------

These are series I keep tabs on in a separate spreadsheet and check once a week to see if they've been updated. Most of these have been recommended before, but they deserve all the attention.

I know some people don't like to start reading WIPs before they're finished, and that is valid, but these are worth it. Oh and some are complete and I just haven't finished them yet. It's my personal spreadsheet so it's a little messy lol.

One Thing I'm Missing / Joel / @joelscruff

Seams / Joel/ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino / Jack / @fuckyeahdindjarin

I Think of You / Din / @prolix-yuy

No Drug Like Me / Dieter / @jazzelsaur (AO3)

Friendly Fire / Joel / @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Psychomanteum / Dieter / @whatsnewalycat

You Make Loving Fun / Frankie / @redahlia-writes

Apothecary / Joel / @atinylittlepain

Losing My Religion / Din / @oonajaeadira

Surrender / Joel / @ezrasbirdie

Short Days, Long Nights / Joel / @frannyzooey

Left in Lincoln / Joel / @toxicanonymity

Dressed For Revenge / Joel / @jksprincess10

Cowboy Like Me / Javi P / @cutesyscreenname

Sweet Creature / Dieter / @wildemaven

Leave Off Your Wandering / Joel / @oonajaeadira

Stitches / Din / @djarinsbeskar

Feelings on Fire / Joel / @joelscruff

Hot and Heavy / Joel / @tieronecrush

Pretend Alleyways / Dieter/Marcus / @radiowallet

Run to You / Marcus P / @foli-vora

Learning to Live / Javi P / @wheresarizona

Raider / Joel / @toxicanonymity

Beskar Doll / Din / @justagalwhowrites

Lavender / Joel / @justagalwhowrites

Hungry Hearts / Joel / @atinylittlepain

June / Joel / @atinylittlepain

Your Summer Dream / Joel / @swiftispunk

Muddy Waters / Joel/Ez / @bonezone44

Adversity / Ez/Frankie / @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Sensational / Joel / @sinsofsummers

Night Walks / Joel / @toxicanonymity

Stepdad!Joel / Joel / @toxicanonymity

Yes I check all of these for updates every single Thursday, though I don't always read every single thing that updated. If you ever think no one cares about your WIP... I do!!!

---------------------------

Happy Reading!

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 17

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 17: I'll Be Your Mirror

Chapter Summary: Fin.

Word Count: 6.0k+

Content / Warnings: listen if you made it this far you know what it is

Notes: Chapter title from “I'll Be Your Mirror" by Nico and The Velvet Underground. Ok I know I said there would be an Epilogue, but I decided... I really love it as is. This story is my baby and the feeling of finishing it is so bittersweet. Thank you to everyone who has ever given me the encouragement to feel this story is special. There are so many of you, I don't even know where to start. You know who you are.

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Dee?”

He looks up from the notebook in his hand and goes still. 

To say that your heart skips a beat when he meets your gaze is an understatement. 

It freezes, along with everything else in the universe. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re almost certain the Earth stops turning. 

Is he angry? Relieved? Shocked? 

You can’t tell. 

But then his tensed muscles go slack. His hunched shoulders drop from his ears. Glossy, pained eyes melting wide into wonderment. 

“Lua?” 

Hearing your name on his lips makes your stomach flip into free fall. Your pulse jumps. A sound escapes your chest that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh.

He drops the notebook and strides towards you.

You can only take one step forward before he’s pushing your back to the door, lips pressed against yours. His hands slip around your waist and pull your body flush to his while you comb your fingers through his hair. He groans into your mouth, tongue rolling soft on yours as you whine at how fucking perfect it feels. 

Unzipping your jacket, Dieter pulls back and rasps hot against your cheek, “I’m so glad you’re ok, I thought I fucking lost you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together as he strips off your jacket, “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have left like that—”

“Later,” he murmurs, shrugging off his fuzzy coat, then brings his mouth to your pulse and sucks the thin skin so hard you gasp, gripping his broad shoulders to bring him closer. 

His hands slip under your shirt—his shirt, actually, you stole it from a laundry basket before leaving his house—and he slides his heated palms against your bare skin. With a chuckle, he looks down at the garment and says, “You little thief.” 

You bite your lip and shrug, flicking your eyes around his face. 

“God, I missed you,” he grins, dimples and all.

“I missed you, too.”

Both your faces fade from amusement to something heavier as you study each other. Heat flickers at the middle of you when he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. Your gaze dips to his mouth when he murmurs, “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

“I won’t—”

“Please.”

“I promise I won’t.” 

You meet his eyes so he can see how much you mean it, stroking the soft whiskers on his jawline with your thumb, “I love you, Dieter. I love you so fucking much.” 

His warm gaze flicks all over your face, “I love you, too.” 

Your throat thickens. You try to swallow down the discomfort before asking, “Are you mad?” 

“Mad?” 

You nod.

“No,” he scoffs, gently taking your hand to kiss each of your fingertips. 

It’s reverent, the way he does this. Worshipful. Like he’s thanking every piece of you for existing. 

He clears his throat. Pain creases his forehead, making his dark eyes go all gooey soft when he whispers, “I was so scared. I didn’t know if I’d find you dead or alive.”

It hits you hard. Right in the heart. 

You let out a guilty squeak. Your face crumbles. Tears cloud your vision, distorting him. You draw a shattered breath before responding. 

“I was going to do it. I was going to, umm,” you avert your eyes and shake your head, “I was gonna drown myself, Dee. I had everything ready, but… I couldn’t.”

A sob bursts from your belly. 

