#it's longer than what i first thought lol

[eideticboywonder]

─── ̩̩͙✩ sweet like honey, part ii ; steve harrington

summary ─ all it took was a smile from you to bring steve harrington to his knees. now he’s on the mission of a lifetime to find your name.

pairing ─ fem!reader x steve harrington

warning(s) ─ use of she/her pronouns, lovestruck steve, they’re so sweet i want to vomit

word count ─ 2,712

author’s note : so… it took an embarrassingly long time to get this out but here it finally is! i realized a big issue was trying to fit too much in one part so i’ve decided to break it up. there will be a part three, hopefully released way sooner than this one lol. thanks again to those who enjoyed part one, i hope you like this one, too!

─ ♡ amy

read part one here ❤️

The night you left him in the lobby of Scoops, that smitten smile stitched to his face, sleep eluded him. The kind of exhilaration only felt in adolescence coursed through him; the impatient excitement over going back to work the next morning because it’d mean seeing you, hearing that voice laced with saccharine so silky it was as if you were serenading him with every word. Steve replayed your conversation on a loop, focusing on the minute details of it— the slight dimple in your right cheek that appeared each time you smiled at him, the genuine interest that shone in your eyes when he talked, the way his skin tingled under the briefest of touches.

It was a complete enigma as to exactly why a whole body reaction was induced every time he so much as thought of you, never mind the floodgates of nerves that opened when you actually interacted. The mystery did not lie within who you were, but the fact that Steve was having these feelings in the first place.

He was always the one in control, never reduced to a puddle by a simple look or made to stumble over his words. He didn’t spend hours after talking to a girl poring over every word, nerves as every bit on fire as they were in the moment.

The thing was, though, Steve didn’t much care about the why. The one thing he did know was he wanted to hold onto this feeling as long as you allowed it.

For once, the blaring of his morning alarm was not only anticipated, but a welcome relief. Steve took extra care in getting ready that day, making sure his hair did “the thing”, picking out just the right cologne he thought you’d like best based on your own fragrance choices. If only he wasn’t condemned to that asinine navy costume.

In truth, he hadn’t thought it would be very difficult at all to obtain your identity— this was Hawkins, everyone knew everyone.

Steve’s first course of action was a simple one: take a quick walk to the theater on his break and try to catch a glimpse of your name tag, or ask one of your coworkers if you weren’t there.

How hard could it be?

His eyes are a magnet to you at this point, easily catching you kneeling before the candy display located within the velvet ropes of the designated line to the concessions counter, restocking the assortment of sweets. For a second, the purpose of his visit evades him, bewitched once again by the sight of you.

Feeling eyes on you, you turn, and upon seeing him, give a smile that infected his entire being. An almost involuntary one of his own pulls at his lips, unknowingly releasing a flurry of butterflies into your stomach; god, he is so beautiful. The butterflies in your stomach flutter frantically when he walks up to you and offers his hand to assist you in standing. Your fingers slot into his instinctively, fitting together so perfectly a warmth blooms from the touch. Even as you rise and no longer need the support, you both find it difficult to let go.

You try to ignore the disappointment when his hand slips from yours— luckily, the dizziness of being close enough to smell his amber cologne, to see the golden brown embers of his eyes, drowns everything else in an instant.

The sound of your own voice slips out before you realize what you’re saying. “One conversation and suddenly the stalker is comfortable enough to approach me at work.”

“I’m just here for the popcorn, running into you is a complete coincidence.” Steve shrugs casually, hoping he’s successful in concealing just how much he's been not so patiently anticipating this meeting.

“Right.” You cross your arms across your chest, raising a brow as you fix him with a look of sarcastic disbelief matching your tone. “So, your being here has absolutely nothing to do with you hoping you could just walk over here and get my name, just like that?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, trying (and miserably failing) to appear nonchalant; you find it insanely cute, your gaze filling with more adoration by the second. This act is made even less convincing when he tries to lean on the velvet rope, which obviously was not strong enough to support someone of his build, and begins to fold beneath the weight. You can’t stop the quiet giggle you attempt to stifle with your hand as you watch him hurriedly fumble to straighten back up, face flushing fiercely, and go on as if nothing had happened— you choose to show mercy and let him. “‘Cause that would just be too easy… right?”

You donned an expression of fake sympathy and nodded. “Unfortunately for you, Steve, you would be correct. Everyone here is under the express orders to keep their mouths shut.”

“I think you mean ‘unfortunately for us both’, sweetness.” The pet name slips out without thought, a slight panic building within Steve as he assesses your reaction to it. Meanwhile, it’s as if someone has set off fireworks in your chest, your grin widening and the blush dusting your luminous face deepening just so. Your apparent approval noted and his confidence boosted, he continues. “See, as long as it takes me to do this, you also have to wait for me.”

You clutch your chest dramatically. “And what a tragedy that is, Harrington.”

His brows arch at that, the smile that seems to be permanent in your presence taking an air of teasing. “Oh, so you get to know my full name and I can’t even get a hint of yours?”

The rose in your cheeks intensifies with the realization of what you’d let slip, hoping he doesn't notice as you continue— he totally does, by the way, and finds it absolutely adorable. “In my defense, you do have a bit of a reputation, ‘King Steve’. There are benefits to being anonymous, I guess.”

Steve can only imagine what you meant by the “reputation” associated with that moniker, and none of it was good. The partying, the level of (for the lack of a better word) douchiness, he’d put on to maintain his relationships with people like Tommy and Carol, and the popularity that came with it. Not to mention his dating history. A seed of worry begins to plant itself in the back of his mind, watered by his insecurity— was this why you didn’t tell him your name? Did you think he was still that guy?

As much as the boy tries to conceal it by keeping the aloof grin up, you see the panic flash in the hazel of his eyes, thinking quickly to stop it from heightening any further. “Besides, I kinda like that name you gave me. I’m almost tempted to call this whole thing off just so you’ll keep calling me that.”

Your attempt works, evident by the bashful brightness creeping back into his features. “Does that mean I win this little stalker competition you’ve got going on?”

Your heart flutters pleasantly as he subtly leans closer, the sandalwood of his cologne threatening to overtake your senses. Thankfully, you manage to gather enough brain cells to string the right words together and form a cognitive response. “I’ll have to confer with the other judges and get back to you on that. At the very least, we might be able to award you some bonus points.”

”And who exactly are these other judges?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, in the interest of keeping things fair.”

Steve groans dramatically and shakes his head, that charming smile putting you on the verge of swooning. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

There it is again— your laugh, so genuine and light. He’s made women laugh plenty of times before, but most often it was obviously that thing people do where they fake laugh at all of one's jokes while flirting to appeal to their ego. Yours, on the other hand, makes Steve feel like he’s sitting in front of the fireplace with the softest blanket wrapped around him on a snow fallen day each time he hears it. He adores the way your nose scrunches slightly.

“Yo, Jamie Lee!” A voice breaks the spell, forcing your surroundings to be brought back into focus.

You look in the direction of the sound to find Oliver, one of your closest friends, leaning out the door of Theater One behind Steve, that trademark glint of mischief in his eyes as a smirk plays on his lips. Of course, he knew exactly who Steve was and the context of the challenge you’d given him regarding your identity— and you knew him, he definitely would at least be tempted to mess with you. You shoot your best death glare of warning in his direction, which Oliver pointedly ignores, unphased.

Distracted, you don’t notice Steve’s self doubt trickle back into his mind. He recognizes Oliver from your late night ice cream run to the supermarket the week before, and, similar to that night, reminds himself he has absolutely no reason to be jealous of the apparent closeness you share with him. It’s not a malicious or possessive jealousy, more so a kind of sadness over the time he’s had with you while Steve didn’t even know you existed until a few weeks ago.

