#Anyway I don't know where I was going with this one

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[space-raccons-sleeping]

Hear me out. You and me, living together in a huge mansion or castle. We don't talk about how I got the money to afford it. But like, we're really nice to the maids, butlers, staff, and everyone. We have a dungeon that's covered in cobwebs and we send the people who would abuse animals there. Anyways, we take a carriage around the estate and go skiing. I'm scared because I can't even walk properly and you have to drag me out. After my entire backside of my body is red from falling we head back. We have tea/hot chocolate while we sit by the fireplace and read while sharing three blankets, because we all know one isn't enough. And don't get even get me started on Spring!

I said don't ask where I got the money.... *grabs sauce pan*

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

— Albert Camus

[seat-safety-switch]

Where I live, it's hard to go out for a run in the middle of a bitterly cold winter. You still need to getyoursteps though. Or you'll die. Two kinds of people emerge from this necessity: treadmill people, and mall people. Unfortunately, the habitat for the latter types is quickly becoming extinct, and the remaining malls are bursting at the seams with joggers, walkers, strollers, and stroller-pushers. That's why the government hired me.

My project? To design the ultimate mall for people who were only at the mall in order to gettheirsteps. As a species, we've evolved past the requirement to go to a retail store and interact with another human being in order to buy things. So instantly we thought: just make a giant loop, put some furnaces in it, and good to go. No. The mind, it turns out, craves the artifice of a shopping mall.

There's precedent for this. One of the interns dug up this picture from the 4th century where a bunch of peasant children had drawn in the dirt a very realistic floorplan of the Mall of America, despite it not actually being built for nearly a couple thousand years. Come to think of it, it's a little weird there's a photograph of this. Maybe we'll have to talk to the boys down in Time Dilation Central. It's a good walk to that office. I can getmysteps.

Anyway, the project evolved at that point. We installed a bunch of mall stores selling tchotchkes that nobody would ever want. Sixteen cell phone stores. Three different places selling memory-foam mattresses. At one point, we even added a food court, but this made the health department really upset. Explaining to them that this was all artifice didn't dissuade them. Don't they know we're trying to make a place where we can getoursteps and don't have time to satisfy every little requirement about a "vent hood?" Nobody would be stupid enough to actually eat at any of these places if they were trying to stay healthy. Turns out, our first week, some dude rolled up to the New York Fries and bought a poutine for after his walk. When our scientists (in disguise: wearing hoodies over their lab coats) asked him about it, he said simply that he was "bulking."

Now, we all know what happened near the end of the project. When they heard that we had a viable place for legal human experimentation, these guys from the CIA moved right in. Started all these crazy experiments, like giving monkeys a pedometer to see if they'd want to gettheirsteps too. Adding a button where you could shock people who were walking too slowly in front of you. Turning the loop into a figure-eight so you had to dodge incoming joggers while you were trying to jog. I'd deny any responsibility for it, except those spy bastards hit a vein of gold. The Great Plains Mall is now the most successful indoor running track in history. They're gonna have the Olympics there next week. And I'll be there, getting my steps.

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[swytdoll]

(19)virgin!choso has the hots for his older neighbor(35):(

perverted. that’s how he felt as he watched you wash your car, in shorts so tiny they were practically underwear and a white tank top that was so soaked it was see through. the way the fabric clung to your breasts made his mouth water. he had been staring for at least 30 minutes and had gotten to see them from all angles. it was torture, sweet torture. he wanted to take you right then and there in the grass and hear his name on your lips over and over.

you were old enough to be his mom. in fact, he had had you as a teacher back when he was in high school and that made him feel guilty for looking at you like this. but he just couldn't stop. he couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about being with an older woman, one that knew what she was doing and knew how to use him. you would make him feel like your toy and he wanted that.

you looked up and caught his eyes. he blushed bright red and quickly turned away. maybe if he had kept looking he would have noticed the smirk on your lips.

you were a teacher in more ways than one. you could teach him how to be a good boy and give you the pleasure you deserved. he wanted to sink into the ground when you began to approach him. you were smiling sweetly, but your eyes said something different.

you leaned against the fence separating your property and his, propping up one of your arms on it. you gave him a soft grin and he wanted to die. you’re so pretty to him. glowing eyes framed with thick wispy lashes, pretty plump lips. he can't look away, mesmerized, he watches the way your lips part and the tip of your tongue darts out to wet them. the sight makes his blood run hot and his shorts grow tighter.

"hello mister kamo," you hummed, "where are your parents?"

"i-i'm sorry i-" had he been caught? were you gonna tell on him?

"what's the matter? are you nervous?" you cooed, "i just wanted to say hi to your mom, see if she needed anything for the barbecue later. is she around?"

"she's- um- out. getting groceries," he replied quietly, not daring to meet your eyes.

"oh? and what about your father?"

"he's...working late," choso said. he was sweating and the bulge in his shorts was now painfully obvious. he wanted to die, to disappear from embarrassment. you smiled and let out a giggle.

"are you okay mister kamo? you seem awfully nervous." you’re batting those lashes and he swears he could melt, he clears his throat. "yeah! yeah, i'm fine, totally fine!" he blurted out, "i'll- uh- tell them you said hi."

"okay," you quipped sweetly and began to walk back to your house, "if you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

he nodded, "okay."

his head was spinning and he couldn't think straight. he didn't want to be alone, didn't want to go inside, didn't want to leave and miss seeing you again. he could still smell the strawberry of your shampoo from where he was. it was intoxicating.

"choso," you called out and he snapped out of his daze.

"yes, miss?"

"can you come help me? i dropped my hose and it's really hard to pick up."

"o-okay."

you lead him around the side of your house and he saw the hose was indeed on the ground, the water running. his hands were shaking, but he bent down and picked it up anyway. the moment he stood, you grabbed his hand and placed it right on your chest. he squeaked and tried to pull away, but you held him tight.

"you can touch me," you hummed, "i don't mind. is that why you were watching me? do you like older women?"

"i- uh- well- you- you're-"

"use your words, choso," you chastised him and moved his hand lower, making him rub his fingers over your nipple, "good boys speak when spoken to. did i ever teach you that?"

"y-yes," he whined and his hips bucked into the air. you gave him a wicked smile and pushed him to the ground. he landed on his back, legs sprawled out. his cock was standing up, pressing against his shorts and there was a dark stain where his tip was.

"such a cute little thing," you giggled and knelt down in front of him. you grabbed his legs and pulled them apart before getting between them. he squirmed and you grabbed his hands, pinning them to the ground.

"please," he whimpered.

"please what? be a good boy and tell me what you want," you cooed, pressing his hands into the ground.

"i- um- please...touch me," he whispered.

"like this?" you hummed and reached down to rub his clothed erection. he bucked his hips into your hand and moaned.

"yes, please, miss," he gasped.

"good boy," you purred and kissed him, he was putty. "so good for me."

your hands moved to his hips and he lifted them so you could pull his shorts down. his cock was already leaking and twitching.

"you poor thing, did you get this hard just from looking at me?"

"y-yes, miss," he moaned, "i couldn't stop thinking about you, how pretty you were and how much i wanted you."

"oh, you're such a good boy, telling me exactly what you want," you cooed and gripped his cock, stroking it slowly, "i should give you a reward, hm?"

"please, please, please," he whined, his hips twitching up.

"okay," you replied and leaned forward. you pressed a soft kiss to his tip, smearing the pre-cum on your lips before wrapping them around him. his back arched and he let out a loud moan. he couldn’t believe this, anyone could see him and you. his parents could walk past the fence and catch you sucking off their son. but that was part of the fun. it was forbidden and he loved that.

the sounds of your gurgled chokes as you slurp his cock are like a siren's song to him, the way you so dutifully suckle him to the base and take his entire length in your mouth without a trace of resistance. your jaw is slack as he slides between your lips, his hand gently cradling the back of your head, urging you forward until your nose is pressed into his belly. he's so big that even though your eyes are rolled back, your vision is obscured by the sheer size of his erection. your throat feels like a fleshy sheath for him, your breath forced out in tiny, rapid huffs through your nostrils, and your tongue is pinned.

and you're not just sucking his cock, either. you're swallowing. and every time your esophagus clenches down around the head of his dick, it sends him hurtling closer and closer towards an orgasm that he's determined to wring out of you first. he can feel you starting to struggle for air, but the way you're still obediently sucking his cock even while your lungs burn from a lack of oxygen.

“god," he rumbles, his voice like the sound of boulders shifting together. his grip on the back of your head tightens, and he grinds against your face, your nose and lips mashed up against his skin.

your stomach growls and churns in a desperate plea for nourishment, but the way he fills your throat is a completely different hunger. you can taste his pre-cum, his magic thick and warm and tingling on your tongue, and you suck and swallow with more enthusiasm. even though you're struggling to breathe, the idea of drinking his cum makes you feel like a starving woman given the key to a buffet.

"j-just like that," he praises you, his words coming out in a hiss as you clench down on him, your throat tightening in a futile attempt to keep his cock from pushing so deep into your airway. he whines when you withdraw, a string of saliva connecting you two.

"you taste so good, choso," you murmured, "have you had many girls do this to you?"

"n-no, miss, never," he groaned, "only you."

"and do you want only me to do this to you? do you want me to be the only one that knows how good you taste and how cute you sound?"

"yes! yes, miss! i want it to be only you, please," he babbled. you smirked and kissed his hip.

"well then, i better take good care of my boy, huh?"

"please, please," he whined, pushing his hips toward you.

