#(all of my costume stuff is in one box now! most of knick knacks are in the same box or on display!)

[sharkieboi]

it’s my weekend and I don’t have any appointments and it’s been snowing since like 2am so I’m having an indoor day to keep slowly organizing the new apartment and on purpose didn’t take my adhd meds (only have a few left and I’d rather save them for work if I’m going to have trouble refilling with all the weather closures) and Soup Brain certainly hits different when it’s not a workday. the lack of focus and memory still isn’t helpful but at least it doesn’t feel harmful when I forget what I’m supposed to be doing for an extended period of time.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VI ║ Confute

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 5: Confound | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 7: Contrary >> }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: As the weeks tick down to the end of filming, tensions go up - until the bubble bursts.

Warnings: Dieter being mean to Canada (but only because he's throwing a tantrum), angst, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), light cum play, yearning, mentions of food, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Note: This is only a day late... happy birthday weekend my lovely Ash @mandoblowmybackout! You deserve all the Dieter 😘 And darling Kat @doin-stuff, this Pete cameo was written for you because you love him so much, and it makes me so happy 🥺 More notes at the end.

Ever the crowd-pleaser, Dieter holds his hands up and agrees. ‘Fine, fine. If we lose, I go on a date with Ruth. But,’ he pauses dramatically, then points straight at you. ‘If your team loses, you go on a date with me, sweetheart.’

Week 9

The machine is whirring and spitting coffee into a paper cup when Ana, one of the makeup girls you've gotten close to over the past two months, corners you.

You're in the break room getting your elevenses (Oreos and caffeine) during the brief window in which Dieter changes costumes for his next scene. She sidles up to you and leans on the table next to the sugar and cream.

'The girls and I came by your room last night to see if you wanted to go out for drinks, but you didn't answer the door. Where were you?' she asks over the noise of the coffee machine.

'Oh, I must have been doing laundry,' you shrug while you pour cream into your coffee.

She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you. 'At 11 o'clock at night?'

You reply noncommittally, 'I have weird habits.'

Ana snorts. 'You're not that weird, hon.'

You try to change the topic. 'You know Dieter's next scene is in ten minutes, right? Don't you have to touch up his hair or something?'

She gives you a mischievous side eye and bumps her shoulder against yours. 'Alright, hon, keep your secrets to yourself. Because it’s always so easy to keep secrets on set.'

You let out a silent sigh of relief when she disappears from the doorway.

Truth is, you haven't even set foot in your own room in - you count the days in your head - damn, has it really been two weeks? Maybe two and a half?

The machine stops hissing and you tip in the sugar, chewing on the inside of your cheek pensively as you stir. Well, his hotel is a lot closer to the studio, shaves a good thirty to forty minutes off your daily commute, which means more sleep. You're not averse to the laundry service or in-room breakfast either.

Or him.

If the hotel has noticed an additional person's presence, they've been discreet about it. Your toothbrush sits next to his (definitely not electric one, can’t mess with his brain waves and shit) in between the double marble sinks. Your drugstore brand shampoo is on the same shelf of his expensive (gifted, of course) hair products. Your clothes hang in the closet (his are everywhere but), and your shoes are lined up neatly next to his (haphazardly kicked off) by the door.

At least your car is parked in the garage at the back of the hotel building to maintain some semblance of secrecy, in case any of the cast or crew spots it from the road while driving to and from the studio.

Dieter's suite also has a proper work station in the living room, which is far kinder on your back than the little coffee table you have to stoop over at yours. He lets you use it - he never does anyway, other than as a depository for any and all kinds of knick knacks.

You had to clear away empty cigarette boxes, lighters, Kit Kat wrappers and obscure drug paraphernalia to even find the surface of the wooden desk. But you've made it yours now, with your laptop plugged in on top of notebooks, scripts and bits of paper next to tea-stained mugs.

That's where you are most evenings after dinner - almost always Deliveroo, you order on even days and him on odd days. You would go over the director’s notes for the day before working on the choreography for upcoming scenes. Dieter would be on the couch across the room, leaning back on cushions with his feet up, holding a script above his face. Every so often, he records voice memos which he would replay to you for a second opinion, until either one of you calls it a night.

Sometimes, it’s him. Tossing his script noisily onto the coffee table, you’d hear him pad across the hardwood floor in his squeaky Crocs until he stops behind you and places his large hands on the desk, caging you in between his arms while you tap busily on your laptop. He’d patiently mouth at your ear, your neck, your shoulder until your fingers stumble, and when you finally breathe an exasperated Dieter, he’d turn you in your swivel chair and lean down to kiss you properly. If his back is holding up that day, he’d hoist you up into his arms, your legs around his waist, and carry you to the bedroom.

Last night, he was already in bed when you called it. He was half-sunken into the pillows, his reading glasses on, the duvet very white against his tan skin. He has a script with ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in large letters blazoned on the cover in his hands, as he usually does these days. With five weeks till the scheduled end of principal photography, Rebecca has been dropping off shortlisted scripts for his next project, and they’ve been piling up on his already chaotic nightstand.

He didn’t even look up when you got into bed, which was a sign that he was reading something he liked. Not wanting to disturb him, you fiddled with your phone, setting you alarms and checking the weather for the next day, when the fine print on the front caught your eye.

Dieter actually jumped out of his skin when you shrieked and flung yourself onto him, grabbing the script. ‘Richard fucking Linklater? You’re in the running for a Richard Linklater project?’

He clutched at his chest, eyes round and staring at you above the black frame of his glasses in alarm. ‘Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you nearly gave me an aneurysm.’

You ducked your head and sheepishly tried to move away, but Dieter wrapped his arm around you and dragged you to his side. You said, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I’m just a huge fan.’

He grinned at you, taking his glasses off and chucked them in the general direction of his nightstand without looking. ‘It’s alright, you’re cute when you shout. Didn’t know you were a Linklater fan. Which of his films do you like?’

‘Before Sunrise. Before Sunset. Before Midnight. All of them,’ you rattled off without taking a breath.

Dieter pursed his lips in surprise. ‘Really? Wouldn't have pegged you for a romantic, sweetheart.’

You pinched him on the shoulder, making him yelp. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Pinning your hands to the mattress before you could do any more damage, he replied matter-of-factly, ‘No offence, but you're the least romantic person I've ever met. With your rules and shit. Thought you’d turn your nose up to something as sappy as Before Sunrise.’

You gasped in affront, struggling against his hold. ‘Do not call Before Sunrise sappy! Take it back!’

He chuckled at your reaction. ‘Not as much of a hardass as you pretend to be huh, sweetheart?’

You huffed, wriggling out of his hold to pluck the script from his lap and you smoothed your palm over the crisp pages in reverence. ‘I can’t believe I’m holding a Richard Linklater script. Where will this be filmed?’

He shrugged, sliding down the bed to lean back against the pillows, his fingers on your bare thigh under the duvet. ‘Somewhere in Italy in the summer. Not too many details yet.’

Your eyes skimmed over the words, not really reading, your mind somewhere else. You told him quietly, ‘I've never been to Italy before.’

He hummed and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. ‘We'll see about that, sweetheart.’

You notice the stack of scripts on his bedside table thinning, until there’s only one left. He’s been taking calls at odd times behind closed doors, and a couple of times this week, he disappeared after dinner to meet with Rebecca other agency suits, not coming back until you’d already fallen asleep.

He doesn’t have to tell you what’s going on. 

And he doesn’t. 

It shouldn’t bother you. 

But it does.

It doesn’t come up until Week 10 drinks.

These Friday night drinks have been happening every two or three weeks, depending on the workload of the crew. You’ve made friends with a couple of casting directors in these get-togethers, and you’re catching up with them when you’re suddenly pitched forward by a heavy hand landing on your shoulder, and a shout of your name in your ear.

Tobias is practically humming with energy, toasting your little circle with gusto. ‘We're almost there! I’ve never directed a movie that’s been this on schedule before. What are your plans after this, my dear?’

You shake drops of spilled champagne from your fingers, exchanging amused glances with your companions. ‘I don’t have anything lined up yet. Intimacy coordinator roles are a bit thin on the ground in film right now. I think I may have a better shot at TV, to be honest.’

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ replies Tobias. Then he clicks his fingers, as if an idea just came to him. ‘This reminds me. My friend at HBO was asking me for a reference for an intimacy coordinator just yesterday. If you want, I could put you in touch. It’s for a show that starts shooting in Canada in a couple of months.’

A raspy voice pipes up somewhere behind your left shoulder. ‘What about Canada?’

Fuck. When did he sneak up on you?

He ambles into your line of sight. He’s wearing his shaggy brown coat again, underneath is a t-shirt worn thin by time and too many washes, and loose grey sweatpants.

Tobias greets him with a chummy handshake, pulling him into your circle. ‘I was just telling our intimacy coordinator about a TV project she might be interested in.’

Dieter scrunches his eyebrows together, confused. ‘What TV project?’

Tobias claps you on the back again. ‘She’s looking for a job after we wrap, and I know of one that might just be the perfect fit for her in Canada.’

‘Wait, TV?’ Dieter asks, eyes squinting. ‘Why would she want to do TV? She’s in film.’

Your sweater gets too warm for you as your temper flares at him talking about you as if you weren’t standing right there. You cross your arms. ‘Why wouldn't I? It would be a fantastic opportunity and it’s a good time in my career to try something new. Thank you for your offer Tobias, I'd really appreciate it if you could put a good word in for me.’

He raises his glass to you and you clink it, a bit too aggressively. ‘Great! I’ll link you up first thing tomorrow morning. Rumour is HBO’s going to commit to a second season before filming has even started. They've signed on Woody Harrelson, you know. What a coup!’

Dieter scoffs, contempt dripping from every word. ‘Woody Harrelson? That grandpa? He's what, seventy?’

You shoot back. ‘He's sixty and he's a wonderful actor.’

He snorts condescendingly. ‘Has he won an Oscar, sweetheart?’

You roll your eyes. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘I’m a better actor than him. Admit it.’

You throw your hands up in disbelief. ‘How are you making this about you right now?’

He ignores you and goes off on another tangent. ‘Why would you go into TV? Shows could tie you up for years! You really want to live in Canada?’ He spits the word out like it tastes funny.

Tobias raises one hand gingerly. ‘Um, I’m actually Canadian. It’s consistently ranked as one of the best countries in the world to live in -’

At the same time Dieter snaps, ‘No one asked you, Tobias!’, you retort, ‘It’s none of your fucking business, Bravo!’

Your circle lapses into an awkward silence as the crossfire of words between you two comes to a screeching halt. You glare at Dieter while Tobias and the casting directors trade uncomfortable glances over the rims of their champagne flutes.

Dieter takes a big mouthful of his whiskey, then asks in a more composed tone, ‘Can I talk to you outside?’

‘No,’ you reply flippantly, just to push his buttons.

Something in the air shifts.

The word rumbles deep and dark in his chest. ‘No?’

You lift your chin in defiance. ‘You heard me, Bravo. Whatever you have to say, you can say it to me right here.’

A shiver runs down your spine unbidden when your name slips through his lips in a loaded warning, but you hold your ground. You have to. You need to.