“Tell your stalker he'll have to come back later. There’s been a popcorn explosion in row C and some major slushy spillage in the back, and since you lost—”

“Yeah, yeah, save the gloating, Oliver.” You flip him off playfully with one hand and make a shooing motion with the other. “I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t take too long,” Oliver winks suggestively, making you roll your eyes. “The next showing is in 20 minutes.”

Steve quirks a brow, prodding you to explain further as you squat to finish the last few bags of candy. You flush with a pleasant surprise when he drops down to help without a word. “It’s a silly story involving boredom while closing together Friday, and a bet to see who could finish their jobs first. I lost, so I have to clean the big messes for a week. So thanks to Oliver, it seems you get to live to stalk me another day.” Display restocked, Steve rises and extends a hand, and fleeting as it may be, the gentle squeeze he gives yours sends a shiver down each of your bodies. The effects of it linger as you even as you start toward the theater and let go. “Thanks. I guess, I’ll, uh, see you around, Harrington.”

“Until next time, sweetness.” The name falls out before he can stop himself for the second time, worry pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck.

But then you beam at him, the pink in your cheeks warming in the sweetest way, and the churning of anxiety is swiftly replaced with butterflies. “Looking forward to it.”

Needless to say, Robin was sufficiently creeped out by his significantly boosted mood which lasted the rest of the day.

Steve’s next brilliant idea was to look in his yearbook. He now had each divine detail of your perfect face etched into his memory, it would obviously take no time at all to find it amongst the quite small graduating class of Hawkins High. All that would be left is to read the name conveniently printed below the picture. Easy, right? Again, could not be more wrong.

To start, he had no idea where the damn thing even was. Keeping track of things was not exactly a mastered skill of Steve’s. Maybe that had something to do with this “be more responsible” kick his parents had been forcing onto him as of late.

It took him almost two whole days to find it, and for Steve, those two days felt like agonizing weeks.

As fate would have it, the Harrington boy had those two days off from work. Usually, he preferred not to be anywhere near that place on his days of freedom, and yet he still returned to Starcourt each afternoon under the guise of watching over the kids in hopes of talking to you again, but he came to the disappointing conclusion that you had a similar schedule. He even attempted salvaging these trips by trying to persuade your coworkers into revealing that small, yet seemingly impossible bit of information without you around. Much to Steve’s disappointment, you'd already accounted for this and sworn them all to secrecy in the vein of “not making it so easy”, so he came up empty.

Back on the yearbook track, Steve had torn apart every last inch of his room searching for it— multiple times, by the way— and still, nothing. Several other innocuous items were uncovered throughout this thorough hunt, such as forgotten homework and some of his dad’s old Playboys he’d stolen and hidden in his closet all the way back in middle school, but the one thing he actually needed to locate continued to evade him.

The next place to incur his desperate rummaging was his beemer, the only other logical option he could think of. No seat or corner of his trunk was left untouched, and still, no such luck. Just as the sky begins to shift into the blended watercolor of warm pinks and purples of the setting sun, Steve finally slams the trunk shut and turns to dejectedly lean back against it, racking his brain for anything he could try short of begging you for pity the next time he saw you. It felt as if there were some greater force somewhere actively willing him to fail.

Never in his life had he had to put this much effort into asking someone out, let alone getting her name. With each failed attempt so quickly followed by another, his disappointment grows, and for the briefest of moments, he allows the doubt to creep in. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him it just wasn’t meant to be— not because anything was wrong with you, but because he was the undeserving one.

He thought he’d found “the one” with Nancy last year, and it’s no secret how that ended, with her finally going to the person she was actually supposed to be with the whole time. Though admittedly, while he did love her, a lot of that stemmed from this romanticization of the high school sweethearts who live happily ever after passed onto him from a young age. He now knew it was never going to work out that way for them in the long run, neither of their hearts were fully in it. But still, theirs had been Steve’s first meaningful relationship, the only one to last more than a couple of casual weeks before he’d end it with them, and the loss of it cut deeply into his self confidence.

What would he even do if he did uncover your name in time? Surely, even if you did say yes to giving him a chance at the end of all this, he’d just end up doing something to screw it up. Maybe you’d be better off if he gave up now, before he had the chance to complicate everything.

But then, that alluring smile of yours, the goosebumps that pricked at his entire body whenever you touched him, the infectious brightness in your eyes each time you looked at him infiltrated his brain. As selfish of him as it may be, he knew he needed to try. Even if whatever you and he ended up building is temporary, you were worth it. That much he was confident about.

His morale refreshed, Steve is hit with a realization: he couldn’t find the damn yearbook because he didn’t have it.

Knowing he wasn’t that great at being organized, Dustin had taken it after graduation for “safekeeping and research purposes”. There was just one problem— Dustin was away at some nerdy science camp for three more weeks. No way was Steve waiting nearly a month for that kid to come back. Luckily, he knew of someone else who’d have a copy of the Hawkins High yearbook.

Nancy.

─── ̩̩͙✩

tags: @johnricharddeacy

[tobesolonely]

untitled angsty but then sweet piece...

hello guys!! it's been like over a year lol. I was going through my google doc and found this and I feel like I never posted it? so now I am posting it. maybe this can be a part 1 but also we know I'm great at starting multipart stories and not finishing them so lets see

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

warnings: none (~1.2k words)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“You're just gonna ignore me then, babe?”

Y/N continues silently puttering around in the kitchen, going out of her way to make sure her back remained turned on Harry. There weren't many ways to get under his skin, but throughout her years of being with him she learned that being on the receiving end of the silent treatment usually made him fold pretty quickly. She was annoyed with her husband and the fact that he seemed clueless as to why made her even more upset.  

“I take your silence as a yes?” 

More puttering. More re-wiping the already clean counters. Starting the tea kettle. Washing her hands. Anything to not acknowledge Harry, really.

“I can’t make it better if you don't tell me why you're so upset, love,” he takes a tentative step toward her. “I know we've been together for ages but I still can't read your mind. Think ‘m gettin’ real close, though.”

This is said jokingly, and she knows her husband is just trying to dissipate the tension that's thick in their kitchen, making the spacious room seem impossibly small. She doesn't acknowledge his joke, doesn't crack a smile because that would give him too much satisfaction. Nothing made Harry cockier than being the reason for Y/N’s laugh, a sound so sweet she’s pretty sure he’d forbid everyone on the planet except him from listening to it because he wanted it all to himself. He always told her it was music to his ears.

The fact that he doesn't even know what he did is what finally causes her to break, muttering about how fucking ridiculous he is under her breath. It's not lost on Harry. 

“Now you've moved on from ignoring me to cursing at me?” he sounds more curious than upset, taking another step toward her. She backs away, defensively crossing her arms over her chest and she doesn't miss the way Harry’s brow furrows at the action. “Can y’please tell me what I did, Y/N? Please?” When she looks down at the ground, ignoring his please, he begs some more. He’s not above groveling, really. 

“Please, angel? Lemme fix it,” his eyes are wide and wild as he wildly searches hers for some clue as to what he did wrong. “Tell me-”

“Am I always just gonna come second with you?” 

She can almost see the wheels in her husband’s head turning, knows he's choosing his words carefully before he speaks so as not to upset her any further. 

“Okay, love,” he runs a ringer hand through his hair. “Can you be a little bit more specific?”

