#I wish it was easier to be like hey this is not a judgement on you but I am not comfortable in this situation so I'm leaving

[trans-xianxian]

going to the zoo w my coworkers tomorrow I'm so excited.... social outing with people who I'm not already close with successfully willingly invited to. I'm going to be sooo friendly and charming

[princessbrunette]

ugh babydaddy!rafe is down soooo bad for reader !! i can totally see him suggesting a little weekend getaway, just the two of them while his family watches their daughter. it’s like their first time really alone together and brings back all these memories and how much they care about each other, kinda questioning why they didn’t just stay together 🤍

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

mhmmm i love that idea. just a week in the bahamas or something, taking you and your baby to restaurants etc. people know him around there because of the influence the cameron family has, and bc they own property out there — so when people introduce themselves to you, he finds it easier to just call you his girl than to explain your whole situation. maybe even calling you his wife or whatever to avoid judgement :( you get to play pretend, and you hate how much you enjoy it.

you only agreed to the trip so that you could spend time as a family, but as the week goes on you find yourself getting closer, touchier with eachother, letting him look after you and your baby and pamper you the way you deserve. a look into your life if you’d had just stayed with him instead of being stubborn and thinking he wouldn’t change from his old ways :(

i think this trip would change things and by the end of the week he’s got you naked on the big king sized bed whilst your babies asleep in another room, big ringed hands scooped beneath your ass as he grinds his cock in and out of you.

“missed this, mm—” you manage to squeak out, your eyes filled with tears, emotions running high as he takes you apart.

“yeah well, won’t have to miss it anymore baby, yeah? always been my girl, s’not fuckin’ changing anytime soon.” he pants, pushing your thighs up to roll his hips deeper into you making you whine.

“shh, hey.” he whispers against your mouth, silencing you with a kiss so you didn’t wake up the little one. “shit, got me thinking about givin’ you another baby.”

you start acting like a proper couple after that, letting him walk you around with his hand on your waist or ass. giving you little kisses between conversations. you don’t know how things are gonna be when you get home and you worry about confusing the baby, feeling sad on your last day of the trip. you lean your head against his chest as the two of you look over the water on his boat.

“whats gonna happen now?” you sigh.

“… huh?”

“dont wanna go home. wish things could just stay like this and not get complicated.”

he turns you around by the waist, taking his sunglasses off to look at you. “its not complicated, alright? we’ll… we’ll figure it out… and shit, if it gets complicated we’ll just… come back here. right?” he shrugs. usually you’d roll your eyes at such a reckless statement, but now it didn’t sound too bad.

✧˖°. ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧˖°.

[heart4reigns]

Could i request a roman and afab reader imagine, where she’s like a sexy badass bitch and she’s been his like valet/girlfriend ever since he returned as the tribal chief. A lot of people think she’s for looks and can’t fight, then during a promo with the judgement day she beats Rhea’s ass. It like shocks everyone, and roman’s just like hell yea that’s my girl and loves it. Lol thank you!🩷🩷🩷

TROPHY WIFE, roman reigns.

warnings: curse words, blood, pet names

tags: locker room talks, everyone teases you, slight age-gap, bloodline bonding moments, dominik calling you 'papi', sexual innuendos teehee, judgement day teasing YOU non-stop

summary: you’re not useless at all

GROWING up, you were always interested in the wrestling. but you couldn't imagine being in the ring without any experiences. that led you to training on your own. to your luck, your boyfriend–roman, was the undisputed champion of the wwe. ever since his big comeback as this chief-like figure, it made you easier to be on stage without talking. you just stood by his side, staring down at the other party, trying to intimidate them for the views.

no one actually knew that you were going to debut soon as one of wwe's new wrestler, except for the bloodline. for now, you were only a 'trophy wife' for the tribal chief. everyone in the locker room teased you about being there as his silly little girlfriend, you were only there for the looks. "morning!" you greeted the twins, before sliding inside the ring. "one more show before your debut, how you feeling?" solo asked.

"i'm excited." you stretched your body, preparing for the fight with jimmy. "i'm not, i don't want to get my ass beat by you." he shook his head. "oh come on, i don't hit hard." you chuckled. "girl, you hit harder than anyone else here!" jimmy complained. "that's because she's been doing this longer than us." your boyfriend stood outside the ring, winking at you. "right, now let's go!"

and everyone in the gym knew that you were going to beat jimmy's ass in a quick sparring. "good fight, baby!" roman was pumped up. "see, i told you. jimmy's gonna be limping for the next two days." jey ruffled his twin's hair. "shut up, get inside the ring with her now." "oh, i don't want that, i have a family!" he shook his head. "GET YOUR ASS HERE!" you grinned with excitement.

work came and you were mentally preparing to face the judgement day. they were nice people but there were two people that got into your nerves; none other than dominik and rhea. they were around your age, of course they would tease you non-stop. "hey papi." he winked at you when you enter the locker room. "shut up." you rolled your eyes. "awww, you look so cute being alone." rhea chimed in the conversation. "i'll whoop your ass, rhea." she smirked at your response. "the trophy wife can fight?" "come on, that's enough." damien came in to stop the teasing.

as much as you wanted to tell them that you were going to be in the roster, you couldn't. creatives were holding you back from spilling the news. a lot of people loved you, but some thought you were useless. you were just there to look pretty. "you alright, baby?" roman noticed your annoyed expression. "dominik and rhea situation." he chuckled. "don't mind them, they're jokesters." you nodded in agreement.

before walking out, roman quickly kissed your forehead. "let's do this, baby." he muttered. the crowd roared with excitement as they heard roman's entrance song. you pulled off your usual smug facade, ready to face whatever dominik and rhea throws at you. as the four of you walked towards the ring, you heard several people calling your name. "(y/n)!" you threw a wink at them, causing them to go frantic. "god, she's so badass, i wish she was a wrestler. just imagine her in a wrestling gear." one of them said, you were trying your best not to chuckle and break character. oh, they would be very ecstatic to know what's coming, you thought.

to say the least, this was the 'feud' with the judgement day was fun. the new storyline on how you were taunted to join them was a breath of fresh air for the fans. when you first heard about it, you were also excited. they seemed like good people to work with, oh how wrong you were. knowing that you couldn't 'defend' yourself, everyone loved pranking and teasing you. "so, this is the tribal chief?" finn had the mic. "and you should be thankful that he is here in person, to see you all." the crowd cheered as they heard roman's response. "with his wiseman, his silent cousin, and his trophy wife, what a deal!" rhea yelled into the microphone.

"we're still waiting for everyone to betray you. the next time you'll see us, your little trophy wife will sign our contract. or give us your titles. loyalty doesn't exist." rhea smirked, the crowd boo-ed as she waved the papers. you had the mic and you stared down at the opposite group. "i won't be joining you, and you said loyalty doesn't exist? that's right. let's ask who created your group? is he still here?" several 'oooh's dropped as you saw rhea's eyes lit up. another strong girl in the ring, she thought.

the locker room smelt like sweat. you were used to it. "god, i'm so tired." you complained to solo, who was putting on his shoes. "can't wait for you to complain after every match." he chuckled. "you know, it's such a shame that your mic skills are being wasted, could've been an amazing wrestler, papi." dominik came inside the room, all sweating. "stop calling me 'papi', jesus." you chuckled. "i'll stop calling you 'papi' if you hang out with us soon." solo couldn't help but to laugh at dominik's sentence.

the remaining week was spent inside the gym. you were training non-stop for your debut. at one point, you had probably beat all the guys inside the gym, leaving roman last. everyone gathered around the ring, waiting for you to charge at him. "COME ON (Y/N), GIVE HIM HELL!" jey yelled. sure he was a loving boyfriend, but in the ring? another different person.

"baby, hit me with your best shot." roman was challenging you. "don't go soft on me." you warned him. "oh, i won't." your boyfriend smirked. you gritted your teeth, trying to find a spot to attack him first. before he lunged at you, you step aside to avoid him. you weren't stronger than him, but with your figure, you were obviously faster. he landed on one of the ropes, turning his back, facing you again.

but before he knew it, you attacked him with a spear. "DAMN GIRL!" jimmy shouted. you tackled roman to the ground, breathing heavily as he tried to switch places. "did you just speared me?" he asked. "i just did." roman clenched his jaw, trying to find a spot to attack you. you dodged it once again, going to the ropes. "you're going nowhere, baby!" the entire gym was pumped out.

you stood up on the ropes, ready to attack again. "FROG SPLASH HIS ASS!" you heard solo's voice. "OH WE'RE NOT GOING TO DO THAT AGAIN!" roman looked concerned. "DO IT! DO IT!" the twins chanted. "I'M SORRY, BABY!" you apologized before your attack. his entire body bounced back. "what a sell, baby." you chuckled. while being distracted on how he looked, which was very hot and sweaty, he took the chance to flip you over. "aw hell no." you muttered.

roman was on top of you, you struggled to move your body–but like usual, you were faster than him. you licked your lips, ready for another attack. "shit girl, you never run out of energy do you?" solo asked, analizing your stamina. the fight was almost done, you just had to make him tap out. with your agility, you could tell roman was getting tired. "how are you so fast?" roman was gasping for air. "you taught me that." you winked at him. the gym whistled over your answer.

"i can't believe you made me tap out." he chuckled, snuggling closer to you. the two of you were already home, chilling on the bed. "hey, you might be bigger than me, but i can definitely flip you." you rolled your eyes. "and that's what i love about you, you're fearless." he kissed your forehead. "god, i can't wait till tomorrow is over." you confessed. "nervous, are we?" he asked. "course i am." you sighed.

"i don't know, what if people don't care about me? like what if i'm only meant to just be a pretty face." his eyes softened. "baby, you know that everyone loves you right?" roman held your hand. "you'd be the brightest superstar out there, love." even in the darkest times, his words made you smile. "on the good side, we're gonna spend more time together. i look forward to it, baby." roman patted your head, trying to calm you down. "i love you, thank you for believing in me." "i'll always believe in you, baby."

you saw fans lining up outside the venue. paul thought it would be a good idea for the bloodline to go out and meet some fans. so there you were, with the other four, interacting with fans. "(y/n)!" one of them greeted you. "hi hello! thank you for coming today." you passed her a water bottle. "(y/n), god, when are you debuting? i'd love to see some ring action." one of them asked you. "i'm not a wrestler, babes." you told him, giving another bottle of water.

roman was holding your hand the entire time, not wanting you to let go. "wait i gotta take a pee." he said. "go piss girl." you chuckled at your own response. your boyfriend rolled his eyes and excused himself. you entered the locker room with your heart beating faster than usual. no one was inside, you arrived early to change to your new gear. you put on your usual black shirt, covering the gear for the surprise. "sup, papi?" dominik's voice startled you. "oh, good evening to you too." you greeted him. "got the script for today it says get ready for a special surprise attack, damn papi... are you the surprise?" he asked.

"well, let's just see."

you went over to roman's locker room, seeing him gearing up. by gearing up, he was taking off his t-shirt. you whistled your way inside. "you single?" you teased him. "depends who's asking." he teased back. "you look good." you complimented him. "i always do. let me see your gear." he winked at you. you took off the t-shirt and he returned with a whistle. "red and black is definitely your color, baby." he held your waist and kissed your lips. "it's your pick, handsome."

"damn, hope i'm not interrupting something, but we're up in 10." and that moment was ruined by none other than jimmy uso. "(y/n), your gear looks amazing!" roman glared at his cousin and closed the door. "give us 5 more minutes!" he yelled from inside the room. "now where were we?"

the crew ushered you backstage. you felt adrenaline rushing in your veins, you were no longer nervous. this is what you've always wanted and you had the privilege to pursue it. the judgement day went up first, rhea and dominik casually messing with you. "can't wait for the surprise!" dominik chuckled. "oh fuck yourself, mysterio!" you smiled at him.

"the bloodline!" smug face mode on, you thought. the 6 of you walked towards the ring, hearing the crowd go wild. you were the one holding roman's belt. he offered a hand and you gave him his belts so he could make his signature pose. as you stepped inside the ring, rhea was already holding the papers.

the promo started. "so, you're either gonna give us your trophy wife or your title, your pick, tribal chief." rhea mocked him. "your time is up, give us your trophy wife now." she continued. "we are not gonna give you anything." roman replied. "either you walk away or we walk away. leaving you standing here, embarrassed. having nothing in your hands." he was in his character and he looked so hot.

"see, there are 3 things that i love in life." the crowd chanted 'what?' as roman spoke to the mic. "first is (y/n). i wouldn't trade her for anything. second is my titles. third is seeing people like you thinking that you could get away with anything you want." he smirked. "and we're not signing your goddamn papers." he dropped the mic. it was your cue to walk away now.

as you walked hand-in-hand, rhea went over her lines. "walk away! like you always do! a useless group with an even more useless advocates!" roman looked at you, giving you the biggest smile that the camera couldn't capture. "go, babygirl." everyone was still walking back but you turned around. you caught everyone's attention.

roman's song changed to yours. "what is this? why is (y/n) running back to the ring?" the commentator said. the crowd roared as you ripped your shirt, revealing your gear. "what? that's a wrestling gear! can you believe it? the trophy wife is in a wrestling gear!" you slid inside the ring, quickly attacking the first person you saw. finn. he was practically grinning from ear-to-ear, excited.

you jumped and punched his jaw, avoiding certain spots that could damage him. the judgement day had an excited expression plastered on their faces; especially dominik and rhea. "bring it on, trophy wife!" dominik yelled. you quickly speared him outside the ring, causing him to fall on his back. "and you're fast!" damien smiled, trying to take a hit on your shoulders, only having you avoid it. "i am!" you smirked, using roman's iconic move–superman punch, against him.

rhea stood in the middle of the ring, ready to attack you. "so you're not useless at all, huh?" she stared down at you. "is she going to attack rhea? how is she going to survive her?" the commentator yelled. to your luck, you were able to dodge multiple hits. rhea tripped a bit, giving you several seconds to spare. you quickly picked her up and slammed her on her back. you looked over her, she gave you a small nod, indicating that she was okay.

your song played and there you were, in the middle of the ring–with a grin plastered on your face. "did we just witness the debut of the trophy wife?" one of the announcer said. "and there she is, the long-waited debut... what should we call her? the trophy wife? (y/n) (l/n)!" everyone cheered and stood up from their seat. you were gasping for air, raising your fist up. "(y/n)! (y/n)!" the crowd chanted.

"that's my babygirl!" roman yelled as he ran back to the ring and tackled you with a hug. roman picked you up on his shoulders, showing you off to the crowd. "i love you." you mouthed. "and i love you too." oh his expression is gonna end on a 'top 10 times roman reigns breaking character' video, you thought. nevertheless, this was only the beginning for you.

a/n: SORRY IF THIS IS QUITE LONG I GOT CARRIED AWAY... HOPE YOU ENJOY IT <3 feedbacks are appreciated and requests are always open for any other wwe wrestlers!!