"okay, i'll make you feel really good, sweetie."

you took his cock back into your mouth, licking at the tip and stroking the rest. his head was spinning and he could hardly breathe. you felt too good, looked too good, sounded too good. your soft lips wrapped around him, sucking and licking, teasing and pleasing. it was too much and yet not enough. his body was on fire, burning and aching.

his knees buckle as your warm hand palms his balls and your tongue traces the veins of his cock. he lets out a whine and grips your hair. you pull off his dick, letting it fall against his stomach. you press a few soft kisses to his tip, watching as his cock twitches.

"miss," he whimpered, "it hurts, please."

"what does, sweetheart?" you asked.

"please, let me cum, miss," he begged.

"already? did i make you that horny?"

"please, miss," he whined and bucked his hips.

"alright," you hummed, taking him back into your mouth.

"thank you," he breathed.

you bobbed your head, taking him as deep as you could. his fingers tightened in your hair and he bucked his hips. your nose pressed against his pelvis and your throat clenched around him.

"i'm close," he moaned, "i can't, fuck, it's so good."

a few more thrusts, and his movements become erratic. you're dizzy from oxygen deprivation, the edges of your vision growing dark, when suddenly his cock twitches inside you, and his hot, sticky cum fills your stomach. there's so much of it that you're actually able to feel yourself swell a little with the volume of his release, and the sensation makes you whimper and whine.

"you did so well," you cooed, crawling up and laying next to him, "was that your first time?"

"yeah. . . s-sorry i finished so quick." he mumbled, cheeks tinted brightly.

"you did so good," you repeated, pressing a kiss to his temple, he felt like he was going to pass out.

“i’ll see you tonight at the barbecue, yeah?”

he nods, fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him.

*peeps around corner* dare i say part 2?

[thegamingcatmom]

@groovestrawberry Thank you so much for your words. They mean a lot. Especially because I'm prone to taking stuff way too seriously, so I really appreciate the reminder to just chill tf out. 😅❤️

Right so, onto your questions!

1) the last sentence you wrote

"It didn’t take long for your heart to pick up its frantic rhythm once more, terror seizing you anew at the horrible realization that, who…whatever was chasing you, it had been close enough for you to feel it."

Wrote that only yesterday. 💪

6) the word that appears the most in your current draft

(This is Chapter 4 btw.)

17) talk about your writing and editing process

Oh boy, what to say. Where to start.

I mean, I tend to take things a bit too seriously, as mentioned before. Which means I'll sometimes go over a sentence or paragraph until it no longer makes sense to me, lol. I know it's probably fine as is and ppl are gonna enjoy it anyway, so this is a habit of mine I'm working on. Also because, in my experience, whatever your brain comes up with after you first get your thoughts on paper, it most likely won't be as good as what you first came up with, so you end up going back to the OG anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, editing ain't fun, but it must be done because I'm really not happy with some of the stuff my old self has come up with. 🙃

As for the writing: This goes hand in hand with editing, actually. First things first though: Music. Most important. If I have a song I can vibe to and it fits the mood and all, then it's going rather smoothly. But, even then, I'm by no means a "fast" writer. Even when vibing, I'm still hyper focused on not making mistakes and especially using the correct tense (something I find surprisingly difficult when you're actually focused on it, lol). So, just like with editing, I'll read over a section a few hundred times before I proceed. I know some say it's more important to just get that first draft done and correct any mistakes after but, honestly? When a chapter is done, I wanna post it, not spend another few hours/days/weeks editing stuff. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, writing and editing is more or less the same for me because it happens simultanously. Or it will, once I'm done with editing TBRH (The Bumpy Road Home) and things go back to "normal." 😅

What else to say...hm, I guess a few other "quirks" of mine when writing are:

Writing out a piece of dialogue and putting it somewhere on the page to use later because I just know that if I don't do that, whatever I come up with instead (because my ass forgot half of what I originally came up with) won't be as slapping. OG always wins and all. 😉

Pausing to take a breather because I get so immersed in the scene, I actually need a moment to process it. (I read somewhere that someone referred to it as "zoomies." This was more in the sense of reading a fic and coming across a section so damn good, you need a moment to process it. But, sometimes, this is very much the case for writers too. 🫠)

Looking up images, videos etc. of the ppl or things I'm writing about. For Chapter 4 of TBRH, the Denali house was my trusty companion. Just chilling in the background (aka: another tab), lol.

Starting on another scene even though I haven't finished the current one because I just need to know what happens next. (Yes, I'm aware I'm the writer.)

Well, that's all I can come up with for the moment. I'm sure there's more and maybe I'll post it at some point. ✌️

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your questions and your lovely words! 💋

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

the last sentence you wrote

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

how you feel about your current WIP

a story idea you haven’t written yet

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

your preferred writing fonts

if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

a trope you’re really into right now

a fandom you’re thinking about writing for

where do you get your inspiration?

favorite weather for writing

favorite place to write

talk about your writing and editing process

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

in what year did you publish your first fic?

when did you publish your most recent fic?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

pick three keywords that describe your writing

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

are you able to write with other people around?

your favorite part of the writing process

your least favorite part of the writing process

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

share a fic you’re especially proud of

[with-my-calamitous-love]

saved this for valentines day because i am so astronomically down bad for this man. anyway bodyguard! chuuya 🤍🫧❄️ gn! on the first section, nsfw f! below the divider 💌

bodyguard! chuuya, who born to do this job. who is a natural protector, who can be both rough and affectionate, fiercely loyal even to a fault, even if it seals his fate. but even statues crumble if they're made to break.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has lost everything that he's ever cared about. who is sure it's a curse- that whatever comes close to his heart is sent to fall into ruins, a product of gravity. he knows that he should have faith, but finds himself questioning the universe, if he's simply destined to be alone. who contemplates even getting close to you on this job, if he'll only end up more alone.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has the powers of a god that he didn't ask for. who sometimes wakes up in a cold sweat, dreary eyes picturing glowing red marks up and down his skin, weaving around his limbs, a monstrous form he's scared of bringing to late. who sometimes feels that his desire to be human are like the last drops of an ink pen- something that isn't going to work.

bodyguard! chuuya, who isn't sure if he should open up to you, who knows that the most singing pains of the heart come from stabs while vulnerable. who knows that by admitting his faults, he opens himself up to betrayal- the one thing he hates most in the world. who learns from you that to be hurt is to be human, and that his pain is a symbol of that humanity.

bodyguard! chuuya, who barely catches himself falling for you. who starts out his task as a simple mission- protect you, and nothing more. who fails to see you cracking the locks in his chest, crashing into you like a head on collision. who falls so hard and so fast, his feelings appear to him as a paradox. he's lost everyone, and the universe is giving him another chance to protect them.

bodyguard! chuuya, who you share a vow with, one that you'll both uphold. his is to protect you, to throw himself in front of flames and bullets to keep a smile on your face. where yours is to imagine things that haven't happened yet, keeping him grounded, teaching him that it's okay to love. that he may be dangerous, or deemed wicked, or a monster, but that you don't care. that you see him for him, and thats enough for you.

bodyguard! chuuya, who does so much more than protect you from physical threats. who holds your hand during panic attacks, stroking your hair and letting you breathe with him. who holds your hair back when you throw up, and carries you back to bed. who will kiss your hand and hug you when you need someone, when you need him. who sometimes struggles to keep his longings locked, knowing he needs to protect you, and wonders if that means protecting you from him- from the monster he knows he can be.

bodyguard! chuuya, who melts in your touch, never crossing the line, never wanting to make you uncomfortable or unsafe. who, even after learning you feel the same, hesitates. he isn't supposed to love, or care. everyone who has ever come close to him has ended up leaving. who learns that you have a funny way of surprising him, of assuring him that if this isn't forever, it'll be for as long as it lasts. a star that burns out is shines brighter than infinite darkness. given the choice between forever with someone or a night with chuuya? the choice is obvious.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

bodyguard! chuuya, who is a passionate lover. who indulges in messy kisses, setting your bedsheets ablaze with every touch. who will slowly undress you, pulling down the fabric, unlacing and undoing whatever he needs. who sees more and more skin as just more area he gets to lavish and love, gazing at every part of you- from the tip of your nose to the very depths of your soul- with nothing short of perfect adoration.

bodyguard! chuuya, who talks you through it. who asks if you like this position or if his fingers feel good. who looks up at you while he goes down on you, lips wrapped around your clit, fingers angled just right, and asks if you feel good- as if you haven't been bawling his name.

bodyguard! who does it slow and passionate. making sure his cock reaches in at your deepest parts, savoring how your pussy clamps down on him. who will take your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, forehead against yours, moaning in unison with you while he drags in and out so slow its agonizingly pleasurable. who draws out your orgasms for as long as possible, rubbing circles on your clit, kissing your tits, licking your body until you're on fire.

bodyguard! chuuya, who can just as easily be an asshole in bed. who flips you around and tosses you into positions until you find one you like. who is always open to experimentation- seeing what pet names you like, how long you can go, if you like getting worshipped or punished. who doesn't stop until your gushing, melting in pleasure or getting pounded into the sheets.

bodyguard! who grits his teeth in pleasure when he takes you from the back, feeling you wrapped around his cock like a warm, wet, vice. who lets you adjust for however long you need to, sensing your impatience and desperation to feel him deep. who holds your hands behind your back, leaning down, telling you how good you're doing before fucking you into oblivion.

bodyguard! chuuya, whose idea of a date is seeing how many times he can creampie you until you're thoroughly wrecked. who takes it like a challenge, pushing your thighs up to your chest, burying himself deep, finding the right angle before stuffing you full of his seed. who sees your teary eyes, mouth stuck in an O shape and hoarse throat, he knows he's doing something right. who, after about the 3rd or 4th time he's gotten you cumming (he's lost tracked) finally stops bullying orgasms out of you and lays you down on the bed.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has found something worth protecting, laying next to you, pulling your body close to his. whispers that he'll pick up where he left off in the morning, before kissing you goodnight. <3

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

[gangstalkerbarbie]

You're not a god, technically. A god is one of them big ones, the extraterrestrials, see?