“We had plans this afternoon, Harry. We were gonna try that new café that just opened. I was looking forward to it,” she doesn't care if this makes her sound selfish and childish. “I know you were working and I know you how much you love to do that, but sometimes I feel like-”

“Don’t even finish that thought,”  Harry cuts her off and his tone is sharp, calloused. “That’s not true.”

“You know, at first I was worried something happened when you didn't show,” Y/N continues like she didn't hear him. “But then I realized nope, you probably just forgot or couldn't get out of another meeting. Just like always.”

A look of sadness flashes across Harry’s face, which quickly transforms to indignant anger. “Don't throw this in my face, Y/N. You know how much I hate that.” 

“So I’m supposed to be mindful of the things you hate, but you can't be mindful of the things I hate?”

“You don't get it,” he mumbles under his breath, growing increasingly done with the conversation the longer it drags on. “You're not in the industry. I can't just always leave-” 

“Then blame it on me! Make me the bad guy, Harry,” she finally turns all the way around to face him completely. “The people you work with get to see you more than I do…the fans…” Y/N trails off, letting her unfinished thoughts hang limply in the air. 

It’s quiet between the couple for no more than thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. Harry breaks it first - he always does. He inhaled a deep shaky breath, trying to call forward the breathing techniques his therapist taught him to use in high-stress situations. Right now counts as a high-stress situation. 

“You’re right, angel,” the pet name slips off his tongue easily which comforts Y/N. Harry’s not as upset as she thought he was. He’s still her Harry. “That’s not fair of me, is it?”

All Y/N can do is shake her head, lower lip jutted out. She knows if she tries speaking she’ll start crying, and she doesn't want to cry. All she wants is for Harry to understand. Harry however, knows her too well. He knows the look she gets on her face when she's trying really hard not to cry and he knows she goes silent because she doesn't trust her voice not to come out shakey. He decides to continue talking.

“I should've called you and let you know I’d be late- or told you we needed to reschedule. I’m sorry I left you hanging, darling.” He pauses, selecting his next words very wisely. Harry knows his wife is sensitive. The last thing he wants is for her to think he's blaming her for anything. “...but it seems like this is about more than me missing our lunch. Which, again, I'm very sorry about. I'm taking you wherever you want for dinner tonight and I'll make you dessert when we get home. Let's talk more about this though, yeah?”

“You also have to be in charge of picking up after Hershey for a month,” Y/N responds with a small smile on her face. Hershey was the couple’s tiny brown poodle who was the cutest puppy in the world. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums, knowing his wife was trying to keep the conversation lighthearted since she hated confrontation. Since being with Harry her communication skills have improved tremendously since he was so good at it and wanted to talk about everything, but healthy communication clearly still didn't come as easily to her. “Talk to me, angel. What’s this about?”

Harry’s in front of her now, arms wrapped limply around her waist. He walks her backward until the small of her back hits the counter then he tells her to, “jump” so he can lift her onto the counter. Once she's situated he settles himself in between her legs and places his arms back on their place on her waist. Harry looks intently into Y/N’s eyes and she knows she won’t be leaving that spot until she tells him what's bothering her, so she just says it.

“I want a baby.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows in quick surprise before breaking out in a wide grin- the kind that causes his nose to scrunch up and wrinkles to form around his eyes. 

“You want a baby? W’ me?”

Y/N doesn’t return his smile, which quickly makes Harry’s turn into a frown.

“Why don’t you look happy?”

Y/N sighs, her eyes avoiding Harry’s. He gently places his index finger under her chin and pushes it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. He’s desperately searching his wife’s eyes, trying to figure out why she isn’t more excited about coming to this big decision. Harry has been ready for years of course, but he never wanted her to feel pressured.

“You’re never here, Harry. I don’t want to feel like a single mom.” Y/N looks down again and Harry doesn’t lift her chin back up this time. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. It’s silent for what feels like a couple minutes but is actually maybe only twenty seconds, the faucet leaking being the only sound heard throughout the whole house.

“Y/N…love,” Harry inhales a shaky breath, removing one of his hands from her hip to run his fingers through his curls. “I never want to make you feel like you’re alone. Not just with this, but…with anything.” Harry gently knuckles away a stray tear falling down Y/N’s cheek. 

“I know you don’t mean to make me feel this way, H. I guess it’s just what I signed up for when I married a popstar, yeah?” Harry can tell Y/N is trying to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t like that he’s the reason for he feeling this way.

“You didn’t “sign up” for anything, love. I’m your husband and you’re my wife and we’re supposed to be there for each other through it all, good and bad.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something but Harry gently pinches her hip, muttering for her to let him finish. “I want a baby with you. I want everything with you, Y/N. I want to be here for everything. I’m going to be better about being here.”

“H…I love you and I know you’ll try, but you’ve said this before-”

“I’ll take a break, babe. Cancel everything,” Harry’s talking faster now, excitement about his plan evident in his voice. “We’ll focus on ourselves and start our family. Go out of the country and leave my bloody phone here, if you’d like.” Y/N giggles at that, which makes Harry give her a big, dimpled grin.

“Will it be okay? With Jeff and everyone?” Although Y/N’s sure people on Harry’s team won’t be happy with his sudden change in plans, she can’t deny how charming the idea sounds. She could already picture them at their favorite villa in Italy, the one Harry purchased as a wedding gift to her and where they spent their unforgettable honeymoon. In all honesty, she’s surprised they didn’t get a baby out of that trip.

“Let me worry about that. You just worry about buying yourself some new bikinis, yeah?” Harry places a lingering kiss to Y/N’s jawbone. “Perhaps a few things for me to rip off you too, hmm?”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

hooray for happy endings :')

[kleinv01]

LIs' thoughts on an mc that sleeps reeeeeealy long like 10+ hours every day? Sleeping most of the day and calling it "beauty sleep"? Not making food or work to have more sleeping time?

://SYSTEM_MESSAGE_ANSWERED !

a bit of a long post lol

KLEIN would bother you a lot, initially trying to brush it off lightheartedly by giving you silly nicknames for being such a sleepy head. However, over time, you'd notice that it actually bothers him deep down. "Wakey, wakey, darling~!! You've been sleeping too much... hmmm..." he'd whine, poking your cheek repeatedly in the hopes that the small gesture would wake you up.

When you finally do wake, he’d put on a little show of pouting and pretending to be angry with you. "What are you even dreaming about? Is that why you love sleeping so much? After all those nightmares, I figured you'd stay awake forever!" he’d say. He would try to keep you awake longer in the future just so he would have more time with youuu, so just prepare to be annoyed by him. "Hmph... I wish I knew what dreams were like. It's not beauty sleep if I'm being left out, silly!!"

YAEL has a bit of a worrying nature, so this would deeply concern him. Even after realizing you’ve most likely just been sleeping, he’d still worry, doubting that sleeping so much is healthy. Once he notices you’re not eating properly, however, you’d see his stricter side come through. He would start setting aside time in his day to visit your place,“Good morning, MC! Or should I say... um, afternoon? Ahaha, either way, I thought I’d stop by. I hope that’s okay. You’ve been resting a lot lately, haven’t you?” He’d encourage you to cook together or simply spend time with him, making sure you’re eating well. Might even suggest working out together or seeing a doctor if needed. Would be more than happy to support you financially as well as best as he could. "

AL doesn’t seem to notice at first, as there are barely any changes in his behavior toward you. However, over time, you’d start to realize that he’s actually paying closer attention than what he's willing to show. He always seems to pass by at just the right moment when you’re awake— before or just moments after, a little too precise and timely to be simple coincidences. You'd only find simple sweet and savory snacks left for you at first, but as time goes on, you’d notice a small change... the snacks seems to have more nutritious content?