[fumifooms]

Dungeon lord Chilchuck

What would his wish as a dungeon lord be? What would he be like? Headcanons & speculation post for fun. But I’ll start with analytic lead up because that’s always fun for me, though feel free to skip and skim.

When it comes to what Chilchuck’s dungeon lord desires could/would be like we have mainly 3 hints: His nightmare, his succubus and what the winged lion says to him.

Why: — From what we see nightmares are based on the person’s worst fears and insecurities, both Laios’ and Marcille’s nightmare were closely tied to their dungeon lord wishes (Laios’ dream monster being summoned to crush the ghosts of relationships that represented the pressure to fit in and belong, Marcille seeking control over death and aging through magic to avoid loss), the fuel behind their desire/goal if you will. Fear and deep-seated desires are seemingly closely tied, something also supported by Thistle and Mithrun’s reigns as dungeon lords (Thistle proving his worth through fulfilling his given duty + protecting his loved ones, being listened to instead of having to listen, Mithrun escaping rigid two-faced elven society and living in a wonderland where he has no enemies and he’s loved, free from everyone he knew yet propped up by the person symbolizing his brother being chosen over him, the bastard child).

— I’ve talked about the significance I assign to the succubi often by now, but rundown: What we see of each character is all very telling if you care to listen, it shows not only someone’s "ideal form" but what they want from it. Izutsumi’s is familial, offering a hug and comfort, Marcille’s is romantic with a character she knows and loves, offering a kiss on a hand and a connection regardless of how distant it actually is, and Laios’ is platonic, arguable at first but then Laios’ fear of judgement is placated and he is offered the picture perfect friend group that accepts his interest (if you want my full look at Laios’ succubus go here). They take on the most alluring form, most ideal person of their victim, even uncovering deep subconscious desires, so precisely and effectively to the point it leaves victims physically frozen before the object of their desire. Succubi and the demon are themselves tied in lore and it’s easy to see how similar their core skill are. Succubi don’t give a good idea of what a character would wish for on their own but they certainly give hints on what they crave, regardless of how you want to read it.

— Last bit is self-explanatory. To placate Chilchuck and win his compliance over, the monster that reads your soul like an open book offers to give him something specific. But! It’s also important to remember that the lion isn’t offering to fulfill Chilchuck’s dream world wish here, it’s a second prize, because his goal with what he promised Laios is that they’d stay in this world, away from everyone and everything else. Chilchuck wants to get away but is kept back, and it’s here the lion placates him with "hey it’s okay! You can’t do that but I can still give you this! This is enough right? It’ll make everything easier on you".

What each bit says: — Long version in another post. Tldlr: His daughters and family are obviously important to him, and this reinforces that he takes on the role of protector a lot, he’s constantly worried for his party members’ lives and implicitly his family’s. Safety and stability, both economical and otherwise, are his core values and goals, and he berates both others and himself if someone fails on those fronts. Here, there’s the fear of not being enough, of not having been able to protect, and of course of loss.

— Chil’s succubi are obviously sexual, and not only that but agressively and straightforwardly so. It’s not like Marcille’s where there’s personality involved, all they do is give him sultry looks and pretty smiles before jumping on him. His succubi aren’t like Izutsumi’s, always the same exact person and appearance, so it’s not someone but an appealing general idea. The idea of a sexual being he can regard as simply a gorgeous piece of meat and a good time no strings attached. In my interpretation, especially with my reading of Laios’ succubus where even with deep-seated desires negative emotions can be too intense to effectively freeze a victim, I think this doesn’t contradict his character. Relationships have been painful to him in the past, in the succubus scene when his wife gets mentioned his immediate reaction is to yell "Don’t bring her up now!", like with his habit of drinking and as a tallman liking his senses feeling dulled, it’s about not having to feel emotions with how difficult they are to deal with sometimes and just feeling good, or at least not having to think, for a while. If a succubus showcases someone’s ideal connection with an ideal person, then Chilchuck’s is with a pretty person that doesn’t stir any negative memory or drama, someone low stakes and low maintenance that doesn’t require him to manage or talk out feelings because there’s none involved in the first place.

— Once more, wife and family are important! He does long for his family, not only his wife but his daughters, and vice versa. This suggests not only that he wants good relationships with them but that he wants them to be with him, a family life. Far from the cut communication they all more of less have during canon, and perhaps far from their life pre-canon when he worked away from home a significant amount of time. We’ve seen recreations of people by the winged lion before with doppelgangers and monsters (naga), and though he claims he can make satisfying imitations, what we’ve seen is that they base themselves on the best memories of that person, like with Marcille’s dad, or twist behavior to be more pleasant, like Mithrun’s lover (and possibly twist appearances depending on the person’s view of them, but that’s Mithrun analysis). The line does suggest Chilchuck would want his family members as they are in reality and not idealized versions, but the circumstances are chaotic and urgent enough in the scene (and again the lion isn’t fulfilling Chilchuck’s wish but trying to make him content for Laios’) that it could just be the winged lion saying what he needs to to convince him the fastest possible, and like we see with Laios that can crumble to give way to deeper or more complex desires.

On top of that we just have general info on Chil. How does Chilchuck deal w his issues? What does he like to do? He likes alcohol and ignoring his problems. We have to remember there is a split between what someone would consciously wish for and what their soul uncontrollably irrationally craves. As always with Dunmeshi, there’s a narrative of irrational deep-seated desires vs active wants, what you crave vs what you strive for, what you dream of vs what’s actually good for you, the animal vs the human inside you, heart vs mind. Chilchuck craving a harem of hot babes in his fantasies but wanting his family life & wife back again is not mutually exclusive. You may crave becoming a monster and tasting what humans are like a little but still want to save the world & your friends more.

Btw can we adress the irony of him terrified of being the last one alive, of being left by his daughters and wife, of having left and coming back home one day to see everything gone or rampaged, yet not caring about dying of liver failure himself, knowing every time that he enters a dungeon there’s a real risk he may not come out. Die somewhere I can’t see you. I prefer leaving you than being left behind. He’s selfish and shortsighted like that… Chilchuck is selfless in many ways of course, but perhaps also due to his own relationship with his parents, he often undermines the effects he has on others in his relationships, both the good and the bad (he talks himself down about being cowardly and greedy yes, but never hints at his bad health habits, alcoholism and starving himself, may have affected his loved ones, doesn’t question his wife falling into a bad mood the night before she left, and talks about the possibility of dying here and there very casually, though obviously he tries his best to stay alive when it doesn’t concern his health).

Chilchuck king of "Let me just avoid and ignore my problems surely they’ll go away, things might work out and if they don’t well tough luck I’ll survive and I probably deserve it anyways". If I don’t look at it it will dissapear <3 Why care when you can simply not think about it.

You might not understand Mister "my love will stay strong through months of work travel and also 4 years of separation" and Mister "well idk my siblings and me are kinda strangers and my dad is dead but that’s kinda whatever", but typically relationships need some form of maintenance and emotional availability…

The actual headcanons finally

I kinda have 2 routes in mind for dunlord Chil and both of them are centered on "I care too much, i wish things were easy", so first is a lot like his succubi, it’s full on indulging in his guilty pleasures like alcohol and bodies and it’s to keep him in a constant state of thrill and euphoria and distracted, unfeeling about stuff that really matters. "Nothing matters except that I’m enjoying the moment!" vibe. He gets to live a life worthy of Dionysus, with alcohol and women and debauchery and like— never having to think again, never having to feel anything but pleasure again, never have to feel guilty or shitty or angry or sad. He has a harem and gets everything on a silver platter.

Breaking news demon magic-induced rush of euphoria and power still not enough to cure this man of his self-hatred nor his capacity for thought!! But in his case a state of euphoria is what he seeks I think, to kinda mask or replace the Everything Else.

The other is what I think closer to what canon suggests, with what WL implied too with "I’ll make you a new wife and kids like the originals!! 😊", it’s a (spoilers) Wandavision type thing where it’s a slice of life where he’s never at work and always at home and the family eats lunches at the dinner table together and everything and everyone at any moment is just. Happy. No issues. It was all a dream, this is real and everything is fine and your family is perfect and happy. I like to think the timeline would be wonky, his daughters would fluctuate in age, but he’d want to be there for what he missed, would want them to still rely on him and look up to him like when they were young, would like to forget that they’re now independent adults and the distance that grew between Chilchuck and his siblings is happening between them as well. Chil would want doppelgangers of his family imo, at its core just a general wish for a peaceful happy family life with no drama, no need to compromise, a little paradise of unconditional love and no consequences. It’s for sure straightforward, but Chilchuck is a man with straightforward desires…

But see Chilchuck is a greedy man, and he wants it both ways without having to sacrifice anything or expanding any efforts himself. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. I think playing with these two opposite directions and mixing and matching is most fun. Him leading a life where he indulges in all his worst habits while still having everything he wants… Him getting to have BOTH his wife and any woman he can imagine up, his life like two sides of a coin he can flip at any moment where he’s partying then he’s at home enjoying the quiet and his toddler daughters playing with toys on the carpet. Christ when you remember it’s all an illusion that’s terrifying, the doppelgangers and succubi from the winged lion playing chilchuck ping pong.

A safe little haven both security-stability wise and emotionally. Gets to have both the relaxing and the thrilling in any dose he wants, mixed or separatedly. What I’d argue he had pre-canon too: Can live it up in taverns away from home, stays away from home for long periods of time, and can come back to home aka the symbol of relaxation and safety whenever he decides to. Something he can leave and come back to at will, an anchor he can trust in (until it’s taken from him and his wife leaves. Or in his worse nightmare people rush in and kill his daughters). The ideal of a house and family to a working man, perhaps…

I think it’s fun to think on wether or not these desires would be interesting at all to the winged lion… In canon he seeks out "rare/complex desires", common simple things like I imagine riches, sex, substances and pleasure would be are boring to him, he’s eaten those so many times already. So perhaps he wouldn’t last long as a dunlord, the WL would want to eat him fully quick, can’t keep him interested or waiting long for a meager meal, too much effort raising the cattle and too low quality meat. By making it more twisted or layered Chil’s desire would become more desirable to the demon, it’s part of what’s fun with the third option to me. But whatever. Has he ever eaten a guy with this much repression and self-sabotage... Like trying to get the meat out of a walnut, enrichment…

Other dunlord Chil takes I’ve seen that are fun and good:

@feelo-fick and @pluvio-floret have a dunlord Chilchuck AU project dubbed "tragedy AU" where Chilchuck is said to be "on vacation", in a weird delirious state, only half-there half of the time… From which he doesn’t want to wake up </3 Quoting Feelo, this is why the vacation thing is only a half-joke cause he is 1) letting all his responsibilities go 2) indulging in himself and 3) "spending time with his family" <- lie but you get what i mean. Additional comments that have me vigorously nodding: because changing is hard why cant things just be okay right now without the effort !!! Life is hard he’s so so tired he just wants to feel good… he just wants life to feel nice and easy for a sec while he can learn to breathe again and lose the stress and trauma he’s accumulated…….. spoiler alert yes !!! in fact a depressed person can suck themselves into their job and lock out the world who wouldve thought !!!

And then Cabinette I know posted about his dunlord take once but I don’t have the link, in which Chil has a lot of nosebleeds because of mana overload which is fun and interesting to think about imo~

In dunmeshi, where characters get underground pockets of the world as their playground disconnected from everything outside and the rest of the world, it’s important to remember to face reality even if it has conflict and people with different views and stances from you, it’s something Chilchuck and Marcille and everyone needed to learn, and the thing with a dungeon lord AU is that you imagine a timeline where he fails to <3

A timeline where his dungeon lord wish is to desire nothing bc hope and want has only ever hurt him would also go so hard. Very universal thing though I suppose.

… And this is why a Chilchuck-centric Coraline AU is really really interesting and fitting and topical— Ok that’ll go in a separate reblog/post at @Fumiku I need to let this end

[teaberrii]

Chapter Nine: A Cat's Jealousy

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

You’re getting harder to resist.

You can’t stop thinking about that night. You remember how he looked at you, his eyes full of warmth, affection… and love. Nah. It can’t be. There’s no way Alhaitham is attracted to you. Right? Perhaps he’s taking this fake dating scenario too seriously.

You gasp when you feel something cold against your cheek. You immediately turn and see Childe with the cold drink you ordered.

“I finally have your attention,” he says with a slight smile as you take the drink from him. Then, he sits across from you. “Something on your mind?” You don’t get to say anything when Childe leans in closer. “Don’t tell me it’s Mr. Hottie.”

“Don’t call him that,” you deadpan.

“Well, it got a smile out of you, at least. If it’s not him, is it writer’s block?”

“...At least that would be easier to solve.”

Childe gasps. “Damn. This must be serious.” He pulls his chair closer. “Spill it. What’s bothering you?”

Do you really want to tell Childe? You're on the fence. Part of you is screaming for you not to, as sometimes outside opinions can cloud a person's judgement. But does it matter? You can already picture his response.

“He likes you,” he would say. “It’s so obvious! Are you blind?”

But wait.

Is that his response? Or is that what your heart is telling you? Wishing for you?

“...If it's not Mr. CEO, is it about the school reunion?”

“Are you going?” you ask.

“I am.”

You raise a brow. “Is it just me, or you don’t sound that excited?”

“There’s no one I really want to see except Collei and Dehya. Everyone else is just”—he waves a hand dismissively—“I think you know what I’m getting at.” He looks at you. “Don’t tell me he contacted you.”

“No. Even if he did, I wouldn’t reply.”

“Can I give my two cents?” You nod. “You should go. Even if he does show up, you should go.”

You sigh and lean back. “To prove a point?”

“Sometimes it’s not whether you want to go or not. If you don’t, they might start to talk about how you’re probably still not over him.” Childe winks at you. “Why not bring Mr. CEO with you?”

“...I’d rather not get him involved.”

“Jokes aside, look at where you’re now. You have bragging rights.”

You laugh. "Never thought I'd see the day where you're giving such…."

“Aw, s’okay to say it. I know I give awesome advice.”

You slowly clap and nod. “Truly great advice, Childe. I’m overwhelmed.”

He gently kicks you underneath the table. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m not!” You stand and scoot in the café chair.

You and Childe are walking back to the office when you say, “I’m surprised you haven’t called me any nicknames.”

“What? Do you miss it now that I don’t do it anymore?”

“Actually, I’m curious what made you finally stop.”

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t disobey an order from the top.”

You remember Alhaitham telling you he could make Childe stop with the nicknames. You didn't think much about it as you didn't think he'd do anything about it.

“...Was it Alhaitham?”

“You should’ve seen how he was looking at me when he said it,” Childe says. Then, he lowers his voice, “Stop with the nicknames at work.” Childe chuckles. “You’d think I was about to get fired for making a huge mistake or something.”