You, like everything else in the world, were born here; your beginning is not before time and outside the world. Not a god. You're a daimon. It's a common misconception.

Still, in the space of that misconception there's honest work.

You're not sure the council upstairs (if it's even a council anymore) pays much attention to most of mortalkind, really, otherwise there wouldn't have to be witches to do work scholars are jealous of, but doesn't someone have to?

Sometimes the ones that do enough of it become angels. Sometimes the ones that do something better than anyone else become... well, just what is Silence, actually? Is that still what he goes by? When he was Death All-Devouring he had a few more teeth, you think.

Anyway: when official channels fatfinger a prayer, you have to know, and it's just sort of the case, ethically speaking, that you're to do something about it. Even if only to keep up the illusion that the world-machine works. That's kind of a duty incumbent on all of you immortals, these days. Just until the big boss ... well, the big boss cannot be said to ever be doing or thinking or going to do or think anything, so you're not sure where that was going.

And that's why you're here at this wedding — because a hundred, two hundred years ago they realised the big kahuna might not be listening, deep down, somewhere, and so now you are the wight of the marriage bed. Some say the angel. They're not sure. You're not sure either; you have perhaps a dot more free will than angels tend to, but you find yourself doing a lot of angelic kinda work.

Is the Immanence here, like She's supposed to be? Doctrinally (you are a daimon, you don't really care about doctrine outside the mechanics of your own existence) She doesn't fuck with mixed marriages, but She also conveniently is present every time two men talk about lofty matters, yes, even if they're talking objectively heinous anti-sense about women and children and beasts. So, you know. It's kind of touch and go here. Is mixed marriage more bad than womanhatred? Very important scholars debate the issue even now. Six thousand years of debate have yielded the answer 'yeah idk probably'. You cannot perceive the Immanence. You wouldn't know.

You do, however, know the future, and in the next thousand years, thankfully, they will perfect the shaping arts and learn to make men into women, and maybe they'll all be women then, what the hell. It's an optimistic thought. The other immortals kind of snicker at you and tell you to go look forward at what they do with chymics, self-made new forms of life, in that future, and what they themselves go mad with pain and grief and loneliness and do, for which reason you kind of don't want to.

You might go and listen in on some of those last debates instead, except, again: wedding.

To your profound disappointment, this wedding expects to make you co-in-laws, sort of, with a small unfriendly god, one of the daimons that really believes in it, waves their essence around. This is... about to get really annoying.

You actually don't even dislike Sowulo. Everything you know about them boils down to the fact that they've been experimenting with themself after their mortal followers degendered them — that's the trouble with the overreliant ones, the essence moulds to the understanding of the souls they shepherd and then you end up in no end of annoying circumstances. This would be why personally you've never investigated what gender you're supposed to be. Less for your people to contradict that way. Maybe you predate gender, how's that for a thought exercise? (You don't; you were born in the middle of the Age of Chitin; they don't have to know you're something smaller and duller wearing an old god's pelt.)

And, well, it's just... they're a little weird? OK. They're a lottle weird. You are pretty sure they are, like, super mega ultra weird. The situation is like this: their people, their little guys, they used to be these peaceful cattle nomads. Then the Aeon of Sails and the Great Industrialisation, and the dire circumstances that led them into the ghettos, and so on — and somewhere in that transition, the travelling spirit of the warmth of the sun that was their constant companion came into conflict with the new State doctrine that the stars are unfeeling miasmas of incandescent plasma. (Is that doctrine? That's how you understand most things. You're not sure of the semantics.)

So now: degendered, deprived of influence, a cold light, not a warm one. Invoked, at best, at afterbirth burials, confirmations, weddings, cremations, premarital haircuttings, housewarmings, slaughters, and for the end of winter when it dies under their hand. They're annoying and dangerous and haggard and raw-voiced as a hungry buzzard because they are starving, because they have lost themself, because they don't remember what they used to be and they don't know what they want to be now.

Sometimes a ship launches from the harbour of this city, and you are there because you have one of your people to look after, and they look out at you from shore, forlorn, jealous, abandoned, so hungry. So hungry. Mourning something they half remember, something they are convinced you have. That's why they incite their sophonts to kill yours, maybe. You wouldn't know. You've never asked. You're busy doing your job, keeping those sophonts safe.

They envy you your vitality. They wish they knew what they were. They think you know what you are, and they want you to get off your inconceivably tall high horse.

You're not on a high horse. You just are, and you try to make sure your sophonts can just be, too. But Sowulo doesn't know that.

Sowulo knows that their people are small and broken and scattered, and that each wedding with any other people weakens them — weakens the people and weakens their god.

Sowulo hates you.

And, like, you don't really play favourites, all mortals are the same to you deep down, but you understand that there is a Teensy Weensy little problem, perhaps, with the favourite son of their most warlike clan's Great Chanter running away from home to elope with a witch-midwife from beyond the Pale. Not because she's yours, but that doesn't make it better. Her own huntedness and fear and old pain doesn't do anything for the situation either. Sowulo doesn't understand yet that suffering is a universal condition of settled life.

Your marriage priest, a jolly little roundish woman in veils against the interference of spirits with her work, pounds her cowhide drum and begins her chant. Sowulo's shakes his solar rattle, completely unaware that his god is seething in the rafters of the fane. Are you going to have to save his life, then, before the sun is up? This is going to be a very long, unnecessarily laborious, and probably also very interesting night.

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

[raindailies]

❝ ── VALENTINE'S REMEDY ❞ 

❤︎ ❝ it's you.. it has always been you. ❞  

(mydei x gn!reader ; phainon x gn!reader) !!

८ sypnosis. valentine's day with : PHAINON & MYDEI !! (seperately). sfw. fluff. crack, gender neutral reader — MORDEN DAY AU . ؛ ଓ

@ warnings; none ! all fluff & cutesy valentines (๑﹏๑ ) ⋆

── notes. this valentines, i deliver this to you (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) , originally, i planned to have much more characters than mydei & phainon, but there are so many things happening that i couldn't do that — enjoy, nevertheless! I hope you all had a good valentine's day yesterday ���

ᝰ.ᐟ PHAINON — cooking date.. ?

(wc : 997)

⟡ "(name)! I've decided—we should cook together for valentines!" Phainon proposes. Your face utterly falls at his word is absolute and full horror at the thought. Oh no. If there was one thing you should know about being Phainon's lover, is that he is horrid at cooking, unfortunately, you had to learn this the hard way. (e.g, your house coming close to catch fire if you hadn't stopped his myriad of senseless trouble)

⟡ "Are you sure? I mean—what if we just.. go to a café or—"

⟡ "No way! I wanna make cookies with you!" Phainon only implored further at your admittedly weak rebuttal, his demeanor akin to that of a beaming light (or a beaming puppy), you could only make an effort to avoid his eager gaze as he awaited your reply. 

⟡ After a beat of hesitance and silence, Phainon pretty much tackled you onto the couch, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other rested on your forearm, pulling you impossibly closer to his own body, lowering his chin to rest comfortably on your shoulder with a huff, the cheeky grin still ever present on his lips as you tried to wrestle yourself out of his hold, muttering weak protests, which proved impossible in a matter of a second when you realized his muscles weren't just for show. "C'mon, can't my lovely partner and valentines indulge in my well-versed fantasy of baking together~?"

⟡ Thus, led you two to where you were now. Valentine's day was supposed to be cutesy, right? Maybe sharing a sundae, kissing under the sunset sky that boarded the horizons with a soft tint—instead of the intricate (admittedly, delusional) scenarios that you were conjuring just days prior, now, you are subjected to cooking with Phainon. 

⟡ "(name)! Is the sugar supposed to be this flaky? And it's a little salty." Phainon exclaimed, remnants of 'sugar' on his fingers as he test-tasted them in his mouth, you looked over in horror.

 ⟡ "That's salt! You don't add that much salt to cookies?!" You shrieked. Things were going so well!! How were you supposed to know Phainon couldn't differentiate sugar from salt? As you tried to scoop out the salt from the mixture of butter, eggs, and vanilla extract, you spared a glance to see Phainon looking at you expectedly, his eyes were that of a puppy, and you knew him well enough to know that he was sulking, and you couldn't bare it in your heart to scold him (you did it anyways).

⟡ Your boyfriend was a basketball player, a real good one, sure—you didn't know that would affect his baking skills, though. Phainon (read: attempted) to throw the egg into the mixture, stance that of a basketball throw, only for the egg to splatter onto the ground. One ominous call of his name from you, got the white-haired male quickly begging for mercy, splutters of "I'm sorry! (name)! H-hey, please put down that knife!" cascaded from his hurried begs. 

⟡ "Hand me the flour." You noted, feeling a bag soon resting in your hand, however—as you poured, you decided to spare a glance at the bag. You inwardly sigh to yourself, catching Phainon's back collar to turn his face around, forcing him to take a good look at the bag. "This is baking soda!" Unfortunately, Phainon only offered a sheepish grin before hastily freeing himself out of your hold, in fear, probably.