[always-andromeda]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ໒꒱‧₊˚

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 5064

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ It's Emmy night. And your infamous ex-boyfriend is stirring up all kinds of trouble for you.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hi ho, everyone!! This piece is for Gin's ( @wannab-urs ) Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2025!! I'm cutting it incredibly close but I actually ended up having a lot of fun with this one. It started as a smaller oneshot but quickly grew bigger and bigger until hey, whaddya know, Roman Roy is making a little cameo. Blame @strang3lov3 for that lol. Her writing for Roman has made that brain rot really settle in and I needed an asshole boyfriend for this one soooo uhhhh yeah. He is in there!! Anyhoo, here is the full masterlist for the event!! Hope y'all enjoy!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), minimally edited lol, a tiny bit of angst, no reader description given aside from reader wearing makeup and being able-bodied, one minor suicide joke, toxic relationships, shaky descriptions of the goings on of award shows (sorry, I do not keep up with them well enough to know everything <3), mentions of addiction, infidelity (reader is in a PR relationship, shoutout to Roman Roy lmao), oral, heavy mommy kink lol, pegging, some fluffy aftercare, reader is a fucking mess, dieter is a fucking mess, it's all chaos, nothing else I can think of but feel free to let me know if anything else should be added!!

“Sure you’re going to be ready in time?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Roman pops his head into the hotel bathroom. “I dunno, isn’t that a woman thing?”

“It is if you’re a misogynist.” You say before blotting your lipstick.

“Or a realist. Veeeery fine line, babe.”

You roll your eyes. Part of you wishes Roman had never been nominated.

Outstanding Lead Actor In A Drama.

When you were younger, awards shows always seemed so exciting and glamorous. Sometimes they still are. But as you built up your career and were invited to more of them you had come to realize that they were little more than glorified circle jerks. Sadly, being Roman Roy’s costar and girlfriend obligated you to attend.

You wish your publicist had booked a separate room for you so Roman wouldn’t wind you up. At this point though, you were counting the days until you no longer had to be joined at the hip. Once awards season was over you could move on from this chapter of life. Maybe you’d hide away for a while. The thought keeps you from going completely insane.

The car ride to the theater is quiet. Roman scrolls through his mentions on Twitter the whole way. A few times you assure him that it’ll be alright, that he worked so hard that he’s sure to win. None of that reassurance matters.

He’s been glued to his phone since the nominations dropped. For almost two whole months it’s been a shitshow. One minute he’s stressing about what he should say for his acceptance speech and the next he doesn’t give a shit. A few times he floated the idea of skipping the event altogether. That usually only happened when the D word came into the conversation.

Dieter fucking Bravo as Roman liked to call him.

Roman hates a lot of things. But god, he really hates Dieter. Roman’s young. He’s talented. And Dieter is…well…Dieter.

“How the fuck did that washed up prick get a nom? Asshole finally managed to find someone in the academy desperate enough to fuck him.” Roman said when he first learned that he’d be competing with Dieter. You’d ignored the pointed insult in that outburst. It wasn’t the comparison of talent or rap sheets that heated Roman up so much as the fact that you and Dieter weren’t strangers. Before he turned it all to shit, you and Dieter had dated for one tumultuous year.

Roman cares for you about as much as you care for him, that much you’re sure of. It’s the optics that bother him. It’s the fact that for almost two months, almost every Twitter user talking about him makes the assumption that Roman Roy is just a stepping stone. That you’d soaked up every bit of clout dating Dieter Bravo could give you. And that now you’d jumped to the next big thing in line.

While some folks called you a slut and a number of other awful names, some raised you to the status of feminist icon.

“‘Sucking and fucking her way through the Emmy nominees.’” Roman read to you one night in disgust. “”What a girlboss.’ Are you seeing this shit? They’re saying you’re probably going after Jeff Bridges next. You better not fuck Jeff Bridges. If you fuck Jeff Bridges, I’ll fucking hang myself.”

You try not to care too much. If being with Dieter had taught you anything it was that the media thrived off of acknowledgement. If you responded to the accusations, every outlet would release an article about it. And then another one about the backlash. And then another one about the backlash to the backlash. Then they’d roll shitty banner ads over the whole thing and call it journalism.

Not even you, yourself, gave that much of a shit about your own sex life. You’d much rather mind your own business than feed into their interest, thank you very much. 

It’s why you couldn’t wait to get the carpet walk over and done with. It’s the closest thing to a goddamn parade and Roman’s desire to cut your prep time short has you feeling less than your best.

You’re in your own head, watching Roman get his picture taken by the paparazzi flash mob, and dreading your turn to join in when you’re rudely interrupted.

“He looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

You almost agree until you turn to look at who had just spoken to you.

Dieter fucking Bravo. And he looks fucking gorgeous.

You can hardly remember the last time he looked so put together. His wavy hair is gelled back, accentuating the stray silvers that he finally seems to be letting grow out. He wears a white shirt that’s buttoned up to the neck. The solid white collar is framed by a black sweater. And for once he’s not wearing pants that are too tight or too baggy; these ones are just right. The look is simple but graceful, perfect for a star settling into middle age. If things were different, you’d kiss his stylist with tongue and maybe give them a handjob for blessing you with such a glorious sight. Pressing your nails into the palms of your hands, there are a number of things you think to say.

What are you doing here? How dare you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

But none of them sound right. None are befitting of such a glamorous night either.

So you settle for replying coldly, “Are you not?”

Dieter snorts and you melt upon seeing the crinkles by his eyes in full force. “Are you kidding? I’m shocked they even invited me. Who’s dying to wheel out the washed up old guys for shit like this?”

“Thank god we’re in Hollywood; the mecca for washed up old men,” you scoff.

If Dieter acknowledges the joke, you don’t hear or see it. Your eyes are glued to Roman, afraid that if you look back at Dieter again they might just pop out of your head.

Roman 

Out of the blue he asks, “He isn’t even nice to you, is he?”

It’s a question that makes you scoff and roll your eyes. How dare he? He goes away for a few months and after two years of image fixing he thinks he has any right to ask that? The old urge to swing around and give him a piece of your mind strikes you again. As the cameras flash, you become very aware that even at your place at the periphery of the carpet, a snapshot of you arguing with your ex would make a great TMZ article.

You mumble, “What he is is none of your business.”

“I was nice to you,” Dieter says, then repeats to himself, “I was nice.”

You retort with a laugh, “When you weren’t high off your ass.”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t either.”

Like you need to be reminded of how hellish it was trying to be with him and subsequently get over him. You remember taking old gifts he’d given you to the secondhand store. You remember deleting almost every trace of him from your phone. You remember the nights you struggled to stop yourself from making contact again. It had been a long, uphill battle to wash away the single most chaotic year of your life and you weren’t sliding down it again.

“We’re not having this conversation again. I hated myself when I was with you. And I’m not going back to that place. I’ve worked too hard for you to come crashing in and ruining that.” You say it more to yourself than him. 

With that, you’re ushered over to Roman where you pose with him. And you almost manage to give a genuine smile to the masses.

When you’re finally seated in the theater, the night rolls on with the typical fanfare. You give your prescribed reactions; cheer when your show is called for an award and smile when you notice a camera near you. A few times Roman leans over to mumble some snotty joke about whoever’s on stage and that deep, cynical part of you manages to laugh at them.

At the very least, it makes him less nervous. That’s how you justify it to yourself.