His body tenses and he pulls back ever so slightly, as if he were seconds away from calling off the conversation. But you stay firmly planted. You link your hands behind his neck and meet his tear-brimmed eyes with your own. When you speak, your voice trembles with honesty. 

“I thought that I was supposed to die. That my being here was a mistake, or like I was cursed or something. Destined to destroy your life if I stayed in it. I didn’t want to do that to you. But also,” you swallow hard and search his face, “I didn’t know if I could trust you not to break me like he did. I didn’t know if I could trust myself not to break you, either. I was so afraid… of everything. Of all the possibilities. Of not knowing what would happen.” 

The way he looks at you—shoulders slumped, jaw set, eyes all dewy with sorrow—it’s fucking torture. But you continue. 

“I was so afraid of everything… except dying. Dying felt like the best option.” 

Dieter sobs. It crushes your ribcage to dust. You have to keep going, though. You need him to understand that you mean this. 

“But I realized—just now, before you got here, like,” you laugh with bemusement and shake your head, “Immediately before you got here, your timing is truly blowing my fucking mind right now—”

He chuckles and wipes at his damp face. You smile, tilting your head at him. 

“I realized that… I was being a fucking coward. You’re not Ethan and I’m not Anika, and you and I… we’re something different. Dee, our love feels big the way the universe feels big. It’s never-ending and always growing and it is fucking forever. To turn my back on something like that would be… well, it would be fucking blasphemy.”

He smiles back at you, grip digging into your waist to bring you closer. 

You cup his cheeks and tell him, “There will be good days and bad, but I know that I will never regret choosing to stay.”

He stares at you with so much love and awe your chest aches. You can’t stop yourself from beaming at him. 

“No matter what the future has in store for us, I know that it will be worth spending every second I can with you in this beautiful, painful, amazing life.” 

His smile widens and he shakes his head, choking out, “Fuck, how do I follow that up?” 

You laugh, this soggy, wet laugh and bury your face in his shirt, then mumble against his chest, “You don’t have to, love, I just needed to tell you.” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. 

“For what?”

“For staying. For sharing with me, trusting in me—trusting in us. Without you… I don’t know. Everything is fucking stupid and meaningless. You make me a better me. And I need you. So. Thank you.” 

Your heart swells. 

“You make me a better me, too.” 

He pulls back to look at you, the warmth of his gaze sticking all over your face. Heat glints behind his eyes when they drop to your mouth. 

Something profound throbs between you. Newborn with shaky legs, taking its first breath. Intentional, fearless certainty. 

You kiss him, hard and purposeful, and he responds with fervor, the tips of his fingers digging into the tender skin of your waist. His tongue slides soft and wet and hot against yours, a slick writhing that hypnotizes you. Between the gentle crush of lips and nips from teeth and quiet whimpers that echo back and forth, you get lost in him. 

Time and space slip away and this kiss becomes the only thing you long to feel.

Dieter pushes your back flush to the cool door, warm hands exploring the tender skin beneath your shirt. His shirt. His skin. 

His his his—

He cups your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The tedious touch sends a rush of need through your body. Whining into his mouth, you slide your nails down the expanse of his back, beckoning him closer, wordlessly begging for more. 

Of course, he gives it to you. 

Of course he pinches your nipples so hard you gasp, then tugs even harder. 

Of course he activates something primal deep within your brain, making you hiss, “Fuck yes.” 

“Does that feel good, baby? Hmm?”

“Yes—”

“Good,” he husks.

One hand unclamps. It slips under the waistband of your pants and slides down between your thighs, down to the hot, slick middle of you, where it rubs all those attention-starved nerves and makes them fucking purr. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Mmmm, how about that?” 

“So fucking good, Dee,” you moan, nodding your head in vehement approval as you arch your hips towards him, “Oh my god, yes.” 

Pulsing heat creeps up your spine, making your mouth go slack and lids drift closed. 

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes snap open to meet his. He searches your face with intensity, watching you twist up with pleasure, and drops his gaze to your lips when your panting becomes tainted with whimpers. 

“You’re so fucking hot I can’t stand it,” he mutters, shaking his head, “God, I wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please—”

“You want me to fuck you?” He releases his tight grip on your tit to stroke your cheek, his low voice almost a growl, “Hmm? Want me to fill your tight pussy?” 

“Yes—”

“Yeah?”

“Yes yes yes please, I wanna feel your cock inside me, Dieter I fucking need it please—”

“I want you to come for me first,” he works you faster, pressing his forehead against yours as he coos, “Can you do that for me, baby? Come all over my fucking hand?”

His request gushes hot down your spine. You gasp and nod frantically, then choke out a throaty moan as heat starts to branch out inside you. Your heart pounds hard and fast in your chest, white-hot need overflowing your veins and pooling thick between your legs, pulsing and growing, stronger, wider, pushing you up up up up—

It overtakes you. Rips you into a million pieces and puts you back together again. 

Your legs clamp shut. You twitch and whimper and gasp as his touch softens and slows. 

It doesn’t stop entirely, though. 

Just a gentle, languid back and forth that persists through ebbing aftershocks, assuring you he’s not done with you yet. 

Dieter rests his forehead against yours, breath warm on your parted lips when he says, “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

You let out a dreamy chuckle, hooking your hands behind his neck.

And, fuck, his fingers feel so good. Sliding up and down, spreading your slick in a gentle manner, teasing but patient. So fucking patient. 

“I mean it. You are… amazing. I love every single thing about you.” 

He dips a thick fingertip in your entrance, sending a heady rush of need through your body, then drags it out to draw slow circles around your clit. His touch prods the glowing embers in your belly. They smolder beneath your skin and make your heart race. 