⟡ You'd love to say his misfit of troubles stopped there, but it definitely didn't. You almost curse your whole ascenstor's family tree when Phainon called again. "(name)...? Uh, is the microwave supposed to be glowing?" You looked back hesitantly. Yes, the microwave was glowing. With a metal bowl inside of it. I love my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. I love my boyfrie—

⟡ "How much longer?" Phainon was then exempt from further participation in the baking, sulking, he attached himself to your back, subjected to only being able to watch you bake, due to his tendencies to cause a mess in the kitchen. "Wait a bit, you really are impatient." His arms wrapped around your waist, your back met his chest, and he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder as you mixed the bowl of ingredients with a practiced technique. You could almost feel his sullen pout despite not looking at him. 

⟡ When you pulled the cookies out of the oven, Phainon was quick on his feet behind you, shuffling to get a closer look (and, hand sticking out to try and grab one but was quickly dismissed by your own hand grabbing his to cease his quick-witted endeavor). The cookies were chocolate flavored, something Phainon insisted, saying it's 'valentine' coded, and sprinkled with specks of pink sprinkles, in Phainon's eyes—they look like heaven sent offerings from the goddess that you embodied.. maybe an exaggeration. 

⟡ "Say ahh." You held a cookie to his face, to which he immediately beamed, opening his mouth as he awaited the dessert to be delivered to his mouth, when it did, he instantly smiled—if Phainon did have a tail, you imagine it'd be wagging right then. 

⟡ In a moment of unfocused haze, Phainon cupped your cheeks into his much larger palm, pressing his (chocolate infused) lips onto yours, in turn, making you nearly shriek in surprise. You tasted a faint chocolate savor against his unexpectedly soft lips, you're only left still dumbfounded when he pulled away.

⟡ "C'mon, yer gonna watch me eat, or will you eat your own phenomenal cooking, too?" Phainon grinned, a boyish smile overcame his features as he slid a hand through the tufts of his white hair.

⟡ ".. Yeah yeah, alright." Perhaps this valentine wasn't actually that bad, you hummed to yourself, tasting a cookie, relishing in your boyfriend's cheerful expressions. The cookies tasted saltier than they should, but you found yourself not minding. 

⟡ Still.. you make a mental note to keep Phainon out of the kitchen.

ᝰ.ᐟ MYDEI — arcade date !!

(wc: 1174)

⟡ "Try to beat me." Mydei grinned, a competitive look rose in his eyes, you almost scoffed, your hand tightening on the console handle. 

⟡ Currently, the two of you were situated at an arcade. Now, you’re not sure what Mydei’s idea of a fun valentine’s day is, but apparently to him, it was a competition. For goodness’s sake, doesn’t he get enough competition in his basketball matches? But despite all odds, you were still swooned by the competitive man, and you really can’t lie because Mydei being competitive also makes you competitive in turn. 

⟡ “Please, indulge me, o strongest of all.” You beamed back, a combative shine coating both of your eyes, neither of you broke eye contact. Only when the game’s ‘ancient’-like machine erupted a small, distorted, “game start!”, did you and Mydei consecutively locked in, eyes fixed on each’s little pixelated character. 

⟡ The valentines date, turned out to be one big, competitive game to you both—and to no one’s surprise, Mydei kept tally of each wins he got. “I win. (name), it almost feels as if you’re letting me win on purpose, don’t go easy on this boyfriend of yours!” Mydei grinned, his arm slung over your shoulder casually, a shit-eating smirk painted over his face as he made absolutely no effort to conceal the pleasure he attained. You could only stare at the ‘GAME OVER!” words on your own arcade machine (indubitably, a bit pouty). 

⟡ However, once he noticed your sullen mood, Mydei quickly panicked, a rushed ‘oh shit’ nearly escaped his mouth, but he was quick to shut it, he mentally scolded himself inside of his head, before ushering you for one more game, this time, he wanted to raise your mood, rather than anything, as fun as it was winning for him, it was much better when he sees you smile. 

⟡ When you do win, you swiftly whirled to Mydei with the brightest smile on your face, finger pointing at the screen that showed Mydei’s pixelated character in a defeated position, while yours did some tacky emote dance with 90’s music singing from the machine. He smiled, ruffling your hair in leisure, ignoring your slight protests of “don’t mess up my hair?!” 

⟡ “C’mon,” Mydei held up the arcade card between his pointer and middle finger with a smirk visible on his face, bringing his gaze to the other arcade game machines, ”You wanna miss t’day and all the money I spent on you, or you wanna play more?” He leaned closer—leaving your heart stubbornly speeding up. 

⟡ Thus, the two of you spent your valentines in the arcade game spot for around 5 hours at best—creating pompous feuds and rivalry for the sake of it, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but notice Mydei lost more times than you’d think he would, I mean, no offense, but he play games like anytime he’s free, surely he should’ve won each feuds easily? Before you could rack your mind on his foreign behavior, the air hockey immediately slotted itself into your goal as you let your mind wander, causing you to lose a point, much to your horror. “Hey! My eyes are up here! Ya losin’ already, (name)?”

⟡ You sent a glare to his direction, picking up the hockey from your goal to immediately fling to his direction with your mallet, only for the hockey to (somehow??) fly up and hit Mydei square in the face, so, you technically did achieve a headshot, just not in the goal. 

⟡ “Holy shit—I’m sorry! So sorry! Mydei, are you okay?!” You spluttered, hand hovering in all directions over his face as he rubbed his palm on the area where the hockey quite literally pounded him, Mydei raised a hand to stop your stuttering, a grin broke out of his (pathetically) kind of painstrucken face, obviously, it was bound to hurt. 

⟡ Putting aside the rough. . encounter, Mydei only brushes you off, “It’s okay,” he’d said, before adding, “but I don’t know . . a kiss might make it even better?” good to know that Mydei’s brain, on the contrary, hasn’t changed. You thought. 

⟡ The rest of the day went on without any further casualties, basketball games (to no one’s surprise, Mydei surpassed the original highest score, earning himself a spot in the leaderboard), racing games (you somehow won this one, where you immediately hopped up and down with Mydei’s hand in yours, you didn’t look back then, but if you did, the sickly love struck face on Mydei’s face looking at you fondly would’ve probably imploded you from the inside out), dancing games (Mydei slipped and nearly fell on you–but with his muscular stature, he caught himself and you from falling in public, thank god no one was there to witness), and . . claw machines, which personally, agitated you.

⟡ “.. Move over, let me try.” Mydei groaned, weary of watching you fail time and time again to get a pink-ish red cat from the claw machine that just kept bouncing further away from the blissful exit everytime you moved the claw, to the point where you were one touch closer to crashing out in public, given your.. shortcoming. 

⟡ For some sicken reason–as if the gods were taunting you, Mydei was able to grab the cat plush toy on his first try, your mouth agape as it jeeringly falls into the exit slot, where Mydei took it into his hand to dangle the plush in front of your face with a shit-eating grin, a look of triumphant curled on the tips of his attempted nonchalance. 

⟡ “I hate you.” Grumbling, you still took the plushie into your arms.

⟡ “Say that all you want, darlin’, I know you love me.” 

⟡ ... as the two of you left the arcade, hand held in each other's, intertwined, some imaginative cupid floating around bow in hand, as a small (delusional) cacophony of choir song hummed, an unexpected popped from behind a counter.

⟡ “See, Aggy, they do get along well!” Tribbie’s cheerful voice rang, as they hid behind a counter–not in a conspicuous location at all, Castorice nodded, hopeful for her friend. 

⟡ “.. I suppose I was worried for naught. (name) is in good hands, then.” Aglaea smiled, despite the 3 girls still being hunched under a counter. Without context, they looked more like stalkers, than friends ‘passing by’ and deciding to spy. 

⟡ “Mydei is. . strange. But I believe he really does like (name).” Castorice hummed, her voice, soft and delicate, in contrast to Tribbie’s cheerful tone, and Aglaea’s calming timbre. 

⟡ “Well, since we’re here already, Aggy, Cas, let’s go play some games!” 

⟡ (PS. word has it that you gave Mydei handmade chocolate earlier during the day?! Also, Mydei was practically shaking, the tips of his ears a burning red when he received the chocolate you so delicately made and packaged in a red-tinted heart box. Don’t tell anyone–but I heard from a little bird that this same man giggled to himself after the arcade date ( ꈍ◡ꈍ) !)

© 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms in any way, shape, or form without my permission. if found, you WILL be blocked.