He’s in the middle of another wisecrack when the woman at the microphone pulls Roman’s attention away. “I’m proud to announce the nominees for Lead Actor In A Drama Series.”

You don’t bother watching the giant screen as clips of the nominees play. You already know damn good and well who’s up on the platter for this one. Instead, much to your dismay, your gaze is trained on Dieter. 

He’s a row ahead of you and about a dozen seats to the right so you only get a sliver of his profile. From the bits and pieces you get of his bobbing head, his jaw looks tense. In the silence that precedes the announcement you notice just how age has settled upon Dieter. With his hair a little longer and head held high he looks just like the man you once saw within him. It suits him well.

“And the Emmy goes to…”

Some small piece of you peers out from the shadows of cynicism and your lips curl into a soft smile. As uncomfortable as he seemed to be amongst this crowd, Dieter finally looked well; he looked hopeful.

“Roman Roy!”

Turning back towards Roman you expect a kiss, a squeeze of your hand, some sort of acknowledgement that you’re right there beside him. Anything. But he’s standing and walking towards the stage before you can even say a word.

Normally you treasure your alone time. This time though, the empty air truly feels depressing.

Part of you wishes Roman had come back to the hotel with you. But another part of you is grateful you won’t have to listen to his gloating. Or his “celebration”, as he called it. 

You can’t stop replaying the moment over and over again. The way your breath seemed stuck in your throat as you watched him deliver his bullshit acceptance speech. He shed a genuine tear when thanking his mother; you’d known him long enough to recognize his shreds of sincerity.

For the most part, however, he’s performing. After all, that’s what got him the award to begin with.

Knowing that there’s a camera capturing your reaction you plaster on a toothy grin. While Roman plays the part of the humble award winner, you play the proud girlfriend though you feel more like a prop than his costar.

None of it matters either way. At the end of the night, you knew that Roman’s speech would be clipped and reposted thousands of times online. Maybe then he’d get the validation he seems to have been craving his entire life.

That’s why he decided to stay at the afterparty, you figured. Maybe it’s also why you were already seeing clips of him at said afterparty proclaiming with a smug grin, “Suck it, Bravo.” Validation from his peers. The why of it all didn’t matter either. You’d had enough of pathologizing the men around you for one night. 

Well. Almost enough.

The thought of Roman’s absence departs and Dieter’s presence worms its way back into your mind.

You’d never had a proper sendoff for your relationship with him. Instead you got stood up on a night he was supposed to meet you for dinner. That night you vowed you would no longer drag him out from a drug induced haze. You went nuclear; blocked him, stopped going to his house, revoked his access to your apartment building.

Through the grapevine you heard that he’d finally crashed out a few months afterwards and got shipped off to rehab. Then from there it was close to silence. The post-Dieter life was calm, if a bit predictable.

You pick up your phone from the nightstand and go through your blocked contacts until you find his name. And after nearly two years of being Dieter free you invite him right back into your life.

You half expect the message to go ignored. He might not even have the same number anymore anyways. Right as you’re about to block him again out of pure embarrassment, you see those three telltale dots pop up on the left side of the screen. They ripple for a few seconds before a reply appears.

If he were in front of you, you would’ve rolled your eyes. You quickly type out a response.

You can practically hear the shock Dieter must’ve experienced in how the message stays read for a solid two minutes before he answers again.

Of course, you wanted to scream. I missed you so bad that I binged the entire series and then looked up fanfiction of your character afterwards.

Just like before, the message stays read for a few minutes. But this time the typing dots on his end disappear and come back a few times. You end up laying your phone facedown on the bed so you wouldn’t throw it across the room. Eventually your ringtone chimes and you pick it up again.

Your stomach drops about a thousand miles down an awful pit of guilt until your memory slows it down. As much as his big brown eyes might suggest it, Dieter isn’t some helpless puppy dog. How many times had he fucked you over before? How many times did he force you to take care of his messes? And how many times did you grin and bear it because you loved him? Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was the need for some sort of closure. Or maybe it was the fact that you weren’t going to go through another night ignored and alone. But you impulsively type and send another message.

And much to your surprise, Dieter replies immediately.

From the second you pull Dieter into your hotel room you feel alive again. His lips are against yours and your stomach soars at the way he lets you deprive him of oxygen. You missed him more than you had even fathomed. You missed his eagerness. You missed the way his hands went straight to your ass. You missed his tongue. God, you could suck on his tongue right then and there and die happy.

The muffled groan he lets out when you tug on his hair reminds you the hotel room door is still partially opened. It hits you for a split second that someone easily could’ve followed him here. By morning the media could be all over whatever happens in this room tonight.

Dieter pulls away for air. As he cups your cheek and gives you that classic mischievous smirk he says, “Hi there.”

And suddenly…you don’t give a shit. Not about Roman or the media or your publicist. You’ll deal with the consequences later. Probably. But for now, it’s all Dieter fucking Bravo. And for once, that was a good thing.

Breathlessly, you command, “Get on the bed. Now.”

Dieter hadn’t felt this antsy since his last stint in rehab. With the way he was practically crawling under his skin he was surprised he made it to your hotel in one piece.

It would’ve been quite a headline if he had. Oscar Winner, Dieter Bravo, Dead at 45 After Losing Emmy. If only those leeches could see him now. The headline would probably read Oscar Winner, Dieter Bravo, Naked and Ass Up On Ex-Girlfriend’s Bed.

It hits him that he has no idea where your boyfriend is. For all he knows this is some sick joke you and him devised just so you could kick him while he’s down. Did you still despise him that much? Taking a mental inventory of everything he did when you were together…it was a possibility.

You didn’t even ask if he was busy. For all you know, he could’ve been out drowning his disappointment with as many prescription pills he could get his hands on. That’s what the old Dieter would’ve done. Old Dieter would have answered your texts between lines in the bathroom before speeding to your hotel room. New Dieter was watching reruns of X-Files in his bathrobe when you rang. Yet he still came running anyway.

He realizes that he probably always would.

Dieter’s swirling mind is soothed by your lips leaving kisses along his shoulder blades. Your fingers dance down his spine, creating waves of shivers in their wake. He stifles a contented hum. Can’t show his cards yet; can’t let you know that he’s just as pliable as he used to be for you.

He suspects you know it anyways when you purr, “You remember your place so well.”

Quiet. He stays so quiet he can hear a pin drop. Hell, he can practically hear your lips twitch as you observe him.

As he got older, Dieter found less and less joy in being watched all the time. Those greedy eyes only see him as prey. And tonight was another one of those reminders that no matter how much he tried he’d never again be the promising young actor the world had once adored.

But you liked him. You saw him for exactly what he was and you liked him. Even more, you rewarded him.

“Do you want to be good for me?” You ask tentatively.

He’s heard you say similar things more than a hundred times. Now they sound less like an invitation and more like a test. You’re testing the waters. As if him being naked on your bed wasn’t enough confirmation that he wanted you. Then again, you’ve always been that forgiving; always given him second, third, and fourth chances.

He lifts his head just enough so you can hear him clearly when he confirms, “Yes, please.”

With that, the weight of your body over his is gone. When you order him to flip over a minute later you stand before him with a familiar instrument. Judging by the size and color, he knows it isn’t the same strap you used to use on him, but it’s a welcome sight nonetheless. It’s a soft pink color with ridges that shine in the warm lamplight. He guesses that it’s likely between six and seven inches. But it’s the subtle curve of the cock that has his mouth practically watering just looking at it. Already he can’t help but imagine it inside him, reaching that spot only you were able to.