“Oh my god, Dee—”

“Even the parts you don’t think I want. I want it all, Lua. Forever. I never want to wake up without you by my side again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, “Forever and ever until I’m nothing, Dee, I’m fucking yours—”

His lips crush into yours. You moan into his mouth, accepting the warm caress of his tongue, urgent against yours. Between your thighs, he rocks his hand against you hard, then slips a digit inside you. 

Head rolling back onto your shoulders, you gasp, “Jesus fuck.”

“So fucking ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he laughs, delirious and breathy, then takes a step back, removing himself from your body completely. 

The loss sends you reeling. Like a puppy, you glob onto him, not wanting to part from him for a second. 

Regarding your desperation with a smirk, he takes your hand, “Come on.” 

You follow along behind him, grinning at the way he carries himself with authority, striding through the cabin like this has been his residence for the past few days, not yours. 

When you cross the threshold into a bedroom, he turns to ask, “This one ok?”

Nodding, you push him back towards the bed and tug at his clothes, a silent plea he quickly grants. You mirror his actions, stripping down to nothing as he sits down on the edge of the bed and stares up at you, all fuck-me-eyes and parted lips. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” you coo, slotting yourself between his knees, combing your nails through his hair, “Looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes. I love it.” 

His eyelids flutter and his cock twitches. A little bead of pre-cum sprouts up at the tip. 

You lick your lips and smirk, wrapping your hand around his girth, gasping when you smear the swollen droplet with the pad of your thumb. 

Dieter groans, grabbing your waist. He twitches again. 

You pull back his foreskin, forming an ‘o’ with your mouth when more of the viscous liquid slips against your thumb. 

You think about how it might taste, salty and hot on your tongue. You think about his hard, smooth length stretching out your lips, soaking wet with drool as he fucks your face. 

“If you keep looking at it like that I’m gonna blow my fucking load,” he mutters, burying his face between your breasts. 

When you respond by churning your grip, a moan vibrates against your sternum. As if he can’t help himself, Dieter slides his hands up your body and grabs your tits. 

He takes one in his mouth, then the other, sucking and licking and biting your swollen nipples while you work him, slow and meticulous. His muffled whines stoke your desire, flames hot and tingling up your spine. 

Looking up at you with big doe eyes, he flattens his tongue against your nipple, then moves his head from side-to-side. 

“That feels fucking amazing, Dee, oh my god,” you pant, drawing your brows together as you nod in approval at the heated sensation that clings to your bones. 

Arousal urges you to pump him faster, and when you do, he husks, “Fuck, Lua—”

“Hmm?”

“Please.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your waist and he scoots further back onto the bed, ushering you onto his lap, “Wanna feel that sweet pussy wrapped around me, please, baby, please.”

Your knees settle on either side of his hips and you fold forward, smoothing your hands up his broad chest, to his neck, then you cup his cheeks. He searches your face, wild-eyed and desperate. 

“I love seeing you like this,” you purr, brushing your thumb against his bottom lip, “So fucking needy.”

He groans and his hips jerk, the tip of him nudging up against your entrance. You tease him with it, letting him feel how hot and wet you are without allowing access. 

“Do you want my pussy, baby? Or do you need it?”

“I need it,” he rasps, the tendons in his neck going taut he grips your hips with bruising strength, “I’ll fucking die if I don’t feel it, I swear to god, please—”

You lower yourself down slowly, whimpering at the exquisite stretch that reverberates through you. 

His back arches off the mattress and he groans, “Fffffuck yes. Holy fucking shit, Lua—”

“So fucking good, oh my god,” you croak, rolling your hips.  

You take him slow at first, savoring the way he fills you so perfectly, how he rubs along every tingling nerve inside you. Beneath you, Dieter pants and writhes, devout hands roaming your humid skin, worshiping you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you,” he pants, thrusting up into you so hard and deep you moan. He lets out a gasping chuckle, then drives his hips up again, and again, and again.

You nod in approval. Thick static bubbles at your center. You press your forehead against his, pushing back against his thrusts as they establish a steady rhythm. 

“Wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna spend—fuck,” you whimper, nodding again, “Wanna the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna marry you, make you my wife—”

Still nodding, you choke out, “Yes, oh my fucking god yes—”

“Would you like that? Hmm? Get you a pretty dress and a ring? Show the whole world that I’m yours and you’re mine?”

“I want it, Dee, I do. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—“

He captures your lips and pounds into you, hard and fast, exchanging moans with you like vows, vibrating on your tongue as the tingling heat in your belly stretches wider, climbing up your body, swelling and swelling, pulling your muscles tight, until you find yourself suspended in a moment you both never want to end and don’t think you can stand any longer. 

Then, it bursts. 

You sob when the wave of pleasure washes over and under you, making this sick wet sucking noise as your whole body convulses around him. 

Dieter whines against your mouth, fucking up into your fluttering cunt with crazed, frantic thrusts. He goes rigid and silent for a second, then releases a guttural noise from his chest. 

When his breath returns to him and his muscles start to slacken, you meet his eyes with a grin that spreads to his lips. 

You kiss him, slow and deep, then go limp on his chest, “I love you.” 

“I love you.”

The two of you stay here for a while, content and rubber-limbed. His fingertips trace the scar tissue on your shoulder and arm while sand gathers heavy on your eyelids. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” you mumble into the damp crook of his neck, “Not sober, at least. Now you’re here and we have so much to talk about.” You yawn, “And I’m so tired.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, then gently persuades you to roll off him onto the mattress. Like a sleepy child, helplessly lethargic and too engrossed in comfort to do it yourself, you let him pull the bedspread out from beneath you and tuck you between the sheets. 