NOTES:

- 43 rmb chinese yuan - $5, or wtv currency you have - kevin kaslana sucks at cooking (read: made kitchen appliances run for their life), therefore, phainon fucking sucks at cooking, no debates you take what you can get. - it is REALLY hard to write Mydei in modern au, considering like literally what would this guy be agitated about? But i consider him to be someone that yearns for the normalcy, rather than the chaos he shrouds himself in, similarly to kalpas from hi3. I think of Mydei as someone who is more suited for a modern life, no fights, violence, just peace - but he is always destined to end back at the aggression of the battlefield. haha!! - Phainon is so stupid i love him he's like a kicked puppy LMAO

❝ i blinked, and suddenly i have a valentine . . ? ❞ 

[bnyf]

baby you're my bunny ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒ bunny boy x female reader

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, slight body horror me thinks? slight horror, perverted yandere, non consensual touching, suggestive, uhhh that's it me thinks :3

╰﹕୨୧﹒ authoress note : so sorry if it's badly written also sorry if it ends weird :/

no survival instinct what's-so-ever. like... none.

but he was not complaining! it was just a mere observation. perhaps you were unaware of your allure, maybe you were not exposed to the cruel world yet, didn't know how sick people and creatures can be.

well for one... your little secret admirer was not one of those adorable bunnies you'd fawn over, nothing even close really. and no, he's not some cute boy with a bunny tail and some bunny ears. he's far from cute, a little scary actually.

humanoid? sure! typical bunny boy hybrid, uhhhh not really lol! he's mixed with human genetics but he's not quit. and for a bunny hybrid, he sure had a lot of predator instincts.

to put simply, he was an abnormality of mother nature. his lower half resembled a bunny whilst his torso and up is that of a man. his claws on his feet or paws or whatever are dangerously long, digging into the dirt whenever he walks, leaving behind a "too small to notice unless your looking for it" trail.

a muscular, lean build, biceps so perfect and manly hands to hold you down if you even ever think of escaping, awe how sweet of him <3

completely pale skin with small patches of equally pale fur in various spots, completely crimson, blood shot eyes and a pair of floppy bunny ears where any normal human's ears would be.

how did he even came to be? you may ask. well he was a normal boy, once upon a time. but one day, he'd gotten into a serious accident, a near death life experience. that day he could've hear the bells of heaven ringing in his ears but he wasn't ready to die, not like this... in his head he begged for more time, asking whatever god above to answer his prayers.

and yeah! his prayers where answered but, as they say, be careful what you wish for...

the moon goddess answered his prayers, but she also cursed him for it is the price he must pay to live longer.

"i grant you more time, as much time as you may need, but for as long as you roam his earth, your soul belongs to me and your purpose, is to server me," her voice rang in his ears like a bittersweet melody before he'd lose consciousness.

when he awake, he found himself in the mountains, he was a monstrosity of a man and dared not step a foot into society. he's to bare this curse and blessing till death.

he became easily bored and clueless as to what to do next, his every day life felt null and everything felt too much to bare. his eternity just began yet he dreads his mistake with every passing day.

"maybe, i should of just accepted my faith and die that day..."

with nothing and no one, he was left to wonder the mountain and serve the goddess by praying to her and tending to her shrine everyday, he's trapped to keep her energy going so she won't become a forgotten god.

(guys i made the lore up on a whim so bare with me even i'm confused right now :0)

anyways! everything drastically changed for our boy here when you and your family decided to move to the village nearby in the rural area, and live a peaceful life and just run a nice little farm hooray! hopefully, you don't get stalked and preyed on by a lonely scarily tall bunny male hybrid who looks like a utterly angelic, celestial eldritch horror, right?

all he could think about was a pretty girl had moved in next door and he just had to watch her from afar. most the villagers were very welcoming of you and your family, it was big talk because such a pretty girl had just moved in the small village and all the villagers wanted their sons or grandsons to get married.

it doesn't have much young people, mostly elders and young children and even less marriageable women. which is why you easily became popular, with everyone always gifting you things, begging you to marry into their family. they even had a town welcome celebration for you and your family!

he watched everything from afar. feeling a slight sting in his chest. jealous? already? of course he is, he wanted you all for himself. for countless nights, he just couldn't sleep at all.

he spent all his time admiring you from afar. the way he'd blush, his heart beat fastening, the gears in his head would just slow down a bit. gosh, he actually felt his heart warm so much it'd burn in his chest.

he wanted you badly.

you were his new source of entertainment, motivation and inspiration all in one and his mind was melting with how needy he started becoming.

"what the f- she's so kind and pretty..."

"i wanna hug her, wanna kiss her, feel her skin on mine, love her, fuck her."

"she can be my little bunny princess~"

"wonder what our babies would look like? i'm getting heated just thinking about it"

it didn't help much when he found out you adored bunnies and would play with them near the spring. fawning over the little fluffy creatures, hugging them and petting them. and when you held them in your arms and give smooches while rubbing your face on their fluffy fur?!?!?

that's where his obsession becomes almost to much to bare, his entire chest area felt so warm watching you treat those bunnies with so much love.

"everything about her is so perfect, i'm starting to crave her like crazy right now."

"wanna whisk her away, take her, lock her up and keep her all to myself."

his mind starts getting clouding with so many dark thoughts of you.

and so, he start pushing boundaries and going outside his comfort zone to appease his little appetite that consist of you. at night, he sneaks in to steal a closer glance at you and probably a few things so he can remember your scent properly.

the whole house was dark, the whole village asleep by the time it was midnight hour. he'd manage to get in somehow somewhere but when he did, he immediately went to your room.

finally. he could smell and touch you as much as he wanted, his mind was actually in ecstasy when he entered your room, your scent gracing his nostrils as soon as he did, and the poor touch starved male couldn't hold back on touching you various parts of your skin.

"how delightful, her skin is so smooth and her hair feels so good, she smells like flowers all over gosh so fucking perfect, i wanna devour her, drink her up, chew her, spit her out and do it all over again" with every slight movement you make and whimper scaping your soft lips, he can't help but hold back his own voice, he wanted to moan just by being around you, it felt so good.

after so long, why wouldn't it feel great?

to be around around someone for once, to feel the heat of another person's body, the sweet scent of someone else other than himself. he'd lay in bed with you, his larger self cuddling your smaller form as smells your hair, trailing his hands all over you.

he was getting ahead of himself.

it takes everything within him to not proceed and do something to you while in your sleep. his morals along with his sanity were drifting away more and more.

time flies by when you're enjoying yourself, before he knew it he had to leave before the sun raises. forcing himself he does but he also takes like 5 things from you.

"promise i'll return your belongings my love, i just need a little souvenir to help myself with."

the poor thing gets sent into an early heat after that little interaction. he's embarrassed a little but he really needs you, like he really does. and he thinks of ways of introducing himself but... he's a monster, you would run from him and be scared. and when that thought comes to mind it makes him... sad.

"if i'd die that day, i'd never meet her, never be able to see her, but now that i'm alive with the help of the moon goddess, i can't even act normal about her. it's like i'm truly doomed."

this realization was tough. it made him sick to think about. and for a while, he was just okay with sneaking in to see you, and holding your unconscious body but he wanted a lot more, and he wanted your acceptance and love. he wanted you to want him the way he wants you.

it hurt even more when he mistakenly glanced in the mirror only to see a 6 feet tall, half human half hybrid bunny with a deadly eerie looking bloody stare, stare right back at him.

the pale moonlight leaking on him, hitting his skin almost making it look silver.

"she'd surely fear me, she'd run."

he's such a beautiful tragedy. would you be able to appreciate that?

[meinii]

Hiya! I don't know if you take requests, so feel free to ignore me if you don't! But my request is sylus x reader fic, where the reader isn't used to spending money. Like spending 50 bucks on anything other than food and Essentials was a waste yk. So she has a really hard time with him spending money on stuff she thinks isn't worth it. But he's all like but I want to spend the money on you. And she like *exe.crash* sylus that necklace is $100,000. Anyway I hope your haveing a great day! Also happy 💕valentines💕day if you celebrate! 🍾

“I want to”

tysm for the request ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა I hope you like this! (happy late valentine’s day lol)♡

content: fluff

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

you stared at the price tag like it had personally offended you

“five hundred dollars?” you muttered under your breath

Sylus, standing beside you, raised a brow “so?”

you turned to him, eyes wide “so? that’s way too much!”

he sighed, looking entirely unimpressed “it’s a dress”

“an expensive dress,” you argued “I don’t need it.”

he exhaled, rubbing his temples “you don’t need to need something to have it”

“yes, you do” you shot back, folding your arms

Sylus chuckled, amused “who told you that?”

“logic.”

he smirked, stepping closer. “your logic” he corrected

you sighed, shaking your head. “it’s just—I’m not used to spending money on things I don’t need.”

his smirk softened into something else—something more thoughtful

he reached for your hand, fingers warm against yours

“but I want to spend money on you” he murmured

your heart stuttered

“Sylus—”

“I can afford it,” he continued, squeezing your hand “it’s just money. and if I’m going to spend it, I’d rather spend it on you”

you swallowed

“but it’s unnecessary” you whispered

“no,” he corrected, tilting your chin up “it makes you happy. and that’s never unnecessary”

your face warmed

he sighed, stepping back, hands in his pockets

“listen,” he said “I know you don’t like wasting money. I know you grew up thinking you had to earn every little thing. but that’s not how this works.”

you looked at him, unsure

he met your gaze, unwavering “you don’t have to earn things from me. I want to give them to you because I can. because I want to.”

you swallowed

he sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck “just—let me do this, okay?”

you hesitated

then, finally, you sighed “fine”

his lips curled “so you’ll let me buy you the dress?”

you groaned “don’t push it.”

he laughed

but later, when you walked out of the store with the bag in his hand, you couldn’t help but smile

—

the spending didn’t stop there

one day, you opened your door to find a small box on the doorstep

inside was a delicate bracelet, the chain fine, the pendant small—a tiny crescent moon

you blinked, confused

then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed

SYLUS: open your door

you frowned, stepping outside

he stood there, hands in his pockets, looking smug as ever

“Sylus,” you started “did you—?”