His nostrils flare and something snaps behind his eyes. He downs his whiskey in one swallow - you stare at his Adam’s apple as it bobs in the column of his thick, exposed neck - before he slams the empty crystal tumbler on the bar counter.

With one last scowl thrown your way, he turns and storms out of the soiree.

Dieter’s in his trailer, sulking. 

He's sitting at the makeup table, all the lights are on, and an open bottle of whiskey sits in front of him. His coat is flung carelessly on the couch by the door, his sunglasses clipped to the front of his raggedy t-shirt. He stares unseeingly at a jar of hair mousse as he reaches for the neck of the bottle and takes another swig.

There's a knock at the door. He doesn't answer, but it swings open anyway and lets you in before slamming shut with a bang that shakes the trailer. Four steps and you’re right behind him, buzzing with champagne and adrenaline.

‘What the fuck, Bravo?’

He doesn’t need to look at you to feel the literal heat of your glare, but it seems to refract and bounce off the mirror anyway. You continue, ‘You have no right to talk to me like that in front of other people. You have no right to talk to me like that, period. You understand me?’

He still says nothing, but he does lift his gaze lazily to hold yours in the reflection, not looking away when he brings the bottle up to his mouth again.

You’re upset. You’ve been upset for days, he knows it. You're so painfully obvious and he's pretty sure that you don't even know it. It’s been building, like a wall around you, brick by brick. Suddenly you’re shying away from his touch, dodging him when he tries to pull you close. When he asks what’s wrong, you pinch your lips and insist you’re fine.

At least you’re not pretending you’re fine now. He’s seen you angry, of course - and you’re angry now, but that’s not all it is. There’s something else to the stiff way you’re holding your shoulders and the tremour in your hands.

Dieter smacks his lips, breaking the tense silence with a drawl. ‘So… Canada? When were you going to tell me?’

Your jaw drops, and you look taken aback, before your mouth curves into a sarcastic smile, brows reaching for your hairline. ‘Wow. Really, Bravo?’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

You echo his words back at him mockingly. ‘So… Italy? When were you going to tell me?’

He spins around in his chair to study you. Is that why you’ve been mad?

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he says plainly.

‘Sure. I’ve been imagining all those secret phone calls and late-night meetings.’

He leans forward, and he catches you before you can move away. ‘Hey,’ he reprimands sharply as you try to pull back, which only makes him tighten his hold on your wrists. ‘Knock it off, sweetheart. There’s nothing to tell because I haven’t said yes - yet.’

‘Yet?’ you echo blankly. ‘So - you’ve been offered the role?’

He nods.

‘Why haven’t you said yes?’

He exhales, shoulders slumping. ‘You know why.’

The three little words immobilise you completely. He doesn’t expect you to be happy about this. Angry, sure. He can handle angry. Any other person would be flattered, only you’re not any other person.

But then you’re shaking your head, and there’s panic in your eyes. Your voice shakes, and you bring a trembling hand to your forehead, as if to anchor yourself. ‘What the fuck? You can’t do that, Dieter. You can’t. This is why we had the fucking rules in the first place!’

Dieter coughs a sardonic laugh, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers behind his head. ‘Rules? You’re one to talk, sweetheart. You moved in with me a month and a half ago.’

You stare at him for a beat, wringing your hands anxiously, your eyes flitting everywhere but at him. Then you clear your throat. ‘Do you want to stop, then?’

His fingers slip, and they grip the arms of the chair where they fall. ‘What?’ 

‘Do you want to stop?’ you repeat, enunciating your words. ‘This is clearly getting in the way.’

This is accompanied by a nonchalant wave of your hand in the space between you.

Dieter breathes out audibly through his nose. Getting in the way. That’s a fucking punch to the gut. He nods slowly, once, twice, then he tilts his face upwards to meet your stare, regarding you from under his curls. ‘Do you want to stop?’

‘I mean, if you think it's easier -’

‘Cut the clever semantics, sweetheart,’ he interrupts harshly and grabs you by the wrists, his expression deadly serious. ‘I asked - do you want to stop?’

The skin-on-skin contact jolts you, and you snap at him. ‘Clever semantics? What the fuck are you implying, Bravo?’

He abruptly lets go of your wrists, and you feel the indentation of his grip on your skin. His eyes are hard when he shakes his head at you. ‘You want to end this? You do it. Don't use me to do it for you.’

His ultimatum lingers, clinging to the thick tension thrumming between you. He takes in your parted lips, and you’re breathing heavily, eyes glassy. 

He’s about to turn around for the whiskey he desperately needs when you crash into him in a hard kiss.

The chair slides back on its wheels when you climb onto him, tilting on its axis at a dangerous angle as it creaks under both of your weight. It’s a crude kiss, tongue and teeth and spit until he pulls your thick sweater off of you. You rake your nails through his hair, tugging on the soft curls until he makes a guttural sound. Face burrowed in your neck, he yanks your bra down, straps and all, cups turned inside out, not bothering to find the clasp. 

‘Yes, fuck, yes,’ you whimper as he sucks hard on one nipple, while he squeezes and pulls on your other breast. Your body slips into a rhythm of its own, hips grinding against him. When your tongue finds his left earlobe, the wet tip curling around the metal of his earring, he shudders violently and lunges for your lips, craving your taste again.

You squeak when for a second, the chair teeters on its back wheels and is this close to toppling over -  but Dieter spins the chair in the nick of time and shoves you up against the table. Your breath is knocked out of you when you hit the wooden edge, and he wastes no time draping you backwards onto the cool surface, your tits pushed forwards as your back arches to accommodate the position, the top of your head bumping into the mirror.

Still seated, Dieter pushes up your cosy knit skirt around your waist. He traces the tip of his thumb over your clothed clit and you jerk into the contact, your fingers finding purchase on the rounded edge of the table, knees splayed open.

He watches you, a smirk on his lips as he teases you, your hips chasing his touch. ‘You want me to prove I’m worth keeping around? Is that it, sweetheart?’

‘Please,’ you plead, rubbing your thighs together to find some relief.

He chuckles darkly, tearing your panties off and wrenching your legs apart, which draws a sharp, needy cry from you. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he holds you open for him, ankles on his shoulders, his hot breath brushing your pussy, making you whine.

‘Eyes on me, baby,’ he orders, and drags his tongue through your folds.

There’s a dull thud when your head hits the mirror as you writhe beneath him, and he smirks into your pussy. He fucking loves eating you out. You’re never more his than when you’re on his tongue. He knows he has you.

You need and want so little from him. But when he’s on his knees - or right now, in this chair - the playing field is levelled. You demand everything, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it to you.

He pushes your thighs back against your body so that your knees are pinned together, changing the angle, your pussy lips now pursed and glistening under him. He groans and looks up at you as he laves your clit, up and down as you buck against him, your hands on your tits tucked underneath your legs.

He can feel your slick soaking his beard and his moustache, marking him with your scent and your want. In moments like this, he doesn’t have to convince himself that he’s enough for you. 

Suckling gently on your clit, he eases one finger into your cunt. You jerk like a live wire, calling out his name with abandon, not caring who might be walking past.

‘That’s it, baby,’ he hums, lips brushing your folds as he pumps one more finger into you. ‘You can take it. You always take me so well.’

His already rock hard cock jumps when you grip his hair roughly, pushing him harder into your pussy.

‘Dieter, fuck, I’m gonna come so hard,’ you mewl, your voice echoing in the small space of the trailer.

He doesn’t answer you, too preoccupied with the way your pussy is coiling tighter and tighter around his fingers, slick all over his rings and dripping down to his wrist. He plunges them in up to the knuckle, gritting his teeth at the dirty, squelching sounds your pussy makes as you suck him in. Flattening out his tongue, he quickens the pace, lapping at your clit in fast, broad strokes until you’re keening.

‘Oh my god,’ you pant, arching off the table. ‘I’m gonna - I’m gonna - coming - '

He moans when you finally clamp down on him, your hips lifting clean off the table as you whimper and thrash, your hands pushing his face away when it gets too much. But he keeps his fingers inside you, sliding slowly, relishing the stranglehold of your cunt until your high passes. 

Picking up the bottom hem of his t-shirt, he swipes at his chin, saturating the fabric with your cum. You watch in a daze as he hovers above you, taking your lips in a deep kiss, his thumbs skating over your cheekbones as he swipes his tongue inside your mouth, making sure you taste yourself on him. 

Then, without giving you any reprieve, Dieter pulls you off the table by the hips and flips your limp body over. You feel his erection nudge the cleft of your cheeks through his sweatpants, which makes him hiss. He meets your unfocused gaze in the mirror, breath grazing your ear as he tells you on no uncertain terms. ‘I want you to watch, ok, sweetheart? Watch how well I fuck you.’

Your jaw goes slack at his words, and he licks his lips while you process his ask. Slowly, you bend forwards in his grasp, ass in the air, holding his gaze in the reflection the entire time. A harsh fuck falls from his lips as he drops his eyes to watch you part your legs. With rushed movements, he pushes down his sweatpants and boxers, but doesn’t bother stepping out of them.

You enjoy the power of seeing his pupils go completely dark. You squirm and your words come across as more of a plea than an order. ‘Fill me up, Dieter.’

His breath stutters, but he recoups and pulls roughly on your hair, so you’re leaning on your palms instead of your forearms. ‘Hold yourself up, sweetheart. I want to see those pretty tits bounce.’

With that, he thrusts into you.

You gasp, shoved forwards by the force, back bowed so far back it hurts, and it’s too much, too quickly - your eyes closing shut of their own accord while Dieter rails into you. 

‘I said eyes on me,’ he growls and there’s a sharp snap when his palm meets the side of your ass.

You choke at the sting, and your eyes snap open. There’s a deep frown of concentration under his wild curls as he fucks into you, fingers digging into your ass to pull you backwards onto him, grunting when he bottoms out each time.

He’s not rushing. Each thrust is deliberate, making you feel the full heft of him before he pulls out, until he’s just clinging precariously on the edge, and then he inches back in until he’s fully seated. He inhales raggedly when he watches his cock emerge from you, glossy with your cum.

‘You feel that?’ He asks as he pushes into you again. ‘Feel your pussy just opening up for me, swallowing my cock whole?’

You whine, your knees nearly caving when he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. ‘Yes!’

He pushes your right leg up on the table, opening you up even wider for him. You gasp at the new sensations this position creates, your hands scrabbling for purchase but finding none. He fucks you harder now, the rhythmic, wet slap of skin intensifying over your panting breaths.

‘Such a good girl,’ he leans down, his still clothed chest against your back, and murmurs against your ear. ‘Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart. I want the whole fucking studio to hear you. Can you do that for me?’

You bite your bottom lip so hard that it swells immediately, and in a moment of dire need he drives harshly into you without warning, making you cry out as he strokes somewhere deep inside. 

‘Louder,’ he demands, pulling out only to bury himself inside at an unforgiving pace. 

‘Fuck, oh my god, fuuuu-ck,’ you wail, words having abandoned you. Your arms tremble as you try to keep yourself upright, your tits jiggling back and forth heavily as you take him.