The warmth of his skin presses up against yours as he drapes an arm over your belly and tugs you close. When he speaks, his breath is warm on your cheek, voice low and quiet. 

“Get some rest, love. We can talk more tomorrow.” 

His offer is tempting, but one question nags at the back of your brain and gives you a small burst of energy. 

You roll onto towards him, blinking your weighted eyes open to meet his, all gooey and soft as they search your face. 

“Did you mean it?” 

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “What, that I wanna marry you?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah,” he grins and grabs your hand to kiss your palm, then holds it to his cheek, “What about you? Did you mean it? Do you wanna marry me?”

For some reason, your cheeks get hot and you laugh. The noise is water-logged, struggling against the tears that burn up your throat and blur your vision.

“Yeah, I really fucking do.” 

These aren’t the kinds of tears you’re used to crying. They’re celebratory. Joyous. You find yourself unable to stop smiling through them. 

“This is crazy,” you tell him, shaking your head, “I love you so much it’s fucking crazy.” 

“I love you,” he smiles and brings your hand to his chest, pressing your palm against the thump-thump of life and light and love, “Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?”

He nods, “That’s yours. ‘Til my last breath, then after. It’s yours.” 

—

Dieter listens to the peaceful dozing huffs that blow hot across his chest, cherishing each and every one. 

He savors the heat of your body on his, the blood pumping through your veins, and the flutter of REM behind your closed eyelids. Proof that you are here, alive and safe in his arms. An answer to his desperate prayers. 

Something like relief but bigger engulfs him. 

Warmth tingles through his limbs and tears sting behind his eyes. His throat gets all thick with emotion as he pulls your pliant body closer, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

Careful not to be too loud, he whispers, “Thank you.” 

He’s not sure who he’s thanking. You or fate or whatever omnipresent puppeteer pulls the strings behind the scenes. He just knows he means it with his whole heart. 

Dieter lays here for some time, live-wired with optimism, thinking up a million ways to convey the intensity of his gratitude. His mind wanders into tomorrow and buzzes with anticipation. He gets to tell you about his impromptu trip to New York, and that your charges are dropped. 

Goosebumps prick his skin as a realization dawns on him. 

You don’t even know. 

When deciding to stay, you factored in the consequences of these charges. Your devotion to him was not because of this resolution, but in spite of it. 

You had every single reason to doubt this would work. Probable prison time. Shrapnel from the fame machine. Ongoing recovery. The ugly demise of his marriage. The tragic end to yours.

Fuck, it’s a shit show. 

And yet, here you are. 

He gazes down at you, far away in dreamland, cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his chest. All angel-faced, but with a little drool at the corner of your mouth. Fucking beautiful. 

On one hand, he could stay here watching you sleep like a fucking stalker for hours. On the other, his stomach growls for attention. 

When he contemplates whether or not to untangle himself from you and tend to this need, you let out a little grumble, then start wiggling around, rolling away from him. He misses the heat of your body as soon as it’s gone, but lets you go anyway. 

He carefully gets out of bed and wanders through the dark cabin into the kitchen. 

The cupboards are essentially barren, which is both disappointing and unsurprising, but he finds some bread and drops a couple slices into the toaster. While guzzling down a tall glass of iron-flavored water, he notices piles of towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. This piques his curiosity. 

To put it lightly, you are an incredibly neat and tidy person. Normally you wouldn’t allow this kind of disorder in your living space, however temporary. He should know. Last week you pulled the clothes out of his dresser and gave him a tutorial on how to fold “the right way” before organizing the acrylic paints in his studio by hue. 

Your need for order only increases when you’re distressed, which you definitely were, so… what the fuck is up with this? 

When he rounds the countertop peninsula to investigate, something catches his eye. Big slabs of wood propped up next to a door in the hallway. The door sits ajar, the crack emitting a warm golden glow. 

His footsteps creak across the wooden floor as he approaches it. Somehow he knows what he’ll find when he opens the door, and releases an amused chuckle when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Dark fabric draping the walls. A dimmed-down lantern propped up behind a makeshift seat. The seat, a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets, faces a mirror. 

You built a psychomanteum. 

Something tugs at his memory, causing him to turn on his heel and walk towards the couch. He picks up the notebook he discarded when you walked through the door and revealed yourself. 

He studies the page in abstract, catching little glimpses here and there. Words like unrecognizable and hopeless and monster. Fragments like swerving around traffic, and crying, begging.

Some sentences stand out so much, he can’t help but snag on them. 

It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore.

He called me a bitch. A rat.

It didn’t seem real.

He said we had to do this together.

Far away, the toaster pops. He’s not even hungry anymore. In fact, quite the opposite. He feels fucking sick. 

A smattering of circles distort in the paper, black ink bleeding out from your script as if diffused by tiny droplets of moisture. Probably tears. 

Grotesque curiosity churns beneath his skin. 

He swallows around his thick throat and looks up at the closet. The psychomanteum. 

The first time he tried to read the passage, before he knew you were ok, he was in such a state of panic that he didn’t fully understand what it was. But he understands now. He sees the pieces and how they fit together. 

His stomach twists when he recognizes the pattern laid out before him. His ribcage shrinks two sizes, pushing his pulse to his ears. He runs a hand through his hair and wrings his tight neck as he realizes with horror that he has been a similar kind of monster. 

He knows he had a problem. And it wasn’t as much the drugs or infidelity as it was the emptiness. An infection that set in early and rotted out a cavity in his chest. In his heart. 