“yes”

you exhaled “you really don’t have to keep buying me things”

“I know”

you looked at him “then why do you?”

he smirked, stepping closer

“because,” he murmured, reaching out to clasp the bracelet around your wrist “I want to.”

your breath hitched

he glanced up, watching you carefully

“does it bother you?” he asked, quieter this time

you hesitated

“no” you admitted

he smirked “good.”

you sighed, looking down at the bracelet

it was beautiful

and, against all logic, you liked it

—

you started noticing it more after that

the little things

the way he’d quietly pay the bill before you even reached for your wallet

the way he’d slip new books onto your shelf without saying a word

the way he’d drape his coat over your shoulders when it was cold, not even asking if you needed it

it wasn’t just about money

it was about you

about making sure you had everything you wanted—whether you asked for it or not

Sylus, you realized one day, is completely and utterly shameless when it comes to spoiling you

and, despite yourself, you didn’t hate it

—

but there were still moments where it overwhelmed you

like the time you walked into your living room and found a brand-new pair of shoes sitting on the coffee table—ones you had casually mentioned wanting weeks ago

“Sylus!” you called

he poked his head into the room, looking unbothered “hmm?”

you held up the shoes “what is this?”

“a gift.”

“Sylus”

he smirked “I saw you looking at them”

you groaned “you have to stop doing this”

“why?”

“because it’s too much!”

he stepped closer, crossing his arms

“too much for who?”

you hesitated

he sighed, running a hand through his hair

“if it was for anyone else,” he murmured “I wouldn’t bother. but it’s you. and i want to do this for you”

your chest tightened

“why?” you whispered

he tilted his head

“because you’re mine.”

your breath hitched

he exhaled, reaching for your hand

“look,” he said, voice softer now “I know you don’t need this stuff. I know you’d be fine without it. but that doesn’t mean I can’t want to give it to you”

you swallowed

“you don’t owe me anything,” he continued “you don’t have to feel guilty. this isn’t some kind of trade”

his grip on your hand tightened

“it’s just me,” he whispered “giving you things because I can. because I want to. because you deserve them.”

your heart clenched

slowly, you looked down at the shoes

they were really nice

you sighed

“okay” you relented

he smirked “yeah?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah”

his fingers brushed over your knuckles

“good” he murmured

and when you put the shoes on later, feeling just a little lighter, you realized—maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

[scandalaciousintentions]

You know when I keep telling everyone I am not back in this fandom and then I keep reblogging the bejesus out of everything I see? I'm not quite buying it either and I must try harder.

But before I do.

This is such a beautiful collection of chapters. This is not ship-bashing; it is relevant to the essay that follows. I'm not personally a fan of Wolfstar and that purely comes from the way I read these chapters, the way I've always read them. (I also accept this is a personal interpretation and I am open to others.)

That said, the way that I have interpreted what we're told is that these two have not been close. Arguably not for years, but I'd go so far as to say that they've been bound together by James alone. There's not just 12 years between Sirius and Lupin in this moment, there is a chasm of distrust, enmity, possibly even fear.

Which is not to say that either one of them is personally afraid of the other. I think for Lupin it's going to be a fear of completely misreading this man for ten years, a fear that becomes introversion, a fear and a distrust of his own instincts on which he can usually depend. For Sirius, it's a little more tangible - the fear that this man will kill him. In this line alone, there is the immediate understanding that the traitor must die and for the first time, we understand that Lupin is, and always has been, ruthless.

But Peter's sudden emergence on that map changes everything. The world stops spinning on the same axis and this is not just a bonding moment; it's a binding moment. The vengeance killing of Peter Pettigrew is going to bind them together for all time. It's going to bring them a hell of lot closer together from now on.

The fact that Harry steps in and stops it throws a spanner in the works for how this relationship moves forward. I am fascinated by what the first interaction post-PoA looks like. It has floated around my head for years. Because, from everything the narrative tells us about a proud and defiant Sirius and a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher literally fleeing confrontation in the closing chapters, it's not going to work.

I love this one particular piece of dialogue precisely because it tells us so much about their relationship. It even tells us exactly where it's headed. And what I love most is that they get there anyway with the act itself never having taken place.

I've been waiting for someone to bring this up for a while. I don't know what gave it away...

"Shall we kill him together?"

Sirius literally dropped that line after twelve years apart from Remus and I think that's such a meaningful bonding activity for them 🤗

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY GALE DEKARIOS *  assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

is that... is that truly you? i thought i might never see you again.

i love you, more than i've ever loved anyone. and you've proven your love for me in more ways than even the greatest mathematicians would dare to count.

you licked a dead spider. dead spider. you licked it. that is something that happened.

i think we need to get you some air and perhaps have a long talk about unresolved childhood issues.

stop licking the damn thing!

i see the art of eloquence is alive and well.

i'm awed, impressed, and a little bit scared of you right now.

nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit.

i've never wanted to kiss you more than i do now.

right now, i need nothing more than a kiss.

tell me you feel the same way. tell me you want what i want. please.

i'll always have you.

you really would prefer me as i am?

do you doubt me?

you put the stars to shame.

let's sit here another while - i want to drink you in.

there you are.

you led me down this path.

i don't know myself anymore.

all this... it's not who i am. around you, i'm not who i want to be.

you really are absolutely heartless, aren't you?

i was hoping you'd spare me a moment.

this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on.

i think you're rather wonderful. and that's not a word i waste on anyone unworthy of it.

go. enjoy your evening.

i like that about you. it's one of your rarer qualities.

i promise we'll make it work, if you'll have me.

what are you doing? stand back! now!

i thought i meant more to you than a sacrificial lamb. clearly i was mistaken.

you've brought me right where i need to be. i have no right to ask more of you.

you're plotting something, aren't you?

i go where you go.

i'm telling you, this is a mistake.

don't worry too much. a handful of powerful spells go a long way.

hold on! it's not too late to settle this without bloodshed.

mercy is not your strong suit, is it?

well... so much for my previous sentiment.

the choice is yours. there's really no good decision to be made here.

i'll be delighted to see you try... from a safe distance.

how generous of you.

there has to be a way to stop this thing!

i have no desire to end your life. you know that.

i see the glint in your eyes. you've a strategy in mind. the same one as me, i'd wager.

well, now that we know what it is, i suggest we leave it well alone.

better be careful around here.

i'll miss you, friend. your companionship has been quite the education.

i won't lie. i miss our group.

don't worry, i'll handle matters from here.

i'm ready. are you?

we must discuss it privately.

have you lost your wits? you must not do this!

we can't afford to let that happen.

they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair's breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity.

you make me sound like some preening peacock.

i'm taking notes. making observations.

you're adorable even when you're teasing me.

you know what, i think i've clearly had far too much wine. and you've had nowhere near enough.

don't worry about me. i'm quite content to enjoy the party from here.

don't let me drag you away.

that, my friend, must remain a secret.

i do hope you know what you're doing.

might be the wine talking.

why am i doing this?

i'm sorry it had to come to this.

i'm going to bed. perhaps this was all a mistake.

careful. you don't know what i'm about to ask.

kill me, and i'll destroy the city anyway.

i want it to be perfect.

stay with me a while, will you?

i'm in love with you.

i'm many things, but coy's not one of them.

listen, i need to speak to you.

i might need you to be more specific.

i regret many things in life.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i am as honored as i am enamored.

i am not the only one who longs for you... yet you chose me.

my time is yours. what do you need?

tell me, what can i do for you?

you need me?

you look... comfortable.

[ihaznoclue]

Just recently came across your blog and saw requests were open again! I especially love the Sonic fics in the movieverse.

I’ve seen scenarios where there was a teen!Wachowski and is essentially a sibling to them. I thought it would be cute for something like Sonic, Knuckles, and maybe even Shadow (he’d have joined the family, obviously) acting protective brothers over their human sibling since they’re not nearly as strong or durable. Any scenario would do, though I can’t help but think of if it involved dating someone and they would react like: are they cool enough? Are they strong enough? Are they working for G.U.N.???

Anywho, if you get to this, I would like to see how you write it out. Thanks!

Omg yes I was thinking about something like this and I'm all for it!

Pairings -> Sonic the Hedgehog, Kunckles the Echidna, Shadow the hedgehog x Sibling Reader (platonic)

Warnings -> None

Note -> Them being protective over their human older sibling

Genre -> Fluff

Sonic The Hedgehog

I feel like he will be the less protective one out of the three of them

He would probably ask a lot of questions though to get some information about them if you were dating someone

But in all seriousness I feel like he would help you

Since he thinks he's the most romantic guy out there

Sonics just a goof, a dork

"You have a what!?" Sonic screamed out which made you quickly cover his mouth as you shushed him

"Be quiet Sonic, Mum and Dad doesn't know yet, dad would probably freak out if I told him now" You spoke out

Sonic moved you hand as he was awe "Aww you told me before anyone else?" Sonic was so happy that you told him

"But in all seriousness, what are they like?" Sonic asked "Are they cool? Sporty? Popular?"

"Woah calm down, I will tell you everything, just don't tell the other though, I'll tell them myself soon"

"Tell me the details Sib"

Knuckles The Echidna

He would be the protective one besides Shadow

Like he doesn't want your heart to be broken by a weakling

But you reassure him that this person was really sweet and wouldn't do anything to hurt you

"A what now?" Knuckles asked, Knuckles wasn't quite familiar with the term partner so you explained it to him in a simple way

"A partner is where me and that people are together in a relationship where we love each other" You explained to him hoping he would get it

Knuckle just nodded, his face still in a frown while his arms was crossed against his chest

"Are they strong enough to protect you, If not then they are not worthy of your kindness" Knuckles huffed

You just rolled your eyes "I hope they are, but please Knuckles they are really sweet and wouldn't let anything happen to me I promise"

"Have you told the others" Knuckles asked

"I did tell Sonic, but later I will tell Shadow and hope that goes well"

"You should tell him now"

Shadow The Hedgehog

Oh boy

This was going be a long conversation with you and Shadow

Shadow was quite the grumpy and protective type

You knew he was gonna ask questions about them anyway

"Hey Shads" You greeted him while he was sitting down the comfy couch

"Hey" He gruff, as he watched the TV in front of him, "I need to tell you something"

Shadow the turned off the TV then looked at you

"Are you hurt?"