When you don’t say anything, Childe glances at you. Are you thinking about something? Or is it someone?

“Hey," he says, getting your attention. "Alhaitham didn’t do anything to you, right? Not abusing his authority or anything?”

“Of course not.”

Childe grins. “Good.”

As you and Childe walk into the building, you see a tall man who reminds you of Ayaka. He’s walking with two other people you don’t recognize. When you get closer, the man looks in your direction.

“Ayato,” Childe says with a small smile. “Finished with the shoot?”

Ayato? You look from Childe to the man with a kind smile.

“Just finished.” He looks at you. “A friend of yours?”

“Oh! You wanted to meet her, right?” Childe gestures to you. “She’s the scriptwriter for Love in the Spotlight.” He looks at you. “This is Ayato. He’s an actor working with us for our latest project.”

An… actor?!

Ayato extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard great things about your work.”

“Oh, thank you.” You take his hand. “Um… do you have a younger sister, perhaps? Ayaka?”

Ayato looks visibly surprised. “I do. How do you know her?”

So, you're right.

“She’s friends with my brother. They’re staying at the same hospital.”

“Ah, I see. Ayaka has been telling me about a friend who’s been keeping her company. He lent her a video game?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“She told me that they’re planning a lunch together. So”—Ayato takes and lifts your hand and places a delicate kiss—“I hope we get to see more of each other.”

Your eyes widen at the gentleman-like gesture. No one has ever done that before, and you’re at a loss for words. Even Childe’s surprised as he stares wide-eyed at you and Ayato. Suddenly, you hear the sound of shoes on marble, but it’s the voice that makes you turn.

“Excuse me.”

“Mr. Hot—” Childe quickly clears his throat. “Mr. CEO!”

You’ve never seen Alhaitham in a suit, but he looks so damn good you almost couldn’t look away. You know he works out if his body is anything to go by. But the white shirt somehow makes his lean muscle stand out even more.

Alhaitham walks up to you and Ayato, his eyes on Ayato's hand holding yours.

“Is this a new way of greeting someone?” Alhaitham asks.

Ayato smiles at him. “It’s a respectful way to greet a lady.”

Alhaitham looks at him and takes your hand, forcing Ayato to let go. Then, Alhaitham looks you in the eyes.

“...May I?”

Do what?

“Um, yes?”

He lifts your hand and gives it a feather-like kiss as soon as you give permission. You can almost hear your heart pounding in your ears as his gaze meets yours once again.

“...Could you come with me?” he asks.

Are you in trouble? Did you do something?

With a million questions flooding your mind, you follow Alhaitham to his office. Childe and Ayato glance at each other as if trying to understand what just happened.

In the elevator, you see your and Alhaitham's reflection in the doors. He looks calm and composed, as usual. You, on the other hand, seem a little nervous. Even you can tell.

“About what I said that night,” he says, breaking the silence. “...Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“I… wouldn’t say uncomfortable.”

“You left in such a hurry.”

“I was surprised,” you mutter. “You would be too… if someone said something like that to you.”

Alhaitham smiles. “Then, I apologize for startling you. However…” He turns to you. “You’re truly a captivating woman.”

Is that a confession? A realization? What are you supposed to make of it?

The elevator doors open, and he puts a hand to stop them from closing. He gestures for you to go first. You do, and he follows you. When you turn around, you see him loosening his tie, and your eyes widen. Wait a minute. What is this?

His hand is still on his tie when he looks up at the air conditioning. “I apologize that it’s a little hot in here. They’re fixing the AC later today.”

Ah. Yeah. Now that he mentioned it, it is a little hot in the office. Or… is it just you?

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you ask, sitting on the couch.

“...My grandfather would like to meet you.”

Wait. What? His grandfather? The actual CEO?

Alhaitham sighs. “Layla and my secretary told him about you.”

“...What did she say that makes him want to meet me?”

Alhaitham was still thinking about what he said to you when his phone went off that night. As soon as he picked up, his grandfather wasted no time getting to the point.

“Who is this woman you’ve been hanging out with?”

“...Who?” Alhaitham asked, equally confused.

"He told me you bought her clothes… Layla said you complimented her because she wrote Love in the Spotlight."

Oh. They told him about you.

“I’m aware of all the shows we produce. She’s an employee, isn’t she?”

“...And?”

“Haitham, are you…. Are you getting involved with an employee?”

"Outside of work, we're friends," Alhaitham said. And neighbours. But he decided to leave that part out for now.

"How did you meet? At work?"

“I’m not romantically involved with her. There’s no need for this—”

“I’m worried that she’s after you.”

Alhaitham sat on his couch, catching on to what his father’s saying. “She’s not.”

“How are you so sure? Since when did you become so trusting of people, Haitham?”

“She’s not after anything.”

“Well, I’d like to meet her. Don’t take this the wrong way. I just want to see what kind of person she is.”

Alhaitham knew if he refused, his grandfather would be even more suspicious. So, did he have a choice? Hopefully, you’d be okay with it.

"Similar to your situation with your mother, my grandfather also wants me to settle down with someone." Alhaitham sighs and sits on the opposite side. "He's curious about you."

Can you really say no? His grandfather is the actual CEO of the company. So saying no would be… directly disobeying an order from leadership, not something that you really want to do.

“...Well, it wouldn’t be fair if I said no. Besides, I don’t think I have a choice.”

Alhaitham notices your hands subtly fidgeting with each other on your lap. You’re also looking away from him. “Don’t be nervous.” You turn to him and see his little smile. “Just be yourself. He’ll love you.”

There it is again. Is he flirting with you? Should you call him out? Ignore it? What if he isn’t flirting, and it’s all in your head? You cannot imagine the embarrassment. So… maybe you can take a different approach to test the waters.

“...On one condition. I’d like to borrow that book of yours. Heart’s Desire.”

Alhaitham chuckles. “Of course. But, may I ask why?”

“Well, someone was being naughty, so I didn’t get a chance to read it that night,” you say, crossing one leg over the other. “I didn’t think you’d be so… playful, Catman.”

Is that a little smirk? Well, it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Anything to get a lovely lady’s attention.”

“Anything, you say?”

“It sounds like you have something in mind,” he says.

You laugh. “Anything is better than leaving scratch marks on my back."

“Surely I didn’t scratch you that hard.”

“Would you like me to show you?”

He returns your deadpan stare with one of his own. Then, he stands and puts a hand in his pocket. “...I’ll be more gentle next time.”

You’re sure you’re blushing now, but it’s not just your face that feels warm.

“I’ll bring the book for you,” Alhaitham continues. “...Unless you’d like to drop by my place again.”

You stand. If it wasn't for the table between you, you probably would have walked closer to him.

“Aren’t I stopping by anyways?" you ask. "Unless… you’d like to do it at my place.”

Your heart is beating like crazy; your legs feel like jelly.

Alhaitham’s gaze darkens. “As long as we have privacy.”

You have to remind yourself you’re talking about the experiment. It’s getting really hot now, and you need some air.

You clear your throat, looking away from him. “I, um, I should get back to work.”

"Before you go…." You glance at him, but he casually looks away. "Who was that man with you a while ago?"

“...Oh, you mean Ayato? That was the first time I met him, but his sister is friends with my brother.”

Alhaitham looks back. “Aether?”

You nod.

“...I see.”

You walk over to him. “You look… troubled, Catman. Something wrong?”

“What’s with the smile?”

“Smile?” You look away. “I’m not smiling.”

He's standing in front of you now. Then, he gently tilts your head toward him. You're holding your breath as you stare into his eyes which are completely focused on you.

Then, he leans in and whispers lowly in your ear, “You’re right. You’re blushing.”

You immediately step back, and he leans upward with a small smile. “Don’t think you’ve won.”

"Won?" he asks innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about." Then, he looks at his watch. "...We should get back to work." Then, just before you reach the door, he says, "I'll see you tonight."

“You’d better show up as a cat,” you deadpan.

Is that another smirk?

“...Right. Kisses come first, don’t they?”

You wish you had a witty remark, but you leave with a strange mix of anger, frustration, and… excitement.

◆◆◆

“Are you sure you’re okay walking like this?” Ayaka asks.

She and Aether are taking an evening stroll around the hospital. It was Aether who had asked her first. Yes, he was bored but he also wanted to get to know Ayaka better. She was soft-spoken and didn't share a lot about herself, which only heightened Aether's curiosity. It was better than staying indoors and playing games all day, right?

"Of course!" Aether says, smiling. Well, it is a bit inconvenient to walk, but that's not going to stop him.

As soon as Ayaka spots an empty bench, she says, “Let’s sit down for a bit.”

A short silence passes between them until Aether turns to her, “Um, I’m curious… what are you being hospitalized for?”

“Ah… I never told you, did I?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I… I just want to get to know you a little better.”

Ayaka chuckles. “You’re very cute, Aether.”

“Cute? Me?” He awkwardly rubs the back of his head. “That’s a first. I’ve only been called annoying by my sisters.” His face turns a little pale. “Ah! But I’m not really annoying. I—”

“You seem to get along well with them."

Aether visibly relaxes a little. “Well, they are my sisters… even though we’re not blood-related.”

“Oh, you aren’t?”

“Lumine and I are. But, we were adopted into my older sister’s family.”

Ayaka smiles. “I’m glad you found such a loving family, and it’s amazing that you two were adopted together.”

“Me too! We were lucky.”

“Um… if you don’t mind my asking, do you know who your real parents are?”

Aether shakes his head. “...All we know is that our mother was young when she gave us up.”

“I see.”

“U-Um, do you mind if I ask a question.”

“Of course not. Oh, but I didn’t answer your first question.” She looks straight ahead. “...I'm here because I got a heart transplant last week.”

Aether didn't know what to expect when he initially asked the question. But it definitely wasn't that.

“I’ve always had a weak heart,” Ayaka continues. “I could never participate in any physical activities at school, and”—she smiles sadly—“I think some people found it a bother to be around me.”

“Why would you be a bother?”

“I couldn’t do a lot of the things people my age wanted to do. So… I guess they stopped inviting me to things because I couldn’t go or participate anyway.”

“That’s ridiculous! I… I would’ve hung out with you.”

Ayaka chuckles. “You’re kind, Aether.”

“...Is that why you decided to get a heart transplant?”

“It would be a risk either way. I was told I wouldn’t live past thirty if I didn’t get a heart transplant. If I did, there’s a chance I would.”

Before Aether can stop himself, he takes her hand.

Ayaka smiles at him. "At the end of the day, I just want people to treat me normally."

“...Do you think we should ask Ayaka?”

Ayaka stopped in front of her classroom door upon hearing her classmate’s voice.

“I don’t think she would be able to handle it," someone else said. "Let’s ask someone else.”

“But it’s just helping out at the school festival. We don’t have to ask her to do anything strenuous.”

“Yeah, but if something happens, we might get blamed for it. I certainly don’t want to take that responsibility.”

“...I know people will still treat me differently. But maybe things will change.” The short silence doesn't last long as she turns to Aether. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to talk about something so… gloomy.”

Aether smiles at her. "No, thank you for sharing that with me. But don't you think we need to celebrate?"

“Celebrate?”

“Your surgery was a success! It definitely calls for a celebration!”

“Aren’t you getting discharged soon?”

Aether pouts. “Are you saying we can’t be friends even after we leave?” He stands and smiles. “I’d love to take you to the amusement park once we’re both out.”

“Without your sisters?”

“Well… I mean… if you want them to come, I guess I could invite them.”

Ayaka chuckles and stands. “Should we say we forgot to ask?”

"It'll be our little secret!"

◆◆◆

Lumine is waiting for you outside your office building to visit Aether when she hears "Hey, Lulu" near her ear. There's only one person who has ever called her by that nickname. She turns around and sees the person she's expecting to see: the flirting ginger.

“Childe,” she deadpans.

“Not even a smile?” he asks, putting a hand over his heart. “You hurt me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here, Lulu. Where else do you expect me to be on a weekday?”

Lumine crosses her arms. “So, do you go around calling people by nicknames they don’t want to hear after hours?”

“Well, that depends if I like them enough,” Childe says with a casual shrug.

If Lumine was tall enough, she would pat his shoulder. "Sis is pretty much taken now, which is why you've switched targets, huh?"

"Is it just me, or are you in a particularly sassy mood today?"

"Only with you, Childe," she says, rolling her eyes.

“My, then I guess I do feel special.”

Lumine frowns upon seeing that little smile.

“Lumine!”

Your sister turns and sees you walking towards them.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Childe says.

“Did I interrupt something?” you ask.

Childe waves his hand dismissively. "So, where are you two headed?"

“We’re going to visit Aether,” you say as you, Lumine, and Childe start walking toward the street. “Do you want to come?”

“Love to, but I have some things to take care of tonight.”

“That’s a first,” Lumine says.

“Well, for your information, Lulu, I, too, have adult responsibilities believe it or not.”

You almost chuckle at your sister's frown. Then, you look at Childe. "Well, I'll see you later then."

After parting ways with Childe, you and Lumine arrive at the hospital a short while later. You're about to reach Aether's room when you see your brother approaching his room from the opposite end of the hallway. But he’s not alone.

“Whoa,” Lumine whispers. “Is that tall guy Ayaka’s brother?”

Ayato notices you and gives you a small wave. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Who are you?” Lumine asks.

“My brother,” Ayaka answers. “He was visiting me earlier, and I introduced him to Aether.” She looks at Ayato. “Do you two already know each other?”

“We work in the same field,” Ayato says.

“You work in the entertainment industry?” Lumine asks.

Ayato smiles at her. “I’m an actor.”

Lumine’s jaw almost drops. “T-that’s so cool!”

“You’re drooling, Lumine.”

She glares at her brother. “I am not!”

You laugh. “Well, I guess we can skip the introductions, huh?”

While Lumine, Aether, and Ayaka are chatting back in Aether’s room, you and Ayato step out to grab a snack from the hospital café downstairs.

"My sister has nothing but good things to say about Aether," Ayato says as you and he wait for your order.

“Aether also seems brighter after meeting her,” you say with a small smile. “I’m glad he’s made a friend.” You take your sandwich from the barista. “By the way… what kind of project are you working on with Childe’s group? Or is it a secret for now?”

Ayato takes his order, and you sit at an empty table.

"It's a commercial for Sumeru Wine, but today was just a photo shoot."

“Impressive,” you say. “I love Sumeru Wine. It’s one of the few alcoholic drinks I can take now.”

“You don’t drink?”

“I used to. But… I stopped.”

Ayato looks at you curiously. “I guess we're in the same boat.”

“Oh?”

“I stopped drinking… for Ayaka.”

This takes you by surprise. "For Ayaka?"

"She used to have a weak heart," Ayato explains. "There was a time when she wanted to drink to fit in with everyone else." He smiles sadly. "When I told her she couldn't, she looked me dead in the eyes and said that I was doing it, too."

"So, you wanted to set a good example."