He knows it made him change in unspeakable ways, altering the very nature of his character. It made him angry and reckless and fucking ravenous. Starving for anything that would fill him up, however fleeting. 

He was a fucking beast. 

He also knows you love him. Flaws and all, you love him. You had the grace to forgive every unforgivable mistake he made. 

Could Dieter do the same? 

He tosses the notebook down on the coffee table and walks to the closet, opening the door. As he steps inside, he takes the lantern from behind the seat and turns to face him in the mirror. 

He studies the face, recognizing the distinct nose and dark eyes. Mop of messy brown curls atop his head. He looks tired, but hopeful. 

Staring at his reflection, Dieter tells himself, “I forgive you.” 

—

The first thing you notice when you rouse from sleep is the warmth that surrounds you. 

You feel Dieter’s chest flush to your back, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your combined body heat under the covers makes your skin stick together. The steady rhythm of his breathing moves in time with yours. 

Before you even open your eyes, you smile. 

Your fingertips twitch against his arm and you try to wiggle even closer, intertwining your legs with his. 

Behind you, Dieter stirs a little, then mumbles into your neck, “G’morning, doll.” 

“Good morning, love.” 

He takes a deep breath in, squeezing you tight, and exhales a groan, “You smell so fucking good what the fuck.”

“I haven’t bathed in days,” you giggle, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, “I’m stinky.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“You’re bullshit.” 

He laughs this big, boisterous laugh as he rolls onto his back, separating from you save for the arm pinned under your side. 

You miss his heat immediately and turn over to face him, scooting close enough to feel it. His gaze holds pure adoration. Your fingertips meet his and play this sort of dance before he laces your hands together. 

He asks, “Wanna take a bath then go get some grub?” 

—

Dieter lathers up a washcloth, watching the muscles shift beneath your skin as you rinse the remaining conditioner from your hair with a shower head attachment.

When you turn it off, you glance over your shoulder at him and announce, “I’m probably going to prison.” 

He sits up and presses the steaming washcloth to your back, working suds up the curve of your spine. 

“You’re not going to prison.” 

You relax into his touch and snort, “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I took care of it.”

“Wha—wait,” you sit up, then turn around to face him, water sloshing around with you. You furrow your brow and stare at him, “What does that mean?”

“It means the DA dropped the charges against you.” 

Your eyes narrow as you search his face, “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m dead serious.” 

“How?” 

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he averts his gaze, shrugging, “Let’s just say that, for plausible deniability reasons, it’s best you don’t know anything else.” 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not!” he laughs, tugging at your waist. You jokingly wrinkle your nose at his affection, but let him pull you into his lap. 

“C’man, sweetheart. Look at me.” He waits until your eyes meet his, then tells you, “I swear to god I’m not fucking with you. You’re clear. A free woman.” 

Your shoulders fall away from your ears. You clamp down on your huge smile, then it breaks free, “Really?”

The way you light up at this news… It is breathtaking. Jesus fucking Christ. Worth every second of misery. 

“Really,” he smiles, cupping your cheek. 

You try to blink away tears with a relieved burst of laughter. You stare at him, glossy eyes all ripe with admiration as they flick around his face, “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he murmurs, holding your gaze, “I’d do anything for you, Louella. You know that?”

Your smile gets bigger somehow. You nod, “I do.”

His stomach flips when he imagines you saying those words in front of that ordained minister he saw in his near-death vision. Little details come into focus. He can taste the salt of the ocean and feel heat from the overhead sun. Light filters through a canopy of sheer white fabric. 

The crowd of onlookers is small. Of course, he sees Parker and Darlene and Lincoln. He sees Glenn, looking like a fucking dick as usual, but grinning nonetheless. He sees his brother’s family, the small children all wriggling around in their chairs. He sees a couple, a man and woman around retirement age, that he doesn’t quite recognize, but he understands that they’re Ethan’s parents. He sees his mother dab her eyes with a tissue while his father curls an arm around her shoulders, letting the faintest smile creep across his lips as he watches you slide a wedding band on Dieter’s ring finger. 

Atop your head sits a band of stars, forged from gold and adorned with dazzling crystals that glimmer in the sunlight. Corona Borealis for his Princess of Crete. Your dress is cream-colored chiffon and lace and fucking perfect. You have on that smile, the one that takes up your whole face. The one you’re wearing now. 

You take the washcloth from him and dunk it under the hot, sudsy water, then bring it to his chest. The smile on your lips lingers as you wash, lathering up his skin with tiny iridescent bubbles. 

“What does Darlene think of all this?” you ask, glancing up at him. 

Smoothing his hands around to the small of your back, he shrugs and pulls your slick body closer, “In a personal sense, supportive. She helped a lot actually. Held down the fort while I was in New York.” 

“While you were—” you scoff, shaking your head with an amused grin, “Dieter, what the fuck have you been up to?” 

“Long story, I’ll tell you on the drive home,” he grins. 

“Fine,” you snort and roll your eyes, but fold forward against his chest. His eyes drift closed as he relaxes into the heat of your body pressed to his. Fingertips sliding against his collarbone, you ask, “So the blowback to your career has been minimal?” 

He gulps when he contemplates how to answer, not wanting to scare you into a spiral that sends you running again. But it is what it is. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway. 

“Not… necessarily. It’s been pretty brutal, actually. Mark and Darlene wanted me to throw you under the bus and move on without you, but I refused. So they dropped me.” 