"No! no I'm not I just need to speak to you about something"

"That is?"

"I have a partner"

His ear flicked at that word, he was then processing what you just said than it finally clicked

"You mean that you are in a relationship with someone?"

You nodded "Yep" Nervously sweating

"Are they secretly working for G.U.N? Are they strong enough to protect you? What if they hurt you later in the future?"

"Woah slow down Shadow, No they don't work for G.U.N if they did then I wouldn't be with them"

Shadow stared at you then sighed

"I will be fine Shads, If anything happens I know you and the others will protect me"

-A<3

[604to647]

Crawling Back to You (Dieter’s Version)

3.7K / Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: A moment of weakness could lead to lifetime of regret unless Dieter can set things right with you.

Warnings: Angst, pining. Mention of drug use. Reader has a purposefully vague production/behind the scenes job because I don't know anything about movie production. Eventual HEA. One Friends reference - see if you can find it 😉

A/N: This was written for @happypedrohours’ Bouquets of Pedro Challenge. My Valentine’s prompt for Dieter was PDA. I’ve never written for Dieter before! I know he’s a chaos gremlin (affectionate), but I really like fics I read of him where he just wants to be loved? So, that's the Dieter that I wrote - I hope it's okay 🥹 (Sorry if he’s too OOC 😭) Musical inspiration is Hozier's cover of Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know."

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Many thanks to @morallyinept for your character and dialogue database to help me try and get into a Bravo state of mind 😘

He considers doing something big and splashy, of course.  And public - very, very public.  Afterall, not being P with his DAs had been what tore the two of you apart. 

Well, part of it, anyways.

Double-paged feature in Variety.  Highway billboards with matching ads on the side of buses.  Live poetry reading on the big screens in Time Square.

But all of that would be very old Dieter Bravo of him and he was no longer that man - in large part because of you, for you.

Dieter had met you many, many moons ago.  Always a friendly face on whatever set or industry event it was where you might cross paths, the two of you had gone from familiar acquaintances, to friends, to someone the other actively sought out for good company or shelter when the bright lights got too hot, the clamouring crowds too loud.

When you first met, Dieter thought you must be an actress - you were too beautiful, too captivating not to be onscreen.  But while you did have a few extra credits to your name, he soon learned that your ambition lay behind the camera.  He remembers the first time he heard your melodic voice ring out across set - like a drunken sailor to a siren’s call, he followed it without question in a semi lucid state (Hey! What’s a little marijuana between a movie star and the teamsters?).  But upon the lifting of his fog, Dieter found not his destruction, but salvation: a sympathetic ally on set, someone with whom he could be a team – a calm in the chaotic storm that was most movie productions,

You worked hard at learning and mastering your trade, and your keen eye and intuitive sense for movie making sang your merits louder than that hypnotic voice of yours that first drew Dieter (and others) to you; that you were easy to get along with and impossible to say no to was no small feat in this business – especially for a woman.  Dieter watched as you dogged forward, paying your dues and solidifying your reputation and resume – whenever he hears your name being bantered about behind the doors of Hollywood’s most coveted meetings, he feels only excessive pride.  He would tell you himself if you were speaking to him. 

Dieter still remembers the night when the two of you crossed that unspoken line for the first time; even now he’s not sure what he would have done if Cupid hadn’t been on his side.  There had been some studio gala, nothing special – or so he thought.  Slipping away from the endless shmoozing and sycophantic hoards that tend to overrun these gatherings, Dieter escaped through the catering entrance in search of some obliging venue service staff (Hollywood hot tip: the wait staff always have the best drugs!).  Instead, he had found you - sitting on a table pushed to the side of the corridor, fancy ballgown fanned out, eating popsicles, legs swinging without a care in the world.

“Dieter!” your cheer was infectious, your smile mischievous and joyful, “I didn’t care for any of those tiny finger desserts they had going out on the trays so I asked the wait staff what they kept in the back for dessert and they gave me a whole box!”  His search for extracurriculars forgotten, Dieter happily joined you, choosing instead to get drunk on your pretty face, happy chatter, and the completely innocent yet salacious way your mouth worked that frozen treat.

About three popsicles in (each) the icy desserts began melting – you managed to save yourself and finish yours just in time, but Dieter’s blue-raspberry concoction was rapidly disintegrating and about to make a guaranteed mess of his dress pants when your hands darted out, catching the slush midair.

Dieter cackled, marveling at your wide-eyed expression and hands, now wet, sticky and blue, “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know," you crowed, eyes crinkling, still holding your cupped hands out in front of you, "I just didn’t want them to make some kind of 'blue balls' joke about you and your stained crotch in the tabloids tomorrow!”

He clasped his clean hand in yours, adhering himself to you in more ways than one - the two of you giggling and giddy as you re-entered the ballroom.  After finding a free table, some clean napkins and a pitcher of water, you sat as Dieter lovingly washed and cleaned your hands so that they wouldn’t be stained with Blue Dye #1.  He was on his knees, drying and holding your small delicate hands in his much rougher, clumsier ones, when he happened to look up to see you gazing adoringly down at him, eyes grateful and looking at him like he was hanging the moon for you.

Dieter lifted up and unable to help himself, connected his lips to yours – hoping against hope that he wasn’t ruining one of the few precious, genuine connections in his life.  His relief was soon overtaken by desire when you kissed him back – the two of you somehow managing to make your way back to the service hallways, lips crashing together over and over like unstoppable waves of an inevitable ocean.  The kisses were sensual and messy, pure and happy – it made Dieter feel like a teenager again. 

“Is this weird?” he whispered at one point - vulnerable, no bravado.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you breathed, though your voice was soft, your touch reassuring, “but don’t stop.”  So, he didn’t.  He kissed your lips swollen, pressing you up against the wall and succumbing to the intoxication of your pretty noises and tender affection. 

Nothing else happened that night, and in fact, you had run away!  After getting a text that your friend was currently giving birth, you rushed off to the hospital like Cinderella, ballgown skirts gathered in your careful hands while darting away in the night.  Dieter, dazed and higher than he’s even felt, caught the kiss you blew him, and while pressing it to his slackened, blissed out face, vowed to become your Prince Charming.

He found you on set the following Monday and for the first time in a long time, Dieter Bravo, famously chill Cool Dude™ had felt shy, nervous.  He needn’t have been – you responded to his earnestness with sweet generosity, only ever honest and non-pretentious; it was clear that for the both of you, there was no going back to just friends. 

The rest as they say, was history. 

Except being with you felt completely new to Dieter – for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he looked forward to waking up to the start of each day, genuinely excited for its possibilities, and even more to coming home every night, grateful for the newfound comfort of life’s simple pleasures.

Grateful, yes.  If there was one thing Dieter wishes he could tell you it’s how grateful he is for you.  While you were blazing your own path to success, you had also helped him redefine his - believing in and supporting the seemingly unflappable Dieter Bravo when he admitted to wanting more.  Hollywood’s unbothered bro, Tinseltown’s perpetually aflame trainwreck darling was capable of and itching for growth, who knew?  You did.

You read scripts with him and talked through his needs and ambitions; finally having a sounding board with no self-serving stake in the financial success of his career choices, Dieter began choosing increasingly more varied and interesting projects with your encouragement and support.  He’s happier now, more fulfilled, challenged, engaged.

And he got sober (Well, he still drinks, but that doesn’t really count, right?  It’s Hollywood).  Detox had been a fucking nightmare but Dieter likes the voices in his head now.  They’re gentler with him, more forgiving, thoughtful.  They sound like you.

Dieter loved you so much, he wanted to climb to the top of the Hollywood sign and shout it all the way across the Pacific; he thought a love such as yours was limitless.

His publicists discouraged it.  The world loved the Dieter they knew: eccentric, sex-crazed, tabloid staple, a spectacle.  They weren’t interested in another middle-aged actor trying too hard to be taken seriously, who had seemingly left his wild days behind for a boring, stable relationship with a non-celebrity.  The public wanted ✨salaciousness✨glitz✨scandal✨.

You had gone along with keeping your relationship hidden, valuing your privacy and preferring to keep the sacredness of your love for one another only.  “I love you, Dieter,” you vowed, “I don’t need everyone to know it, but I don’t ever want to feel like your dirty little secret, okay?”

He promised you without really understanding what that meant.

Your relationship blossomed behind closed doors.  Both of you walked red carpets alone, careful not to get papped together, and on sets, remained cordial and professional until you got behind Dieter’s closed trailer doors where his affection for you knew no bounds, even when contained.  You would tell each other that your love wasn’t a secret, it was private, protected and kept safe from the prying and critical eyes of the public.

When his PR team arranged a fake relationship with the young and upcoming nepo baby starlet with whom he acted opposite in his latest movie as a means to promote the film, Dieter had reservations.  But he hadn’t said no. 

And after several long and serious conversations with his management about his fading relevancy and the exposure that the arrangement would net him, the starlet, the film, Dieter eventually relented and agreed to go along with it.  It seems that fame was the one drug that he hadn’t quite kicked. 

Dieter will never forget the look on your face when he brought up the PR campaign – the way your eyes crinkled in disappointment and the curve of your pretty lips pulling down your entire face haunts him every night. 

“What happens to your real girlfriend when you’re out with your fake girlfriend, Dieter?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to ask you to wait, or stay by his side, but hidden.  It was beneath you, insulting.  And to ask was to break his promise.