“You’re lucky I happened to pick this up the other day. Otherwise you would’ve been stuck with my fingers.” You say with a pout.

Dieter thinks for a second that you’ve got an odd idea of what qualifies as a souvenir but brushes the thought away. He blinks hard and swallows thickly. “I would’ve been fine with that,” he mumbles.

You climb back onto the bed and settle between his legs. Then you inch forward so close that he could kiss you again. Your breath is warm on his face when you whisper, “Bullshit.”

You plant a kiss on his cheek before continuing slowly, “Don’t think I forgot how much you love getting stuffed to the brim. You used to love sucking on my cock before I fucked that perfect ass of yours. Do you want that again, baby?”

He nods quickly.

“Then sit up a bit for me.”

Dieter does as he’s told and you straddle his chest. His hands find purchase around the soft flesh of your thighs. You shake your hips and the dick wobbles ever so slightly. The bulbous tip teases his lips.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“So fucking pretty…” he breathes.

Stifling the urge to take it all at once, he settles with some experimental licks. His tongue runs down the ridges along the underside. It’s firm but not rock solid; it feels almost like the real thing. A shudder runs through him imagining the thing inside him. He feels his own cock twitch.

“C’mon, you can do better than that. Get me all wet, baby,” you encourage.

Dieter’s lips part tentatively, allowing you to shift your hips forward and nudge your cock in. You moan as if you can feel the relief of his warm mouth around you. Something in his stomach fizzles at the thought of you getting off on watching him be like this.

“That’s it, take it…take it…” 

He looks up, wide-eyed, and sees you gazing back with similarly entranced eyes. Your chest heaves gently as you breathe, drinking in the picture of him beneath you with your cock almost halfway in his mouth.

Dieter ventures further, pushing your hips towards him, allowing him to take another inch. You take that as a sign to slowly start thrusting.

“Good boy,” your voice is velvet as you fuck his mouth. You set a reverent, rolling rhythm, trying not to overwhelm him with the length. Despite the normally submissive position, he feels held, loved, though he tries not to get his hopes up.

He remembers this all too well; the sway of your hips and the small sighs you let out. Judging by those sounds, he guesses that you’re probably a mess yourself. His vivid imagination pictures the slick folds between your legs just begging to be squeezing him. God, how he used to make you whine and sob. But you could make him do the exact same.

“Think it’s as wet as it’ll get, huh?”

His agreement is muffled by the instrument itself and you giggle before removing it from him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

He folds and spreads his legs instinctively, though from a combination of age and lack of practice, the movement is a little strained. To ease his muscles he plants his feet on the mattress and grasps the sheets in his balled fists. In other words, he’s prepared to hold on for dear life if need be.

The seductive tone in your voice turns a bit more serious. “I’m gonna start slow. And if it hurts or you want to stop at all, you better let me know, okay?”

Dieter nods.

“Hey, I’m not playing around. I don’t want to hurt you. I need to hear you acknowledge that if this is too much you’ll tell me. Alright?”

This time he clears his throat, looks you dead in the eye, and responds, “I will. I promise. I trust you.”

You let out a shuddering breath. And it makes him realize that even with the confident demeanor, you’re likely nervous too. It strikes him that you probably haven’t done this in a while either. It makes sense that Roman wasn’t brave enough to take a cock like yours. Lucky for him, Dieter was all too willing to take the bullet in this instance. Suck it, Roy.

You prod at his hole with your tip, dipping it in and out about an inch to test the waters. As relaxed as Dieter is, he knows he’s out of practice. Fucking himself after you left had always felt a bit awkward. He desired the connection more than the feeling; your low voice coaxing him along the path to pleasure and cradling him in your arms when the journey was done. Doing it to himself always left him feeling a little emptier than before so he tended to avoid it.

Though it’s slimmer than the ones he was used to you using, it still takes a minute for him to become acquainted with the fullness of your cock again while you start to slide further in. There’s never really been anyone else he’s trusted without fear that they’d run to their social media with all the details.

You’re the only one who knows just how he likes it. With a few slow, deep thrusts you know exactly how to draw a few sharp gasps from him. You know it’ll make him whine when you dig your fingers into his hips and praise, “You take my cock so well, baby.” 

Once the stretch of you feels a bit more tolerable he gurgles something akin to encouragement.

“You’re just aching for my cock aren’t ya’, sweetheart?” you tease, your confidence slowly returning.

“Pleas– please fuck me,” he moans.

“What’s my name?”

That’s the easiest question of them all. “Mommy,” Dieter blurts, “Please, mommy.”

The name seems to activate you, 

“C’mon,” you pant, “I want the neighbors to hear how good you’re getting fucked. Let them hear you, baby.”

He has no trouble with that. If there is indeed someone in the room next door, he knows that they’re getting the performance of their fucking lives. Strings of his incoherent babble paired with the bang of the headboard against the wall. 

“You wanna touch yourself now? Can mommy see you touch that pretty cock of yours, huh?”

Without another word, Dieter’s hand flies to his neglected dick. Even the slightest bit of pressure from his fist around the base nearly makes him sob. He’s so desperate to relieve the throbbing need in his belly that he begins pumping at an almost brutal pace. Mere seconds before he feels like the cord is about to break, you lay your own hand over his and stop him abruptly.

He lets out a sharp breath through his nose in defiance and is about to protest when you chide,  “Ah, don’t get greedy, baby. Go nice and slow so mommy can really watch you.” You let go of him and continue, “It’s been so long since mommy has seen you come hard. And we’re going to make that happen, we have to be patient. Can you do that? Be patient for mommy?”

He nods feverishly.

“Say it.”

“Yes, mommy.”

Dieter tries his best to pace himself. He tries to time each drag of his fist with the drag of your cock inside of him. His body sways with the movement and if he didn’t feel so on edge, he thinks he could probably fall asleep like this; being fucked into oblivion by you.

He can’t even remember the last time he’d felt so warm and wet and safe. Probably since the last time you were on top of him.

His lidded eyes meet your expression. A few drops of sweat have formed on your forehead. You bite your bottom lip and you stare down at where your cock disappears inside of him. True to your word, you watch him slowly milk his own cock. And he swears that between small grunts he can hear you moan softly.

A bit of pride bubbles in Dieter’s chest knowing that you still crave this the same way he does. You’re just as fucked as he is; just as far gone. And he finds himself starting to slip farther and farther down the pit too.

“F-fu-u-ck– I’m so fucking…sofuckingclose–” he pants. That familiar rush of pleasure in his abdomen threatens to spill over. He knows he’s only got a few seconds until he lets go entirely. He doesn’t wait to be told to ask first. He begs, “Please, please, please, let me cum…holy fuck–”

You’re breathing so hard and so focused on hitting him just right that it takes a moment for you to gather yourself enough to respond. But you do. And Dieter is on the brink of sobbing when you whine, “Go ahead, baby. Make a fucking mess of yourself.”

Those words are the green light for him to fuck his fist a little faster, urging forward that long awaited release. Dieter’s back arches. And with your cock still sliding in and out of him, the slightly altered path makes him see the fucking heavens. God bless the Emmys. God bless the Television Academy. God bless Roman Roy. God bless whoever invented that beautiful, curved, pink cock. And God bless you, his favorite angel, for fucking him onto paradise’s doorstep with it.

Ropes of his thick spend shoot across his stomach. As your thrusts and his movements slow, each spurt begins to slowly spill over his fist. He milks every last drop of cum that he can from his softening cock; you wanted a mess, after all.

Dieter groans when you eventually pull out of him. Closing his heavy eyes, he allows himself to feel just how completely spent he is. Every one of his limbs are jelly. Exhausted but contented jelly.

