#read with blugh

[blughxreader]

The Batman comics are genuinely such an experience. You think its going to be gritty and pretentious, but its just Alfred driving into someone at 200mph.

Oh then Batman hits the same guy with a plane

Batman (2016) issue 5

[goodday-goodmorn]

Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

[bonetrousledbones]

okay with The Bullshit inevitably going through here are what i believe to be the ideal settings to mitigate fueling it in a way that's realistic. from what i've read glaze & nightshade aren't actually very effective & require insane computer specs just to put a shittification filter on your art that can literally be broken by resizing it so i don't think i'm gonna bother with it. i think the fact that these settings exist at all is at the very least a good sign that staff doesn't want this shit either, and the opt-in default is likely a result of a contract or something. i'm not an expert on this by ANY means so please please look into it yourselves, but this is what i think would be helpful for me at least

[fuhosh-i]

like i do not things will be suddenly fine or even better when he gets back but at least things will be different?

[grassbreads]

I really like that svsss fanon exposed blog and I genuinely admire their whole project, but.

Every time I see their posts it keeps making me think about how I am exactly the type of canon-obsessed pedantic nerd (complimentary) who would get a blast out of doing a blog like that, but my biggest fixation is originally in a language I can barely read, and I couldn't imitate their work nearly as well relying on a translation 😔

[sionnaigh]

[hedgehogofspades]

.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VII ║ Contrary

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 8: Concentric >> }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: You broke the cardinal rule, and Dieter knows it. There’s only one thing to do.

Warnings: ANGST, JEALOUSY, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (m receiving), safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), bath tub sex, size kink, light cum play, yearning, mentions of food, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k… I tried to write less, believe me 😒

Note: I lied... this is not the end. But I swear this is the penultimate chapter of Consent. Buckle up - it’s a bumpy one 🫢

Originally, there wasn't going to be any smut in this part, but then I read @ezrasbirdie's amazing Dentist!Ezra series, specifically Slick 🥵 and I couldn't stop thinking about a *certain position*, and... this happened. Thank you for letting me use the idea for Dieter, Birdie!

Week 13

As it turns out, deep within the well of infinite chaos that is Dieter Bravo, there is wisdom. 

‘Fake Date Gate’, as it has been dubbed by someone in the sound department and quickly adopted by everyone else, does blow over with little pomp and circumstance. A Dieter Bravo newsflash with no full frontal nudity, sex or drugs? Hardly sells any papers.

But on set, it’s a different story.

You bustle into the studio side by side with Dieter on Monday, two days after the story dropped and abruptly fizzled out. Your nose is in the script while you rattle off last-minute changes in the scene at him, your mind having completely moved on from the paparazzi fiasco.

An intense heat floods you as you’re blinded by an unexpected spotlight pointed at you both. Before you can bite out what the fuck, you’re stopped in your tracks by raucous cheers and applause, and you feel embarrassment blooming on your hot cheeks as your pre-coffee brain finally catches on.

Dieter graciously bows at the cheering crew and tries to deflect the attention, but when the noise does not abate, he grins and pulls you close by your waist. He murmurs under his breath, ‘Let’s put on a show, sweetheart.’

Mercifully, he only presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, which is enough to assuage your colleagues, but it still makes you flush to the tips of your ears.

And so it goes for the next couple of days. 

When people you hardly recognise wolf whistle at you two walking down the corridor, Dieter indulges them by intertwining his fingers with yours, and bringing your hand up to press a kiss on the back of it. He doesn’t let go even when you turn the corner and out of their sight. 

When you’re waiting for the coffee to brew in the break room with Dieter and someone hollers playfully, he comes up behind you to wrap his thick arms around your waist, chin on the top of your head, while the machine whirrs, long after the instigators leave the room.

He doesn’t need to tell you that he enjoys hamming it up for these little skits, knowing full well that everyone else thinks that he’s acting - but you.

It’s Wednesday, and it's time to face the reckoning - Ruth is working at the canteen while you’re on your lunch break. 

You steel yourself, pasting on your sweetest smile and walk confidently up to her. ‘Hi Ruth, how are you doing? The new hair colour looks great on you.’

In lieu of a response, Ruth doesn’t break eye contact while she scoops wet, broken layers of lasagne onto your plate, which land with an unappetising splat. The smile on your face wilts.

You’re staring at your lunch in despair when a voice pipes up behind you. ‘Ruth, my sweetling, how are you today?’

She gives Dieter a pout. ‘I’ve been better, not going to lie.’

You glare at him when he gets handed a huge, perfectly sliced piece of lasagne. Dieter goes on to console her. ‘Baby, you know you’re my favourite, right? This one?’ He jerks a dismissive thumb in your direction, before pushing you away and making a blugh face. ‘Just some PR stunt.’

Your eyebrows reach for your hairline, but before you get any words out, Dieter is steamrolling you towards the cutlery station.

‘What the fuck was that?’ you splutter.

He reaches over you to grab forks and knives. ‘Saving your life, duh. Do you want her to poison your food? Because she would've. You’re welcome, sweetheart.’

You slide your tray down and pluck an iced coffee from the fridge. You grumble to yourself, ‘PR stunt? With an intimacy coordinator? That doesn’t even make any sense.’

He follows hot on your heels after he nabs a green juice. ‘C’mon sweetheart, you’re not mad at me for being sweet on Ruth, are you?’

Tobias waves as you power walk past his table. ‘Bravo, you with us or the missus?’

He winks at the director. ‘Sorry man, gotta sit with my girl.’

You roll your eyes as he follows you to your table where your friends are seated. ‘Excuse me. I didn’t say you could sit with me. And don’t call me that.’

He ignores you, fistbumping Pete and high-fiving Ana, making himself comfortable next to you.

Pete sighs, wriggling his fork at you. ‘My favourite lovebirds. I call best man.’

‘You can’t just call best man,’ Ana chides, chewing on her salad, but decides she doesn’t want to miss out. ‘I call maid of honour.’

You cradle your head in one hand, while shoving at the limp excuse of a lasagne with your fork. ‘Oh god, when will all this be over?’

Dieter slurps on his juice, and taps on the table emphatically with his index finger. ‘Listen, sweetheart. The more you resist, the longer it drags on for. The more you lean in, the quicker people get bored.’

Pete holds his face between his palms, beaming from ear to ear as he declares, ‘Not me, I’ll never get bored of the two of you.’

You narrow your eyes at him. ‘Pete?’

‘Yeah, babe?’

‘Fuck off.’

He blows a kiss at you. ‘Never.’

Dieter points a finger at Pete and warns him, slightly garbled, through a mouthful of lasagne. ‘Hey, lay off my woman, punk.’ 

‘Don’t talk while you eat, Bravo,’ you admonish, wrinkling your nose at him.

His grin drips with lasciviousness and you quickly regret your words. Heat flares beneath your skin when his tongue darts out to lick at a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his plush lips. He practically purrs at you, ‘That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart.’

A half-chewed romaine leaf flies out of Ana’s mouth and lands in Pete’s pea soup, but fortunately for him, he’s too busy choking on his coffee to notice, thumping his chest with a clenched fist as the liquid goes down the wrong way. 

Over the commotion, Dieter shoots you a cheeky smile, and you have to chew the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grinning back. 

It’s the toughest job you’ve ever been in the running for. You’ve had four rounds of interviews so far, each with a different panel, all scheduled before 7am or after 10pm, which are the only time slots the various directors of casting, photography or producers have been available. If you do get the job, you know you have long days to look forward to. 

Dieter helps you prep for your interviews and orders Deliveroo when you’re on your Zoom calls so you don’t starve. He gives you a good luck kiss before and holds you in your self-doubt after. 

It’s a nerve-wracking wait for the final decision. You don’t have a Plan B. If you don’t get it, you might be out for months before something else comes along, burning your savings in the meantime.

It’s Thursday and you’re about to head to the break room for a much-needed coffee when your phone screen flashes. It’s a Canadian number.

You press the green button with trembling fingers, and you can’t help the quiver in your voice. ‘Hello?’

At that very moment, Dieter’s eyes meet yours across the set, where Ana is dusting setting powder over his forehead. The hand over your mouth can’t hide the grin of disbelief that’s broken across your face.