With a growl, Dieter hauls you up so your back is against his chest, your arms reaching backwards to wind around his neck, fingers twisted in his hair. One of his thick arms is tight on your waist, the other hand brushing away your hair to bite your neck, so hard you’re sure there will be marks tomorrow. He chuckles darkly at your squeal and runs his tongue over where you feel the imprint of his teeth.

You can see his thick cock in the mirror now, disappearing between your thighs as he buries himself into you over and over again, and he watches too, eyelids hooded and heavy. 

‘Show me how touch yourself, baby,’ he orders, hot breath on your ear. ‘Make yourself come on my dick.’

You nod, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, and he moans at your face - you look well and truly fucked. By him. With unsteady fingers, you start to rub your clit - it’s tender from your first orgasm, slippery from his spit and your cum, but it doesn’t take much before you’re grinding your hips to the pleasure building between your thighs.

He groans and his hips falter, both palms coming up to knead and push your breasts together. ‘So fucking hot. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum, sweetheart.’

‘Dieter,’ you moan when you feel your insides start to twist. ‘Come with me. I’m so close. Please please please.’

‘Fuck, I love it when you beg for my cock,’ he mumbles against your neck, a deep possessiveness taking hold of him. He means to taunt you, but when he attempts to throw the same words in your face, the hitch in his voice gives it away. ‘Tell me - do you want to stop, sweetheart?’

The double meaning hangs heavy between you, but you’re too far gone to care. You shake your head adamantly, hips twisting and your fingers drawing frenzied circles now. ‘No, no, don’t stop, please, I’m so close - I don’t want to stop -’

‘Fuck,’ Dieter chokes as you start to toss and turn in his grip, your nails digging half-moons into his skin when you come, shuddering and fucking throttling his dick. He has to physically hold you up now as your bones go. ‘That’s it, that’s a good fucking girl - not gonna stop - '

His climax sneaks up on him. One second he’s driving into you, and the next, he’s pumping his release - hot and thick and obscene - into your spasming pussy. He can’t get deep enough inside the liquid heat of your cunt, groaning brokenly into your neck as he collapses forward, pinning you to the table while he fights to get his breathing under control.

He comes around when he feels your gentle clutch in his hair, anchoring him to you. He exhales hard against your skin, eyes screwed shut until he feels your palm on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch.

Meeting your eyes in the mirror, he pulls you off the table and presses a wet kiss to the side of your mouth, heaving a heavy sigh as his grip on you loosens. He sees red marks blooming on your chest and your hips, and he runs gentle hands over them apologetically. 

‘You ok?’ he asks, leaning his face into yours.

‘Yeah,’ you nod, eyes wild but sated.

Gently, he pulls your bra up, righting the straps. Then he feels his now soft cock slip out of you, which makes you shudder. His watches with dark eyes when thick, white strings of his cum drip from your pussy, before you squeeze your legs together to stem the flow. It’s much hotter than it should be and even having emptied everything inside you, his cock twitches regardless.

Reaching down, beyond your bunched up skirt that still sits around your waist, he swipes at the cum that’s run down your inner thigh with the tips of his index and middle fingers, and brings them up to your lips. He moans when you lean forward to take them in your mouth, licking them clean.

‘Did you mean it?’ His question quiet in your ear, his chin on your shoulder. ‘Do you want to stop?’

Your lips quirk, your eyes soft. ‘Fuck no.’

He grins. Taking your chin in his fingers, he turns your head and presses his lips to yours in a firm kiss. ‘Good. Let’s clean you up and get you home, sweetheart.’

Week 11

‘I look ridiculous,’ you gripe, trying to dislodge the interminable wedgie from the borrowed neon green hot pants you’re wearing.

‘You look hot, hon!’ giggles Ana, herself in a faux fur coat with a spandex swimsuit and leggings underneath. ‘C’mon, our Uber is here!’

For her birthday, Ana wanted you all to dress up and go to a dive bar with a bowling alley. The hotpants were, unfortunately, the only thing that fit you in the bag of thrifted second-hand 80s costumes and wigs she brought to work earlier in the day.

Pete slings an arm on your shoulders, resplendent in a highlighter orange tracksuit, royal blue headband and matching sweatbands. ‘How’s great aunt Dierdre, babe?’ he asks with a wink.

‘Ha-dee-ha,’ you deadpan.

Spotting someone across the parking lot, Pete’s face lights up and he bellows. ‘Speak of the devil - BRAVO! Over here, man!’

Ana shrieks excitedly, jumping up and down to get his attention. 'DIETER! Come party with us, it's my birthday!'

The door to his car is open, and he looks like he’s ready to call it a night. But Dieter takes one look at your purple legwarmers and tacky pink lipstick, and he grins. 'I'm in.'

The drinks are cheap, cheerful and free-flowing - Dieter's treat. When you shift your feet, the soles of your ankle boots peel off the floor with a sticky thwack. The bass shakes the entire place with cheesy 80’s tunes. It’s a true dive bar - you haven’t been anywhere this grimy since college.

You look across the counter, where Dieter is hanging with Pete and other post guys, fitting right in. He let Ana dress him in a form-fitting wifebeater in a loud neon print, the complete opposite of his normal loose silhouette and earthy tones. You can’t help it - your stare lingers on the lines of his broad shoulders and the bare muscle of his arm, bent at the elbow, a red cup of beer in his hand.

When two bowling lanes free up, your group migrates over and Dieter claps his hands together with a playful wriggle of his eyebrows. ‘Ok, people. Shall we say - boys vs girls?’

Over the catcalling and whistling, Ana asks, ‘What are we playing for?’

‘Money?’ someone suggests.

Pete boos. ‘Boring! Come on, people, the stakes gotta be higher, more humiliating!’

You’ve obviously had more to drink than you realised, because suddenly, you point a challenging finger at Dieter, and say, ‘I got it! If your team loses, you have to go on a date with Ruth.’

There are screams of delight as Dieter’s face falls. Ruth is one of the lunch ladies, and she’s obsessed with Dieter. She’s a sweet and harmless thing, but her behaviour arguably borders on uncomfortable. Everyone on set knows about Ruth, it’s hard to miss the phone numbers and crooked hearts she scrawls all over Dieter’s paper coffee cup every lunch time.

Ever the crowd-pleaser, Dieter holds his hands up and agrees. ‘Fine, fine. If we lose, I go on a date with Ruth. But,’ he pauses dramatically, then points straight at you. ‘If your team loses, you go on a date with me, sweetheart.’

‘Fuck yeah!’ shouts Pete over the good-natured applause and whistling, nudging you so hard that you trip and spill your vodka soda. In your annoyance, you don’t notice him exchanging a meaningful glance with Ana above your head while you wipe up.

Nose in the air, you extend your hand to Dieter, and he shakes it. You smirk at him. ‘You're on, mister.’

So you really only have yourself to blame, when an hour and a whole bottle of tequila later, Dieter and the boys are clamouring at the top of their lungs at Pete, while he makes a show of selecting his bowling ball for the tie-breaker, blowing imaginary dust off of it.

‘Steady now, boy, steady!’ calls out Dieter, clapping his hands as if he’s coaching a football team. ‘It’s all on you now. A strike is all we need to win.’

'Aye, aye, sir!' Pete shouts and salutes his team, and they stand to attention, saluting him right back. He then spins on his heels, the bowling ball held at eye level, and he steps forward towards the lane.

You watch, in slow motion, when the pink bowling ball leaves Pete’s fingers and rolls down the glossy alley. For a second, it looks like it’s going to skid to the side and miss - but at the last second, it veers back onto course, taking all the pins down in a victorious clang.

Pete jumps into Dieter’s arms like he’s won the fucking Super Bowl, and he hoists the hero of the hour into the air, spinning in a circle while the guys dance around them, pumping their fists and chanting ‘Pete, Pete, Pete’. As much as you hate losing, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles in your throat at the scene of unrestrained jubilation.

Having transplanted Pete onto the shoulders of another guy, the rest of your group heads for the bar for more celebratory drinks, leaving you two alone. Dieter saunters up to you, smiling smugly, and raising his plastic cup of tequila mixer at you.

‘Hope you didn’t sprain your back there, Bravo,’ you goad him.

‘Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I just wanna know - did you lose on purpose so you could finally go on a date with me?’

He lets out a pained yelp when you elbow him in the ribs, making his drink spill. You retort, ‘You know I wouldn’t.’

‘That only makes it better,’ chuckles Dieter, now leaning in far too close to be considered decent, his liquor-laced breath hot on your cheek. ‘I won you fair and square, sweetheart.’

‘You didn’t win me, you won a fake date with me,’ you correct him, pinching his chin with a sarcastic smile. ‘Besides, your team only won because of Pete. If anything, I should be going on a date with him.’

A low growl rumbles in his throat, and with his broad frame, he shields you from view of the bar behind him. He snakes an arm around your waist, fingers slipping downwards to squeeze your ass, before nipping your earlobe. ‘Oh no, you’re all mine, sweetheart. And believe me, there won’t be anything fake about this date.’

Then he leaves you standing there, your chest tight and cheeks hot. 

Great. Now you’re wet and that doesn’t help with the wedgie at all.

Week 12

Your ‘date’ with Dieter is the talk of the set. There’s been a dearth of on-set gossip, so as tame as this is, it will have to do. You agree to go out on the Friday night, since this part of town pretty much empties once the studio employees head home for the weekend.

Pete is beside himself - honestly, he might be more excited than you are. 

‘Do you want to go on this date instead?’ you ask him dryly. 

Ana insists on dressing you and doing your hair and makeup before dispatching you in an Uber, as if she's worried that you'll skip the date.

Not wanting the attention on set, you agreed beforehand to meet at the restaurant. It’s a very understated French bistro, with a tiny storefront of dark, weather-worn wood and a cosy wine bar just next to the entrance.

When you step inside, Dieter is leaning on the bar, sleeves up and bunched around his elbows, cradling the curves of a red wine glass with his thick fingers. He sweeps his gaze over you, top to bottom, then up again, before giving you a toothy smile and stepping into your space.

You have to physically restrain yourself from backpedalling from his proximity out of habit. You’re on a date. In your head, it doesn’t really count as a real date, but for all intents and purposes, it’s still a date.

He looms over you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. ‘You look beautiful, sweetheart.’

You don’t say anything, and with one hand on the small of your back, he guides you into the empty restaurant. If you’re being honest with yourself, your mind is drawing a blank because he looks so damn good tonight. He’s chosen dark jeans and a crew neck sweater that actually fits him in an olive green, but it still looks cosy and comfortable, like most of his wardrobe. The fabric stretches across his chest and shoulders as he moves, and the tattoos on his forearms shift as his muscles flex, pulling out the chair for you to sit down.

You’re in a secluded nook a good distance away from other tables, which are empty anyway. You wonder for a second if he’s booked out the restaurant for tonight. The table you’re sharing is tiny, and your bare knees bump into his denim-covered ones underneath the wooden surface. It’s so dark that you would've had to use your phone light to read the menu, but mercifully, the owner of the restaurant introduces himself and promptly takes care of your orders, promising plenty of food and wine.