Soon afterwards you pad away to the bathroom, likely going to retrieve a towel and straighten yourself up a little. When you return and begin to clean up the last hour’s work, he can’t help but notice your expression.

Your jaw is slackened and soft. You part your lips as if in pride at the result of this impulsive act. Though you’d been firm before, you were still so gentle with him. Your melodious hum fills the room with a comforting atmosphere. He missed this. He missed you.

When you both finally settled in bed, it felt as though little time had passed between this tryst and the last. There’s a comfortable silence as you brush a few strands of his hair away from his face and tuck it behind his ear. Your hand lingers for a moment on the side of his head. You hum and press your lips to his for a soft kiss.

Amongst the tangle of limbs, one of his legs is nestled between yours. For a second he wonders if you two hadn’t cleaned up as well as you thought until it hits him that the wetness on his thigh is from you.

He breaks away with urgency and you give him a confused expression. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to-? I think I can get hard again. Just give me a minute to-”

You sigh and hold him, keeping him still. “Dee, it’s okay. You don’t need to do anything.”

“Are you sure? I can go down on you if you want.”

“Hey, what did I say about being greedy, huh?” You laugh. “I’m too tired anyways.”

Dieter’s heart sinks until you continue, “We can do that tomorrow. Before breakfast? How’s that sound?”

He pulls you closer to his chest and chuckles, “I can do that.”

“You sure can pencil that into the schedule?” You tease.

“Oh, I’m not missing that appointment. Trust me.” With a hard swallow he admits, “Been waiting for that opening for a long time.”

Your voice reverberates against his ribcage when you reply, “Me too, Dee. Me too.”

Please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed!! Love ya!! 💛

[ckret2]

Pardon me, however, have you ever considered getting help on WAIGLZ or any other fic of yours? Such as a ghost writer or someone to help you with art so it can get done faster?

I am just curious because I thought it would be really coolio to work with you or something, idk.

Please have a truly wonderful day/evening and toodaloo! ^ ^

+ Btw, if I sound rude at all, that is %100 not intentional tone is kind of hard to translate through text lol

I appreciate that the question is meant kindly; but why would I want somebody else to tell my story for me?

It might not make a difference to an audience member; y'all simply just wanna see the rest of the story, it doesn't make a difference who made it because from the consumer's end it still reads the same.

But it makes a hell of a lot of difference to the writer.

If i wanted a ghostwriter I could just chuck my outline into chatgpt. it would be just as good—which is to say it would be very bad—because in both cases it'd be written by someone/something that doesn't intimately understand the vast web of ideas the story's built on and the hundreds of tiny tiny goals I'm looking for places to thread into the story and the exact themes I'm trying to achieve and exactly where and how I want to make it funny and make it heartwarming and make it hurt; and in both cases I'd have to rip the product apart and edit it to sound like the story i'm trying to tell rather than sound like a 40% accurate retelling of my story that was based off of a barebones summarization.

Like, how many times have you seen Gravity Falls? Probably at least once or twice? If you sat down with an episode summary—only the summary, not the transcript or gallery—and tried to rewrite the script word-for-word and redraw the episode shot-for-shot, do you think you could get every word and every angle right? And you've already seen the episode! You remember the finished product! Imagine trying to guess at all that based off of the summary alone if you'd never seen it before!

So now instead of writing my own story i'm merely editing SOMEONE ELSE telling a water-downed version of my story. It takes me just as long if not longer; and on top of that there's no joy in it.

And if that's what i wanted to do with my life... at least shoving it in chatgpt would get me a first draft to edit faster.

as for art: about a decade ago i was writing/drawing a fancomic and tried to split it with friends so i was writing and they were drawing. it slowed down the whole thing immensely. took 4x longer to get art than doing it myself would've taken.

At the time, I updated multiple times a week (my art was worse then lol); and when I asked someone else to do art I had to keep choosing between:

delaying my next post for days while patiently waiting for a friend, with no guarantee they'd actually finish;

impatiently waiting and trying to find a way to politely repeatedly pester them about finishing the art; or

give up on waiting and do the art myself, which would hurt them deeply, especially if they'd already started it and I just went "nah you're too slow, I'll do it myself."

The thing is, I put my passion project ahead of my other hobbies. Why would somebody else put my passion project ahead of their own hobbies? It would be unfair and unkind for me to ask somebody to do that; but I'm not willing to slow down and wait for somebody to do some art for me when it's finally convenient for them; so therefore I'd better do my own art.

[randomnameless]

As im also a big rhea fan i do have to admit i also don’t like “alone b4 u” and at least enjoyed the church moments in hopes. However, i think that can easily be fixed with a few lines of dialogue (instead of the huge revisions ykb needs lmaooo): everything was normal between seteth and rhea and flayn until the eisners arrived, and then rhea started acting strangely; she started pulling away from seteth and flayn, being distant and weird and withdrawn. It can even tie into the diary scene/seteth questioning her, since he and flayn were obviously not privy to her homunculi, until the magic green hair dance happens and they suddenly understand. It can also fix a certain s support by reframing it under “i lost sight of my present and future by focusing on the past” instead of Alone B4 U. It doesn’t even need to change the game’s timeline of events or routes!

As an aside i’m still mighty pleased beach rhealeth is a canon duo and they like spending time together with the sand and the fish. All we need now is duo beach seteth n’ flayn to match them (and cyril but feh is mean to male characters so we’ll have to settle for him being a tempest trial unit i guess) and it’ll be a fun family beach episode 🐉🐠🌴

Oh,

AG is kind of an AU in an AU, but yes, in FE16 proper, I think even with Seteth who returned 20 years ago and Flayn who woke up last year, Rhea's still kind of closed of.

Like, she can goof around them because they are her family and she loves them, but there are still things, imo, she wants to do herself and she doesn't want them to know of, especially the "Rez Sothis" project.

Something like, she's more open with them than with the rest of the world and all, but they have been separated for so long that she and Seteth aren't as close as they were in Zanado, or even, in the War of Heroes.

Also there's something I noted thanks to voice line anon on their transcript of her lines in Nopes, at one point, she says this :

Flayn - "You have been working hard, Flayn. You have my utmost respect." 1,000 Enemies Defeated (same quote for Seteth) "We must strive to build a world where you need not dirty your hands in such a way."

(on pk in the jp version she says this instead "あなた方が手を汚さずに済む平穏な時代を築かなければ……" which more or less means the same thing?)

Coupled with her lines both in Golden Shower or Tru Piss - when she urges them to run away or, in Tru Piss, expected them to run away - this imo tells me Rhea takes her "duty" to protect and guide Fodlan personally.

It's not something Seteth and Flayn should do, and they shouldn't "dirty their hands" to make a better world, her own hands can be "dirtied", but theirs? She doesn't want that.

So yeah, in that sense, Billy's return and existence is somehow tied to her own duty - the one she cannot share with Seteth'n'Flayn - of watching/looking/guiding Fodlan.

And we know Rhea is desperate, because she thinks she's doing a crap job, but instead of complaining about it, she keeps it bottled. A bit like that meme "everything's fine" when the house is on fire, and Rhea has to keep pretening everything is fine, because it's her duty to watch over Fodlan, and Seteth'n'Flayn shouldn't worry about it - she's the one burdened by that, not them. Billy popping up would be her lifeline "it's fine everything is fine look Mother returned and at the end of the month everything will return to the way it was supposed to be, Sothis will fix everything wrong with Fodlan since I'm not able to do so"

and I could see the devs thinking this...