One look at your smile and he comes running.

That particular part seems most baffling to the crew, none of whom has seen Dieter at any pace beyond a leisurely swagger.

He all but knocks you off your feet, and you cling to his shoulders, balancing precariously on your tippy toes and his hands on the small of your back.

‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,’ he whispers, knowing full well the microphones are feeding his words to everyone wired to the audio. 

The I’ll show you how much later, in his eyes - that’s just for you.

The next day, Dieter signs the Linklater contract. Rebecca insists on taking you and Dieter out to dinner with her husband at a rowdy Italian trattoria where the food keeps coming. It’s so loud that you have to shout to hear each other over the racket.

Hank is a Hollywood divorce attorney, and the three of them are obviously very close. You listen to them talk about their daughter, and how the last time they had Uncle D over was for Christmas and that he should come around for dinner before he flies to Italy.

Rebecca covers your hand with hers, glass of wine in the other. ‘You must come along, darling. The last time I let Dieter bring a girl over, Coco was still missing her front teeth.’

‘I would love to, but I think I might be in Canada by then,’ you reply noncommittally, and the conversation meanders in another direction.

Dieter’s hand on your knee wanders higher as the wine goes down. You’re buzzed enough on drink that you don’t protest when he snakes his arm around your waist halfway through the pasta course, his palm resting possessively on the swell of your hip and it stays there all night. You let him feed you tangles of spaghetti bolognese and eggplant parmigiana, giggling when he makes a mess and wipes you off clumsily with his napkin.

You spotted far more famous faces on the way in so you know you could get away with it.

Hank pours you both some more wine, and asks conversationally, ‘So how long have you guys been together for?’

Rebecca elbows him so hard he spills about half a glass onto the table. He splutters, ‘Honey, what was that for?’

The question hits unexpectedly hard, and you try to cover up your discomfort by bringing up your glass of wine to your lips for a long sip. The thought comes to you, uncalled for - in a week, it wouldn’t matter. 

Clearing your throat, you excuse yourself to go to the washroom. Gripping the cool porcelain of the sink, you study yourself in the mirror. The elation of these two days is slowly wearing off…

And you have no idea where you stand.

You know what you agreed to. In a week, your job is over. This is over.

Unless - no. In a month, you will be an Atlantic away from each other. There’s no way. No point thinking about that.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when an out-of-tune birthday serenade floats through the door. You give yourself one last check in the mirror, smooth out your skirt, and head for the exit.

When you sidle out of the bathroom, you’re promptly cornered by Dieter, who backs you up against the wall and kisses you fully on the mouth. His tongue is bitter with the red wine he’s been drinking all night, sliding wetly along your lower lip, hands impatiently squeezing your ass over your skirt. The buzz of the restaurant is right behind him.

You try to squirm out of his grip. ‘Dieter, anyone can walk in on us.’

‘Don’t give a fuck, sweetheart. I want everyone to know you’re mine.’

It hurts, because you can’t be. But he’s too far gone to notice. So you close your eyes and you let him steal your breath away with a kiss so deep that you have to physically steady yourself when he pulls away.

You put on a brave face. ‘Let’s go home.’

The next morning dawns wet and cold. You wake up far too early considering the amount of alcohol you still have sloshing around in your bloodstream.

So you draw a bath - extra bubbles, extra hot. You set your half-empty mug of tea on the floor next to the tub and step in, sighing deeply as you sink into the water, letting the bath draw out your hangover like poison from a wound.

You only realise you’ve drifted off when the burn of moustache dragging on your cheek wakes you up. The water is still quite warm, so you can’t have been out for long.

‘Why aren’t you in bed with me?’ Dieter whinges into the side of your neck, his tongue on your sensitive skin, large hands wrapping around the edge of the bath on either side of you. He’s always extra needy when he’s hungover.

You tilt your head back at him and shrug. ‘Felt like taking a bath.’

He leans over and kisses you upside down - Spiderman style, you think to yourself with a silent giggle - your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his ratty green robe. He growls into your ear, ‘But I feel like fucking.’

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not the one who started snoring the second we hit the bed last night.’

With a wolvish grin, he grabs your hand and guides it over his erection under the robe. ‘I’m ready now, sweetheart, and that’s what counts.’

You stay put, holding his gaze while you pull on the tie of his robe. His uncovered cock rises over you as you reach up and close your palm around it, and he moans at the contact, brow creasing. Over the floral scent of your bath you smell him - salty and musky.

Shifting so you sit up higher in the tub, you run your tongue over the base of his cock and over his balls, making him shudder and his voice catch. ‘Sweetheart.’

‘What do you want, Dieter?’ you tease, rubbing your cheek against his velvety length.

He pins you with his dark eyes. ‘Please suck my cock. Please.’

An idea comes to you. You relax your shoulders and let your head hang back over the porcelain edge as far as possible, your elbows resting on the side of the tub to hold yourself in position. Your tits hover just above the water line, and you feel your nipples pebble in the cold morning air. You arch an eyebrow at Dieter as he gapes at the picture you make. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

‘Fuck,’ he swears and runs a thick finger along the bow of your upper lip, before pushing two inside, stroking himself with his free hand. ‘Gotta open up that mouth for me, baby.’

You suck on his digits, swirling your tongue around the tips, which makes him shiver. Pulling back, you give him the most debauched smile you can manage. ‘Put your cock in my mouth, Bravo.’

Eyes wild, he steps forward and traces the weeping head of his length over both your lips, before dipping carefully inside. You can’t help groaning at the pressure on your tongue, and he chuckles, but the tight pinch of his fingers on your jaw betrays his tension. ‘I’m barely in, baby. Wider.’

You oblige, unlocking your jaw, and he pushes in with sudden ease, sliding in so deep you nearly choke. Dieter exhales heavily through his nostrils. ‘Yes. Shit, that’s so good, sweetheart.’

Your throat feels taut in this angle, and he feels so big as he begins to slides in and out. You have to focus on breathing through your nose as he fucks your mouth.

You feel his fingers weave into your hair, gripping tightly as an anchor. ‘Such a pretty mouth,’ he praises you. ‘Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this first thing in the morning.’

You shudder, as you feel a gush of want seep from your pussy, your back arching at his words.

‘You like me talking to you like this, hmm?’ he asks, his voice deep and rough. ‘When you can’t talk back, with my cock in your mouth?’

You hum around him, which makes his entire frame shake. He moans, ‘Wanna fuck your pussy, baby. Do you want me to? Can I?’ 

You nod as best as you could - not easy with his cock pinning you to the bath - and when he pulls out hastily, you gasp in a deep breath and sit up too quickly, which makes your head spin. You hardly recognise your own voice as you beg, ‘Yes, want you inside me - please Dieter.’

Robe falling heavily onto the heated floor, he climbs into the bath behind you, and you twist around so that you can kiss him, fingers tangling in his unruly hair. Dieter stretches out his legs and positions you above him, your knees on either side of him. He slides two fingers between your thighs under the soapy water and rubs your clit studiously, while he mouths at your breasts, heavy with arousal and covered in suds.

Grasping his length, you hurriedly position yourself over him and notch him at your entrance, hands on his shoulders.

‘Whoa, whoa, sweetheart,’ he asks you to slow down, the span of his palms on your hips steadying you. ‘I haven’t even opened you up with my fingers yet.’

‘I can take it,’ you assure him, and with a roll of your hips, you start your slow descent.

He’s only just breached you before he groans shakily, nails digging into the meat of your hips. ‘Fuck - sweetheart - you sure? Haven’t even touched you yet… you’re really tight -’

The stretch is almost painful, and your noses knock together as you sink lower onto him. ‘You’re so big, Dieter,’ you whine, relishing the snug fit.

‘I know baby, you’re making me so hard for you,’ he croons into your ear, before sucking on the lobe. He lets go of your left hip so he can draw lazy circles on your clit, slicking up your pussy. ‘But you’re doing so well, sweetheart. I’m almost there.’

With his encouragement and one more shift of your hips, you are fully seated, the sheer size of him sheathed so tightly inside you making your tremble. 

Dieter chuckles in almost delirium, leaning forward to place a messy kiss on your swollen lips. ‘There she is. You feel fucking amazing, sweetheart.’