Ayato nods. "Exactly."

"Hey, Sis! What's taking so long?" You and Ayato turn to Lumine. "We were wondering what happened to the two of you!"

“Oh, sorry,” you say, standing.

“What were you two talking about?”

“That’s a secret.” You and Lumine turn to Ayato, who still has that kind smile.

“It was just about work and a little about Ayaka,” you say.

"Ooh, I see…."

You glance at your watch, and you almost drop your drink. Is it this late already?

“Something wrong, Sis?”

“I didn’t know it was so late already,” you say, remembering Alhaitham.

Lumine also looks at the time on her phone. But then, Ayato says, "It sounds like you're in a rush. Would you like me to drive the two of you back?"

“I appreciate it, but Lumine and I can take the train back,” you say. “We still have time.”

After telling you where he lives, Ayato says, “If you and your sister live around there, it would be in the same area anyways.”

“That’s… not far from where we live, actually," Lumine says.

Ayato smiles. “Then, I wouldn’t mind driving two friends back home.”

◆◆◆

As a cat, Alhaitham is sitting on the counter, staring at his phone. Before he turned, he'd messaged you twice as you were never late to your "meetings." When you didn't reply, he was getting worried. But now that you've responded, he feels… something strange. It's like a bitter taste in his mouth that he can't get rid of.

Batwoman: On my way back. Sorry. I was visiting my brother and Ayato's driving Lumine and me home.

Ayato? What was Ayato doing with you?

Kaveh comes out of the kitchen and sees Alhaitham staring at his phone. “What’s wrong, Kittyman?”

That’s when they hear a knock on Alhaitham’s door.

As soon as Kaveh answers it, he grins. “Oh, so we meet again!”

“Kaveh,” you say, clearly surprised. “What… what are you doing here?”

Kaveh opens Alhaitham’s door a little wider. You see Alhaitham sitting on the counter.

"Ah, I guess I never explained, did I?" Kaveh chuckles. He lets you inside. "Haitham and I used to be roommates. But our relationship started turning sour, so I moved out before it got worse." Then, he closes the door. "I still drop by occasionally, though, just to see how he's holdin' up. It can get pretty lonely, after all." Alhaitham meows and Kaveh turns to him. "I know you're protesting, but it's true." 

The conversation between you and Kaveh falls on deaf ears as Alhaitham is still coming to terms with this… bitter feeling. It's the same he felt when he saw Ayato kiss your hand. It irked him like an insufferable itch.

“Okay, well, I’m here because I want to see the magic happen!” Kaveh says.

“There’s really no magic,” you say. “I mean… he just poofs back.”

Then you notice Alhaitham isn't sitting on the counter anymore. Instead, he's sitting on the couch with his butt facing you and Kaveh.

Is he… sulking?

You walk over and sit beside Alhaitham. He gives you one look and then turns away.

"Is it just me, or… does he not want to talk to me?" you ask, a little baffled.

Kaveh smirks. “Well… you did say a dude drove you back, didn’t you?” He scratches Alhaitham’s head. “Is Kittyman jealous?”

Alhaitham wanted to swipe his friend's hand away but thought better. Instead, he quickly jumps off the couch and walks into his room. You and Kaveh look at each other.

“Is it too much to ask if I ask you to help deal with him?” Kaveh looks at his watch. “I’m going to grab something to eat. Didn’t think his fridge would be pretty much empty.”

Once Kaveh is out the door, you walk to Alhaitham's room, where he's curled up on his bed. He feels his bed shift, so he looks up and sees you sitting on the edge.

“...Is it okay if I lie down?”

Alhaitham sits up and meows. You take that as permission and lie on your stomach next to him. He puts a paw on your cheek, and you think it would be cute… if his expression still doesn't look unhappy with you.

You sit up and sigh. “I’m sorry.”

He's not mad at you for being late, but he just needs to come to terms with these… annoying feelings about Ayato. You put your hand on top of his paw. He looks up at you.

“Still mad?”

Alhaitham jumps in your direction, forcing you to lie on your back while he’s on top of you. His front paws are just above your chest.

“Alright. What are you scheming, Catman?”

You think he'll jump away or maybe get the hint when you move to sit up. But he doesn't, and you end up accidentally kissing his head.

His hands are on either side of your head, his eyes wide as he stares at you. This is definitely déjavu. You on your back and Alhaitham on top of you. Except, the circumstances have changed. The silence drags on until…

“...You aren’t going to grab another slipper, are you?”

“...That depends.”

“On?”

“Are you going to try anything funny?”

He leans closer and whispers in your ear. “Is being gentle trying something funny?”

You don't get a chance to ask when he kisses your forehead. But then, he smiles at you, and you feel your face instantly heat up.

Suddenly, the door opens, and you freeze when you hear, “Wha—What in the world are you doing?!"

Chapter Ten

Tag list: @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @lordbugs @suoshiii @sakiimeo @ashtree-and-the-cats @ceylestia @deathkat657 @forsh4dow @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @tanspostsblog @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @alatus2716 @itztaki @thetwinkims

[mh-and-celiac]

This may be a hot take but anyways.

Whilst we need the general public & to some extent, newly diagnosed people with coeliac disease to understand the seriousness of the condition. I wish people within our community would stop fear mongering so much.

We get it. We need to not be exposed to gluten. But also we still need quality of life. There comes a point where the harm stress does to our body, outweighs small occasional risks of exposure.

Having a ‘may contain’ food item once in while, is not that serious. It is not going to do a massive amount of damage to our bodies in the long term, even if it does have traces. Getting exposed from eating out one time, is not going to cause cancer.

Some people get extremely ill & I’m not dismissing that. Most of us want to avoid it regardless of the severity because it sucks. But what I am saying that if people want to take small risks once in a while, they shouldn’t be made to feel bad or like that is going to kill them. People should be allowed to ask ‘hey, anyone tried this may contain? Did you get sick from it?’.

I don’t know why but it’s always the ‘may contains’ that people are the most wildly judgemental about. Everywhere you eat out is a ‘may contain’. Your home is one huge ‘may contain’ if you live with people who eat gluten.

Do your best. Allow your body to heal after diagnosis &/or exposure. Figure out what risks feel like a reasonable balance for you between not getting sick/not having ongoing exposures & quality of life. Maybe this works better in places where it’s easier to avoid exposures because of better/clearer labelling laws but that’s all I can speak to & where the chaotic judgement is coming from too.

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Never Fall In Love Again: Scene 8: The Final Shot

Fandom: The Bubble

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: Angst angst angst. Sex happens, but not explicitly. Casual drug use. Playing fast and loose with: how the film industry works, how the naturalization system works, the shit media personalities can get away with on a red carpet.

A/N: It’s the final chapter. There’s…a lot of ground covered here. I thought about splitting it up, but it needed to go together, needed to pass in a blurry, painful memory. This fic took a total jo-ha-kyū route and I’m not sorry about it. I think I like it that way. Anyway. I’m so happy that I’ve had the chance to write for this disaster pancake. I’ve fallen in love with him so.

Thankfully Dieter always respected personal space. It’s why, the morning after the drunken session on the couch, you’d slunk off to your room in utter humiliation and anxiety about ruining everything–everything! so stupid!--and hoped he’d think you’d just gone out. It’s why you could lay on your bed with the door shut and know he wouldn’t open it if you didn’t answer his knock.

It’s not that you thought he didn’t like you or wasn’t attracted to you.

It was obvious that he absolutely wanted to sleep with you.

But that was the problem. It meant, in the end, you’d be just one of his many flings. You might have some fun–hell, he might even convince himself that he loved you–but surely and eventually it would become monotonous for him and he’d give you the cold shoulder, living up to the image of the commitmentphobe he’d presented to the world.

Curled up on your bed and fighting tears was futile. There you were, playing this wifey role, holding up your end of the deal, hoping to prove to the world that he wasn't that guy…but in no way able to believe it yourself.

It would have been so easy to give into him; surely you weren’t in denial and could admit it’s what you wanted. But there were only a couple of months left in the marriage and then you could let him go back to his feral life. It would pass for both of you. You could remain friends. Keep respect.

Keep your heart from getting broken.

And in one stupid night, you’d rushed past your best judgements and upset the equilibrium. It would be harder now to back away from this brink, because the more you retreated, the more he might be challenged to follow and if he did that…if he was sweet to you…it would be harder to resist….

What a fucking mess.

At some point, you’d fallen back to sleep and woken up in the afternoon feeling even worse. Dehydration demanded you brave the kitchen for some water, take the chance of running into him...

But there was only a note on the fridge, pinned up next to the printout of that photo. The two of you on his opening night. He’d held onto you so tightly….

Flight’s at noon. Sorry I missed you. Good to see you. Wish we’d had more time together. –D.

It was impossible to know his mind from the note. Was he sincere? Was he hurt? Maybe he was indifferent. No big deal. Like he could care less, a blip in the friendship, it happens. Or was it written in anger when you didn’t answer his knock but were so obviously at home?

The note and the picture couldn’t stay on the fridge. But you couldn’t throw them away either.

It seemed appropriate at the time to just…shut them in the freezer.

________

He was the first to break the silence about ten days later, a goofy shot of him on a camel. Sunnies on. Windblown and tanned. And you put a heart on it.

Things were a little easier past that. He wasn’t able to call as much, and when he could, you were either sleeping or working. He left messages, none of them threatening to talk about what went down that night, so after a few weeks, he finally called in the morning again.

“Hey, D. Nice camel.”

“What? Oh that. That asshole spit in my hair. Camel’s don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. Dromedaries are the Karens of the animal kingdom.” When that earned him a laugh, you could hear him smiling back at you. “If you get a break in your schedule, you should come out. I’ll fly you out and teach you to ride one of these monsters. It’s a good skill to have. You never know when they’re gonna remake Lawrence of Arabia.”

Trying to skirt the offer, you poked, “Wait. I thought that was what you were doing out there.”

“Ha ha.” But he wasn’t giving up. “I mean it, Cakes. Get your ass out here. It’s a free ride to a place that’s almost impossible to get to and you won’t get food like this in your life. The hash is pretty good too…. I could show you around…. I’d…like you to see this.”

There it was. A hesitation at the end of every sentence. What he meant was “I want to see you. I miss you.” But couldn’t say it. It only proved what you thought to be true, that he’d never really get there. Another win on the side of shutting that shit down.

“Yeah. Great. What I want is to sweat to death and get sand in my asscrack and camel spit in my hair. No thank you.”

The huff he made was probably meant to be a laugh. Would have been, if it hadn’t been shuttered by restrained disappointment. “I guess I can’t blame you there.”

“It’s fine,” you pushed on, cheery, “Thankfully, I can live vicariously through you! How’re the dailies? Did they finally get you a better assistant?”

And he took the hint and moved on.

Things mainly went back to normal after that. More mornings than not, you’d start your day with him as he ended his with you, and when he signed off with a quiet “have a good day, Cakes, miss your face,” you smiled sincerely and told him, “no need, we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

It was the best you could do. For both of you.

________

Dieter’s trials and tribulations on location came to an end a couple of weeks shy of the Oscars and suddenly, he was home. There wasn’t much time to hang out; once he touched down in L.A. it seemed everyone who wrote for a magazine, blog, podcast, entertainment website–not to mention friends and agents–all wanted a piece of him. And that was for the best.

Because from the moment he walked in the door, from the way you both froze in place–several body lengths apart, judging the distance, trying to quickly work out the fraction of space it would be appropriate to cross, or wait for him to cross, or wished he’d cross, strategizing where arms and hands and lips would land–it was less awkward than you ever could have expected and more…

…magnetic.

From the moment you let out a breath and raised a hand in what you hoped was a casual welcome home and he gave a half-smile and let his shoulders drop, it was easy enough to fall back into housemates and let him lift you in a squeeze–the little punch you gave to his arm and peck you left on his cheek said you were glad he was back–it was all meant to be breezy and friendly and laid-back but was uncomfortably more…

…yearning.

All the work you’d put into keeping your heart at arm’s length during all those calls, you realized in a flash that it had only created a greater ease between you, a natural partnership…

…a home.

And so you kept busy as much as you could. Because if you two should find yourself on the couch together again, that ease would be unbalanced. You’d find yourself fighting any urges to curl into him, becoming stiff with the effort to avoid touching or laughing or letting him catch your eye. You were barely keeping it together when you ran into him here and there, staying on your feet and always keeping a piece of furniture between you to allow smiles and eye contact, but had a physical disrupter to the rails that threatened to pull you in.

A stylist was hired. You were wrapped in matching Versace. He looked gorgeous in a black tux–with a shirt vibrantly pattered in colors chosen to pick up the nuances in your dress–except for his hair which had been styled back, but that he vehemently defied in favor for scrubbing his scalp with his thick hands and letting the curls stand where they may.

Your fingers itched to fix him–or to mess him up more–and you might have done, except that the limo had arrived with Davey and Mark inside.

The ride to the ceremony was joyous. Until the coke came out. Then you just let the boys have their fun and stared out the window.

There were enough personalities on the carpet to focus on, allowing you to split from Dieter and make your own way through the gauntlet, stopping to hug industry friends and chat with a few people along the ropes, all the things Dieter had taught you to do at Cannes and Seattle, his tutelage making the night and its blaring camera lights so much easier.

At least until you got to the ETalk media press point.

“Your breakout role as the soothsayer in Fall of Timon has you nominated for an Oscar tonight!”

“Yeah! I was completely bowled over by the announcement. I know everyone always says it, but I feel like that was the real moment, getting the nomination. It was the cake.”

“And now you’re looking for the Oscar icing!”

“That would be nice, but the cake’s still good without the icing.”

“Speaking of icing, has the temperature been cold at home with your husband nominated for his role in Hunger Strike alongside your category-mate Chelsea Seagate?”

It was still a struggle to keep composure in the face of questions meant to throw you off, meant to get a glitch reaction out of you, meant to dig in and hurt.

“Of course not. We support each other thoroughly. And I think Chelsea has earned every right to win that award. But speaking of my husband, I should go make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“Well good luck with that. We’re all pulling for you. And for the Oscar too.”

After that interaction, a blur. More lights, more plastered smiles and aching cheeks. All the same questions about the nomination, the competition, and the not-so-sly segways into how it affected your marriage.

But at the end of the carpet, Dieter was waiting. Dutifully. Smiling proudly as he watched you hold your own. He reached out to take your hand and lead you into the theater. And you let him.

Once inside though, it was easy to feign distraction–needing both hands to address a catch on your skirt or give someone a hug–conveniently having reason to ignore his waiting hand as you took in your first view of the Dolby Theater and the gold-and-crystal stage design for the ceremony, following the usher to your assigned seats.

You thought you were smooth, that he wouldn’t notice any avoidance on your part.