When you’re left alone, you realise with a start that you’ve never spent any one-on-one time together with Dieter outside of the privacy of your respective hotel rooms. You're nervous and it shows.

‘Relax,’ he chuckles, covering your hand with his. He doesn't let you pull back. ‘There’s no one around, and even if there was, it's so dark in here it's impossible for anyone to take any photos anyway.’

You don’t fight him, which obviously pleases him. He traces patterns on your palm, and you ask, ‘Is this one of your first date moves, Bravo? Hand-holding?’

He lets out a bark of laughter. ‘It’s cute you think that, sweetheart. This isn't really a first date though, is it?’

You shrug. ‘Might be a last date.’

‘Ouch, sweetheart,’ he chides, one hand on his chest as if wounded.

‘You're going to Italy. I'm hopefully going to Canada.’

He takes a second to reply, and chooses to throw a light-hearted jab at you. ‘Well, this is definitely the most depressing date I've ever been on.’

The waiter cuts in with a bottle, leaving you with two full glasses of full-bodied red wine. Dieter holds his glass to you, and asks, ‘Will you at least miss me, sweetheart?’

You clink his glass delicately, and smile. ‘Maybe.’ You take a sip, then tap your fingers on the table, your curiosity getting the better of you. ‘So… what are your first date moves, then?’

He smirks cockily. ‘Wouldn’t you have liked to find out.’

You pin him with a roll of your eyes. ‘Please, you would never have asked me out on a date.’

‘Why would you say that?’ he protests.

‘Oh, don’t you go all revisionist on me, Bravo. You were out to get me from day one. Remember?’

He tangles his fingers in yours and admits, ‘Okay. You’re not wrong. I probably wouldn’t have, if all this hadn’t happened.’

You have no right to be hurt, but it still stings a little bit. You chew on your bottom lip, and he reaches over to dislodge it. ‘Don’t pout, sweetheart. You still want to hear about my first date moves?’

You huff a sigh. ‘Sure.’

He leans forward conspiratorially, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles. ‘Ok, this one is my favourite.’

He pauses and takes a mouthful of wine, and you can’t help but shift to the edge of your seat, your full attention on him. When Dieter Bravo wants you to listen, you just do.

His fingers dance on the table as he continues, his rings catching the low lights. ‘First, I make sure my date shows up at a particular location, preferably a private one. Then, I arrange for her to catch me getting blown by another girl - ’ he grins when you choke on your wine. ‘ - and then I make her get on her knees and jerk off in her face.’

You’re coughing violently now, smacking your palm on the table as the wine goes down the wrong way. To your horror, you feel it coming up your nose, and you hastily wipe it away with your napkin. You squeak, ‘For fuck’s sake, Dieter!’

He laughs so hard that his whole body shakes, his smile lines softening his face. He presses a cheeky kiss to your palm. ‘And what do you know - it worked like a charm.’

The food is excellent and the conversation easy. You share a millefeuille for dessert and when you’re putting on your jackets, the owner insists on gifting you an extra bottle of the red wine you shared as a memento.

The nights are getting milder, and with his hotel only a few blocks away, you two decide to forego the Uber. The streets are deserted as you walk side by side, your movements loosened by the wine. You keep bumping into each other until Dieter slips his arm around you, fingers curling into the side of your waist to hold you against him, so you're walking hip to hip.

Your heart rate picks up when you lean fully into him, and you sneak your left hand into his back pocket. You walk in comfortable silence, your steps in sync and your bodies intertwined.

'I like this,' Dieter says quietly when you stop at a crossing, resting his chin on the top of your head. There are no cars at all and you can easily just cross the street, but you stand on the curb, neither of you moving. 

You look up at him, the warmth in the pit of your belly tempering the winter chill, and the streetlights blur into orange, backlighting his soft curls. Tipping your face upwards, you stand on your toes and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

You feel him smile and tighten his grip on your waist, but he doesn’t deepen the kiss. He just slides his mouth against yours, the tips of your noses brushing. You break apart when the green man comes on.

'I'll miss this,' you whisper, and it’s as much as you're prepared to admit.

He'll take it.

You're jolted out of sleep by a frantic banging on the door. It takes you a minute to groggily push off Dieter’s heavy arm on you and sit up, rubbing your eyes. You look at the clock - goddamnit, it’s 7:32am on a Saturday.

‘What the fuck,’ Dieter croaks into his pillow, pulling the duvet up and over his head.

You roll your eyes, petting around the bed to try and find your pyjama top when the banging stops abruptly, and you hear the digital jingle of a key card unlocking the front door. You barely have time to pull up the sheets to shield your naked front before Rebecca bursts into the bedroom.

To his credit, Dieter does instinctively leap across the bed in an attempt to fend off the potential danger. Only that his morning reflexes are about ten seconds too slow, and you’re already waving at Rebecca by the time he lands heavily in front of you, knotted in sheets.

How this woman is fully dressed in a sharply tailored sky blue suit and high heels with her hair and makeup on point at before 8am on a Saturday is beyond you. You’re about to ask when she announces in rapid fire, ‘So, good news and bad news. Good news first. We kept your name out of the headlines, darling - for now. That buys us a couple of hours. Bad news, we couldn't keep the picture out.'

Your brain is still fuzzy from the wine you had at dinner last night and you can’t keep up. You grimace, utterly confused. 'Sorry Rebecca, but - what?'

She click-clacks towards the bed and shoves her phone towards you.

It's that alien feeling when you look at a photo of yourself that you didn’t know existed. Like finding previously undiscovered childhood photos while going through dusty family photo albums after Thanksgiving dinner.

You stare at the screen. Your brain knows that it's you on it, but you have absolutely no idea how or where or oh my god -

'It was - it was just -' you stammer, your whole person seizing up in panic.

Dieter grabs the phone from you. It’s a given that he has a lifetime of experience to draw on in dealing with something like this, and he doesn’t seem fazed at all. But seeing your reaction, his face twists in worry and he sits up to gather you into his arms. 'Sweetheart? Hey, you ok?'

Rebecca takes her phone back and crosses her arms. 'Someone caught you canoodling on the street last night and sold the picture to TMZ. The article will drop this morning.'

Things seem to slow and drag, like you’re underwater, and you hear Rebecca say, 'A heads up would've been nice. I didn't know you guys were actually dating.'

'We're not,' you reply robotically.

Rebecca tuts. 'Well, it’s too late now, anyway. We need to issue a statement and you need to tell me exactly what's going on.'

You bury your face in your hands. Why did you do it? Why did you kiss him?

Dieter smooths one palm over your back, and explains, ‘We went partying with the crew last week. She lost a bet and had to go on a date with me. That’s it.’

'You sure? A bet?' asks Rebecca, not at all convinced, perceptive eyes darting around the room. 'Darling, she’s obviously moved in.'

Dieter says her name in a warning. ‘Becks -’

She raises her hands in surrender. 'Alright, it’s none of my business. Text me who you went partying with, it’ll help to have the crew corroborate your story.’ Turning to you, she says, ‘They haven't identified you yet, darling, but it's only a matter of time until they find your phone number and which hotel you're at. You two lie low for now. Stay here while I sort things out. Understood?'

You nod meekly, and Dieter mumbles, ‘Thanks, Becks.’

The door closes behind her and your eyes immediately well with tears, pressing your hand to your mouth.

Dieter shifts to sit behind you, his legs on either side, and wraps his whole body around you. He nuzzles the side of your face, his voice scratchy. 'Hey, sweetheart, Becks wasn't yelling at you, ok? She was just in crisis mode. She’ll take care of it. Remember the whole Sundance thing? No one ever talks about it anymore. This will blow over in no time.’

The rational side of you nods, but the tears keep coming as he rocks you back and forth. Have you fucked it up? What will people think when they see the article? What if they think you’re sleeping together - except, well, you actually already are, but - why does this whole thing have to be so fucking meta -

Dieter’s firm voice cuts into your thoughts. ‘Sweetheart, hey, look at me. Look at me.’

Snapping out of your stupor, you twist around and look up at him over your shoulder. He gently thumbs your bottom lip, which feels swollen from your crying, and he promises you, ‘Listen, I'll take care of it. You're alright.’

Something buzzes. Dieter reaches for his phone immediately, in case it’s an urgent message from Rebecca. He brings it around so that you can see the screen too, clicking on the notification for a message from Rebecca.

There it is again.

You really look at the photo this time. It’s taken from a height, probably from the second floor of the building next to the crossing. Even from that angle, it’s indisputably Dieter in the photo. You can see the rings on his fingers reflecting the streetlights, and the contours of his profile are unmistakable. His eyes are closed, lips sealed to yours. Your hands are on his chest, gripping the front of his sweater.

Dieter interrupts the silence. ‘At least it’s a cute picture of us.’

You sniff nasally, but a small, watery smile pushes the corner of your mouth up, and he grins when he sees it.

He turns your face to his and kisses you sweetly. ‘I got you, sweetheart.’

You know he does.

You sigh when your phone buzzes for the umpteenth time today. You pad across the wide expanse of what is now your living room for the remainder of filming in your fuzzy socks, and grab the phone from the coffee table, where it’s charging.

Turns out that the battery dies really quickly when people don’t stop calling or texting you.

Rebecca offered to let you stay in one of her own apartments that she usually lets out, but is currently sitting vacant. You were spirited out of Dieter’s hotel in a cap and sunglasses via the back door, and she was right to do so - there were paparazzi camped at the hotel entrance already.

Your new apartment’s an easy 15-minute drive from the studio, with an underground parking lot and 24/7 security. It’s fancy, in a nondescript, Hollywood way. It’s all glass and chrome and monotone. The best thing is the lovely kitchen, which is the one thing you really miss when you’re in a hotel room for a job.

You look at the newest message that pops up on your phone and you groan aloud. ‘Oh, for fuck's sake!’

It’s a message from your mum. Great. Even your parents have seen the photo, probably sent to them by some meddling distant relative.

You’re half-heartedly drafting a vague reply when there’s a knock on the door. It must be the rest of your stuff from your old hotel room. Rebecca did say that she’ll send someone over to pack it up for you.

You open the door and your eyes go wide at the sight of Dieter on the doorstep, a suitcase and a weekender bag in tow. 

‘What are you doing? Rebecca said we should lie low for now,’ you remind him, gripping the door tightly. ‘You can’t be here.’

'It's Week 12,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Fuck lying low.’

You blink, stunned for a second.

Then you grab him by the cuff of his collar and haul him into the apartment, his suitcase and bag clattering onto the marble floor. You take just one second to make sure the door is firmly shut, then you throw your arms around his neck and drag him in for a kiss.

He backs you up onto the couch, crawling over you when you lie down, cradling him between your thighs. His trainers hit the floor behind him when he kicks them off.

Pulling back from his lips, you take a deep breath as the realisation sinks in. ‘It’s Week 12. We have two weeks left.’

Cupping your face in his large hands, Dieter presses his forehead to yours. ‘And we’ll make them fucking count, sweetheart.’

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 7: Contrary >> }

Note: I had fun leaning into the fluff - I hope you enjoyed this unapologetically soft chapter! We have one more chapter to go, and this part of Consent comes to an end 😭 As I mentioned here, I have many more ideas for our actor and intimacy coordinator couple, so I will continue to write for them after Consent wraps!