‘Wait till I start riding you,’ you shoot back cockily, high on his praise.

‘You’re mouthy this morning,’ he grins at you, which falters when you start a slow slide upwards, the tips of your nipples dragging against his chest. ‘Oh, fuck -’

Water swishes around you as you move on him, your cunt sliding with more ease now, getting wetter as your clit drags against his pelvic bone each time you rock against him. He’s sprawled back against the tub, the tip of his tongue peeking through his slightly open mouth, breathing hard. ‘Wish I could watch my cock go in and out of you, sweetheart. Bet it's a pretty sight.’

You grin and hold onto the edge of the tub behind him, kicking up the pace. ‘I’m not fucking you hard enough if you’re still talking in complete sentences, Bravo.’

He laughs and snaps his hips up into you, hitting somewhere deep inside which makes your breath stutter. ‘Ditto, sweetheart.’

There isn’t much talking after that, definitely not when he flips you around so that you’re on your knees, hands on the edge of the tub, ass hovering above the bubbles. Dieter delivers a sharp slap to your plump cheek, which echoes wetly in the bathroom and you cry out needily. He traces his tip along your folds, watching himself dip shallowly inside you, keen ears picking up the wet squelch as he does. ‘Told you I want to watch this pussy while I fuck it.’

You cry aloud when he thrusts into you, hitting you so deep you feel it in your toes.

‘Dieter,’ you sob breathlessly. ‘That feels so fucking good.’

He sets a merciless rhythm, two fingers on your clit now, rubbing insistently while your knuckles turn white as you claw at the edge of the tub. ‘You’re getting so wet on my dick, sweetheart. Gonna make you come so hard.’

‘Yes, please,’ you beg. ‘Harder, please. Give it to me -’ you’re cut off when a particularly hard thrust knocks the breath out of you.

‘Careful what you wish for now, baby,’ comes Dieter’s smug remark.

You clench your pussy around him hard enough that his footing in the tub slips, splashing water everywhere. You throw him a toothy grin over your shoulder. ‘Speak for yourself.’

Your triumph quickly melts into desperation when Dieter growls and pounds into you even harder. Water sloshes and the wet slap of skin on skin fills your ears. He’s panting loudly, and you know he’s almost there. ‘I’m so close, Dieter. Come with me,’ you plead.

‘Ok baby,’ he groans and rubs your clit just a bit faster. ‘You ready for me?’

You nod frantically, winding tighter and tighter until the ground gives from under you and your voice breaks. ‘I’m coming, oh my god, I’m coming -’

At the first throttle of your cunt, Dieter lets go, his hips driving brokenly and sloppily into you, fighting to stay inside your pulsing walls - impossibly tight, how could you have gotten any tighter after he's fucked you so hard - until he spills deep inside you in long thrusts of hot and thick release.

‘Baby,’ he gasps into your ear as his knees buckle, but manages to catch the side of the tub with one hand before he collapses on you. The sudden movement pushes the now lukewarm water aggressively against the side and spills over the edge. ‘Fuck, you almost killed me.’

You grin. ‘Still complaining about me not staying in bed with you?’

He grabs your chin and twists your face around to kiss you, then retorts, thumb dipping into your swollen lower lip. ‘Still so mouthy? Guess I didn't fuck it hard enough.'

You shiver when he pulls out of you in one slow motion, and he watches in rapture as his spend leaks from your puffy lips, fingers swiping gently over the mess he made. He groans, ‘I’ll never get tired of seeing your pussy dripping with my cum.’

You shudder from both his words and the water that’s quickly getting cold. ‘Keep saying things like that and we’ll be here forever,’ you quip.

You nearly wince. Forever is a poor choice of words.

Dieter seems oblivious to your over-analysis, turning you around to pull you tight against his chest. ‘Sounds good to me, sweetheart.’

The afterglow doesn’t last as long as you hoped it would. The quiet dread that has wormed into your consciousness since Friday night dinner is clinging to you and you can’t shake it. You managed to palm off your quietness for the rest of Saturday as tiredness from the antics in the bath, which prompted a self-satisfied smirk from Dieter and no more questions.

Your saving grace comes in the unexpected shape of big manila folders delivered to the both of you early on Sunday morning, packed full of scripts, schedules and other paperwork for your next respective projects. You desperately need the distraction and you dive in gratefully as the rain continues to come down outside.

You watch him from the opposite end of the couch. You’re wrapped up in his favourite green robe, the same one he was wearing in the bathroom yesterday. It’s ridiculously soft and it swallows you whole. Your fingers barely poke out from under the long sleeves, which flutter busily over miscellaneous papers that you’re going through methodically.

On his end, Dieter has his papers spread about haphazardly, which is nothing new. He’s leafing through the final script, which is much thicker than the abridged one that you read with him a few weeks ago. A pen dangles from his mouth, which he plucks out of his teeth to annotate the pages every now and then. 

You let another hour of diligent silence drift by before you work up the nerve to say, ‘You know, I was thinking - I’ll leave this coming Saturday morning, after the wrap party on Friday. My contract ends the same day.’

It takes him a beat to look up at you through his reading glasses, lips pursed. ‘Ok. Where are you going?’

‘Home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Two and a half hours drive north.’

‘Ok,’ he shrugs, then goes back to his script.

You blink. Did he just give you a… shrug?

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. You try again. ‘So - when do you fly to Italy?’

He rustles through a stack of papers till he finds what he’s looking for. Tilting his head to the left instead of turning the page right way round, he reads from his schedule, ‘Second week of May. The week after I finish reshoots.’

‘I fly to Canada the same week.’

‘Ok.’

That’s one too many ok’s for you to handle right now. You get up and mumble something about making tea, pulling his robe tight around you, as if it will stem the hurt blooming in your chest.

What the fuck is going on? He’s always been the one pushing for more. He’s always made you feel wanted. He’s the one who followed you to this fucking apartment, he said fuck lying low. He took you on a double date with Rebecca and Hank. 

And now when you tell him you’re leaving in six days’ time - he says ok?

With the kettle boiling and your back to him, you don’t try to stop the tear that slides down your cheek.

Week 14

The last week of filming is always intense, Resurgence is no different. All week, it’s been a matter of physically making it back to the apartment and collapsing into bed. You’ve both been ships in the night - either you have a late call with HBO or Dieter has one with the Linklater team. One of you is always asleep by the time the other gets back. Besides time shared on set, you only see each other over a rushed breakfast in the morning before heading into the studio.

On Thursday night, Dieter makes it back to the empty apartment just before 8:30pm. He realises with a start that it’s the last evening you two have together before principal photography ends the next day.

Shit. He’s really let the week slip by. Grabbing his phone, he crash lands sideways on the couch and opens up Deliveroo.

When you walk through the door half an hour later, your eyes widen at the boxes taking up the entire coffee table, while Dieter fusses with unboxing and rearranging them. 

Your bag slides off your shoulder as you stare, stunned. ‘Dieter, this is way too much food! See what happens when I let you order?’

‘C’mere, sweetheart,’ he grins, making space for you on the floor, patting the cushions next to him.

Folding your knees, you sit cross-legged, giving him an assessing lookover. ‘Have you finally lost it?’

He chuckles. ‘No, baby. This is Deliveroo: our greatest hits.’

Sweeping your eyes over the dishes, you recognise some of your favourite takeout that you’ve ordered over the past couple of months - crunchy tuna roll from the tiny Japanese joint around the corner, artichoke and burrata pizza from the Italian place that always throws in a free tiramisu, baja fish tacos from the food truck nearby and -

You frown at him quizzically. ‘Poutine? We never ordered poutine.’

He plucks a gravy soaked fry and feeds it to you. ‘That’s to acclimate you to Canadian food.’

Your chest swells with warmth and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. You lean in to give him a soft kiss. ‘Thank you. Lucky I skipped lunch today.’

You’ve worked through about a third of the food when your eyes alight on what looks like a tagine. You tap on the container. ‘We never ordered this.’

Dieter grabs the box and shovels a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. ‘We didn’t. I did - that same night I ate you out for the first time.’

His answer is so unexpected that the pulled pork quesadilla nearly goes down your trachea.

He winks at you. ‘Gotta say it tasted better last time.’