It was an odd set up, but one specifically put into place for Dieter. Because of course they had to seat him close to the Hunger Strike group, but knew you’d need to be with the Timon team, and yet they also wanted to keep you together. Your seats were on the aisle in the row of the Timon producers and the film’s composer and costuming team, with the Timon cast in the row behind (Davey sitting on the end behind Dieter as the main hopeful acting win for the production) and cast and producers of Hunger Strike taking up the row ahead.

Including the shining, platinum and perfectly-coiled coif of Chelsea Seagate.

Who stood up to hug Dieter.

And Dieter hugged her back.

For a long time.

She chattered excitedly in his ear as you sat next to the composer and tried not to notice how Dieter’s hand subconsciously slid down the curve of Chelsea’s lower back.

When she finally came away, she had the audacity to boop his nose.

She booped. His nose.

Then twiddled her fingers at you, “Hiiiii!!!” and sat back down without another word.

Well. Without another word to you. Because there were plenty more words for Dieter. She purposely turned her chin over her shoulder to make comments during the preshow–and throughout much of the program itself–speaking quietly enough so he would have to lean forward and she could repeat herself next to his ear.

Cameras swooped in to catch their chatter here or there, leaving you in the far shot to act as if you were fine with their friendship and just concentrating on the ceremony.

You may have laughed a little too enthusiastically. Smiled a little more brightly. Reacted a bit more theatrically.

To the Academy’s credit, it was an exciting ceremony and Timon was winning all its technical awards, putting you on your feet often enough to let people through the row, giving congratulatory backpats between bouts of clapping your hands clean off your wrists.

But soon enough, it was time to announce the win for supporting actress. And again, you let Dieter coil his fingers into yours.

Something shifted. In all the nominations being read and applause happening, the center of the world suddenly seemed to exist on the armrest between you. His hand was warm. Sturdy. Grounding. A reminder of all you had been through together to be there. For one moment, all the other tangled feelings fell away to reveal the core of your friendship, how he had singled you out, supported you, walked you through this sudden onslaught of media attention. And here he was again, your unerring, never hesitating, main support. Here to usher you through this new first.

One last time.

But he only needed one hand to hold yours. The other reached forward to Chelsea’s bare shoulder. And squeezed.

Soon enough that support was ripped away and he was standing, pulling Chelsea into a congratulatory hug while she began to cry and kiss your husband on the cheek.

There was a touch on your own shoulder. And though it wasn’t the one you wanted, you still turned to smile at Davey and let him know you were okay.

Suddenly, the award didn’t seem so important anymore.

Soon enough, it was your turn to lean back over the seat and take Davey’s hand in solidarity when Dieter’s name was called.

It wasn’t lost on you that Dieter hadn’t at least kissed you for the cameras. Hadn’t sought your praise. Had enough drugs in his system to go off book and use his acceptance speech to wax poetic about the little gold man in his hand but thank none of the people who helped put him on that stage by the time the orchestra started up and drowned him out.

And, of course, he never acknowledged Fall of Timon. Or Davey. Or you.

His award was given out near the end of the night, so he never returned to his seat. Neither did Chelsea. Most likely they were fielding press questions together.

An indie film took best picture, leaving you without the chance to take the stage with everyone… without the hope to be reunited with Dieter.

Davey and Mark took possession of you, glued themselves to your side as you spent the next hour making your way out of the Dolby, chatting with industry friends, giving the obligatory “it’s an honor to be nominated” to a few microphones, and saying “I’m so proud of him” enough times that you were happy to find that it was never a lie.

Of course you were proud of him.

You loved him.

You were the stupidest, saddest, most pathetic girl in the room and surely everyone could see it.

There must have been press photos for all the winners. A junket. That’s why he was taking so long to return to you. You finally began to feel faint, needing food and getting tired of waiting and the boys whisked you away to the afterparty you’d all agreed to meet at. Surely Dieter would catch up with you there.

But he never showed.

And the blur continued, having to pretend to be exuberant, to fake-the-good-time-in-order-to-make-the good-time…trying not to bring down all your friends. There was still your nomination and production wins to celebrate after all.

Even though you were aching inside.

Even though you were sure you had ruined everything in all the ways you wish you hadn’t.

Later, Davey and Mark would turn in and you would stay behind to wait.

At least until the limo returned.

And then you took the ride back home.

Alone.

In the morning, Morgan called, telling you to sift through all the notifications on your phone–Oscars, Fall of Timon, your name–until you got to the trending topic of Dieter Bravo. The most surprising thing about all the pictures of him leaving Chelsea’s home was not that he had gone home with her, but how numb you felt scrolling through them.

No. Not numb. Validated.

And you stayed in your room. And ignored the knock that finally came.

The next few days carried the theme of avoidance. The paparazzi. The questions they shouted out at you about your cheating husband. You closed up your wounds so their salt couldn’t get in, packed up your essentials and moved back into the apartment he’d paid to keep for you all this time so you’d have a place to go if you needed.

Well, you needed.

On your way out, it was easy to ignore the envelope laying on the kitchen counter with your name on it, just like you had ignored all the texts and the voicemails. It was, however, a convenient spot to lay a sparkling gem–one that had caught the light so brilliantly a year ago–after you’d slipped it off your finger and given it a kiss goodbye.

________

Notice came in the mail of your citizenship a month later.

Dieter had done the interviews, answered all the questions, signed all the documents, kept your separation a secret.

He didn’t have to do that.

But he did.

You picked up the phone and dialed.

It barely rang once. “Hey. Hey. How are you? Are you okay? Can we talk?”

One long breath. Made him wait. “Can I just say what I need to say?”

“Yes. Please. Ladybug. Anything you want. You got it.”

Taking one last look at your heart, you tucked it away, out of sight, though hardly out of mind. And with a practiced vocal poise, you began.

“I just got my green card. And I want to thank you so much for this. You’ve been such a help to me since the moment I met you and I couldn’t have gotten through this last year without you. I want you to know that.”

“Cakes–”

“I’m not done. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that with everything going on you still did this for me. I want you to understand that this is going to help me succeed here. And you did that for me. I will always cherish you for what you’ve done for me.”

“Cakes, I’m so sorry. I haven’t held up my end of the bargain. I didn’t–we didn’t–”

“It’s okay. I can handle myself and anything lobbed my way. You taught me well. And you held up the important part. The citizenship was the main trade off, remember? If there’s ever anything I can do for you in thanks, just let me know, okay?”

“Come home.”

It was the break in his voice that gave you pause. But the mental image of him in his battered Versace with the tie undone on the steps of the Silver Lake home was what pushed you on. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“I really thought you might love me.”

“I…I can’t.” Not a complete lie.

“I love you…so fucking much.”

You’d let it go on too long. It was starting to hurt. You preferred numbness. You preferred validation.

“No. You don’t. You think you do. But you don’t. You’ll get over it. It’ll be okay. Congratulations on the Oscar, D. You deserve every ounce of it. Really.”

“I need to talk to you–”

“There’s nothing to say, D.”

And you hung up, letting the last words hang there between you. Unraveled. Severed. The end.

The phone rang. It would ring on and off for hours.

You didn’t allow yourself to cry until it finally stopped.

________

The next few months were a mess, avoiding press questions, reminding yourself to stop reading stories about his more frequent temper tantrums and drug-fueled fan interactions. The paparazzi pictures of him and Chelsea out at that coffee shop signaled that it was time.

An envelope arrived in the mail a week after you sent him the divorce papers, and you frowned at its thinness, its lightness, its not-hefty-enough-to-be-countersigned-legal-forms-ness.

The paper inside was warped, as if it had been frozen and thawed, which you knew it had.

Scrawled across the photo of him hugging you like his life depended on it were seven words.

I need more time. Wait for me.

It hurt too much to keep.

It hurt too much to throw away.

Into the freezer it went.

For two years. Until the day of the first read for your current film, when he brought you coffee from the Farmer’s Market. Then it came out of the freezer and was pinned to your fridge.

A reminder, you told yourself, that you were once at least friends. And maybe could be again.

________

On set, it isn’t unusual to break for lunch and walk out from behind the bright lights to find him sitting behind Annie, watching you work, even on days he isn’t called. It helps him get a better sense of your character and why his might be drawn to yours so intensely, he says. You both acknowledge its truth, but only by half.

In front of the camera he is giving and fierce like you remember him to be, dropping the character easily between takes, keeping you entertained with the same stupid conversations you used to have at home, cracking the same sarcastic jokes, negotiating the beats of the upcoming exchanges.

Overall, it’s been an amazing shoot. Time has smoothed the edges off the knife he’d put into your heart so long ago but it sealed the fissure clumsily. It’s been easier than you’d expected to just fall back into comfortable companionship, even with the lobbed grenades of his sporadic flirting.

But his confessions in the restaurant booth found purchase in that fissure, began trickling through and loosening the seal so that by the time you were riding his lap for the cameras, there was no stopping the flow of all the yearning that had been dammed up since the night on the couch.

It feels different than it had back then though.

It…it feels better. Wanted. Open. Like it should have been.

Like it should be. Maybe still could be.

Fuck. What fools you’ve been.

________

“Tell me what you want, Cakes. Tell me what you need me to do to you.” He pleads, desperate. Breathless. Painfully horny. Thrusting and causing the trailer to rock, probably signaling to everyone what was going on inside.

Fuck ‘em. They probably all have bets going anyway. Might as well help make it rain.

“Gladly,” you kiss him, laughing at his transparent neediness, “But what about what you want?”

“I don’t want anything. Or I want everything. I don’t fucking care. I want you to come. How do I make you come? I’m begging here…”

Dieter’s eager in bed, eager to go, eager to please, likes being told what to do without having to ask, answers in reverential tones, yes ma’am, no ma’am, please and thank you ma’am, runs his mouth, pretty much gets off without having to do much at all other than to know he’s the one that made you feel good.

Not just good. Glorious.

But afterward? He calls the shots. And what he wants is to hold on tight and not let go. The man turns into a weighted blanket, a sloth on a tree, he’s the stripes and you’re the candy cane and any move to extricate yourself turns him into a moaning toddler.

“But I’ve got to pee, Dieter. We’ve been at this two hours straight.”

“No!” he barks reflexively before unhinging his arms with a whining, overly dramatic groan that doesn’t quite end until you’ve done your business and crawl back into bed and then he’s pulling you in and digging his nose and forehead into your neck with a sigh that signals relief for the oh so tortured soul.

“Oh you poor thing,” you laugh and comb through his sweaty curls, kissing his scalp, a tiny yelp popping out of your throat as his arms tighten around you–boy doesn’t know his own strength–”were you really that lost without me?”

He nods into your neck. “I love you.” It’s aching. And pathetic. And adorable.

And breaks through the very last of your defenses.

It doesn’t matter if he’s talking about missing you for two years or just the time you were using the toilet. Tilting your head up to staunch any surprise tears, it takes a moment for your throat to clear. “I know.”

Giving you the puppy eyes and ducking to nibble at your collarbone, the request for reciprocation comes out coy and sweet, “Do you…love me?”

You can’t stop smiling at the big dope, running your fingertips around the bare patch in his beard and whispering, “Yeah. I can’t help it. Look at you. If I don’t, who will?”

Nose to nose on the pillow, love dumb and staring, the two of you silently weigh the events of the past. Compare it to this present. Regret what you could have had this whole time. What that might mean for the future.

“I thought you didn’t want me, missus.”

“I thought the same.”

“What? You broke my fucking heart.”

“Well then, we’re even. I’m here now though. Feel better?”

“I dunno. You gonna come back now?”

Fingers that are stronger than he realizes subtly grip your back a little firmer, big arms pulling you in slowly…as if he can get you any closer than you are plastered against him. It doesn’t matter if you say yes or no; either in celebration or to beg you to stay, he’s preparing to hold on tight and never let go.

The smart answer is that it’s too soon. But you don’t want to give him the smart answer. “Can I ask you a question?”

His pout relays his disappointment. He wanted a dumb answer. “You’re gonna anyway.”

“Why didn’t you want to bang me that night on the couch?”

He blinks. You watch his brain rolodex flipping back to that night and he gives a sheepish smile. “Jet-lag. And…drugs. Knew the jet-pack wouldn’t fire up.”

“Jet-pack–? Uh…oh. Oh. Your penis. Nice. Is that a name I should be using?”

Concern creeps over his face as he makes an uncharacteristically quick detection of your forced humor, realizing what you were really asking him, the pain you’re carrying and that you just revealed the real moment back then where everything went wrong. “And you were drunk, ladybug… I just didn’t want to, I dunno, take advantage. Spoil it.”

“It?”

Quickly grasping the gravity of the conversation, he props himself up on an elbow, pulling the bedcovers up around you in comfort as if performing triage for a past hurt. His hand smooths warm and heavy over your jaw, “The moment. Our juju. Any trust or good opinion you had of me.”

“I see. I was just so embarrassed that I’d thrown myself at you–”

“I wanted to. Cakes. You gotta know I wanted you to.”

He must smooth your hair and trace your cheekbone a hundred times in the silence that follows; continuing as long as it takes for you to believe him. To believe in him…that he was as capable of sincerity then as he is now. That you misjudged him. It isn’t hard to do so, you can see that now. But after so long flexing the blame muscles, it takes some effort to let them fully relax.

The time for apologies has passed. There’s only so many times someone can say they’re sorry out loud before you can learn to read it written on their very skin. A list two years long.

And you take your time kissing every passage.

He soaks in each drop of affection you give, completely, blissfully grateful, melting to goo under your forgiveness. “Fuck, Cakes. I reeeeeeeeally fucking wanted to.”

“Seems like you want to do that with a lot of people.” Smiling with your lips against his cheek, you reach down to give him a gentle, playful tug that makes him wake up again with a jump.

“Yeah, but like, that’s just pump and dump stuff, scratching an itch. You’re like, the cure to the underlying cause of the itch. You don’t just feel good for now. You’re like a big bathtub full of yogurt.”

You dodge his incoming, lovelorn kiss. “Excuse me, what?”

“Look, I’m better now!” he wines in mock dismay. “You made me better!”

Allowing your laughter to fade out, you finally give in to the chase and kiss him back. “No. You made you better. And I’m glad you did. And I guess I’ll take it.”

“Wait. Do you mean–? Really? Really??” He tumbles you onto your back, cupping your face in his big hands, forcing you to look at him, searching your eyes eagerly for veritas as if he can’t believe you of all people are giving him the dumb answer. “You gonna come home?”

“Yes, D, really. But truthfully? I can tell how sore I’m gonna be tomorrow. Right now I just wanna fill a tub with yogurt. That sounds amazing.”

With wide, eager eyes and a wild, punctuating wag of his head, he insists, “I know a guy at Fage! It’s done!”

“Well I’ll be damned. Is that a promise, you weirdo?”

Sighing down at you, he softens. “Every fucking word, missus.”

________

“One more time, please? Let’s mark so she can see the shot.”