I will be on holiday for the whole of July, so I’ll most probably finish Consent in August. I will still be online while on vacation, so I will post updates on my progress.

Thank you everyone for your amazing support for these two idiots, always ❤️ You guys are the best readers a writer can ask for. I'm so glad there are new readers here too. As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

P.S. FYI I’m sobbing uncontrollably inside at the thought of having to write the finale. Very delicate at the moment lol, please be gentle with me 🥺

[ourladyhart]

Ethical Gift Giving (But On A Budget)

I stumbled across this today and I absolutely love it! This is a fantastic chart to get you thinking about ways you can give during the holiday season whilst reducing our future impact on the environment and get creative at the same time. Definitely a win/win!

I have a couple of extra tips to add for those of us on a low income or those who are on a tight budget. The holiday season can be particularly tough when you’re living below the poverty line or are barely making your pay check stretch month to month. It can make us feel excluded or even ashamed of ourselves; and whilst this couldn’t be further from the truth – you are so valid regardless of your financial position – there are lots of different ways that you can still give and feel included with little to no funds.

Give Memories: Lovely photo frames are easily found at $2 shops or op shops; and if you don’t have access to a printer, you can print from your phone or USB at Kmart for about 10 cents a print. Our generation often forgets how nice it is to have physically framed photos and getting a photo that means a lot to your friend or family is a beautiful personal touch.

Total cost: Less than $5

Experience days don’t have to be a trip to the movies, an escape room or ice skating, and the cost of these activities can rack up quickly. Instead, you can make a “movie day” at home for you and a friend. You could even give them this gift in the form of a handmade “IOU 1 Movie Day”. Set up a picnic on the living room floor and watch your favourite movie together. You can also bake together or get some cheap snacks from the supermarket whilst you both veg out.

Total cost: Less than $10

Give Your Time:

I love this one! Again, you could hand make cute vouchers for these, “1 Day of Helping You Organise Your Wardrobe” or “1 Day of Building Your Website”, etc etc.

Remember, in this busy day and age sometimes all we want is actually just time spent with the people we love; and your company is often enough. If your friend suffers from chronic pain or a mental illness; they may love some help with cleaning. Perhaps they don’t often eat a home cooked meal and you could whip something up for them. These actions are often invaluable.

Total cost: Free – Your time

Upcycle:

Well you know this one is absolutely going to be my favourite! I am huge on street finds and items I procure; fixing them up and then passing them on. You can often find great items of furniture or knick knacks in council clean ups. It’s a good idea to check out when the next dates will be in your area; so you can get ready for some “late night shopping”!

If friends give me hand me down items throughout the year, they often come with “Oh, it was almost perfect, but…”. I listen to what they didn’t like about the original item then give it a total up cycle before giving it back to them. It’s often a lovely delight! My favourite of these was when an old flatmate gave me a sad looking lamp. I gave it a really good Tiki Bar sort of look (which she was obsessed with) and gave it back for Christmas. To this day, it’s her favourite object she owns.

Total cost: Free – $50 depending on which materials you use

I’m going to add three of my own sections in here:

Re-Gift:

We all get gifts throughout the year that we’re not sure why they were gotten for us but you’re not really sure what to do with. SAVE THESE ALL! I put all mine in a bag or box in my laundry so when Christmas time comes round, you’ve already got a haul of presents to give. My husband and I often get thank you gifts of alcohol from the community, but neither of us drink. Other people certainly do though and this is a lovely gift for people who do drink to receive.

I know there is a bit of controversy on re-gifting, but I know if I gave a gift that wasn’t quite right, I would love for it to be passed on to someone who could truly appreciate it.

Total Cost: Free

Save The Accessories:

I can’t recommend hanging onto gift bags, used wrapping paper, birthday candles, banners, and cards throughout the year. You can even ask friends or family at the end of their parties if you can have the gift bags or wrapping if they’re going to just throw them out. This saves SO MUCH money each year on having to buy new wrapping equipment, and it’s readily on hand when you need it. If you haven’t been doing this already, start now and put them in with your re-gifting stash for the end of each year. You’ll thank me next Christmas!

Total Cost: Free

Ask:

Your friends and family probably have a whole heap of storage stuff they haven’t been through in ages; and once they do will be looking to unload a lot of stuff. I love to help my friends organise their stuff in exchange for anything they want to give me. The old adage “Ask and you shall receive” is gold here, so pop on your thrifty hat and don’t be afraid to ask those around you if they’ve got anything they want to get rid of.

Total Cost: Free or Time

Buy Second Hand:

Op shops are my definitely jam, with about 95% of my clothes being second hand. My wedding dress was a $45 vintage dress from Vinnies Newtown.

Op Shops (or Thrift Shops for our American friends) are TREASURE TROVES of second hand trinkets, clothes, furniture, and weird things you can only imagine. Give yourself plenty of time to wonder around and let objects or clothes let themselves known to you.

Boutique antique stores can often come with a boutique price tag, but you can find just as wonderful vintage and antique pieces at markets or throughout op shops.

eBay and Gumtree are also great places to find items for a lot cheaper than RRP prices and you can often barter for a lower price or find something similar for a lot less.

Total Cost: $2 plus, depending on what you’re after

Make: One of the most sentimental gifts I made was with a $2 ball of wool and some knitting needles. I sat night after night and knitted my friend a scarf for her birthday. Along with it, I included a beautiful note about how the scarf helped me with my recovery after a hospital stay in June; and that I wanted her to always be warm and cosy. She wore it every day of Winter this year! Other things I’ve made over the years for gifts include hats (of course!), costume pieces, spell jars / spell kits often for success and love, candles, cookies, paintings and general pretty things.

Cooking or baking makes a lot of treats for minimal bucks. You can bake up a large batch of cookies, and even save a bit more cash by buying recipe boxes when they’re on sale at the supermarket. Decorate them then pop some into a tie up bag, it’s a super cute and delicious gift!

Total Cost: $2 plus, depending on what you make

Buy:

Finally, if you must buy; buy independently. Buy from small businesses, buy from artists. Your money will be funding groceries for another week for a family, or maybe even a special treat like going to the movies or purchasing new towels. Buy compassionately and support those who need it most. I can promise you the gift of support you give to these businesses and artists will cause the biggest smiles for Christmas; and that’s what spreading the true joy of the season is all about.

Bonus Tip!

You can also save money on feeding the masses by opting for food options designed to feed a lot of people at once. Meals like spaghetti bologanise, BBQ, pizza, rice and so forth may not be typically Christmassy; but they will stretch to feed a lot for less.

You can also ask everyone to bring a dish and then all the guests can share a bounty of food whilst keeping in with the community spirit.

Total Cost: $5 plus depending on what you make

[seiya-starsniper]

Lost and Found

Happy SteelAtom Week everyone! Here’s your admin’s entry for Day 1: Soulmates 

Inspired by this post: Imagine whenever you lose something, your soulmate winds up finding it.

Ao3 link: [here]

Nate is pretty sure his soulmate is the most forgetful person on the planet.

He starts finding his soulmate's lost things around the age of five. His soulmate loses things every child at that age loses; candies, pencils, the occasional sock. Nate doesn't think much of the items, but his mother coos every time he brings her something new that he's "found". Every time, Nate listens to his mother go on and on about when she "received" his grandfather’s dog tags from his father, and the excitement she felt when she was finally able to give them back to him.

Nate thinks that if something was really that important, his father, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn't have lost it in the first place, but he doesn't tell his mother this. Nate on the other hand, is very careful of his possessions and rarely loses anything. He has to be, their family isn't exactly the most well off, and most of his possessions are medically necessary to keep him alive anyway.

Nate is eight years old when his grandmother gives him one of his most prized treasures. It's a crest in the shape of a metal star, too big for his childish hands, but it's bold and sharp and heavy in his hands.

"Your grandfather wore this during the war," she tells Nate once he's done admiring it over and over again. "I was a welder back then. Can you believe after all the men went away, us ladies had to pick up the slack?" Her voice is wistful, the way it always gets when she speaks of his grandfather.

"It just so happened one late night I misplaced one of my projects and it ended up saving your grandfather's life. We hadn't even met yet at that point, but he searched high and low for me once he got back."

Nate stares at the metal crest, all shiny and smooth, and wonders where exactly the bullet would have dented it. He knows the dog tags his father gave to him just last year have a signature dent from a bullet meant for the President.

"Nana, where...?" he begins to ask but his grandmother only laughs and shakes her head.

"Oh honey, this thing wasn't always in the shape of a star. Your grandfather had me melt it down and reshape it after your father was born. It was meant to be a gift to him when he was old enough but, well..." She trails off but Nate already knows the end of this story. His father had told him it enough times to know. Commander Henry Heywood had died in the line of duty for the JSA, and the only thing that came back were his dog tags. His Nana had known her husband's fate when she woke up one morning and found them on the nightstand.

Nate clutches the star in his hand and promises his Nana that he'll keep it safe, just like he's been keeping the dog tags safe for his father. His grandfather's legacy is in his hands now.

Nate is 16 years old when he loses the crest. He's in a hurry to leave his parents' house for good, and it must have fallen out of one of the moving boxes. Nate is devastated, and too proud to call up his father to ask him to look for it on the off chance he lost it while he was still home.

Nate spends the next few years looking for his soulmate. Hoping. Maybe, just maybe his soul mate found his star, and maybe they're like Nate and they've kept it and then they'll meet and just like his mother returned his grandfather's dog tags to his father, maybe his soulmate will return his star crest to him.

He acquires a lot of useless knick knacks in the meantime, and despite the initial annoyance he feels when he finds wires everywhere, Nate eventually develops a fondness for all the unintentionally discarded items his soulmate leaves lying around. He does wish his soulmate would lose more useful things than wires and screws and paper clips. It's beginning to get a little ridiculous. His apartment is beginning to look like an electronics shop with all the spare parts lying around. He knows he's not obligated to keep every little thing his soulmate loses, but somehow, Nate can't bring himself to throw any of it away.

One day, the items stop coming completely.

Nate waits a day. Then two. Then weeks and months pass by without a single new item appearing anywhere in his apartment. A year goes by before Nate gives up and accepts that his soulmate is probably dead. Dead before they could even meet.

After that, Nate vows to never lose anything ever again. He can't afford to, he's already lost the three most important things in his life, his Nana, his star and his soulmate. And now, anything he loses is gone forever. Nate suddenly understands why his father was so closed off and so protective of him, although he'd never admit to the man himself. Losing something important just hurt so damn much.

 Nate doesn't think about soulmates again until after Ray finds his stupid doodle on the floor. Nate swears he remembers where he last put the drawing and it definitely was not in a place where Ray, or anyone else could see it, but before he can even think to stop the other man from looking at it, Ray's already asking him about the design.

Nate's throat tightens. Stupid stupid stupid, he thinks to himself, but he forces himself to talk about how his clothes stretch awkwardly when he steels up and doesn't he deserve a suit like the rest of them? He knows he's preaching to the choir, especially since he's the one who destroyed Ray's suit back in the shogun era.