You admit defeat around halfway through the food, and Dieter follows suit, flopping heavily on his back onto the couch, his tshirt riding up to show a sliver of his soft belly underneath.

You climb onto him, your smaller body fitting perfectly on his broad chest, the top of your head tucked under his chin. You yawn lazily. ‘I’m stuffed.’

He combs his fingers through your head and you feel the vibrations in his chest when he replies, ‘I like it better when you’re stuffed with something else -’

‘Must you be so crude?’

‘You love it.’

You shift. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it - but the very word makes you uncomfortable. You don’t want to associate him or anything about him with that word. Not when the end is tomorrow.

You fold your hands over the centre of his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath. You prop your chin up on the back of them, and you smile into his warm eyes. He tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

‘You liked it?’ he asks, just a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

You hesitate, but you decide he deserves the truth. ‘I loved it.’

He nods off not soon after, snoring quietly. But you lie awake, eyes wide, your heart in knots as the quiet hours creep in.

‘And it’s a wrap!’

Cheers erupt, echoing like thunder in the studio as the lighting guy turns on dramatic disco lights. Dieter reaches over and pulls Brooke in for a hug, and over her shoulder, he meets your eyes from across the room.

It’s done - fourteen weeks of principal photography. Reshoots start next week, but the schedule is much more relaxed, and he’s ready to wind down before doing it all over again in Italy.

Dieter wants to make his way to you, but he keeps getting waylaid by various members of the cast and crew. By the time he’s released from Tobias’ bear hug, you’re gone from his line of sight.

He didn’t see you over lunch today as Rebecca popped in for an impromptu meeting, which he wasn’t too pleased about. He wonders if you’ll hitch a ride with him to the wrap party downtown, but reckons you’re more likely to share an Uber with Ana and the makeup girls. He decides he’ll meet you at the club as he gets ushered back to his trailer to change out of his costume. 

The club pulses with generic dance music and most of its occupants are already knee deep in drink by the time Dieter arrives. He makes his rounds, giving high fives and shaking hands as he circles the room, looking for you.

Spotting Pete, he wades through the crowds and they exchange a hug. Dieter asks if he’s seen you.

Pete looks confused. ‘I’m pretty sure she said you were giving her a lift.’

Ana stumbles into sight, throwing her arms around Dieter. He asks her about you as well. She shakes her head. ‘Oh no, she definitely said she was coming with you.’

Something doesn’t sit right. He calls you, but the line rings out all three times. 

Then he calls his driver and pushes his way out of the club.

The door knob jangles with sudden violence, which makes you jump back and hug to your chest the item you were just folding up to pack away. The door swings open, hitting the wall behind it forcefully.

Dieter’s eyes travel slowly. Firstly over you, wound up tight as a corkscrew, then at the large packed suitcase standing by the door, and finally at the slightly smaller one lying splayed open on the floor.

His tone is accusatory as he slams the door shut behind him. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You said you’re leaving tomorrow.’

All the self-doubt and resentment that has been simmering just under your skin this past week finally breaks the surface. And you deal with it the only way you know - angrily.

You glare at him. ‘What difference does one night make? It’s not like you care.’ You spit the last word out like it's acid on your tongue.

Dieter looks at you incredulously. ‘What the fuck are you on about? How do I not care? I ordered you all the fucking Deliveroo that you like just last night, in case you don’t remember!’

You feel your shackles come up, and you yell back. ‘But when I told you I was leaving, you said ok - what kind of an answer is ok? You didn’t even ask me where I live!’

‘Why do I need to ask if I’m going with you?!’

It’s your turn to look at him incredulously. ‘What?’

‘I’m coming with you,’ he explains impatiently, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and he cannot believe it isn’t to you. ‘I’ll commute to the studio. I don’t have reshoots every day. I can stay with you.’

‘Bold of you to assume you could just come with me without asking,’ you retort sarcastically.

Dieter’s eyes narrow. ‘I came here with you, didn’t I? Why wouldn’t I go with you?’

Your conviction in the decision to leave, precarious as it already was, slips dangerously at his argument. But you shake your head. ‘Ten minutes down the road is very different from two and a half hours away, Dieter. And we agreed to stop after filming.’

Dieter throws his hands up in disbelief. ‘Not this bullshit again, sweetheart. You said you didn’t want to stop! That's what you said when I asked after Week 10 drinks, when I found out about Canada!’

‘Tell me - do you want to stop, sweetheart?’

‘No, no, don’t stop, please, I’m so close - I don’t want to stop -’

‘That’s it, that’s a good fucking girl - not gonna stop - ’

You feel heat swell in your stomach and climb up your spine at the memory. You can’t handle that - not now. Finding your voice, you argue weakly, ‘I said - I meant I didn’t want to stop during production.’

He scoffs with a shake of his head. ‘Bullshit, sweetheart.’

You try a different tact. ‘So what if we had another month? We still have to stop when we fly to opposite sides of the world.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me!’ you point a finger straight at your heart, which is fucking aching. ‘I don’t want to be with someone who’s 6,000 miles away! I can’t.’

But he won’t drop it, he keeps pushing, taking two steps towards you. ‘Why the fuck not? Tell me why not!’

Because you’ll get bored. 

Because you’ll find someone else. 

Because it will hurt too much. 

Except that you don’t say any of it out loud - you can’t. The empty space between you lies heavy and cold.

Dieter’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding yours this whole time. But you can’t bear to look at him.

‘So this is it?’ he breaks the silence, and you let out the a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding out.

You shrug, shifting your grip on the bundle you are still hanging onto. ‘I guess so.’

The movement directs his attention to the familiar pinstriped green cloth in your arms. You watch as his eyes light up, and one eyebrow arches in curiosity. ‘Is that - is that my robe?’

Your fingers clench around the soft fabric. Oh, fuck me sideways.

Suddenly, Dieter doesn’t look so angry anymore. In fact, a small smile lifts his entire countenance. Crossing his arms leisurely, he says chattily, as if you weren’t in the middle of a breakup. ‘Just to be clear - you’re stealing my robe?’

‘No,’ you say quickly.

‘You folded it up real nice, sweetheart. Looks like it would fit into that little nook right there above your shoes,’ he nods at your open suitcase.

You blink and try not to wince as the words leave your mouth. ‘I was just tidying up.’

He grins with teeth. ‘I clearly remember you putting it away in the wardrobe a few days ago. You insisted on washing it after I dipped it in soup.’ 

You curse the day you were born. Why are you such a shit liar?

Dieter shuffles in a bit closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to spook you. He tuts, a playful smile lingering on his lips, hands behind his back. ‘You broke the cardinal rule, didn’t you? You fucked up, sweetheart. You have feelings for me, and you’re punishing me for it.’

Oh, fuck.

‘Don’t talk about me like you know me, Bravo,’ you snap.

‘But I do, sweetheart.’

‘You don’t,’ you spit back. ‘You’ve known me for all of three months - big fucking deal.’

‘Now you’re trying to distract me, you little spitfire. You’re so obvious. It’s cute, really.’

‘Shut up.’

Dieter cocks his head at you. ‘You know, that’s a lot of words coming from you, sweetheart. But none of them are - no, I don’t have feelings for you, Dieter.’

For once, you don’t have any words. You don’t protest. You don’t argue. You don't lie.

He steps confidently into your space, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, knowing he’s got you. He's taller and broader than ever as he towers over you and slides his lips over your mouth in a no-nonsense kiss, swiping his tongue slowly against yours. He doesn't touch you anywhere else, but there's a slow burn in your blood, wanting him, always wanting him - then he exhales slowly and steps back from you.

‘I’m not going to try to change your mind, sweetheart,’ he tells you quietly. ‘You’re too fucking stubborn and you’ll just resent me even if I do. But I can wait. When you get out of that head of yours, you know where to find me.’

Not trusting your voice, you thrust his robe towards him silently.

He shakes his head and chucks you under the chin. ‘Take it. If you miss me too much, make your new boyfriend wear it and pretend it’s me.’

With one last wry smile, he turns on his heel and walks out of your life.

Dieter winces as Ana narrowly misses taking out his eye with a powder brush when she preps him for the first reshoot the following Monday.

‘She just left without saying goodbye, can you believe it?’ she rants, brushing his hair a bit too aggressively. ‘She called me to apologise last night, but I made sure to give her a piece of my mind.’