Back on set, Annie’s request drives the crew to motion, prompting you to turn your back to the camera. When the go is called, you give it a couple of beats. “Now turn,” she directs, and you do. “Good, focus on the box, focus on the box, then lift the lid, good, steady, process what’s inside, the note and the key, this is the cue that you’ve missed your chance, it’s bittersweet, look up into the camera, dear… Yes. Good. Hold. Come here, darling.”

Without looking up from her monitor, Annie raises a tiny hand and curls her fingers, beckoning you near. She takes the time to show you the rate of zoom, how close the frame is, what they’ll enhance in post, and what the final edit should be.

“Think you can nail this in one?”

“She can do it.” Dieter’s voice slides out of the darkness, somewhere over near the craft services. They brought in cupcakes today. He’s not gonna pass that up.

You smile much more easily now near the end of filming than you did when you started. “Maybe. All I can do is try, right?”

“Atta girl,” Annie says, slapping you on the shoulder and calling out for a final set.

While costume and stylists come to make final fine adjustments, Dieter moves closer to watch over the rim of his sunglasses, standing near the camera, one hand shoved in the pocket of his lounge pants, the other holding a ridiculously large chocolate cupcake–pink frosting, sprinkles–which he’s devouring devoid of any subtlety or grace. As props swaps out the box and hands you the on screen one–presumably with the prop key inside, judging by the metallic rattle–Dieter casually slides his sunglasses off, folding them and hanging them from his stretched-out tshirt collar and gives you a wink before taking another enormous bite of the cupcake.

“Okay, darling,” Annie coos from the void behind the lights. “Take the time you need, let us know when you’re ready.”

Turning your back to the camera once more, you close your eyes, manifesting the layercake of emotions that will play out as the camera zooms in tight to only your face. Grief, regret, but also love and release. The final shot. The culmination of all your character’s journey.

“Ready.”

“Okay, Darling. Let’s roll.”

Letting your heart drop, you wait for the cue to slowly turn, keeping your focus on the beautiful wooden box in your hands. Once you’re flush to camera, there’s another cue to open it.

There’s a flicker of confusion when you find not a key inside, but a ring.

A familiar ring.

One that once belonged to Dieter’s grandmother. One with a huge stone that once caught the light filtering down into the Farmer’s Market. One that you haven’t seen since you left it on your husband’s kitchen counter.

There is a note inside as well.

“Looks like maybe your first wedding was THE wedding after all.”

When you’re prompted to raise your eyes to the camera–Dieter standing beside it with hands in pockets, wearing a sly grin and frosting on his nose–you’re not quite sure what your face is doing, but your eyes are certainly in danger of spilling over.

“That's it,” Annie says. “That’s the shot.”

________

“And here we have the star of Annie Devereaux’s latest film, nominated for Best Actress and–”

“Hi!,” you chuckle as you keep yourself from tripping on your gown a year later on the red carpet leading up to the Dolby Theater. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. This dress! I’m afraid it’s far too elegant for me!”

The correspondent from ETalk reaches out to steady you and joins in your good-humored self-deprecation. “Are you sure it’s you in charge and not the gown? It’s beautiful though. YSL?”

“Yes.” Trying to do your formal wear sponsor proud, you smooth down the skirt of the champagne satin and turn so that the on-loan $43,000 South Sea pearl necklace you’re so nervous about wearing can catch the camera lights. “It’s actually a matching set. Dieter has the… Dieter?”

Ducking your head below the light glare, a search finds him two media stalls down, marinating in some praise he’s getting there.

“Speaking of your famous husband and co-star, you famously remarried shortly after working on this film. He’s up for a supporting role award tonight. Is it all or nothing tonight? Does he know who he’s going home with?”

As she swings the microphone around to you with a crooked eyebrow, you do your best to school your face into an expression of humor and grace as you try to make light of her impossibly rude question. You know what she’s asking. The whole world knows what happened the last time you and Dieter attended the Oscars together.

Laughing brightly, you assure her with the kindest, most sincere purr you have, “No matter who wins tonight, I’m so proud of him. Dieter’s amazing and I’m sure you’ll see that when you get your chance to speak with him. Here he comes; I’ll let him show you himself. And I’ll be watching from right over there. And if you insult my husband again, I’ll put one of these $6000 heels in your ass.”

Waving sweetly at the camera, you side-step the gawking reporter, finding your grace as you make way for your man.

________

“What did you say to her? She looked like I was going to eat her alive.” Dieter unbuttons his patterned velvet jacket as he takes a seat next to you in the auditorium behind Annie and her partner.

Kissing his cheek, you make a nod to his wild curls. “I told her your hair gets that height because you use your own spunk as product.”

“What? No you fucking didn’t!!”

“Shhhh. It’s starting.”

You wrap the lie in a wicked grin. If he believes you and the real footage drops, then all the notifications you’ll wade through later tonight will seem to be a much lighter irritation.

He’s taught you so well.

Award after award comes and goes. You’re on your feet often, applauding and making way for your film’s writer, cinematographer, and editing team to walk the aisle as almost every other envelope contains a member of your party.

As the presenters take the stage to announce supporting actor, your arm weaves its way through Dieter’s. When the award goes to someone else, you move to hug and comfort him, but he’s dragging you to your feet and applauding wildly….

How poetic that this year it’s Davey’s turn to win over Dieter.

There’s going to be ribbing at the party tonight. And by the wide smile on Dieter’s face, he’ll gladly take the consolation.

The best actress category is stacked this year, all of them truly amazing performances from some women you’ve looked up to for most of your life. You’ve gone back and forth between hoping for a win and feeling completely embarrassed to think you even stand a chance against them.

But when last year’s winner approaches the microphone with an envelope in hand, all you feel is white hot anticipation and dread.

“The roles represented for this year’s leading actress category run the gamut from war criminal to libertine, from a teacher trying to prove her innocence to a witch that is trying to prove her guilt, and someone who is battling both for and against a love so fiercely that she never finds it again. The nominees for best actress in a feature film are…”

Five short scenes roll across the monitor above the stage–yours among them t inhat iconic, final shot–accompanied by the recorded announcement of names and films.

And heavy waves of applause.

As the final scene plays, you lower your gaze back to the stage, only to find Annie turned and leaning on the back of her seat, chin on her hands, eyes shining. Smiling at you. Confident. Assured.

And once again, the beating heart of the world lays on your lap. On Dieter’s hand. Covered by your own.

“And the Oscar goes to…” Opening the envelope and nodding her head, confirming her guess, the presenter announces, “Another win for I’ll Never Fall In Love Again–”

Your name is drowned out under the roar of applause and your vision is momentarily cut off as Dieter crushes you against himself, lifting you to your feet, howling like a deranged sports fan, spinning you toward the aisle, and sending you off with a swift, loving slap to your ass.

There are so many hands clapping. So many smiles. And you walk in the wake of a camera, toward the light, toward the stage bedecked in silver and gold and shine and gleam, riding a swell of music and a gasp of air.

Somehow you make it up the stairs to the microphone.

You do not trip on your gown.

You do not drop the statuette.

You do consider both of these acts to be major successes.

________

“Did I remember to thank Annie?” Near the bar at the afterparty, Dieter rocks you back and forth, wrapped around you from behind. Davey does his best to hand you a drink while Mark makes your Oscars kiss. “I mean, I hugged her when we were all on stage for best picture, but fuck I hope I said it out loud–”

“Yes, you did just beautifully, kitten,” Davey assures, wrapping your hand around the glass to make sure you’re actually holding it before reaching for his own.

The nickname reminds you. “Morgan! Oh shit! Did I thank Morgan?”

“Yeeeees,” a happy, sloppy baritone grumbles in your ear. “You checked off all the boxes, ladybug.”

“And you? Did I remember to thank you?”

Swiveling to catch Dieter’s eye, you watch his face transform into something teasing. Playful. Dangerous. “You suuuure did. You reeeeeeeally love me, don’t you.”

“Oh no. Oh no! Did I gush? Did I say something–? What did I say???”

Davey delivers two light slaps: one to Mark as he rescues your statuette from its romantic puppet show, and one to Dieter as he hands it over to you. “Don’t freak her out, you asshole. You were resplendent, lady, poised and adorable and modest and perfect. You’ll watch it tomorrow and kick this guy in the balls for getting your knickers in a twist.”

“An eye for an eye,” Dieter jeers, referencing the lie you told him about the rude reporter earlier. “And I’ll have you know she likes it when I twist her knickers.”

Drinks. Photos. Smiles. Hugs. Annie holds you in frank conversation about a possible upcoming project. Dieter is the perfect purse husband, holding your award when you run to the restroom or chat with someone privately. He hands it back upon your return, freeing up his hands and arms to hold onto his wife instead.

There’s no guessing the time when Davey’s kissing your cheek goodbye and Dieter’s off talking to the valet.

There’s still half a drink left and a handful of people you should say goodnight to, but your husband catches you by the hand and pulls you in close.

“I’m tired and I need my beauty sleep.” His thumb slides over the ring on your finger.

“Oh. That’s too bad. You going home?”

“Sorry. Misspoke. I need my beauty…to sleep. You think I’d let you ever go home alone again? Like, ever???”

“So because you’re tired, I have to stop partying.”

“I mean. We don’t have to stop partying just because we’ll be at home.”

“You said beauty sleep–”

Throwing his head back and whipping it side to side like a frustrated toddler, he growls through his teeth, “I am trying! To woo you! Can we just go home so I can show you how fucking proud of you I am?”

A kiss easily puts a stop to his flailing and he eagerly receives it, breaking it only to nip the tip of your nose and rest his forehead against yours.

“I promised you we’d have fun, didn’t I, Cakes.”

“Yeah, you did.” With your award in one hand and his arm in another, you let him lead you toward the door.

“Hey. Do you wanna get stoned and watch porn?”

By the look on the young valet’s face as you approach, Dieter’s question did not go unheard.

Not that he didn’t do it on purpose.

So you wait to answer until you’re just passing the poor boy.

“I mean. It is Sunday. Why deviate from the norm?”

With his hand on your back and a goofy grin on his face, Dieter ushers you out into the night, chest puffed with pride. And contentment. And glowing adoration.

Tomorrow’s gossip columns are gonna be wild.

________

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

A/N: Thank you so so much for reading my gooey romantic bullhonkey. When The Bubble first came out, I had so much heart eyes for Javi (still do) that I couldn’t imagine falling for this bozo. But something inside him asked to be loved and I was hooked. I think maybe it was the goat pictures. That heartbreak comes from somewhere and maybe it was from Cakes leaving him. Maybe that’s why Darren’s comment hurt him. So I gave him the alternative and sent him to rehab instead of CB6. I like this story better for him. Thank you for reading it.

Artwork for this chapter commissioned from @miranhas-art:

[soars22]

Jumping was easy, in the end.

Pac was used to being alone, to losing everyone he loved. Standing on his own was difficult, but he had managed it. He can’t regret the hours he spent searching for his chaos bow, not when holding it serves as a necessary reminder that he can do things on his own. He’s his own person.

Just him; just Pac. He’s strong enough to stand on his own.

But losing Richas feels like a bridge too far for him to cross after everything. He’s already lost Fit and Ramón. He’ll always have Mike, but his best friend is moving on, growing up. It’s a loss of a different kind and hurts all the more for having no definitive end. He only just got Richas back and now-

And now.

His Richas-his nene-is leaving again. It’s on his own terms, but it’s still leaving, and Pac-

He’s so tired of people leaving him.

So he jumps. He’s not proud of it, exactly, but he does it anyway. And it’s not like it’s his decision alone, which almost makes it easier. Pac may be on his own, but he won’t die that way. He’s never wanted to be the last man standing.

Jumping is easy, in the end. So is falling, as long as Pac doesn’t think too hard about what comes after. It’s over quickly, at least; there’s a short, blinding streak of pain as his body hits the ground and then there’s nothing at all. He floats in a dark nothingness that’s more reminiscent of the space between dreaming and being awake than death. It turns out there’s not so much difference between the two of them.

“You dumbass.”

The voice is deep, rough, familiar. Pac turns-and that movement is dreamlike too, soft and static at the edges-and sees a face he never thought to meet again.

“Fitch,” he breathes, and the other man smiles. There’s a sadness that lingers in the corners of his eyes. “Hey, Pac. Fancy meeting you here.”

There’s no judgement in his voice, but Pac finds it anyway. “I don’t regret it,” he says, drawing himself up to meet Fit’s gaze. “I don’t, not when you’re here too.” “I know,” Fit says softly. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“Sim… but I’m here now.” Fit nods. “You’re here now,” he echoes. “So let’s go meet the other dumbasses, yeah?” Pac nods jerkily. “Ok.” Fit reaches out to take Pac’s hand and leads them to their family.

They’re all there:

Jaiden sits in a field of flowers, making a crown for Bobby’s hair; Trumpet, Dan, and Max are chasing each other, throwing bombs that never hit; Juanaflippa is curled up next to Tilín, soft smiles on their faces.

Dapper and Pomme are playing a game of keep-away with Chayanne as Baghera laughs from the sidelines; beside her, Lullah comforts an unfamiliar girl with flowers in her hair.

And there, finally, is-

“RICHINHAS-“ Pac cries, throwing himself at his son. The boy looks up, startled, from where he’s painting next to Ramón. When he sees Pac his eyes go wide and he flings his paintbrush to the side with a wild cry. “PAI!!” The two collide in a crushing hug; for a moment, nothing else matters in the world.

“It took you long enough,” Mike’s teasing voice cuts through Pac’s whirling thoughts. “Did you get lost?” Pac glares up at his friend who only grins in return. “Shut up. I got here in the end, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” grumbles a small voice. “But more importantly-I’m going to kill Richas.” Pac looks over to see Ramón glaring at Richas. There’s a bright streak of orange paint across his face. Richas sticks his tongue out. “You can’t kill me-I’m already dead!” “I’ll figure something out,” Ramón threatens. “Dapper will help me!” His eyes slide over to Pac’s and he smiles. “Hi, pai. It’s good to see you again.” Pac’s smile wobbles a bit and he opens his arms. “It’s good to see you too, filho.”

Ramón grins and jumps into Pac’s arms. He laughs, a bright, joyful sound. His family is here again, with all the time in the world.

Finally-finally-Pac doesn’t have to be alone.