Ray smiles sympathetically at him, and tells him not to worry, as long as he sticks with him, he'll figure everything out. Nate normally hates being pitied and fed false platitudes like that, but for some reason when it comes out of Ray's mouth, it sounds genuine and truly believable. It's been like this since Nate first got on the ship too, for some unfathomable reason, Ray can do no wrong in Nate's eyes. At first, the historian had chalked it up to guilt and Ray's sunny personality, but lately it's been getting harder and harder to ignore the ba-dump ba-dump in his chest whenever he sees the other man.

"Interesting accessory you got going on here," Ray says, interrupting Nate's thoughts and pointing to the star crest on his drawing. "Very patriotic."

"Oh yeah, that thing," Nate replies, trying to laugh it off, but he's pretty sure Ray can hear the tension in his voice. "Fun fact, that star is based off this crest my nana gave me when I was young. Said my grandfather wore it. I loved that thing, and I always dreamed of putting it on my own superhero costume you know?"

Ray nods thoughtfully. "Sounds like it was really important to you."

"It was!..It...it was," Nate trails off. "Actually, truth be told, I lost it a long time ago. Spent forever trying to find my soulmate on the off chance that they found it, but that never worked out so...But enough about that, let's go do some fun cowboy stuff!"

Nate doesn't see Ray's quizzical look when he practically rushes out the door trying to avoid his feelings. He also completely forgets about the drawing, and doesn't know that Ray tucks it away into his jacket for safekeeping.

Nate's still sore from stopping the train and from hauling a heavy piece of dwarf star back to the ship, but he still follows Ray to his lab anyway, because more and more, he can't seem to say no to the man's smile.

The physicist is practically thrumming with excitement, and Nate can't blame him, even though time doesn't work linearly out here, it still has been quite a long time since Ray has had a superhero suit. Nate may still not have his own, be he can be patient. Really, he can.

"Actually there's something I've been working on before I started building a new exo-suit," Ray says, grinning in excitement. "It's not exactly what was in your drawing but..." the physicist trails off and then yanks a sheet off from a figure behind him to reveal…

Nate feels like the wind has been knocked right out of him.

Behind Ray is his drawing brought to life. It’s brightly colored and sleek and just amazing. It even has the star crest in the middle. Only...it's not a replica. Nate would know that handiwork and design anywhere even though it's been more than ten years since he last laid eyes on it.

Realization dawns on him and suddenly, the drawing makes sense. Nate hadn't misremembered where he put it, he'd lost it and Ray had found it. Which meant…

"Y-You...you're...you're my soulmate?" Nate gasps disbelievingly.

It was impossible. His soulmate had stopped "sending" him things ages ago, and Nate knew Ray, the man lost something new every other hour and it hadn't made its way to Nate. Or had it and he hadn't noticed? There was no other explanation for why the other man had his grandfather's crest.

"Yeah, I kind of pieced it together after I started finding some of your pens and pencils whenever you misplaced them on the ship but I kind of just knew after I saw your drawing and..." Ray suddenly stops, panic visible on his face.

"Nate? Oh my god, Nate are you okay?”

It's then that Nate realizes that there's tears running down his face. He unconsciously moves a hand to the wetness on his face before his brain kicks into overdrive and he launches himself straight at a bewildered Ray.

Kissing Ray is like everything and nothing like he’d imagined it would be. It’s fireworks and butterflies but it’s also warm and inviting and soft. Ray tastes like honey and smells like sunshine after the rain. It feels like he’s breathing oxygen for the first time in his life. It feels like coming home.

Nate thinks he could keep kissing Ray forever and die happy.

When they finally break apart, Ray leans down and presses his forehead against Nate’s, and they stay like that for a while, their breathing slowly evening out. Nate still can’t believe everything that’s happened to him and it takes a moment before his brain starts really processing everything.

Ray is his soulmate. Ray is his soulmate. RAY IS HIS SOULMATE. Ray is here and alive and breathing and holding him in his arms. Nate is pretty sure he's clutching the other man too tightly but he's afraid that if he lets go even a little bit, he'll lose him all over again.

"I thought I lost you," Nate whispers against Ray's chest once he's regained the ability to speak again. He's ridiculously close to openly sobbing but he doesn't care.  

"Lost me? Where did you think I went?" Ray replies, amusement and affection laced in his voice.

Nate takes a few deep breaths to collect himself before he finally answers.

"You used to lose things all the time and then one day it just stopped and I....I thought, I thought you were gone."

Ray hums thoughtfully at Nate's answer. "Remember how I'm technically legally dead?" he asks.

Nate nods.

"Well, what happened was, I was just really tiny for a while. It was my first run with the suit, and then I couldn't un-shrink after that. Can't really lose anything when you're the size of an atom, you know?"

It makes sense, Nate thinks. But that still doesn't explain one thing.

"How come I never found anything from you after that?"

"Well, pretty much right after I un-shrunk myself, I was recruited to the Legends team, which I think has something to do with it. Like if I lose something in the time stream or a different time period, that breaks the rules somehow and so it doesn't make its way back to you since we're not in the same timeline.”

Nate shrugs. It made perfect sense, and no sense at all, but then again, most things relating to time travel were that way.

"But now that we're both on the ship together, the whole lost and found thing applies to us again.” Ray continues, smiling. “And well, to be fair, I leave my stuff lying around everywhere so I guess it makes sense that you didn't notice that you started finding it all again once you got on the ship. Truth be told, until you showed me that drawing, I thought you were just as absent minded as me."

Nate just smiles and pulls Ray into his arms again.

"I'm never letting you go now, you know that right?" he finally says after a moment of silence. He can feel Ray smile against his shoulder as he nods and wraps his arms just as tightly around Nate.

"That's good cause I don't want you to."

[rootbeergoddess]

Buttercup’s Birthday

It’s Buttercup birthday and Peter is worried about what gift Yondu is getting here. Leave me a tip here if you like my stuff. Also, I used Grammarly to edit this so if you see any mistakes, they’re mine. Ao3 link.

“Alright, checklist!” Peter clicked his pen. “We got the cake?”

“Yes,” Gamora said. “A cake shaped like R2-D2.”

“We have the decorations covered?” Peter asked.

“I am Groot!” Groot grinned.

“I knew I could count on you buddy,” Peter gave the tree a thumbs up. “Drax, all the presents accounted for?”

“I have watched these Terran gifts, and not a single one has escaped my sight,” Drax said, still staring at the pile of presents.

“And we have the costume entertainers?”

“They’re ready to go!” Rocket saluted.

“Perfect! Buttercup’s eighth birthday is going to be perfect!”

Peter took birthdays very seriously. Buttercup’s first birthday with her new family had been one hell of an event. Peter had somehow gotten Captain America and Spider-Man to come to her party. Buttercup’s cake was three layers tall, each layer with a different type of cake and icing. There had been jugglers, clowns, and even a tightrope walker. Peter had spared no expense. As they years continued, Gamora had asked Peter to tone it down a bit. And while he had, he still wanted to make sure Buttercup had the most perfect birthday parties.

This year, Buttercup had asked for a Star Wars birthday. It was one of her obsessions. She had watched every single movie, had read all the comics, and each year for Halloween, she had been a Star Wars character. When she was three, she had been Leia, at age four she was Rey, and it just continued from there. The walls of her room were covered with Star War posters, and she declared that when she grew up, she was going to be a Jedi. At age eight, she had begged her parents for a Star Wars themed party. Of course, how could Peter and Gamora say no to their only daughter?

They had decorated their backyard to make it look like a scene from the Star Wars movie. All the children were dressed as characters. Buttercup was Princess Leia of course. Out of all the characters, Leia still remained her all time favorite character. Their Newfoundland, Falkor, had a weapon belt around them like Chewbacca. Besides an R2-D2 cake, all the food was inspired by the movie as well: pizza bites with Stormtrooper designs,  blueberry juice to resemble the blue milk from the first film, pretzel sticks dipped in icing to look like lightsabers and some scones shaped like C-3PO.

Buttercup ran over to her parents. She smiled as Groot picked her up. No matter how big she got, Groot still loved to her hug. The giant tree also seemed excited. Parties always made him happy. Buttercup smiled at Groot, giving the plant a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun princess?” Peter asked her.

“Yes but I wanna know where Grandpa is! He isn’t here yet!”

“He’ll be here.”

Or at least Peter had hoped so. Yondu hadn’t shown up yet, and that made him worried. While Peter was confident that his love for Buttercup was massive, Yondu’s love for his granddaughter was unprecedented. Peter remembered the day he introduced Buttercup to Yondu. Never had Yondu smiled so much. Just like Gamora and Peter, Yondu had loved Buttercup automatically. Whenever he could, Yondu came to visit Earth to see Buttercup. And when he visited, he would bring a gift for Buttercup.

Originally, Peter had been okay with it, but the gifts became more and more extravagant.

At first, it had been some knick knacks like the things Yondu had on his console. Small dolls, glittery figurines, little things. But the gifts started getting bigger. He brought books, stuffed animals, larger dolls and before Peter knew it, Yondu was buying Buttercup a space motorcycle. One that she would never use as long as Peter was alive.  There were times that Peter had to tell Yondu not to bring Buttercup anything and if he did, it would have to be something safe and not alive.

“You’re worried.” Gamora suddenly said.

“What? Me? Worried? I’m not worried!”

“Peter, how many times I have told you that you are a terrible liar?”

“Many times,” Peter sighed. “I’m a bit worried that Yondu is going to do something over the top for Buttercup’s birthday.”

“You know he does it out of love right?”

“Gamora, last birthday, he bought Buttercup, a dog without telling us.”

“Yes, and she loves that dog."

“We had to build to build a doghouse.”

“Peter, he’ll come, and he’ll have a great gift. Why are you worried?”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighed. “I’m just worried that he’s going to bring something that might terrify the other children. We don’t need Buttercup’s friends being scared shitless and their parents trying to sue us. You remember Billy Baker right?”

“We don’t need to talk about Billy Baker,” Gamora sighed. “Peter, just trust him. I know he’s a bit---unconventional but you know he loves Buttercup right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Alright, the party can officially start! I’m here!”

Yondu appeared with the biggest grin on his face. Groot placed Buttercup down, and she ran over to her grandfather.

“Happy birthday sugar!” Yondu picked her up. “Look at you, dressed as Princess Lee Lee.”

“Grandpa,” Buttercup giggled. “It’s Princess Leia!”

“Isn’t that what I said? Princess Leeway!”

“You came! I was afraid you wouldn’t show up!” Buttercup said.

“I’m just running late because Kraglin and I had to go pick up your present,” Yondu assured. “It took us a while, but we finally got her.”

Kraglin was carrying a small cat carrier. He placed it down on the ground and opened it up. A small black kitten came out of it. Buttercup gasped as the kitten mewed, rubbing against Yondu’s leg.

“A KITTY!”  Buttercup exclaimed. “

“Happy birthday darlin’!”

“She’s beautiful!” Buttercup said as Yondu set her down. “And she’s mine?”

“Yeah but you know the deal,” Yondu crouched down. “You gotta take care her like you take care of Falkor. Got it?”