You prop yourself up and frown at him, “I thought you said Darlene—”

“She was helping me find you, Lua. She’s supportive of our relationship as my friend, but…”

Your eyebrow quirks, “The optics are shit?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, searching your surprisingly serene face, “It’s ok, though, you know. You were right, I don’t enjoy it anymore. Acting, I mean. I think I’ve been too scared to try anything else, but… I don’t know. I think I’m ready now. I’m ready for the next chapter of my life.” 

“You could try writing,” you offer as you trace his jawline, “I could find a job at a bakery or something. It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.” 

He nods, “We will.”

“I love you, Dee,” you say, holding his gaze, “We can do fucking anything together.”

Your certainty hits him square in the chest. 

For him, love always cast a dark shadow of fear that warned him to be distant. Not too eager or enthusiastic. Careful not to be fumbled by the wrong hands and wind up broken. 

It doesn’t feel like that anymore, he thinks. 

Your presence in his life has always been big and blinding. The warmth of your love has blistered his skin more times than he can count. He has dedicated hours upon hours of his life this past year trying to understand your magnitude and longevity, trying to measure the shadow that the fear of losing you cast. The dimensions fluctuated in a non-linear sort of way, waxing and waning with the circumstances surrounding your relationship. 

But now? 

You are the sun at high noon. No fucking shadow in sight. 

—

“All set?”

“I think so,” you zip up your suitcase and look up at Dieter as he leans against the doorframe. Your stomach growls and you groan, “If we don’t get food soon—” 

“I found a Denny’s about 30 miles away. Open on Christmas.” 

“Thank fucking god.” 

Dieter chuckles and buries his hands in his coat pockets, “Oh, by the way…”

He pulls out a small, familiar sketchpad and hands it to you. Nostalgia spreads warm across your chest as you open the cover and flip through Ethan’s artwork. Each page depicts dark and painful images that tug at your heart, reminding you of how much he was suffering. 

“How did you—?”

“Part of the long story. Tell you on the way home. But, umm… I figured you should have it.” 

You nod, pausing to study a high-contrast illustration that feels different from the previous pages. At first, it just looks like a collection of bold black triangles. The edges and points are crisp. Precise. But as you stare at it, your perspective shifts. The white paper beneath the black ink starts to stand out bright, then rises above the dark hollows. 

When it comes into focus, you gasp. 

It’s a face. 

It’s your face, carved out from negative space. 

“That one’s my favorite,” Dieter tells you, “He, umm… he was really talented.” 

Through your burgeoning tears, you smile, “Yeah. He was great.” 

You tear the portrait from the sketchbook and hand it to Dieter, who asks, “What about the rest?” 

Instead of answering, you step past him and take the sketchbook to the living room, where you lower yourself down in front of the fireplace and open the grate. Dieter follows, sitting down beside you as you tear out the first page and feed it to glowing embers in the hearth. 

Flames crackle to life, burning the paper to ash. 

You give it another. 

And another. 

And another. 

When the sketchbook is just an empty shell, you toss it in. Then Dieter hands you something. You glance it over for a moment, recognizing the painful passage you wrote the night before. You give that to the fire, too. 

He takes your hand and sits there with you while the flames die and return to smolders. 

“How’d that feel?” he asks eventually. 

“Fucking perfect.” 

You turn to him, searching his face, “Thank you.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk and he squeezes your hand, “Anytime, doll.” 

When you lean in to kiss him, his lips are soft and warm against yours. A sensation swells in your chest, this glowing kaleidoscope of patterns that shifts and twists into a million brilliant images. It feels like forever in the best way. It feels like heaven. 

He pulls back, those big ganache eyes meeting yours, “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him, “I’m ready. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Groaning, Dieter climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to you. You accept it, letting him help you up. Your hands stay firmly locked together as he grabs your ratty old suitcase and leads you to the door, out of the dark room and into the bright midday sun.

[chronically-ghosted]

✨ happy new year! ✨

it's not yet 2024 where i am but it is where my love @ravensmadreads is, so happy new year already enjoying january 1st!

i usually overthink around my birthday as i march towards death but you lovely people have really made me think about 2023 as it comes to a close. i feel weird talking about myself (unless im drunk and we haven't started drinking yet so hold onto your butts for that possibility), so i'm just going to say this:

You all changed my life.

there, that's it. if you read this and you think it doesn't mean you, yes it does. not a day goes by where this place, this community does not bring me joy and warmth. i hope you get that job you wanted, or you get that fur baby adoption you've been hoping for, or you get accepted to that school you wanted to, or you graduate with all the honors, or you create the thing you've always wanted to, or you get the baby you've been hoping for, or the person who makes you heart flip says i love you. i'm nervous about next year because it truly feels like a year where anything can happen 🤍

now to the fandom stuff:

i've never done a fic rec list because inevitably, i'm a fucking moron and i leave someone out. i know it hurts when i'm left out of a fic rec list so i never want to do that to anyone here. what follows is a list of fics that spoke specifically to me. the old saying goes is that you don't write fanfic for yourself, you write it for the five freaks on discord that can't write coherent sentences after you publish -- and it's true. fanfic isn't about numbers -- i would much rather write for my five freaks on my discord (where my work has deep, emotional impact for them) than try to write for a large crowd that i will never ever manage to please all at once.

my wish for you in 2024 you all find your freaks. and i hope i'm one of them.

side note: there are a couple fics not on the list because i wanted to highlight fics that i didn't see much on other end of the year rec lists. but @iamskyereads 's Compulsion should be read in graduate programs and @whatsnewalycat already knows i'm going to name my first born child after her for her Psychomanteum. yall rock my goddamn world.

so without further adieu . . . these are the fics i read this year that tickled me pink.