Turns out he didn’t even need to ask for you to feel the full weight of his betrayal.

The last words he ever spoke to you had been uttered pathetically to the front door you shut in his face, “Baby, maybe I can fix it.  Let me try.”  Their only registered response was the sound of your sobs getting softer and softer as you walked away, shutting the doors in the house he could no longer call home.

He hadn’t been able to fix it.  By design, Hollywood’s PR machine is a force, the joint efforts of Dieter and the starlet’s teams a runaway train.  Their “relationship” had been Page Six news before Dieter even had the chance to call his publicist to say that he couldn’t go through with it.  The public ate it all up just as predicted:

Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Chaos Prince back at it again, charming and capturing the heart of Tinseltown’s newest princess.

His mind swims of you.  During every press tour interview he does with his pretend girlfriend, Dieter cringes at the fake touches and gestures of affection choreographed for the cameras; all the scripted flirting and empty terms of endearment taste like acid on his tongue (and not the good kind either).  But none of this compares to the shame he feels at having hurt you, the owner of his heart, and that he likely continues to do so with every orchestrated date night photo-op for TMZ, every “happy couple” glambot he poses for on the red carpet.

Dieter finally sees you again six months into his fake relationship.

At the MTV Movie Awards, he’s waiting for the starlet to finish her solo shots, rubbing his temple at the too bright lights, the garish and loud décor, the music that doesn’t even sound like music, when he sees you stroll in on the arm of a man he doesn’t recognize.  But Dieter couldn’t care less who the man is - it’s you he can’t look away from; you’re laughing, radiant, soft.  Unchanged.  Ethereal. 

Dieter thinks he might vomit.  He thinks he might need to do a line.  He can’t let you see him.

Without excusing himself, Dieter leaves the red carpet and locks himself in a bathroom, trying to push down his bubbling panic attack.  He knows his “girlfriend” is probably beside herself, and that his unexplained absence is likely giving rise to new rumours and speculation that he’s on some kind of drug-fuelled spiral, but he can’t bring himself to come out.

Someone slips a KitKat under the door of the bathroom. 

Dieter knows it’s you; only you would be so subtle, so gentle, so reassuring with one simple gesture.  Only you know him and what brings him the most comfort.  He picks up the chocolate bar and stares at it for a while before biting into it, thinking about how he got himself into this mess.

A moment weakness.  A lifetime of regret.

Not if Dieter could help it.

He “breaks up” with the starlet the following week; it would have been handled even sooner if he didn’t have to fight and threaten to fire his entire team, eventually dragging in Legal to help him break the marketing contract he had unknowingly signed in blood.

Immediately Dieter starts planning how he will make things up to you, beg for another chance – apologize; drafting and discarding every over-the-top gesture that pops into his buzzing mind, each more theatrical and outlandish than the last.

He finally settles on a letter – one that Dieter can’t stop writing after he starts and ends up being eighteen pages (front and back).  It begins with an apology – for having hurt you so callously, for breaking his promise to you, and for, even if only a second, ever making you feel like you weren’t important or enough.  Especially when it was his own bruised ego that had needed the stroking – this entire disaster a result of his own weakness, born from a dark place inside where he had been made small by an industry that thrived on the insecurities of its so-called stars, and Dieter’s fear of feeling even smaller.  You made him feel so good while the two of you had been together, he naively thought that your light had eradicated all such voids and pits within him – but it was unfair to heap the responsibility of his growth and self improvement onto you.  And though he knows that he still has work to do, he credits your influence and compassion for the progress he’s made so far.  Around page six of the letter Dieter’s Sorrys transition into Thank Yous. 

Dieter thanks you for every way you’ve made him a better man, made him want to be a better man.  He thanks you for all the times your unparalleled support, kindness, and generosity have gotten him through the day on set, or through his self doubts at night.  Words of gratitude overflow from his pen, pouring out nearly faster than he can write – you, you, you.  He’s thankful for you.

And he misses you.  And not just all the ways you meshed your gentle life with the squishy bits of his, but just you.  Your sweet laugh.  The crinkle of your nose and the watering of your eyes at his farts sarcastic jokes.  And your mouth.  Great Paul Newman, he’s always been obsessed with your mouth – and not just what he knows it can do and how it tastes, but everything that comes out of it.  Dieter could listen to you talk about anything for hours – he might not know a single thing about what you’re talking about, but he understands eloquence, passion, and the artistry of words when he hears it.  Having spent most of his adult life around industry blowhards, Dieter knows that intelligence without pretension is a rarity - fresh air that he longs to breathe in again. 

On page twelve, Dieter tells you he loves you - loves you for everything you are and what you stand for.  He loves how you’ve remained gentle, even though the business of show makes it its mission to sharpen everyone and everything it swallows.  He loves that your default is always thoughtfulness and compassion, that you embody a quiet type of beauty that doesn’t need to be paraded about or loudly lauded in order to shine.  How do you make even the mundane so fascinating?  It must be that confident grace of yours.  Dieter writes an entire two pages on how he just wants to watch you wash dishes again – he tries to describe the meditative calm that comes just from seeing the soapy water bow to your whim, as if it knows the power and majesty of its bender; understanding as he does now the magnanimity it takes to ensure that no small movement is wasted, to make every action purposeful.  He’s enraptured by you.  Admires you. Worships you.  So, so in love with you.

He reads the letter over a hundred times before tying the folded pages together with a bright red bow.  Using his Bravo charm, Dieter sneaks onto the set of your latest movie and leaves it in your trailer on top of a jewelry box that holds an ostentatiously luxurious diamond necklace he bought you before everything had gone to hell.  He had kept it all this time, unable to bring himself to return it, never even considering giving it to anyone but you.

Three weeks pass and Dieter hears nothing back.

He had tried to prepare himself for this possibility – that perhaps you might never forgive him, want nothing more to do with him, but still, it’s with a heavier than expected heart that he gets ready for his movie premiere, the very same film he’d promoted with his fake relationship.  Dieter didn’t expect any drama at the event – he and the starlet spoke last week and agreed that arriving separately but acting like friends was the best way to quell the outrageous reasons for the “breakup” speculated in the gossip rags.  In truth, even though they had grown to become actual friends during the meshugana of the last few months, Dieter can’t help but associate this entire project with his own regret and shame - he can’t wait for this evening to be over.

He goes through the motions of the red carpet.  Greeting his co-stars with boisterous cheers and hard gripping handshakes.  Hitting his marks and smiling almost manically for the cameras.  Waving to the fans and signing every piece of paper shoved towards him (this part he really did not mind; you always said that his fans were the best and they are).  Doing his time in the interview pit.  When he’s near the end of the gauntlet, with only the Entertainment Tonight interview to get through before he can (blessedly) retreat to his seat in the theatre, a vivid glimmer of brilliance catches Dieter’s eye.  Unlike the near blinding flash of a photographer’s camera, this sparkle beckons him, brightly winking – he almost puts up a hand to shield his eyes before he realizes what it is.

It's you.

You’re at his premiere.  Gorgeous, breathtaking, elegant – you’re walking down the arrivals promenade… and you’re wearing the diamond necklace Dieter left with your letter.  Inadvertently tuning out the ET interviewer, he stares, awestruck, mouth agape – hopeful.  The interviewer can’t help but follow Dieter’s gaze and asks him who you are. 

“An angel,” he answers honestly.

At that same moment, you finally spot him and your face breaks into a big smile, the luminosity of which nearly drops Dieter to his knees.  Instead, he breaks out into a sprint, running towards you. 

When you see what he’s doing, you pick up your skirts and start moving towards him as well.  Dieter dodges and weaves between the bodies on the red carpet, trying not to slam into any of the people that stand between him and his everything, only vaguely aware of the Entertainment Tonight interviewer and her cameraman hot on his heels.

Suddenly, the crowd seems to part and there’s a clearing right where the two of you finally meet, stopping only inches from one another.  Dieter’s panting (fuck, he’s out of shape!) but grinning like a fool when you drop the fabric of your dress to bring your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs running lovingly over his unkempt scruff – a familiar gesture that feels better than any high he’s ever experienced.  Your face is flushed bright and content, home.

“You got my letter.”

“I did.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

“I am.”  Your eyes twinkle, complimenting the serenity and invitation of your countenance - both saying everything without even a word.  It gives Dieter the boost of confidence he needs.

“May I kiss you?”

“Even though we’re in public?” You’re being cheeky on purpose.

But for once Dieter won’t play - there is nothing except sincerity in his response, “From now on, only ever in public.  No more hiding.”

An orchestral movie score heard only by the two of you swells as you both move to close the remaining distance between your bodies, crushing your mouths together.  The kiss is passionate, deep and heated – leaving no doubt of your feelings for one another; not even the gawking onlookers can deny what you mean to each other.  Camera bulbs pop and bright lights flash all around as your lips settle and mold in a tender slow dance, loathed to be parted ever again.  Your hands card through Dieter’s soft curls, delicate fingers cradling his head soothingly, warm; his hands spread wide to cover your back, covetous and protective.

“No more hiding,” you whisper, face lit with joy at the adoration and promise reflected in Dieter’s mirrored expression.

He nods and tightens his arm around your waist, love and resolution coursing through his veins.  Sharing one last private look, the two of you turn in unison, a team, towards the awestruck Entertainment Tonight interviewer whose microphone is practically shaking with excitement.  Dieter beams his megawatt Bravo smile at her, “Is this what the kids call a hard launch?”

🎶Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know" lyrics (Hozier's version):

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you 🎶