“I promise I’ll take care of her!” Buttercup picked up the cat. “She’s adorable! Daddy, look! A kitty!”

“Yeah, I see her,” Peter smiled, but he was looking at Yondu. “Isn’t that great? Another animal for us to feed.”

“You’ll be happy to know, I paid for the cat’s veterinary bills up to five years,” Yondu said. “And I already bought a litter box for the small critter.”

“She really is beautiful Yondu,” Gamora said with a smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to name her Carrie!” Buttercup said. “After Miss Carrie Fisher who played Leia!”

"I think Carrie would be very flattered," Peter grinned. "She really is beautiful."

"Now, where is the cake?" Yondu rubbed his hands together.

"My cake is R2-D2 this year!"

"Ah, that little robot feller? I always liked him, R2-Three Dude."

"Grandpa, you're so silly! It's R2-D2!" Buttercup giggled.

"See? You have no reason to be worried." Gamora said with a grin.

"I'm just happy it wasn't a horse," Peter said.

"Don't give him ideas."

[scriptgerman]

Karneval, Fasching, Fasnet: The fifth season

It’s Wednesday, March the first: Ash Wednesday. Which means for Christians that Lent begins and for Germans that the fifth season of the year is over. (Of course, for Christian Germans it also means that Lent begins.) Fifth season you ask? Wtf Germany? Well, yes. It’s spring, summer, fall, winter and KARNEVAL aka Fasnet aka Fasching aka carnival, obviously ;)

We’re gonna do this after a read more, because apparently I like to write a lot.

Let’s start with some definitions:

Die fünfte Jahreszeit (The fifth season): 11.11/ 06.01. until Ash Wednesday, time of the carnival in Germany

Karneval: Name for the festivities in western, northern and eastern Germany

Fasching: Name for the festivities in Bavaria and the southern east of Germany

Fasnet: Name for the festivities in Baden-Württemberg

Please note that especially in Nordrhein-Westfalen (North Rhine-Westphalia) Karneval is dominant, but there are also regional names being used, like “Fastelovend” and “Fasteleer”.

So what exactly is being celebrated with these festivities?

These festivities date back before the Christianisation: People believed that evil spirits brought the winter with them. The festivities were used as a way to chase these spirits away. After Christianity was established the festivities lived on as a way to feast before Lent and the costumes meant to scare the spirits became the fun and colourful costumes known today. Well, mostly.

What does the fifth season look like?

The first to start the fifth season are the people celebrating Karneval: They start the festivities officially on the 11.11 at 11:11 o’clock, while everyone else starts later, on January 6th. Though between November and January there aren’t many festivities. Through January and February, all festivities are sittings.

The Thursday, known as “Weiberfastnacht” (literally “Women’s Fasnacht”; “Weib” being an archaic, derogatory term for woman), “Fetter Donnerstag” (Fat Thursday) or “Schmotziger Donnerstag” (Dirty Thursday”) before Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the carnival parades, although most only start on Friday: On Thursday, people celebrate costumed in bars and clubs, in and around Cologne and Mainz, carnival strongholds in Germany, it’s something of an unofficial holiday. Men are advised to not wear their best tie, for women go around and cut them off, the tie being a sign for men’s power. The men are compensated with a kiss (on the cheek). But careful! If the wearer has not given permission before, your female character could get in trouble. (Does not apply if the man in question is taking part in the festivities and should know about this tradition.)

All during the weekend, parades take place, finding their climax on “Rosenmontag” (“Rose monday”). A few last parades take place on Tuesday, sometimes known as “Veilchendienstag” (“Viola Tuesday”). No more festivities take place on Ash Wednesday, though there are many political events, which is known as “politischer Aschermittwoch” (“political Ash Wednesday”).

What are the differences between Karneval, Fasching and Fasnet?

Though the rough course is the same in all three festivities, they vary a lot. I can’t talk much about bavarian Fasching, though I expect it is similar to swabian Fasnet.

As I said above, the official start in the Karneval season is November 11th, 11:11 am. Why right then? No one knows for sure, a lot for myths and half facts. It’s tradition. Nonetheless, most events don’t start until January. In January, a Prince is chosen to reign during the fifth season. This is varies from region to region, sometimes the Prince reigns alone, sometimes as Royal Couple with his Lady by his side, sometimes, for example in Cologne, it’s the “Dreigestirn” (triumvirat) of Prince, Pawn and Virgin (all three traditionally men). They are positions of importance and honour.

Until Weiberfastnacht, all festivities are sit down, indoor sessions, with wide programs where speeches are given, songs are sung (with or without the audience) jokes told, dances and skits shown. Everyone is at least partly costumed.

The weekend after Weiberfastnacht, processions take place literally everywhere. These processions are made up of dancing groups, marching bands on foot or on horse, horses, support vehicles and floats - mostly build by the “Jecken” (the people celebrating) themselves, often with political motives, national and international. During the processions, lots of sweets in every variation are thrown down from the floats and given out from the marching groups, as well as flowers (in exchange for a Bützchen - a kiss with closed lips, on the lips or the cheek; if the persons included get close enough together) and little knick-knacks, including small plastic figures, whistles, balls, condoms and stuffed animals.

The biggest of these processions take place on Rosenmontag, and the biggest of those takes place in Cologne: Over a million Jecken are lining the sides, the way the groups walk is 7,5 km long (~4,6 miles). This takes a single group about 5 hours: The procession is never faster than walking pace and often needs to stop for various reasons. In 2017, the procession was 8 km long - and therefore longer than the way to go! Because of that, during the last years the starting time was moved from 11:11 am to 10 am, to make sure that the last participants reach the end before sundown.

Traditionally, leading the procession are the Blauen Funken, a dance group. In the middle is the float of the president of the Festive Committee and the end is made up of the guard of honour, the float of the Pawn and Virgin and the Prince’s float and, at the very end, the Prinzen Garde (Prince’s Guard).

The WDR, a local TV station, shows the procession in it’s entirety on TV. A few numbers from this year’s procession: about 300 Tons of sweets, over 700.000 chocolate bars, more than 220.000 chocolate boxes and over 300.00 Strüßjer were given out (Strüßjer are usually a single flower wrapped with a little green.), there were 114 floats and carriages, 90 tractors, 85 vehicles holding the throwing material, 82 marching bands from all over the world, 500 horses and 12.000 participants, plus nearly 3000 helpers walking next to the floats and tractors, holding signs etc to make sure that the procession goes as smoothly as possible and no-one is run over. The participation of horses is constantly discussed and criticised by animal rights activists.

People call “Kamelle” (a dialectal word for sweets) to get sweets and “Strüßje” to get flowers. Other things that can be heard are “Kölle Alaaf” and “De Zuch kütt” (The procession is coming).

From personal experience I can say that it’s very, very easy to come back from a procession - even one of the smaller ones - with several bags filled with sweets and stuff. When my best friend and I were at two processions a few years back, we each had a bouquet with more than 20 flowers at the end.

Here is a youtube video with the Highlights of the Rosenmontags procession this year. The woman talking btw, is speaking the local dialect from Cologne. I also reblogged a post with pictures of some political floats.

Fasnet traditionally starts on January 6th, although some places have adapted the 11.11 from Karneval. It differs in other aspects as well: Traditionally, there is no Prince whatsoever and the revelers are called “Narren” not “Jecken”. The processions are smaller, less stuff is given away and mostly it’s sweets given away. Also, the processions are made up of groups wearing “Häß”: a special kind of costume, mostly made by hand by the Narr themself and usually including bells and masks. The groups vary from village to village, though some bigger groups have branches in more than one village or town and each group has their own history and legends. They usually carry something called “Saustift”, a stick of greasepaint, in different colours with which the spectators are marked. Some groups kidnap spectators and take them with them for some part of the way, in handcarts or cages. Frankly, as a kid I was damn scared of them and much preferred Karneval in Cologne with my grandparents.

An example for a Narren group/ Häß: Krautscheißer (literally Kraut shitters)

They are named for some people in a very good mood shitting on the local pastors cabbage, or so the legend goes. In the picture are two Krautscheißer in the foreground and two Kochhäfen in the background - originally to groups, now because of declining numbers one group with different Häß.

[a picture of 4 people wearing Häß: in the front two persons in green costumes, made of overlapping green cuttings in varying green tones. They wear belts with big bells over their chests and wooden masks surrounded with what looks like salad leafs. On their temple are colourful slips, the hair of the masks are should long, green woolen strands. In the background are two figures in white. Although they are mostly covert by the figures in the front, one can see that they are wearing wooden masks as well, with what looks like two foxtails on each temple. Their Häß is white with colourful embroidery. Their bell belts are black.]

What effects has the Narrenzeit?

(Narrenzeit = Time of the Narren, a swabian name for the time)

Narren and Jecken actively participating in processions while be unavailable for some time, caught up in preparations, meetings and processions and people traveling on the date of a procession should check the route of said procession so as to not get stuck because the streets are closed off. Stores will have costumes and theater make up en masse for sale and themed parties will be held everywhere. Schools in regions where either of those festivities are traditional will usually time their winter holidays to cover Rosenmontag. In my elementary school we would come costumed to school on the last day before the holidays and were “freed” from classes halfway through the day by Narren.

There’s also a special kind of baked goods available in February, a kind of fluffy deep-frying dough, which is sometimes covered in sugar and other times filled with jam, custards or other sweet creams.

Got a question for the German?

[aaltjebarisca]

Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs

A few months ago, I received official notice that the cute cluster of bungalows I lived in had been sold to developers. In turn, I had four months to relocate from my cozy one-bedroom apartment in West Los Angeles. Finding a decent place to live in the most unaffordable rental market in the U.S. was not going to be easy.

But by luck or chance, I stumbled upon a cute cabin east of the city. I would only be paying a couple hundred more. The trade-off? My new living space was a tiny 325-square feet, a significant downsize from my nearly 500-square foot apartment.

Downsizing would be a process in itself, but it had to be done. Here’s how I went about purging belongings and came up with solutions to make the most of my cozy new digs.

Purge Like There’s No Tomorrow

If you’re trying to declutter your home, make an inventory of your possessions and become aware of what you actually use on a daily basis, suggests Isabelle LaRue, host and producer of Engineer Your Space. “Whether we have a large or small home, we tend to fill the space we have with things,” says LaRue. “The first step in “right sizing” your home is taking an honest look at your stuff and what you really use.”

Besides toiletries, foodstuffs and clothing, I basically just needed my laptop. Living out of a suitcase the past two summers in Chicago and going on a bunch of road trips this year taught me just how little I needed.

Still, purging was easier said than done. While getting rid of the larger, clunky furniture such as a side table, bookshelf and fold-up desk was no big deal, it was the sentimental stuff I struggled with. I ended up getting rid of my record player, and my entire record and CD collection.

As a long-time audiophile and music lover, I felt as if those tangible items were part of my identity. I also parted with nearly 50 books and an old typewriter that I had long treasured. These were things that no longer had as much importance. (Hello, the Cloud!)

Clothes were a different matter. I went with the Marie Kondo method; I grouped my attire by category and applied the “Does this spark joy?” test to each article of clothing – and whether they’d fit inside my tiny closet. The most challenging part was getting rid of clothing that I kept for hypothetical scenarios – think costume garb, not everyday wear.