He snorts quietly. At least she got an apology out of you. 

Ana pauses and gives him a look in the mirror. ‘She said goodbye to you, at least, right?’

He shrugs noncommittally. ‘Kind of.’

‘So - will you guys work it out?’

‘We put a pin in it.’

Ana must have sensed that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and she lapses into uncharacteristic silence while she heats up the hair curler.

Giving the makeup artist a nudge in the elbow, Dieter asks, ‘Do you have anything lined up after this?’

She turns her back on him while she rummages in her bag. ‘Got a couple of things in the pipeline, but nothing confirmed.’

‘Do you want to come to Italy? Be my makeup artist for the Linklater project?’

She spins around so fast that she knocks over a whole string of spray bottles, eyes wide. ‘Dieter Bravo, I’ll remind you that I’m holding a burning hot hair curler. if you’re joking, you better cut it out right now.’

He chuckles. ‘You know I wouldn’t joke about something like that!'

Ana pounces on him with a hug, and Dieter leans as far away from the curling iron as he can as she shrieks, ‘Yes, yes, a million times yes!’

When she lets him go finally, Dieter holds up a finger and says, ‘But I need you and Pete's help with something - well, someone.’

She shoots him a knowing look. ‘If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, you definitely need our help. I'm in.’

Dieter shakes her hand and grins, ‘We have a deal.’

Ana smiles kindly. 'Just so you know, I would've helped you even without the job offer.'

He nods. 'I know. Thank you.'

She squeezes him on the shoulder and grins at him in the mirror. 'Let's get you your girl back, Dieter Bravo.'

Four weeks later

You’re sorry to miss Ana’s bon voyage party, but your flight to Calgary was on the very same day. It’s the first time you’re living abroad for any length of time. You’ve packed two suitcases and that’s going to be your life for the next four months.

You let yourself be consumed by your new job. There’s so much more of everything in TV - more script, more actors, more hours. You work closely with Woody Harrelson, and you hit it off from the first day. He’s such a mellow guy and so easy to work with, you’re relieved to see no signs of any drama on set.

You keep in touch with Pete and Ana. Pete’s still on Resurgence, post-production now in full swing. Ana’s loving every second in Italy and posts every day without fail on Instagram, and you’re so excited for her to work on a Linklater project, if not a little jealous. She keeps bugging you to visit her, saying that she has a spare bed in her hotel room, and she can take you around.

In Calgary, you settle in slowly with your new crew. Quite a few of them are HBO veterans with their own established friend groups, so you feel a bit of an outsider. But you go to the group lunches and Friday night drinks, though you don’t stay too late, preferring to head back to the modest apartment the studio’s set you up in before midnight.

You would pour yourself a glass of wine, open up Instagram, and check Ana’s stories. It’s cold in Calgary, but in Italy, it’s starting to look a lot like summer. The seaside town filming is taking place in is colourful, houses painted pink and yellow and green, and the sea an amazing blue. You like Ana’s posts of sundresses and sunglasses, while you're cuddled up on the couch in Dieter’s robe.

There’s been radio silence from both your end and his since that day he walked out the door, before you could walk out on him. You catch glimpses of him in Ana’s stories - a wave at the camera, a thumbs up while chewing on pizza, talking to someone at the tail end of a panorama video - all out of costume, as per industry rules for in-progress projects. 

When you’re tipsy enough, you don’t pretend to not feel the tug on your heartstrings every time you see his face.

He hasn’t updated his Instagram for months - not since Sundance. You still don’t follow him, but you check his page more regularly than you care to admit.

The weeks fly by. You forget how most projects are like this - routine, safe and steady. Two months in, it’s Friday evening again (the weeks are flying by) and you sit down for a glass of wine in your armchair. You pull up Instagram on your phone as usual, except, the very first post catches your eye and your heart lurches.

It’s a new post from Dieter. It’s a photo of him and a woman - she's gorgeous. You recognise her as the actress cast opposite him in the film. She’s a relative newcomer in her thirties, with a background in theatre. In the photo, she’s pressing her lips to his whiskered cheek in a kiss, and he’s smiling so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

It fucking punches you in the gut.

He said he would wait.

Well, you suppose he’s waited two months.

You drink so much that night you pass out on the couch.

She starts to seep into Ana’s stories too, they obviously hang out socially outside of filming as a tight-knit group. She's eating pasta on a rickety table on the beach with him; or feeding him a spoonful of gelato; or pushing him into a pool, and falling in when he grabs her by the waist and pulls her in with him last-minute.

You Google her. Constance Green, 34, 5’7”, 125 pounds, 34D, nominated for an Olivier award five years ago. Single.

You know it's not healthy, but you begin to check her Instagram as well. Most of her posts are beautifully framed shots of the seaside town they’re filming in, but Dieter is in most of her daily stories, which she tags him in, and he also uploads them to his account.

The day before, it was a photo of them saluting the camera side by side with matching glasses of Aperol Spritz. 

Yesterday, it was a selfie video of them sitting on a wall next to the lapping sea at sunset, which washes them in orange and gold light.

Today, she’s feeding him pizza - only her hand is visible in the shot as he finishes off the crust, pulling her fingers into his mouth to lick off the tomato sauce. 

You literally throw the phone away as if it burns you. 

You know you have no right whatsoever. You fucking know that, but it doesn’t stop you from sinking into a funk. You stop hanging out with the crew, and even Woody brings it up one day. ‘Hey, you okay? You don’t seem your chipper self.’

‘When have I ever been chipper?’ you quip with a forced smile.

He smiles kindly. ‘You’re not wrong. Homesick?’

You shrug. ‘Something like that.’

Two weeks after that fateful post on Dieter's Instagram that set you on your somewhat downward spiral, Pete visits you for the weekend. When you open the door to your apartment, he takes one look at you and grimaces. ‘Ugh, babe. Have you been sleeping at all?’

‘Fuck you!’ you gripe, but you pull him in for a long hug. You can really use a friend right now.

You spend the weekend gossiping, eating pizza and drinking beer while playing Sex and the City re-runs in the background. On Saturday night, you two spontaneously decide to Facetime Ana, who picks up promptly and after 30 seconds of excited squealing, she pans the camera to show you the piazza she’s hanging out in with a cold drink. 

His mouth stuffed full of now cold pepperoni pizza, Pete is the first to bring her up. ‘Who’s that hottie Bravo’s been hanging out with? They seem to be joined at the hip.’

‘Constance? Oh, she’s super. So down-to-earth, and incredibly talented. Richard swears she’s the next big thing. I think Dieter’s smitten with her, to be honest. They make the cutest couple.’

You chew on the inside of your cheek, going deathly quiet.

‘Well, I say good for him,’ pronounces Pete. ‘There’s nothing like a good leading actor-actress romance. Like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.’

Ana comes up with, 'Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens.'

'Alicia Vikander and Michael Fassbender,' adds Pete.

You clear your throat and get up abruptly. ‘Bathroom break,’ you mutter, stepping over empty beer bottles to make your way deeper into the apartment.

You splash water on your face and meet your eyes in the mirror. Pull yourself together. You chased him away. You didn’t want anything to do with him. You could have the decency to be happy for him. Or at least to not give a fuck. 

Shutting the bathroom door behind you, you pad back to the living room. You hear Pete babbling on the phone. You can’t pick up the words, but his tone is bossy and rushed, which makes you frown and listen harder.

He’s on your phone and obviously not talking to Ana anymore. He gestures wildly with his free hand. ‘ - absolute mess, she’s crying her eyes out, man. I mean, if you can see the state that she’s in -’

Spotting your suspicious glare, Pete starts at a run around the tiny living room, easily keeping the phone out of your reach as he stands a foot taller than you. He continues speaking into the phone. 'What are you gonna do about, huh? Are you just gonna go about your life like it never happened? Cos that sounds like a stupid idea to me -'

You finally jump onto the couch and wrestle the phone from his grip. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Pete -’ you trail off as look down at the name on the screen.

DIERDRE

Fuck. FUCK.

You hesitate for a second, thumb hovering over the red button, then you impulsive hold the phone to your ear. ‘Hey.’

There’s silence, then his voice comes on. ‘Hey.’