[ilgaksu]

i'm finally in enough of a bad mood today to take it out on something by breaking my long-held promise never to write fandom meta on disability again so HEY LET'S GO.

so, go read this post first (spoilers for fullmetal alchemist, but the thesis of the post is that respect for bodily autonomy is a sign of love, even when in most modern media it's disregarded as a sign of it, especially in medical contexts. it's so eloquently and beautifully put that it's a great jumping off point.)

okay, so: did anybody else get given this kind of dilemma in early critical thinking studies at school? the example we got given is this: your wife is dying and needs a medical treatment to save her life, but the medical treatment directly contravenes her lifelong religious or spiritual beliefs. should you do it?

honestly, i think a lot about how the husband in those articles and examples is framed as some kind of unspeakable monster if he upholds her beliefs and lets her life be lived in continuous honour of those beliefs, knowing she will die in alignment with them but that she will die. he's always a monster if he does that, or backwards, or unscientific, or uncaring - as opposed to, depending on how you frame it, and you can frame it so many ways, the one person in that room truly on his wife's side, and having to make the worst decision anyone can make. and how the only compassionate thing is to have no judgement and instead pray like hell that you're never personally standing there by someone's hospital bed having to make the kind of decision like that, with a time limit on life and death, and having to war with your own wants over the explicit known desires of the person you love.

and the medical staff are trained to save someone's life at all costs. that is their remit. but what about yours?

what if it's life and death, but they're conscious? what if the person is entirely cognisant, and conscious, and able to make their own medical decisions, and is, despite their medical situation, currently able to physically live alone without support? what if they aren't, but medical autonomy and human dignity is based not on the necessities of physical support, but in the inviolable right to self-determine your own medical decisions for as long as you can? and how often are those necessities perceived as demands? what if we show, often, more respect for the dead and their burial wishes than for their final medical wishes when alive? what if we have to acknowledge that us doing that is out of love and fear and more love? that we're the person standing at that hospital bed, and we prayed like hell but it happened to us and to someone we love anyway, and now we're having to choose but what we actually want is more time and we'd do anything on our end to ensure it?

why is it easier, in that moment, to empathise with the person standing at the end of the hospital bed, and not the person in it? is it because we're far more likely, statistically, to be the former and be able to communicate our feelings on it after the event, compared to the person in it, who may pass away? is it because we're a society so afraid of death that we're afraid to meaningfully debate on what it means to die on our own terms?

what if the person shuts you down and refuses to engage on the topic, beyond being very clear about what they want? what if it's no longer up for discussion, but you have, you believe, options left that they aren't seeing or agreeing to? what if you know they won't consent to it if you ask honestly and ahead of time? do you then have the right to show up and demand it of them? do you have the right of intervention, if you know it's a decision they've already made, because you feel the decision is wrong? do you have the right to tell other people their private medical information without their consent to gain that help? do you have a right to any of it? do you have the right to override someone's autonomy like that?

what if you are their partner? what choice is you showing up for them, and what choice is you just bargaining for more time, at any cost? even if it feels like they aren't even showing up for themselves anymore?

anyway heihua movie is solely about a tentacle monster in a cave, nothing else to see here

[riordanness]

hey dear! Can I have ‘When Emma falls in love?’ For Pjo

Hello! Hello! 

Here is my information!

Name: Anna Lee

Pronouns: She/her

Preference: Male

Age range: Any

Personality: I am an INTJ Slytherclaw, Aquarius and a Type 6 when it comes to anagrams. Lawfully Neutral. I am a huge overthinker and stress a lot with anxiety. People tell me that I can be blunt which results in people thinking that I can be cold but in reality I try to be a kind person when it is needed. I am a realist and many consider me to be intelligent, often asking me to help with their work. I’m incredibly passionate about things I like to do and have a thirst to know everyone’s opinions as I feel that if someone is left out. I’m a creative person but sometimes my brain just goes blank, I hate when it does. I have a really dry sense of humour that usually is a mix of sarcasm, fandom jokes or self degrading jokes. I'm an extremely stubborn person and have to be right about everything. From a young age, my parents were extremely strict and had expected the best out of me which resulted in me being an overachiever. I have to get things perfect or be the best at what I’m doing. I'm really sensitive, even some small harsh words are enough to make me teary. I’ve been called a crybaby because of that and to be honest, that is true. I give too much to other people since I’m afraid of saying no since what if they hate me? And I'm too scared to ask for help or to have something cause I think they will think I'm selfish and worthless. Not the best self esteem 😔 I love to listen to other people since I think not a lot of people have others that they can tell what they wish to say without getting judged or outcasted. But the problem is that I judge too easily too. As much as I want to show a good image to others and help them, I tend to focus on my own needs and how everything can affect me for the better or worse. I hate repeating things, especially in front of a big crowd. I daydream too much, my head always in the cloud. When I get excited, I speak really quickly and stumble over my words which I get embarrassed by and stop talking. I have a rosy view of how the world works—or more specifically, of the people I love. Like sometimes I point out the negative things in life but when with other people, especially those I love, I always see the goodness and beauty in everything. I am very sensitive, especially when it comes to my appearance and personality. I’m always afraid that people are constantly judging me or hate me, which is why I tend to avoid public spaces or being around people in general. When I get familiar with someone or a crowd, I’m not that afraid to state my opinion. I get jealous and possessive easily, like I mentioned my parents are strict meaning I got very few things of my own and those things only came to me because I tried so hard to get it. So when I see someone else with it, it just irks me off. I always make plans but I know I’m not going to complete them, I just like to imagine the future if I actually had motivation and energy to accomplish things. I can never start new things while completing old ones. I am also the oldest child and have 4 younger ones, another reason why I stress too much. I don’t think I mentioned this, but I get angry really easily. The slightest mistakes just pisses me off. I suck at short talks and starting conversations, it’s much easier to have lengthier conversations. I can never do presentations, I always get too nervous. Plus, my friends say my voice is really soft so no one ever hears me much, especially since I’m uncomfortable. When I get angry, my judgement is clouded. I am terrible at holding grudges. I would be upset at someone but the second I see them again, I feel normal and happy in a way. Probably said this before, but I’m a huge day dreamer and stubborn. I can’t concentrate on my work because I always get distracted and daydream about things I will never have. I normally appear composed but have a fiery temper. I really want to be a lawyer. My parents never let me use the internet much as a kid so I pretty much live under a rock but I am incredibly book smart. 

Looks: Half-Korean and Half- White. I’m slightly chubby and curvy with a pear-shaped body (Double D cups). Upon seeing me, many people point out my eyes which are hazel with slight flecks of many colours such as green and amber being the prominent ones. Almond eyes that are doe-like and slightly turn up at the end but barely noticeable. I have a button nose and thin heart shaped lips. My face is round and my eye shape is almond. I am approximately 5’3. Two small moles are fixated on my right cheek and underneath my lip. Long dark brown hair that almost appears black but that solely depends on the lighting. My hair reaches my hips and is kinda wispy at the end. It’s usually on a ponytail with a few strands framing my face. My clothing style tends to be anything comfortable and classy. I prefer to wear black and colours that are darker, you will never find me wearing orange or neon colours. 

Likes: Chocolate, Anime, Music, Food, Being right about something, Reading, Drawing, Strawberries, Smell of Rain, Sleeping, Being the Best, Baking and cooking (even tho I’m not that good at it)  Daydreaming, Murder Mysteries, Romance, Long walks, Making Ocs,  Fiction, Name hunting, Suits, Me, Pinterest, Spicy food, Sweets, Lavender and Indicolite, Aesthetics, and Flower Languages.

Dislike: Loud noises, Jerks, Prejudice People, Slow Walkers, People who chew loudly, Getting look down on, Insects, Studying, Fake People, Self-pity, Getting below 90% in a test, Snow, Overlysweet things, Going outside, and the feeling where your brain is blank and can’t tell what you feel like, Doing nothing all day and Tomatoes

Love Language: Physical Touch and Quality Time

Ideal Type: Pretty Eyes. Will always be there for me and not afraid to speak their mind. Honest and loyal. Someone I can call her best friend, I can be weird around them and they won’t mind at all,Yet they would still help me see the light at the end of the tunnel and tell me it’s okay, that everything is gonna be okay. I wouldn’t like ‘innocent’ people nor ‘kind’ people cause I feel like I won’t be able to connect with them based on my morality level. Will be attentive to my needs. Not necessarily loud but not quite, somewhere in between. I want someone who I can feel okay around, as if everything was fine. Someone who would help carry a burden with me, we are together in everything. A type of person who would wait for me when I’m tying my shoelaces. 

Congratulations on the 400!

hii anna lee! tysm for this,, i instantly got my answer who’s i was reading and it’s clear as day to me that your ship is…

you + jason grace !!

you guys totally understand each other, both of you are a little bit too strict with yourselves and are overachieving, but when you’re together you can both take down those walls and just be yourselves. you both have the same kind of dry humour, but can easily switch between jokes and deep discussions. he’s your best friend, but he’s also your confidante. you just get each other. you both have the same love languages and you’re an a soy sucker for his pretty sky blue eyes.

here’s y’all’s playlist,, hope you like it <3

reading and daydreaming with jason grace

[identitty-dickruption]

hey, i saw ur harm reduction posts and i have a question, no pressure to answer. my friend is an alcoholic who used to be sober but recently made the decision to start drinking again. she says it’s different because she’s no longer in a bad situation, and that it’s her life, but it seems to be getting reckless again quickly.

do you think it’s possible for someone to recover without being sober? and is there a good way to support someone without overstepping? thanks.

hey, thanks for the question

I think it definitely is possible for someone to recover without being sober, I just think it can be incredibly difficult. I think your friend is set up for success in that she’s had a long stint at sobriety, and so probably has some good coping mechanisms outside of alcohol. if she is doing better now, and she’s no longer using alcohol as a coping mechanism, I don’t think there’s any reason she can’t go back to drinking

that being said, every person is different. I’m taking the sobriety route because I really struggle to do things in moderation and it is just easier for me to drink nothing than to try and moderate. she might find that she’s the same, but it’s really her decision to have a go and figure it out for herself. as much as it hurts to see a loved one go down a path you’re worried about, I think the best thing for now is for you to hold some cautious optimism, and to make sure you’re remaining a non-judgemental listening ear for her

my most supportive friends tend to be the friends who follow my lead in regards to conversations about alcohol. it doesn’t help to feel overly pressured to talk, but it’s good to know that they’re there for me when I do need to talk. if anything, I would probably have a gentle, curious, conversation. ask her at what point you should be concerned, and what an action plan might look like if she reaches that point. and from there? you kind of just have to trust her

I hope this helps, and I wish you and your friend all the best

[priwenshallprevail]

GETTING TO KNOW YOU.

respond to the following prompts out of character. then, tag others that you'd like to get to know a little bit better!

( Picture optional )

ROLEPLAYER NAME: Mjodvitnir , or Wraith to some.

ROLEPLAYER PRONOUNS: He/Him/They/Monster

MUSE NAME: Geoffrey Aodhán McCullum

PREFERRED COMMUNICATION: Tumblr messages, or even Discord if you'd prefer. If you want my discord, just ask. Whatever is easier for my partners.

EXPERIENCE: At the very least 20 years of experience in role playing. Back in the chatrooms of american online, or myspace. Am I showing my age yet ? I know, it's such cringe. I want to say my first three characters I ever role played was Rufus Shinra from Final Fantasy VII and two oc characters, one VtM relative , the other Werewolf. I'm wanting to say my character had been Tremere clan. Can't remember my generation I had him under, though. My werewolf was from the tribe Silver Fangs. An Ahroun if I can remember correctly.

PREFERRED ROLEPLAY TYPE: Well... absolutely everything! Dark, torturous gritty, gore-infested, action, combat, drama, comedy, angst, fast paced, slow paced, smut, fluff, one shots. I enjoy them all ! Hit me with all the above !

PET PEEVES & DEALBREAKERS: I don't have many, but the few I do hold -- are more toward general respect for your partners. Don't be a dick.

God moding/meta-ing the RP. Don't use any info your character wouldn't have the slightest clue on. Unless it was discussed on how they may have acquired it prior , or planned through other threads. What remains in a thought collective, stays in the mind. Unless your muse holds telepathy in some aspect. Then it's a different story.

Judgement of writing style. My writing is far from perfect, and I often have one hell of a time judging myself. I don't need others on top of that, adding to my horrendous insecurities. I like detailing things, from the environment, to facial expressions, or even course of actions. I sometimes hyper focus on one thing and become brief with another. I don't understand it myself, nor always catch myself doing it. I hold horrible habit of having issue with repeating a certain word when writing my own posts, and I do sometimes get carried away over different synonyms to these said words. To the point that not every definition becomes so literal. How, or when I developed this habit, I do not know. It's a tick that only happens on my own writing, never on any of my partners. I judge myself too harshly in everything, not just writing. However, if I flood you with a lot of paragraphs -- that usually just means you struck my muse in a massive way and I wish to shower you with love. That I want to engage with you at what my brain considers my best. No body ever has to match whatever length I spew out. Please remember that. Also note, that even if my muse is struck so highly for your muse. My brain can still muck it up. It's a fickle beast. But that is adhd in a nutshell.

Judgement over ships/shipping. ... This one, the more I think on it, is a big one. I have been judged on ships in the past. On several accounts, actually.. some more recent. That it has gotten me reluctant to approach anyone to ask " hey lets try to smoosh these two together ! ?" Judging someone's ship is a disgusting form of shaming someone because they didn't conform to your ideals of said characters. Judgement with narcissistic attempts to push stuff a certain way -- yeah, no. Don't do it. Also, don't try to force ships . I support McReid, but if a Reid does not ? You back the fuck off the suggestion. It's really that simple. Respect. Your. Partners. Not everything revolves around romance anyways. Plenty of other relationships they can aim for. Friendships are a beautiful thing too. I mean -- platonic is also a thing as well, you know. It can bloom just as heavenly.

Constructive feedback though is more than welcome.

PLOTS OR MEMES: Yes ! I enjoy everything you're willing to throw at me, and will happily plan entire story lines to multiple connectives we can later link if that's what you'd like.

LONG REPLIES OR SHORT REPLIES: The in-betweeners. I love doing long replies when muse hits like a freight train, but if my muse isn't as strong -- or if my brain struggles to focus. Which it does, trust me. It'll be between that short and long range, or sometimes drop short all together. I don't ever expect you to match length if you don't wish to. That is not a requirement with me. As long as you can provide me with a paragraph to work with , I'm more than game.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: This is .. .. a tricky one for me. Cause my adhd makes it hard for me to write when everyone else is up in this household. So it would be somewhere between late night and early morn, for me. Eastern time.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSES: I'm honestly not sure if it's the we have similarities, or if my constant processing of what can be done to improve role play, suddenly bleeds into my own characteristics on a daily basis. Taking a bit of my characters with me every time. I'm a little withdrawn, keep a lot of my emotions on the inside, sometimes quick to become surly with forced authority types, described grumpy often , can be witty with the usual sarcastic bites -- if that accounts to anything.