God is a Woman by @wheresarizona the way arizona writes max is entirely unique. i love her descriptions of how cold he is and how he doesn't breathe. i read this and had to rethink everything i ever wrote for max

the impaler by @kiwisbell the dracula x johnathan x mina vibes in this are spectacular. this is a pairing i never thought i'd see much less enjoy so thoroughly. why is older tim being seduced by a younger max so hot??

night one by @haylzcyon this is one of the first fics i read by hayley and she pretty much set the standard for all marcus pike fics moving forward. his endless patience, his flirty attitude, how he see things the reader won't admit, and then the sleeping bag -- god i'd read a thousand more fics about this dymanic

blood & tinsel by @morallyinept so if i tried to list all of my favorite jett fics, we'd be here all night. but this one stands out to me because it's so well built. the description of the vampire "trance" or "glamor" or "compulsion" without using any of those words is INCREDIBLE. plus max is face-meltingly hot in this.

the world turned on its side by @idolatrybarbie this was a surprise that came outta nowhere, but it hit me like a fucking train. bea weaves a story that sticks with you and creates a frankie that makes my entire soul sing.

heat by @wordywarriorwrites okay, listen. the beauty of fanfic is that you can have insane, animalistic smut AND literary level writing. this fic is both. i have yet to come across another frankie abo fic that makes the dynamic more than a reason for the blorbos to fuck like animals. it's so well done, there's so much love here.

in fiction @sin-djarin yall know dieter is my boy so i am VERY particular about how he is written in fic. everyone's interpretation is valid, but for dieter fics to resonate with me, there has to be this special blend of humor, kindness, dorkiness, and a sexiness you didn't expect. this fic is all of that and more.

reminiscence by @projectionistwrites this was one of the first joel fics i read and there's something about it that just . . . feels right, feels natural to Joel. there's a raw honesty to both joel and the reader that just sunk into my chest. the back and forth over the drink, the SMUT, everything is just this beautiful snapshot of two lonely people in the apocalypse.

oct' 19 x ghosts by @trulybetty another author that if i tried to choose a favorite, i simply couldn't. betty created a lovely, lovely world with this one (and the rest of the prompts for this one and her december prompts). i love fics that add a new layer to dieter and this one opened him up in a way that made him glow!

renegade by @eupheme my personal favorite brand of joel is one that comes alive between reader's thighs. more boulder than human until you bring something to the surface. and this totally captures that. im a sucker for a good qz fuck-that-verges-on-love and i adore everything about it.

Dominica by @ohforficsake if you ever need proof that notes do not reflect the quality of a fic, look no further. the language, the mastery of tension, and beauty of these descriptions are one two punches that knock me on the ass. genuinely one of my favorite frankie fics of all time.

wanna bet? by @write-and-buried i debated putting this or her celestial navigation fic on this list, but this one just tickles me. i love it when authors throw in a confident, sex-obsessed dieter now and again and this makes me howl. and the DEBAUCHERY of the statue oh my god!

give it to me @sp00kymulderr okay now to be fair, this review is entirely biased. i genuinely love gideon and all that they bring to this fandom. plus, they let me scream about dieter and then sends me dieter pictures that make me scream even louder. this fic is SO important to me. dieter here is everything i need and want: hesitant, anxious, but so madly in love. if i could wake up in one single fic every day, it'd be this one.

stepwise by @the-scandalorian i joined this fandom through din and this has been, and always will be, one of my top favorites. the evolution of din from being touch averse to LUSTING after it, it kills me. it's a oneshot but so much is accomplished in such a short time. the writing here is simply superb.

salvatore by @devilmademewriteit i came for the premise, stayed for the smut, and continued for the banter. i go back to this one all the time for inspiration with my own writing and then i get sucked in and read the whole thing through -- twice. javi drives me absolutely wild in this.

a whole new can of worms by @hier--soir i accidentally read this out of order initially, but this was just reason for me to reread it from start to finish. fwb!joel can be really hit or miss for me, and primarily because this fic sets the standard. this feels like a real joel, a joel that has lost and found loved ones all through out his life and now in jackson, he can finally relearn what it means to be a lover. so good, so fun with the banter -- and the friggin' greenhouse scene -- woof!

telltale heart @astroboots i am a SUCKER for 'frankie fixes his life' fics and this is one of the best. there are consequences for his choices in colombia, one that almost has him lose his family, and the woman he loves. this a real, genuine struggle for two people to overcome a seemingly impossible challenge in their marriage. you know the phrase, love conquers all? yeah this is that fic.

brand you in the way it counts by @charnelhouse charnel was one of the first authors i read for the pedroverse -- and i mean i READ her. i read every single one of her fics at least twice and this one always sends me over the edge. it's such an inspiration to my own writing and i keep going back to her whole body of work to be reminded i can always improve my own writing

west by @radiowallet when people want to know why fanfic matters, i want to show them this fic. it is achingly beautiful and written with a loving and gentle hand. joel is a messy, broken man but still capable, still good, still wanting to find love in this and i adore everything about this. Oneshots can be more devastating than multichapters because they end and this is one of them that drags me back to it constantly.

And to that weird little dude out of Chile who has no idea how much light he brings to the world…

Much love, Taylor 🤍

[wildemaven]

Tiktok Fic Rec Edits

Started making some fic rec edits on tiktok; you can follow me here

Between the Raindrops @jazzelsaur

Worth the Wait @kteague

Strawberry Wine @pedrito-friskito

Funny Girl @radiowallet

Lie to Me @iamskyereads

Psychomanteum @whatsnewalycat

Palomino @fuckyeahdindjarin

Peña’s Anatomy @guess-my-next-obsession

Learning to Live @wheresarizona

Bound for Carnage @psychedelic-ink

The Interlude @flightlessangelwings

Life is Good @something-tofightfor

Love in the Dark @lavendertales

That’s a Real Fucking Legacy @wyn-n-tonic

[peppermintfury]

Fic Recs

Pedro Pascal character fanfic recommendations. None of these are my work, they are all links to some of my favorite fics. My inbox is always open to more recommendations. 