Your palms break out in a cold sweat. And all you can do is hope that your voice doesn’t shake. ‘I’m so sorry, Pete is being an idiot. He's just visiting me for the weekend in Calgary.’

‘It’s fine,’ he replies shortly.

You scratch your elbow idly. ‘I’m not in a state, you know. Not crying, or anything. I’m totally fine.’

‘Good for you.’

Then you both go quiet, until you hear a woman’s voice on his end. ‘Are you ready, baby?’

‘Sorry, I gotta go,’ he mumbles, but before the line goes dead, you hear him say, ‘Coming, sweetheart.’

Sweetheart. 

That’s your nickname. 

You glare at Pete, your eyes watering. ‘What the fuck was that?’

He puts his hands up in defence. ‘Worth a shot. You two are clearly being complete idiots and need some sense knocked into you. Sorry it didn't work.’

At the sight of tears spilling over and sliding down your cheek, he opens his arms and you let him wrap you in a comforting hug. ‘Come here, you blooming idiot. It will get better, I promise.’

And it does get better. You find your crowd, a group of backstage crew around your age, and you’re getting recognition on the job from the directors and producers. You hear veiled hints that you might get a contract renewal for the second season with a pay rise. There’s a bounce to your step when you show up to work in the mornings. You even forget to check Instagram most days now. 

That is until you get a notification that Ana sent you a private message on the app the first week of July, so you click on the icon and wait for the app to load.

And there it is.

It’s a photo of their backs, on a cobblestone street, the dying light of day casting them in a warm glow. He’s wearing a light yellow shirt, sleeves cut off at his biceps, and linen shorts. His right arm is wrapped tight around her waist, and she has hers around him, left hand tucked in his back pocket.

You stop breathing. Then you see red.

This is your thing. After your date at the French bistro. You walked down the street just like that.

How. Dare. He.

Blindly, you scroll through Whatsapp until you see Ana’s name, and you click the call button. You don’t even know what time it is over there. She’s probably working. But you don’t give a damn at this very moment.

She picks up after four rings, sounding surprised. ‘Hello? You okay, hon? Or is this a butt dial?’

‘Not a butt dial,’ you reply firmly. ‘Listen, did you mean it when you said I could come visit?’

You have to hold your phone away from your ear when Ana shouts in excitement. ‘Girl - yes of course, I've been waiting for months! There’s a bank holiday coming up in Italy next week. Book your plane tickets, you can stay with me over the long weekend. I’ll introduce you to the whole crew and you can meet Richard.’

Yes sure, that’s why you’re going. To meet Richard Linklater. 

‘See you next weekend.’

On the other side of the world, Ana does a happy dance and calls Pete as soon as she hangs up on you.

‘Hello?’

‘It worked! It worked - she’s coming to Italy next weekend!’

‘Fuck yeah! Finally! Have you told Bravo yet?’

Ana scans the set and spots the unsuspecting subject of their phone conversation talking to one of the assistant directors, and replies slyly, ‘I think he’d appreciate a surprise.’

‘Ana -’

‘Hey, don’t use that tone on me, Pete. He asked for our help, and he said we can handle the details. Her showing up unannounced is just one such tiny detail.’

Pete huffs, unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’

She grins into the phone. ‘I can’t believe it took two and a half months to crack that stubborn woman. But who cares - mission accomplished!’

Pete laughs. ‘You gotta take a picture of his face when she shows up. I can’t believe I’m gonna miss it.’

Dieter waves at Ana to ask for a touch up, and she gives him a thumbs up, signalling that she’ll be right over. ‘Oh, don’t you worry - I most definitely will.’

{ << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 8: Concentric >> }

More notes: I know, I know, it's a cliffhanger... BUT at least it's not a mean one, right?! I have no idea how I thought I could fit everything into one chapter, even this part ran a LOT longer than my target of 6k 😂

I really hope you enjoyed this part, this was probably one of my favourites that I've written for this series. And next time, we will see how everything wraps up 🥺 THANK YOU all of you who have stuck with this story, your comments and reblogs are so so appreciated and have really motivated me to write the best story that I can for these two ❤️

[rosemarytrash]

me drama posting cuz i actually had a really good experience today but it was rly nerve wracking lmao

in case some of you didn't know, i currently live in montana!! it's a nice enough state for its nature and the like, but politically it's kind of a shit show. pros and cons y'know, but as a trans guy it's fairly lame. also, bcuz geography is important, i live in eastern montana, not on the cool western side where all the mountain queers go hang out. that's generalizing a lot but it is what it is so bare with

anyway, back in 2021 there was a bill passed (SB 280) that effectively made it impossible for trans people to change their gender marker on their birth certificate or other identifying documents without having a sex change surgery, while at the same time writing in that no surgery exists to change your sex on a chromosomal level or any of that bullshit. whereas before that bill was passed, montana law was a little more loosey goosey about it. mainly in that it didn't yet have a republican legislature hyperfixated on a culture war to drum up support so trans people weren't really IDENTIFIED by the law, which was ironically kind of easier to navigate. idk, shit weird, i'm no expert

anyway, tbh, i never really CARED about changing my gender marker. i changed my name legally back when i was like 15 or 16 and i believe, at that time, i had the option to simultaneously change my gender marker. for whatever reason, i decided not to. i think it had something to do with healthcare and trying not to fuck up the future possibility of getting on T, which didn't happen for another year for me. i've also always been fairly loose about my gender identity in terms of a full identification with maleness/manhood. like, i'm a guy, i'm a dude, don't call me anything except that, but on a deeply personal level i see myself a little more in between on that kind of scale. maybe something inherently non-binary but no label has ever quite fit the bill, so trans guy with an asterisk will have to do. anyway!!! i don't really recall why i made that call, but i had, and it truthfully never really got me into any trouble. for all the times i later had to flash my ID, even to this date, i can only really recall one time where a gas station clerk gave me a weird look and said "sir... ma'am... sir-ma'am... here ya go" when i was buying cigarettes lmao. i was never questioned about it by employers and as far as i know was never turned away from a job because of it (which is good because montana doesn't have employment protections for trans people (last i checked)). so i truthfully spent a good 7 or so years relatively unbothered by this fact or by the fact that i had an F on my driver's license. it was inconsequential to me

recently though with republicans doing more and more lines of anti-LGBTQ cocaine and more people becoming aware of trans people, it's been unsettling here. y'know just mildly discomforting. and mentally that is fatiguing. i've also only now encountered some bureaucratic bullshit that's like okay, wow, this is actually going to be a bigger problem in the future and i'm not wanting to deal with that. mainly in the form of i'm getting married here soon, we want to try and do some kind of honeymoon adventure in the distant future, so for that i need an passport and from what i've read that can be a real fucking headache for trans people and it can be even harder to change in the future. so like blugh. i'm also in the process of applying to grad school and it's just--kind of annoying to have to identify myself a certain way. it's weird cuz i won't pretend it's put me in some life-threatening situation or there's anything that feels DIRE about needing to change it, but it just feels like there'd be a lot less awkwardness and vulnerability if i did. ironically when montanans were less redpilled i didn't care about changing all my legal shit over, but now that your average grandpa here thinks of trans people as botched teenage girls or child predators in bathrooms and THAT's their reason for getting out of the house to go to the polls next year, well yeah now i give a shit about "deceiving" the system. idk it's dumb

anyway i actually KNOW the girl who is the plaintiff against the govt in the lawsuit against SB 280. she's really cool and it's cool that i know her. i ended up reaching out to her a few months back to ask how that was going and what it meant for changing your gender marker in MT. and fantastically i had found out that late 2022 the judge on the case had issued an order that forced the DPHHS to suspend its practice under SB 280 since it was a fundamentally unworkable law and to return to its original practice prior, which allowed trans people and frankly anyone else with good enough cause to change their gender marker without meeting some bullshit made up requirements by the state.

it then took me months to get the gumption to actually write, edit, and file a petition for it. which i finally did today, and it surprisingly all got done in an afternoon, even though hypothetically the courthouse at 1PM on a tuesday should've been fairly busy. i'll be interested to see how it goes, because just cuz it's filed doesn't mean anything is certain. to my knowledge, LEGALLY, it should be a done deal, i should get an order from the judge that will allow me to get a new birth certificate and a new driver's license and all that jazz. but what do i know? the judge may want to have a hearing about it, which could be incredibly awkward in a courtroom full of other people waiting to have their cases heard, but idfk. my fingers are crossed that it'll go okay.