But - and this the biggest "but" - Rhea's lack of supports and ties to characters can't decently be erased by a mere "she ignores them because she hyper focuses on Billy", Rhea's close to her "brother like" figure, dotes on her niece, trains with her knight and protégée, and she'd just ditch them all due to this hyperfixation?

I don't buy it.

As you said, she could be acting weirder and weirder with Billy's signs they're awakening as Sothis's host, or something.

Maybe they could have made supports where Rhea avoids like plague to talk about the "current situation" and big events going on, and just talks about random stuff, like memories, training or picking on Seteth, encouraging Flayn and Cyril to make friends, etc etc...

And with the events of the game happening, her support convos could become more troubling, having supports where she refuses to talk to Seteth about "the demonic beasts" investigations, what's going on in the Empire and all, maybe with the final convo happening just before Jerry kicks the bucket, Seteth would try to grill her one last time, asking her to please let him in, he wants to help, and Rhea considers for a moment (with meaningful "..." points) but she doesn't and say everything's fine, Seteth seemingly abandons, saddened and when he's gone Rhea says she cannot allow him to help her again, it's her burden - (when he discovers the homonculi projet thanks to Jerry's diary he puts 1+1)

And the similar thing with Flayn would be just before the Holy Tomb map - Flayn worries about the "current state of things"and those people who took her blood, but Rhea oddly starts to talk about a celebration for the millenium year festival, how they could celebrate in the Monastery - Flayn could invite her new friends, and then she namedrops Flayn's mother who could also join, to Flayn's surprise, what the fuck is she talking about her mother's dead is she alright?? "yes everything is fine at the end of the month everything will be fine" -

And we know how it ends lol

In the end Rhea's revelation would be something more classical in the lines of her "relatives" pinching her cheeks saying she doesn't need to do everything alone, they can help her too - maybe with them telling her that both back then and now, they help her and Fodlan because it is something they want to do, not because she asks them to.

Maybe they'd tell her to stop feeling bad for what happened during the WoH, sure they lost people dear to them, but they do not regret it at all (with a bonus "Rhea feels like crap because if she never asked for their help during the WoH Cethleann would still have a mom and Cichol a wife and this ate her for 1000 years").

As for Billy -

instead of the "alone b4 u" maybe we could get a Billy centric piece about them feeling kind of bad Rhea apologises for... their existence? No matter the reasons behind their birth or heart transplant, they exist thank to her, right? So they'd tell her thanks, and it breaks her, because everything she thought she did wrong and her biggest sins - creating life - weren't sins since the people who were created were and are grateful to be alive?

I like your idea of "stop being so fixated on the path, look at the present and the future" and it's doubly nice if Billy is the one to say it, because they're Billy, not Sothis!

And it'd make a nice parallel in Nopes - Nopes is supposed to be a kind of bad AU where people don't develop as ideally as they do in FE16 without Billy - because in Nopes Rhea's all on the nostalgia trip, which prompts Seteth to remind her that 1000 years passed since she "borrowed" his shield or since Indech was last here (or since Willy died), they have to focus on the present.

Back to Billy, I'd think they'd be important as the person who tells Rhea that no, she didn't "royally screw up" since they exist thanks to her, and they're grateful + she can rest now, they will take up her job, or even better : since no one can guide the world etc etc alone, will she help them?

Revamped SS without "alone b4u" would still imply slightly tweaking some CGs and cutscenes, instead of having only Billy be present, Seteth and Flayn are here too - when she tells them they're in charge before transforming? Have Seteth with her (maybe saying Flayn already ran away, so what the frick is she doing, they should go, and Rhea nods, talks to Billy, and transforms). The cutscene when she's freed from the prison? Have Seteth pick her up, instead of Billy, maybe Flayn working some sort of magic, and Billy in the scene, visibly relieved as she thanks them and everyone for coming to rescue her. Shambala? More scenes with Cyril and Catherine, asking her if she's alright, if she needs to rest, maybe a CG of Catherine supporting her to walk or something similar with Cyril.

The final scene in the Cathedral ? Seteth enters first with his weapons, because he is the one who said they should kill her (even if i hate this plot mandated fight lol) so he feels like he has to be the one to do it, but Billy catches her and the scene goes as it does in the game.

Anyways - yeah I also like how FeH, Engage (and Cipher to a lesser extent?) represent Billy as liking to be with his lizard family, popping up with them, let it be for a swimsuit alt or for a Halloween alt - sure Gremlin!Sothis ruins the thing - but M!Billy's still on a event with Rhea, just like F!Billy. In canon they need to work a bit on their relationship, but there's no mistake were intended to be on good terms!

(even if in canon you have to be sad to fight against Supreme Leader, so Rhea must be sus, and everyone must tell you Church BaD else Rhea won't be sus, and Supreme Leader might not have a point, and we can't have that + FE16 made Billy the avatar/self-insert so they have to be empty enough to be able to pick each route and support every character)

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[sysig]

maybe you should doodle however many or few starcon/helix/damned characters as you like (in human or alien form) in cute halloween costumes! imagine... ZEX dressed up as Ariel thelittlemermaid...

Day 26 - "I hadn't realized humans also had aquatic subcultures!" "Oh, well, uhm..."

[welcometobrightvale]

ok so i HAVE been going through the plot comic to edit it lol and. well i guess i can’t say for sure because we don’t know where it’s going. but either there are some plot holes or nyx is being incredibly suspicious

[dapperrokyuu]

Dont incredibly know what Anthony's deal is, but I do think this is an interesting moment thatll come back later. It just reflects back on the concept of Living Dolls "not being their own (or a) person" that could have twisted into a sense of inferiority and/or identity issues he's potentially struggling with.

[a-whiff-of-a-dream]

gonna be honest folks, the letter Blackwall sent to my dear Inqui in Veilguard makes me want to play Inquisition again

[billpottsismygf]

.

[theflyingfeeling]

fictalkfictalkfictalk

[todayisafridaynight]

GORGEOUS case bro I've never seen one with a continuous design like that and the embossment itself is so tasteful... always happy to see Mr. Dunkulous too <3

ALSO AYO YOU WATCHED MONDAY? How was it? Either way you're almost done with the Sabu Tsutsumi catalogue then... that's epic... I'm glad you liked Destiny too, it really is such a cute movie

Also I'm pretty sure PS4 preloads are open too BUT I'm still salty Xbox gets it a day early </3

Its one of the first designs i ran into while looking up wallet cases LMAO lucky me me thinks…. Its very pretty <3 mr dunkulous here to stay and keep me company lest i totally lose my mind <3<3

AND I DID i mentioned so durin stream yesterday ! i REALLY loved it, sabu keeps putting ttm in terrible situations and it makes me giddy seeing him panic 🥰 AND DESTINY WAS ADORABLE it was so cute….. really wholesome and what my soul needed….

OH PS4 PRELOADS OPEN ? Ill check it out when i get home later……. Why does xbox get it a day early thats rude me thinks…..

[lion-buddy]

PRECURE NEWS [OF BUNNY VARIETY], HUH... I MIGHT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT... BUT ELABORATE PLEASE...!!

HEHE YEAH U PROBABLY DO considering they bothered to post it on twitter and the official site this time lol

but yeah!!! back to this image, can confirm this is probably supreme! they get a cool evil color pallet and eyebrow extensions i guess!!! good for them

also!!!! abt cure puka! i know why i was confused now bc um. this is what they apparently look like

yeah so we go like. 3 slightly altered variants of the same character design it was going to get confusing lol.

[holydramon]

very contemplative 😔