All in all, I got rid of about 25 – 30 percent% of my belongings.  

Make the Most of Vertical Spaces

The great part of my new space was that there were plenty of built-in vertical shelves, including shelving that took up an entire wall in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. I created as many additional storage places as I could; for instance, storing boxes underneath my bed.

To give my snug quarters a burst of color and personality, I set out the majority of my favorite trinkets, knick-knacks and a few potted plants. I do plan on hanging up some framed art and purchasing some original artwork to support talented folks. And because there’s such a generous amount of existing shelving, I won’t need to add any additional shelving units.

Find a Good Home for Stuff You Let Go

After I moved in, I ended up getting rid of more stuff, including my television. And I’m still not done. What made it easier for me to part with my belongings was that I donated all of it.

Knowing that there’s a sharing community that exists helps you let go of your stuff, explains Carla Truax of At Home Housing, an LA-based co-housing and cooperative organization. Plus, if you’re in a pinch and need to borrow something, you have a network to tap in to.

I donated the majority of my belongings through a Buy Nothing Facebook group and to local friends. It felt good to know that I could help people out through purging and freely giving things away. 

You Are Committed to Your Belongings

My partner likes to say that commitments are easy to get into, but hard to get out of. The same goes for your stuff. It’s all too easy to get excited about a deal or something you think you want. And it doesn’t take much to press the “add to cart” button and spend some dough. But when it comes to parting with your belongings, the mental energy you have to expend can take a toll.

Now that I have far less space, I have been pretty conscious about making sure every item I bring in has value or purpose. Case in point: a few months ago, a neighbor was selling his acoustic guitar for a mere $50. While I could afford the guitar in money, I couldn’t afford it in terms of space. Plus, every time I looked at the guitar, I knew I would get that nagging feeling that I should pick it up and play it more. I decided against the purchase.

While it was a hard process, it was necessary. And I’m glad I was able to get rid of as much stuff as I did. “We may think we need all this space for our stuff when in fact we’re just holding on to a lot of dead weight that doesn’t serve us,” points out LaRue. “Purging what we don’t use before a move will make the transition to a smaller space much smoother – not to mention reduce the number of boxes we need to pack for the move!”

Are you considering downsizing your digs? If so, what challenges do you anticipate and how will you find a solution? Tell us in the comments!

The post Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs appeared first on ZING Blog by Quicken Loans.

from Updates About Loans https://www.quickenloans.com/blog/going-minimalist-downsized-digs

[aaronsniderus]

Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs

A few months ago, I received official notice that the cute cluster of bungalows I lived in had been sold to developers. In turn, I had four months to relocate from my cozy one-bedroom apartment in West Los Angeles. Finding a decent place to live in the most unaffordable rental market in the U.S. was not going to be easy.

But by luck or chance, I stumbled upon a cute cabin east of the city. I would only be paying a couple hundred more. The trade-off? My new living space was a tiny 325-square feet, a significant downsize from my nearly 500-square foot apartment.

Downsizing would be a process in itself, but it had to be done. Here’s how I went about purging belongings and came up with solutions to make the most of my cozy new digs.

Purge Like There’s No Tomorrow

If you’re trying to declutter your home, make an inventory of your possessions and become aware of what you actually use on a daily basis, suggests Isabelle LaRue, host and producer of Engineer Your Space. “Whether we have a large or small home, we tend to fill the space we have with things,” says LaRue. “The first step in “right sizing” your home is taking an honest look at your stuff and what you really use.”

Besides toiletries, foodstuffs and clothing, I basically just needed my laptop. Living out of a suitcase the past two summers in Chicago and going on a bunch of road trips this year taught me just how little I needed.

Still, purging was easier said than done. While getting rid of the larger, clunky furniture such as a side table, bookshelf and fold-up desk was no big deal, it was the sentimental stuff I struggled with. I ended up getting rid of my record player, and my entire record and CD collection.

As a long-time audiophile and music lover, I felt as if those tangible items were part of my identity. I also parted with nearly 50 books and an old typewriter that I had long treasured. These were things that no longer had as much importance. (Hello, the Cloud!)

Clothes were a different matter. I went with the Marie Kondo method; I grouped my attire by category and applied the “Does this spark joy?” test to each article of clothing – and whether they’d fit inside my tiny closet. The most challenging part was getting rid of clothing that I kept for hypothetical scenarios – think costume garb, not everyday wear.

All in all, I got rid of about 25 – 30 percent% of my belongings.  

Make the Most of Vertical Spaces

The great part of my new space was that there were plenty of built-in vertical shelves, including shelving that took up an entire wall in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. I created as many additional storage places as I could; for instance, storing boxes underneath my bed.

To give my snug quarters a burst of color and personality, I set out the majority of my favorite trinkets, knick-knacks and a few potted plants. I do plan on hanging up some framed art and purchasing some original artwork to support talented folks. And because there’s such a generous amount of existing shelving, I won’t need to add any additional shelving units.

Find a Good Home for Stuff You Let Go

After I moved in, I ended up getting rid of more stuff, including my television. And I’m still not done. What made it easier for me to part with my belongings was that I donated all of it.

Knowing that there’s a sharing community that exists helps you let go of your stuff, explains Carla Truax of At Home Housing, an LA-based co-housing and cooperative organization. Plus, if you’re in a pinch and need to borrow something, you have a network to tap in to.

I donated the majority of my belongings through a Buy Nothing Facebook group and to local friends. It felt good to know that I could help people out through purging and freely giving things away. 

You Are Committed to Your Belongings

My partner likes to say that commitments are easy to get into, but hard to get out of. The same goes for your stuff. It’s all too easy to get excited about a deal or something you think you want. And it doesn’t take much to press the “add to cart” button and spend some dough. But when it comes to parting with your belongings, the mental energy you have to expend can take a toll.

Now that I have far less space, I have been pretty conscious about making sure every item I bring in has value or purpose. Case in point: a few months ago, a neighbor was selling his acoustic guitar for a mere $50. While I could afford the guitar in money, I couldn’t afford it in terms of space. Plus, every time I looked at the guitar, I knew I would get that nagging feeling that I should pick it up and play it more. I decided against the purchase.

While it was a hard process, it was necessary. And I’m glad I was able to get rid of as much stuff as I did. “We may think we need all this space for our stuff when in fact we’re just holding on to a lot of dead weight that doesn’t serve us,” points out LaRue. “Purging what we don’t use before a move will make the transition to a smaller space much smoother – not to mention reduce the number of boxes we need to pack for the move!”

Are you considering downsizing your digs? If so, what challenges do you anticipate and how will you find a solution? Tell us in the comments!

The post Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs appeared first on ZING Blog by Quicken Loans.

from Updates About Loans https://www.quickenloans.com/blog/going-minimalist-downsized-digs

[mikebrackett]

Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs

A few months ago, I received official notice that the cute cluster of bungalows I lived in had been sold to developers. In turn, I had four months to relocate from my cozy one-bedroom apartment in West Los Angeles. Finding a decent place to live in the most unaffordable rental market in the U.S. was not going to be easy.

But by luck or chance, I stumbled upon a cute cabin east of the city. I would only be paying a couple hundred more. The trade-off? My new living space was a tiny 325-square feet, a significant downsize from my nearly 500-square foot apartment.

Downsizing would be a process in itself, but it had to be done. Here’s how I went about purging belongings and came up with solutions to make the most of my cozy new digs.

Purge Like There’s No Tomorrow

If you’re trying to declutter your home, make an inventory of your possessions and become aware of what you actually use on a daily basis, suggests Isabelle LaRue, host and producer of Engineer Your Space. “Whether we have a large or small home, we tend to fill the space we have with things,” says LaRue. “The first step in “right sizing” your home is taking an honest look at your stuff and what you really use.”

Besides toiletries, foodstuffs and clothing, I basically just needed my laptop. Living out of a suitcase the past two summers in Chicago and going on a bunch of road trips this year taught me just how little I needed.

Still, purging was easier said than done. While getting rid of the larger, clunky furniture such as a side table, bookshelf and fold-up desk was no big deal, it was the sentimental stuff I struggled with. I ended up getting rid of my record player, and my entire record and CD collection.

As a long-time audiophile and music lover, I felt as if those tangible items were part of my identity. I also parted with nearly 50 books and an old typewriter that I had long treasured. These were things that no longer had as much importance. (Hello, the Cloud!)

Clothes were a different matter. I went with the Marie Kondo method; I grouped my attire by category and applied the “Does this spark joy?” test to each article of clothing – and whether they’d fit inside my tiny closet. The most challenging part was getting rid of clothing that I kept for hypothetical scenarios – think costume garb, not everyday wear.

All in all, I got rid of about 25 – 30 percent% of my belongings.  

Make the Most of Vertical Spaces

The great part of my new space was that there were plenty of built-in vertical shelves, including shelving that took up an entire wall in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. I created as many additional storage places as I could; for instance, storing boxes underneath my bed.

To give my snug quarters a burst of color and personality, I set out the majority of my favorite trinkets, knick-knacks and a few potted plants. I do plan on hanging up some framed art and purchasing some original artwork to support talented folks. And because there’s such a generous amount of existing shelving, I won’t need to add any additional shelving units.

Find a Good Home for Stuff You Let Go

After I moved in, I ended up getting rid of more stuff, including my television. And I’m still not done. What made it easier for me to part with my belongings was that I donated all of it.

Knowing that there’s a sharing community that exists helps you let go of your stuff, explains Carla Truax of At Home Housing, an LA-based co-housing and cooperative organization. Plus, if you’re in a pinch and need to borrow something, you have a network to tap in to.

I donated the majority of my belongings through a Buy Nothing Facebook group and to local friends. It felt good to know that I could help people out through purging and freely giving things away. 

You Are Committed to Your Belongings

My partner likes to say that commitments are easy to get into, but hard to get out of. The same goes for your stuff. It’s all too easy to get excited about a deal or something you think you want. And it doesn’t take much to press the “add to cart” button and spend some dough. But when it comes to parting with your belongings, the mental energy you have to expend can take a toll.

Now that I have far less space, I have been pretty conscious about making sure every item I bring in has value or purpose. Case in point: a few months ago, a neighbor was selling his acoustic guitar for a mere $50. While I could afford the guitar in money, I couldn’t afford it in terms of space. Plus, every time I looked at the guitar, I knew I would get that nagging feeling that I should pick it up and play it more. I decided against the purchase.

While it was a hard process, it was necessary. And I’m glad I was able to get rid of as much stuff as I did. “We may think we need all this space for our stuff when in fact we’re just holding on to a lot of dead weight that doesn’t serve us,” points out LaRue. “Purging what we don’t use before a move will make the transition to a smaller space much smoother – not to mention reduce the number of boxes we need to pack for the move!”

Are you considering downsizing your digs? If so, what challenges do you anticipate and how will you find a solution? Tell us in the comments!

The post Going Minimalist: How I Downsized My Digs appeared first on ZING Blog by Quicken Loans.

from Updates About Loans https://www.quickenloans.com/blog/going-minimalist-downsized-digs