and it was kind of a good experience? i was as anxious as one could imagine. i'm a bearded dude walking in with paperwork asking kindly for an F to become an M lol. and the gals at the courthouse were momentarily confused, raised a few brows, had to talk to someone to see what the current rulings were in that previously mentioned lawsuit, but they were nice enough about it. they got my shit filed, they took $120 from me rather apologetically cuz that's what shit costs to file a civil petition in the state district courts. i get to find out by email if the judge will just approve the order i drafted or if he's going to want to speak to me. and i'm hoping either of those things happen before the wedding so none of that paperwork becomes a headache.

anyway this is a long post cuz i have a lot of thoughts and either i ramble on and on to my fiancee about it or i just splurge on whatever few unfortunate souls decide to read this :) thx if you do. there's no point really to any of it yk just airing out some thoughts i guess. i'll go draw some gay shit now <3

[the-s1lly-corner]

ATTENTION CREEPYPASTA FANS/REGARDING THE 1K CELEBRATION ONE SHOT!

The votes are in, and creepypasta has won the vote for what I will write to celebrate hitting 1k followers on this blog! As well as this, Eyeless Jack won the majority vote! Originally, when I made the first poll to determine the fandom, I was going to come up with my own plot... However I fell in love with the idea of you guys helping me build a fic together.. And to keep up with that theme, I'm going to allow you guys to send in prompts; I will likely either host a raffle or a final vote, then finally! I will start writing! Below will be the rules and requirements in order to submit anything, and I urge you all to read this carefully so your idea can be added into the mix! More info will be under the cut!

As said, Eyeless Jack has been selected for the one shot, a win for Eyeless Jack fans! While prompts don't need to be centered around things that are unique to Jack, you're more than welcome to follow along his traits!

So How Do We Submit A Prompt?

I feel that it will be easier for me to keep track of prompts through the inbox, just as my other requests. However this has the opportunity to get messy and confusing fast. So if you're sending in a suggestion for the one shot, I ask that you very clearly specify so! Otherwise I won't be able to know and I will treat it as I would any normal request. So I ask that you please put somewhere in your suggestion that this it is for the fic!

What Is Allowed To Be Sent In?

The same general rules of this blog still apply! I will accept anything that isn't NSFW, Abvse, or kink adjacent! You CAN send in something romantic, platonic, fluff, angst, ect! Really if you want a deeper look into what is and isn't allowed I recommend looking into my pinned post!

What Can We Expect From The Fic?

The plot obviously, is still undecided. However, the fic is most likely going to be an Eyeless Jack x Reader one shot! As per usual for this blog, the reader will be GN, so you can easily put yourself or your oc in your shoe! I don't have a set length in mind for the fic, as my writing tends to vary, but I do intend on it being decent length! I don't want to put a goal word count in fear of intimidating myself, but I do intend to aim for over 1.5k! The fic will be posted here, and will get it's own unique tag so it can more easily found!

Why The Long Wait?

I am hosting each segment of this process for a week before moving onto the next step. This is because Tumblr only has two options for poll lengths and the one week time frame just stuck. One week to determine fandom, one week to pick a character, and this time is going to be no different! As well as the final piece of this; taking into account it's going to take me a few days to write the fic and (hopefully) revise it... writing is hard, but I also want everyone to have more than enough time to put their votes/ideas into this, as it's a celebration of this blog and your guys' support!

Will there be future fics?

I'm unsure, I would hope so! This fic is of course for a milestone but I do hope to one day write at least one fic per creepypasta character that I do write for

The poll below is irrelevant to the post, and serves more so as a in post timer to remind me to take the next step of this little event, time blindness is very real and very..... blugh

tagging this with my usual characters/as if it were a group post to help get this out there so those who want to participate can

[ragnarssons]

NATLA REVIEW (SEVERAL PARTS IN THE REBLOGS CUZ TUMBLR IS STUPID)

(1/4) Sorry, Tumblr is stupid, I can't just post my stuff and be on my way, like I gotta divide it in several posts because it's too long blugh. Ok ok ok. So I finished the show. Obviously. Somehow The Binge got me anyway. I will need to rewatch it to digest everything better and pay attention to small stuff and all, but first impressions off the bat: OBVIOUSLY IT'S FULL OF SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS. - I do not understand why they did not make Aang run away. When I learnt about it after the premiere, I was willing to let the show explain to me organically why that was changed. They didn't. And staying true to Aang running away was... just right there. All they had to do was not have him say "you're right buddy, I'll just clear my head" and that's it. Because at the end of Aang's little speech with Appa, I really was like "... and then you run away boy" because it really felt like it was building to this. @ Albert Kim, we need to talk. It is especially weird considering they had several characters and moments where people were either guilt-tripping, blaiming or being angry at Aang for not being there for 100 years. The scenes with Bumi, with Gyatso, would have been way more impactful had Aang ran away. I do not understand this decision and the show has given me no ground to understand or accept it. - NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MOMO AND APPA @ Albert Kim, we need to talk again. Per your IGN video, you teased me Appa being Aang's best friend. WHERE WAS IT???? I WILL SUE. And again, it's like why? Yes I got teary eyed at the Sokka/Momo scene in the finale, but huh, I would have BAWLED MY EYES OUT had they had more scenes and a stronger relationship (yes I'm talking about a boy and a lemure...) (and even tho I love Sokka/Momo, what about Momo/Aang???) Also there are scenes where Momo isn't there, and it's not making any sense because we have wide shots of all the Gaang on Appa and Momo is just... well not here. - I liked what they did with Azula and Ozai. It makes me really looking forward to some Azula/Zuko scenes. ? and I do think Ozai not burning and banishing Azula for standing up against him literally confirms what Zhao said to Zuko at the end, but idk if it's just my interpretation or just canon lol. I would have loved to see - finally - Azula's blue fire at the end. Like yeah, we saw her bending lightning, but what about the iconic blue fire huh???

[undertale-writing-times]

Ok ok- I haven’t been to this blog In a while (crying for all the posts im too lazy to scroll and see ;w;)

But I’ve seen all these “im pregnant” posts , and had a kinda funny idea. What about “you’re pregnant” with Nightmare (and maybe some nightmare AU’s if you don’t mind-)

Like- maybe he’s unwell for a while , thinks he’s got a sickness coming on and S/O has been keeping an eye on him and one day just looks straight at him randomly and says “you’re pregnant” and sure enough, yep, he was.

Yeah sure! :D I like the idea of this. Some people might not like it, but bleh. If you don't like it, you don't gotta read it ^w^/

I didn't add Passive just cause. And while I was writing them I started feeling really blugh so I didn't do all of them, I hope that's okay!

Nightmare: He had no idea why he was feeling so bad, and he tried his best to ignore it. Yet when he got sick, as in literally threw up, he knew that something was wrong. Plus, he needed more negative energy than normal, which he thought was strange. Nightmare sat at his desk, his head resting against his fist, his eye socket shut. "Nightmare, are you alright?" He opened his socket to look over and saw that it was his datemate, Y/n. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking… what do you need?" "I just wanted to check on you." Over the next few days, he felt worse and kept lashing out, so he made sure to go to random AUs to get as much negative energy as he could. That was until today. Y/n sat on his desk while he was working, "Hey Nightmare?" he hums to show that he heard them, "I think you're pregnant." He pauses at the voice and lifts his head to look at them, confused, then looks down thinking about it. Was there… he rests his hand over where his stomach would be. The goop was there probably covering where the soulling could be forming. "Leave. I need to think about this." Y/n laughs a little, nervously, but they nod and get up heading out. Nightmare didn't like the idea of this, but he was going to try to figure it out.