Tagged by : I stolez it, but I don't remember from who. o.o;

Tagging : @fangsforhire , @coivi , @arcanescholxr , @anedendarkly , @undeadunalive , @astridnorddottir , @luposcainus

[nahalism]

Hi<3 i struggle a lot with pessimistic, fatalistic thinking (and feeling). I slip very easily in the catastrophic states, a lot of bad things happened in my life for sure both during childhood and adult life but i feel like my brain just keeps expecting that now, that at almost any time something can go wrong, something could blow me and my life apart again. I am always on guard, expecting the worst even if i hope for something good because i cut myself on expecting goodness too many times. Did you ever or maybe still do struggle with being negative in your approach, thoughts, feelings? Maybe know some ways that could lead to deal with it somehow or ideally conquer this. It’s really exhausting to be trapped in this but no matter what i do i am somehow brought back to it. I wish i could feel calm and not on the verge.

sending love 🤍

hey so, this will b another long one. sorry,,,,. i do and have dealt with this. i feel like whenever i move from a fearful place or a 'i lack ... in my life' kind of mentality, i begin looking for solutions, or things and situations in the world, to gauge/affirm my sense of security and identity. if i dont catch that that's what's happening, that quickly escalates into thinking in negative, catastrophic ways, because subconsciously i want to protect myself from perceived danger. howeverr, one of the many issues with that way of thinking is that the danger i put up defences against is perceived, not actual, and since my perception is rooted in fear, my 'instinct' is to react from fear which = impulsivity and either extreme actions taken out of poor judgement. even worse is that operating from an unconscious space where every thought, emotion, and action is a reaction not a response, makes it harder to trace the root of the problem or rectify the negative series of events that has been playing out, so rather than seeing what might be very clear opportunities to resolve the situation, ill revert to habit, and seek out the danger and toxicity that replicates what my subconscious perceives to be a sense of safety or familiarity.

the reason i say all of that because the only solution ive found to anything is a repetition of basically how i respond to all of these asks, and rather than me regurgitate that, i feel like an insight into my pattern might give you more clarity on your own pattern, or make the 'advice' i give specific & directly applicable.

1) you have to get still [usually this kind of thinking is reinforced by cyclical patterns in 1) thought, 2) emotion, then 3) the actualisation of both thought and emotion in an event that validates the initial urge to 'be worried/fatalistic'. if you can create breaks in the experience of those emotions or thoughts by attuning to your present state of being, you can begin to create breaks in that cycle, and allow for clarity, groundedness, or literally any other thought possibility to enter your mind]

2) get to know and accept yourself [dont just get to know your character, or likes and dislikes, but actually observe nature and ground yourself in a knowing of your true role in the wider ecosystem of earth. you need to know who you are so you be anchored, trust in what you know through feeling & not what you know through whats shown to you.l. no matter what comes to pass, you have it within you to overcome it, but if your not tapped in to your own compass, all these thoughts will have power and thus ownership over you.]

3) once you find what you are, move from that space [dont try to share it or bring anyone along for the journey. dont try to make others aware of that space within them. dont try to get anyone to see what you see and affirm it. just stay on your journey, walk it alone whilst you have to, pick yourself back up when you have to, and trust what that process shows you, and who and what it eventually brings to you.]

all of those things are so much easier said than done, but that's why its a practice. each time you fall of and bring yourself back into alignment, a puzzle piece slots into place and those puzzle pieces are pieces of wisdom that eventually accrue and become what allows you to see, understand, move differently and then change your life.

one last thing ill say is, read over your message again. the things ur saying affirm the continuation of a pessimistic cycle & im not saying that to be mean or as a call out, because im sure you explained your feelings the way u did to give me a clear insight into what you feel, however the way you said what you said was very much an indication of the truth you believe about yourself. so keep an eye on your words, because our words betray us. & you may not believe yourself when begin that process of paying attention to what you say, & altering it to be more affirming, but eventually the truth will stick to your ribs and one day you'll have no choice but to believe it cause you will see it for yourself.

final thing. the things that have happened to you always stay with you in some capacity, but just know that they are not hinderances. your experiences will bless you the moment you realise you are the one. & u are the one. sending u my love <3

[hotchs-big-hands]

https://www.tumblr.com/hotchs-big-hands/729799552855605248

I honestly adore you for being a blog that is so focussed on plus size people. I have so many deep issues with my body from growing up in a dance and theatre background and just passing shitty comments from my family. I’m working on loving my body for what it is and how it looks, how it’s doing it’s best to keep me alive. Just seeing gifs like these and reading your fics knowing that they are tailored to my body type makes that slightly easier each day. 💖🩷Just thank you. 🫐

Hey sweetie 💖💖💖💖💖 I feel you so much, I used to dance when j was little but I noticed I was very big compared to the others around me (and also injury) and so I quit cuz I was so self conscious.

I feel you on family making a judgement on your body, it's so fucking disgusting that everyone thinks they have a free pass to speak about your looks just because you're plus-size. I really do wish you so well on your journey to self love 💖💖💖💖💖

As for the fiction and GIFs etc, I hated the lack of content for plus-size ppl in the AH fandom so I thought to try change it even a lil bit. We deserve to feel sexy and enjoy fiction in the way that we can relate to!! Sadly, there's not much plus-size GIFs and pics that I can find but I will continue to search for them!! Fics are coming soon 💖💖💖💖💖💖 much love to you sweetie 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[hoonvrs]

Hey saint watchu doin 😊

Honestly had a really bad day today and Ur the only person I can talk to rn. Idk what's up with ppl forcing me to do things I don't like and telling me to stop doing things I love doing. As if whatever I wanna do is always wrong. My school has restricted me to do any crochet in the campus EVEN THOUGH I don't interrupt nor am I distracted during the classes. My mum has told me to solely focus on studies and do crochet in the holidays. BUT now they want me to do extracurriculars. Maybe I'm in the wrong but I have no interest in the acts of singing, dancing, art and other cultural activities. But I have to do them because I do nothing at home. Like I don't take extra classes for playing instruments, or go to other places for tutoring, nor do I learn anything involving self defense, dancing, singing, reciting. I don't even like sports. I just don't like these activities. But I have to do them and I'm being forced because they're 'good for me' and 'good for my future'. Which I get it's completely fine. But is crochet not? Infact I wanted to do a specific activity and my friend wanted to do photography. But since I chose that activity, she has to too because she won't do photography alone. And then she said it's my fault but when I said that I could switch for the sake of her not blaming it on me for the rest of the semester, she said no. I can't deny anything anymore. When they ask me if I want to do something and I say no, they ask why and I just say that I don't want to. But apparently that isn't a valid reason to say no. I would say all of this to my mum but she's friends with my friends mums and would try taking to them about it but I don't want the others knowing. Ill be honest saint you were the first person I could think of because no one else would just listen to me and not go tell someone else or start asking questions. I don't have anyone to talk to anymore. I just wish things were like before when in was like five and I wasn't allowed to meet my friends outside of school. When our parents weren't friends to the point they would steal away the only day my mum had a holiday I could spend time with her on. I wish I had someone to talk to. Now all I can do is look in the mirror, cry, and talk to myself. Saint you don't understand how much talking to u like this is helping me. We don't even know eachother personally but at least I can talk to you freely without any judgement. I just wanna live my life. I've never had a moment in life where I felt free since I was 5. I miss freedom.

-🌜(rant again 😭)

i can’t understand personally but i can definitely feel for you cause i have a friend in the exact same situation and honestly fuck them for not letting you do what you want in your own life, esp ur school cause in what world do they completely nan you from crocheting in school likes it’s really none of their business. honestly the advice i can give ( if you even want any ) is to not do it. nothing teaches a parent a lesson unless their kids rebel cause it honestly so much easier to ask for forgiveness then for permission, and they’ll see in the future all of that was so useless.

with your friend pls try and stand up for yourself, coming from someone who’s literally ignored her own cousins cause they were being bitchy it’ll be better to avoid and ignore her then to have to put up with her attitude. tell her no one told her to ditch photography and that she should learn some independence or she won’t get too far in life, and she might get offended but that’s her problem not yours.

i’m happy that you feel safe enough with me to share this but i’m so upset that you have to go through this, praying it’ll be js an emotional memory when you’re a little bit older with more independence cause parents will learn to give their kids freedom once they’ve hit an age where they can’t control them ( usually uni )

don’t let anyone try to talk you out of what you love or talk you down into staying in a toxic friendship just because you’re ‘parents are close’ or ‘you’ve known each other for so long’ they’re js manipulating you into wasting your energy and effort on stupid friendships and ik it’s easier said then done but you’ll feel so much better without that burden

[bl00dw1tch]

I think the reason theres such a Great Divide between how people feel about villains getting redemption arcs is the fact that 1.) Nobody knows what redemption means anymore (ie. It has absolutely NOTHING to do with forgiveness), and 2.) People on a large scale lack an understanding of... who these former-villains are made for.

Admittedly this is largely based on a personal theory i have, that They are made for and by people who feel like they've done bad things in the past, things they personally feel remorseful for but, because its the past, cant necessarily do anything about, even if they themselves have improved and grown as an individual. I say that bc i know thats why I value redemption arcs as much as i do.

Am i the same person who did those things anymore? No, not by a long shot. But not everyone would think so, and I'm aware of that by nature of just. Knowing how to imagine myself in other ppls shoes, and understanding that nobody can ever know anybody else's full story + that will never stop anyone from making judgements based on what they DO know.

There's ALWAYS someone out there who will hate you, think you are the literal scum of the earth, the devil incarnate. There are almost 8 billion people on this planet. This is a fact.

And ideally, in knowing this, we'd be able to brush it off and continue on, content in the fact that we can't control how other people feel and willing to improve ourselves despite that fact. However--humans care. By default. We are social creatures that want to feel liked and welcomed because once upon a time, being loathed by the other humans around you had the potential to mean death.

So we worry. Our actions and their repercussions haunt us and make us MISERABLE, and there is nothing we can do to change that fact.

Just as well--that misery? It helps no one. Absolutely fucking no one.

But it cannot simply be shrugged off by most people, as I established before. So, what exactly are we supposed to do? Obviously--we're supposed to work through those feelings. And lo and behold, story crafting is a FANTASTIC way of doing just that! You can be as literal or as figurative as you want, whatever helps YOU, as a writer, breathe easier, and move forward with the energy and confidence to be a better person than you were before tackling those complex, painful, scary feelings.

Redemption arcs are self soothing wish fulfillment--and i mean this in an entirely positive way. We need to be able to believe that we can change FIRST, in order to change at all. If every story we see kills off every single bad person they portray--how does that affect us, subconsciously? What sort of underlying bias does it instill? The idea that once a person does something awful, that theres no turning back? No coming back EVER? Maybe. Who knows! I think that's fucking depressing, close minded, and detrimental to everyone exposed to it.

All I know is that when i was in a short phase of absolutely loathing redemption arcs along with everyone else, I was in a stage of my life where i hated myself to the point of self harm. Because i believed i was genuinely fucking evil for all the things id said and done as an ignorant child, and that there was no way back, and that i NEEDED to suffer to 'repent'. And i did not grow up in a highly Christian household--so Where exactly did that mindset come from, hmm? Sounds a little familiar, don't it.

... The point im trying to get at here, is this;

Redemption arcs are not made for victims.

They are made for perpetrators.

They are made by an author, to show other "bad people" in the world that, "hey. you are not set in stone. You are alive and you have free will and you can make different choices. Here is how, and here is why."

Now--i know what youre about to say. "But jack most redemption arcs suck and dont actually say any of those things!!! They just let the villain get off scott free with a happily ever after without doing any of the hard work on screen of Actually changing!" To which, i have a few things to ask you about.

1.) Was that ACTUALLY an attempted redemption arc? Or did the villain just happen to survive the climax of the story, and was momentarily shown to have had a change of heart, finally?

.... iiiiiiiiiiimplying that they are going to START their work towards redemption.... post-canon?

2.) So what? Sometimes stories and the tropes within them aren't written well. A shitty redemption is not different from a shitty romance or a shitty hero's journey. Not everyone is Shakespeare, and not everything has to be made to your standards. If you don't like it, you don't have to look at it. That doesn't mean you should write off the entire Concept as inherently bad.

And 3.) I will also challenge you to consider just how personal your reading of a character's redemption arc is. Like I'm saying--redeemed villains are not made for victims. They are made to address and dig into the meat of just how awful someone of human intelligence can be, and try to wrangle an idea of HOW that person can come out of it somehow, healthier, happier, and kinder.

They have to address sensitive topics, more often than not. Like it is literally required--if the villain never does anything BAD, theres no story. Theres nothing for them to pursue redemption ABOUT. And those sensitive topics can bring out the ire of people who have been through them--obviously! And that is not the fault of the viewer! You have every right to feel how you feel, and hate a villain as much as you want for it--but try to REMEMBER that that is where your feelings of distaste are coming from, when attempting to criticize the thing you are watching--especially if youre going to be especially vitriolic about it in the faces of people who enjoy that villain, and their redemption arc.

You have every right to not like it--but take a moment to analyze WHY before claiming it's "bad".

It probably just wasn't written for you.

We live in a world that already encourages so much cruelty--but, people can heal and feel motivated to do better by watching redemption arcs play out for characters that they see themselves in.

Even if you think it's shallow--does it actually MATTER if it is or not? I don't think so. I don't give a fuck what's going on in someones head--as long as they are treating the people and world around them with kindness and respect, I think that's all that should matter. Actions speak louder than words and all that. People are allowed to want to be better because it feels good. People NEED to be allowed to want to feel good, if it means shirking harmful habits and mentalities. Do you get what im saying?

Obviously there's plenty of nuance to these situations--in regards to fictional characters, there is inherently more give in what a character can do. They are not real. Nobody is actually getting hurt. So, pushing them to the FARTHEST LIMITS of how bad a person can be, and coming back? It's like a power fantasy, with a self reflective twist. And power fantasies are not inherently bad, either.

How heartwarming is it, to imagine that even that terrible tyrant who slaughtered innocents and razed cities can feel remorse? For them to give everything they have to help rebuild what they destroyed, and show compassion for the people they've hurt, and vowing to never let it happen again?

Because if even that terrible man on the screen can change--then of course I can change, too. Of course I, a person who's merely made a few callous comments and emotional scarred an ex by being a toxic asshole, can be better. I HAVE to be. It is an obligation.

An obligation that I may have otherwise seen as an insurmountable obstacle. Because I did. Thats what I saw it is as. I had been convinced that every bad thing I did, made me who I was. That everyone could just see it on my face--and that if they didn't, all they'd need to do was look a little bit closer before being repulsed by what they saw. It made me bitter and mean and I had so few friends I felt like I could actually be open with. I am still dealing with the repercussions of that mentality today--it is the source of quite literally All Of My Woes.

You've all seen my vent posts. All that shit? Consequences of this. This is why my lows go as low as they do--and This is why I am SO passionate about my villainous blorbos. This is why I love redemption arcs. They remind me that there is still hope for me--that there is still hope for everyone. You might enjoy living as a pessimist--but not everyone has the fortitude to maintain that attitude on a healthy level.

So when you see someone who is enjoying a villian you hate, and its making silly content of them being redeemed and goofing off and being happy and alive and loved--have a little compassion. That person its probably dealing with some shit, too. So just let it be.