Frankie “Catfish” Morales (Triple Frontier)

Between the Raindrops (my absolute fav)

Life is Good

More than Words

Oblivius

Weeknights

Watch Your Step (Triple Frontier Boys)

Designated Person

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Rough Day (obviously)

i’ve flown too close to the sun

Starlight 

Wrest Pin (AO3)

Magnetic 

Take Me to Church (Western AU)

Something More

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

Locked Down

Psychomanteum

Consent

Ezra (Prospect)

In the Dark

Javier Peña (Narcos)

The Crush

[psychedelic-ink]

Another month, another fic rec list! Happy spring everybody 💜💜💜

please show your support by commenting and/or reblogging!

categories include: pedro pascal characters (pero tovar, ezra, frankie morales, marcus pike, jack daniels, jack daniels, din djarin, tim rockford, frankie morales, javier p), the last of us (joel miller, tommy miller, tess) misc. (steven grant)

as always don't forget to check the warnings before reading!

click here for last months fic recommendations

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS

untitled by @softlyspector (din djarin)

two truths and a lie by @prolix-yuy (jack daniels, marcus pike)

simulated by @/prolix-yuy (dieter bravo)

At First Sight by @astroboots (frankie morales)

Beer Pong by @/astroboots (frankie morales, hints of santiago garcia)

Personal Belongings by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

morning sunshine by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

untitled by @toomanystoriessolittletime (marcus pike)

a hard bargain by @/toomanystoriessolittletime (tim rockford)

stay close by @ezrasbirdie (pero tovar | series)

priorities by @wheresarizona (javier p)

needy by @/wheresarizona (javier p)

driven by power by @absurdthirst (din djarin)

all that glitters by @beskarberry (pero tovar)

Solisequious by @/beskarberry (ezra | series)

under his skin by @ozarkthedog (tim rockford)

grays II by @fuckyeahdindjarin (frankie morales)

palomino by @/fuckyeahdindjarin (jack daniels | series)

something more by @jazzelsaur (frankie morales)

between the raindrops by @/jazzelsaur (frankie morales | series)

Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat (dieter bravo | series)

bunny by @/whatsnewalycat (javier p)

kiss here by @frenchiereading (frankie morales)

Freu(Din)an Slip by @saradika (din djarin)

the bite by @doctorliamsr (tim rockford)

Relaxation Techniques by @mandoblowmybackout (marcus pike | series)

untitled by @frannyzooey (frankie morales)

TLOU

folly by @inklore (joel miller)

impetuous by @/inklore (joel miller)

short days, long nights by @frannyzooey (joel miller)

woods by @frannyzooey (joel miller)

crave by @allfoolsinluv (joel miller, tess servopoulos)

new beginnings by @juletheghoul (joel miller)

tease by @/juletheghoul (joel miller)

Journey to Kintsugi by @nexusnyx (joel miller | series)

Me & Mr. Miller by @/nexusnyx (joel miller)

strawberry wine by @pedrito-friskito (joel miller | series)

creature comforts by @galactic-basic (joel miller | series)

more by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (joel miller, tommy miller)

two by @the-scandalorian (joel miller)

untitled by @/the-scandalorian (joel miller)

seams by @/fuckyeahdindjarin (joel miller)

can't help falling in love by @lavendertales (joel miller)

2002 by @wheresarizona (joel miller | series)

cracked vessels by @ezrasbirdie (joel miller, tess servopoulos)

MISC.

untitled by @dameronscopilot (steven grant)

untitled 2 by @dameronscopilot (steven grant)

[toilet-keeper]

I am here with Dieter Bravo fic recs! (I hope it's okay to send them as an ask, I just wanted to keep things organized). This is in no way a comprehensive list and I am one hundred percent I am forgetting someone.

@jazzelsaur has her story Stay on the Screenplay. It's stunning and heart wrenching and my favorite Dieter story. She also has three one-shots that I can't recommend enough! @write-and-buried has her phenomenal coffee shop AU Celestial Navigation! THE VIBES! THE HEART. THIS FIC! Also on her masterlist you can find multiple Dieter one-shots AND porn star!Dieter which is indescribable! @fuckyeahdindjarin has her amazing story Consent and @prolix-yuy has Below the Line and both are amazing!

@blueeyesatnight has two on her Dieter Bravo masterlist Nothing Lasts Forever and That's Not Your Name!

@littlemisspascal has a soulmate AU called Love Triangles that is sweet sweet sweet.

@psychedelic-ink has one of my new favorites We Fall Like Snow and it has my whole throat in a chokehold right now.

@whatsnewalycat and her stunning turn on grief and love and haunting with her Dieter Bravo story Psychomanteum.

@pedropascalsx @the-ginger-hedge-witch @toomanystoriessolittletime @honestly-shite are also ones off the top of my head that have written one-shots for this vexing gremlin man.

Like I said, I am one hundred percent I am missing people because our fandom is running wildly rampant with talent. Just seriously, an embarrassment of riches.

TONIGHT I AM FED

no seriously you've unleashed my love for this awful human who I'm sure smells like a combination of dried lawn and wet cement and I'm not even mad about it.