Oxi: It already knew that something was… different. It tried to keep track of all of the strange things that was happening but its emotions were going everywhere. It lost control more times than not and accidentally messed with, uh, some… people. The fear tasted better than normal and Y/n even joked that it was going to get fat. That did make it laugh as that wasn't something that could happen! It was sitting and trying to relax when it heard noises so its, many eyes, opened and focused on whatever was making the sound. It was Y/n! "Y/n, what do you need?" It asked inside of their head as it normally did. It could tell that Y/n was nervous for some reason. Why? It didn't know. "I wanted to see how you were feeling, you've been acting a little weird." It didn't respond. It knew what Y/n was thinking even before they said anything. Did Y/n really think that? It looks down resting its hand over its stomach, "You think that I'm pregnant?" Y/n blinks then laughs and shakes their head, "I told you not to read my mind anymore… but yeah, I think so." It lets out a hum to show it heard, the tentacles in its mouth squirming faster than normal. Damn.

Gloom: Emotions have been even worse for Gloom lately… He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that something was sucking hard. His body hurt, and his soul felt sick. It was strange… and his brother had been annoying too. "Y/n!" He groans, his head turned back then he walks over and leans against them. They look at him and laugh, wrapping their arms around him to hold him up since he was leaning all his weight on them, "What are you doing?" They ask. He starts to mumble and grumble as he lent on them. His tentacles were down, dragging on the ground slightly behind him. They talk and they ask if he was feeling alright, so he mumbles, "Not really, no. I don't feel good." and starts to explain exactly what was going on. He was just complaining to complain because he knew that Y/n couldn't do anything to help. As they listened they hummed, "I think you're pregnant." He paused hearing that then groans again allowing himself to sink down. Was he covering them in his goop? Yes, but blah. Damn it.

Envy: He had been ignoring it. The sickness sinking through his body, how his soul felt so tight and icky. He tried to ignore that and continue working, even though sometimes it was too much for his body to handle. Today was one of those days, so instead he sat in his office his head on his crossed arms, letting out soft grumbles and hisses. Why did he feel so sick? He couldn't even open his eyes without feeling like he was going to throw up.Then he heard the door open so he lifts his tentacles, saying, "Explain why you're in here before I stab you." He heard a laugh and Y/n's voice comes out, "You wouldn't kill your datemate, would you?" He doesn't respond for a few seconds then moves his tentacles down, mumbling, "No… what are you doing in here?" they say that they were just going to come and check on him since he's been acting weird lately, and he agreed. Tied between the sickness and the weird eating habits lately he was really confused. "I have an idea but I don't know if you'd like it." He lifts his head to look at them, waiting for them to continue, and they do by saying, "I think you might be pregnant." that made him pause since… crap, it made sense, but he didn't like the idea of that. He pushes himself to get up and grabs his phone, calling Calamity and telling him to go and get some tests. He'll make the excuse that it's for someone else if anyone asks.

[ymaohoh]

I've got MASSIVE writer's block. I'm so close to the end of this hellcheer oneshot... but the end isn't coming! I've been staring at this screen for ages now trying to conjure an ending. It should be so straight forward - the BIG Eddie/Chrissy moment at the end- but...blugh.

Can someone read this and tell me where I'm going wrong? Please? I need a kick up the arse.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e6 our little world (w. robert berens)

crowley is stronger than amara? okie doke. so does cas's janky wing situation mean he still can't zap around? (presumably to add tension or whatever not being able to teleport over to save the day etc). anyway.

always interesting when they choose to have someone be traumatized by the traumatic things they've done/had done to them. this surely isn't the first time cas has beaten dean up, or killed a bunch of people/angels.

remember the days when i grumped about them not even acknowledging the mystery spot trauma for sam? well, i still grump about it. but now that's like a drop in the flood of traumatic experiences that get passed over.

anyway. we'll see how they do this ptsd/agorophobia situation.

too many plotlines/characters ugh. rowena in the wind, metatron popping up, cas doing whatever, crowley trying to control amara, amara out there partially eating people. a good chunk of why 11x04 was good for me was there wasn't all this bullshit going on :p

at least sam and dean know about amara and crowley now.

SAM No, no, no. Dean, wait. We can exorcise him. DEAN What? SAM Save his meat suit.

look at that, they remembered! :p also feels like the perennial excuse for not having to exorcise people is demons are all running around in dead bodies they're keeping alive. they're all dead anyway, huzzah, stab away

SAM Wouldn't it be smarter to keep her in Hell? DEAN Yeah, but then he'd have to spend more time there, and he hates that place. SAM Oh, right. I keep forgetting about you and Crowley's summer of love.

lol it needed to be said! bring that bitchy energy, sam. i'd seen gifs of that, definitely requires one to capture the vibe

unfortunate hair styling choices. 90s prom? beauty pageant? weird.

SAM No, that's not what I meant. We're going in to kill Amara. Are you ready for that? DEAN Why wouldn't I be? SAM Because we don't know the first thing about her, Dean. We don't know her powers. We don't know how to take her down. Hell, you know what? We don't even know if she can be killed. DEAN I know. But she's too big of a threat to wait. I say we go in there and we hit her with everything we got.

maybe i'm a doofus but i didn't consider until now that dean is trying to get to amara for other reasons? blugh. cat'll be out of the bag though if sam's around when they find her though surely. i'm tiiiired

haha take that credit, bro (honestly i can't even remember)

he has a fine actor but i am *so tired* of metatron. i hope he gets taken out of the equation sooner rather than later. i guess the opportunity to beat the shit out of him fixed cas's mental health situation. tada.

remind us of demon!dean days so we'll remember the context of the voicemail :p cute nonetheless. oh i bet that's in the recap too. i dunno why netflix doesn't have the beginning of the episode recaps anymore, started in s10. scrimp on music licensing?

OF COURSE they have to split up and just dean is going to amara.

CROWLEY Do you know how disturbing it was to realize that I couldn't bring myself to kill you? I've had tons of chances over the years, some you don't even know about, but, still... I made my peace with it, embraced my softer side, learned to accept that there was just too much going on between you and I–bromance.

not sure why dean looks surprised by that but ok

CROWLEY But you know what? I think I am gonna kill you today. I feel different somehow, ready. What can I say? Fatherhood changes a man.

feel like that was just a setup so amara could show her ~bond~ to dean (oh actually this is dredging up vague memories of a fic i read a long time ago, hmmm ok. chance to pick sam over amara). anyway point i was thinking about was wondering if they'd ever have crowley seriously try to kill dean at any point going forward

right, sammy's gotta save these rando demon guards meatsuits, hope they're not just walking corpses

think you need to be lookin the other direction, sam

for whatever it's worth, jackles did a good job looking vulnerable with amara being creepy

CASTIEL You said you were close. Dean, how'd she get away? DEAN I'm sorry, what part of "God's freaking sister" did you not understand? She overpowered me -- end of story.

i'm just so tired of it because it's happened so many times. we just did this last season. and before that and before that. i'm exhausted. you make the brothers and their relationship the lynchpin of the show, and then you have them do this over and over and over. like, so tired and frustrated it made me cry a little bit. just like. COME FUCKING ON. not like we're lacking for conflict or plot. i can't appreciate if it's better executed this time (compared to i dunno, stabbing jewel staite) because i'm so FUCKING sick of this. maybe if this went down several seasons ago, i could appreciate it more.

i appreciate they made the cage aesthetic here like the little tiny glimpse we got of dean in hell. again wondering if sam didn't remember the cage after he got his hallucifer stuff fixed. i assumed he did. sure makes a different in characterization if he's not toting around x amount of years of torture like dean.

abrupt segue into girl you'll be a woman soon. can't really hear that song without thinking of pulp fiction. this is me just realizing it wasn't the neil diamond version in the movie?? it's urge overkill lol (also the version used in the episode). wild

and update on what the baby episode did to my brain, i was listening to the guitar man and getting weepy and thinking how that totally could be a j2 edit/fic/something song lolsob ridiculous

[bluebeetle]

im reading up more on the company i have an interview for (as i always do before the interview) and on one hand im like. kill me. at the idea of labour. as usual. but on the other hand they do honestly do some real cool stuff, as they specialize in bio-pesticides that only target specific species using things like pheromones and modified viruses--making them environmentally safe to use and they especially target invasive species in woods and species targeting agriculture and all-in-all it is very neat stuff. just. blugh. lab busy work.

[dgknightblue]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43405207/chapters/109114576

Don’t know why links aren’t working right now, Blugh whatever.

Anyways, yeah my stories are available to AO3 users to read.