#the catastrophic hedonist

[the-gays-all-here]

Stealing this idea from my #1 hater (bestie @artscoma) but here are some of my highlights of Lord Emmerson's Lonely Hearts Club:

The possibility of Juno (@a-fiendish-ideologue) making Butch his very own suit design?!?! And of course them making some art sculptures with sugar cubes while talking about a range of topics (in addition to all of the lovely art Goose made 😭😭😭I'm literally so obsessed with it, its so cute)

Sticks and Atlas (@staring-at-my-keyboard) both unable to leave their gloves alone, the fidgeting was contagious between them! I loved them also bonding over their spouses- very cute.

Hero has a new archenemy she will soon forget about and continuously have to remember with Ginny (@dearest-anhedonia) which was just an absolute blast to have develop surely this wont haunt hero for the rest of her days!

And of course the FUNNIEST outcome of getting Shiloh paired with Beryl - the first person I believe he actually sent a calling card in the game to back when Henri first dragged my ass into playing 😂 (we were hopping this would happen but we didn't expect it right away, it was so funny)

Thanks to @lord-emerson for this lovely event! It's been a blast and I'm excited to meet more people in the community! it's my first big dip into tumblr in a while and I've already felt so welcome 🫶

[chillinaris]

LEONARDO DICAPRIO |

Modelan orang-orang yang memberitahumu bahwa kita menggunakan terlalu banyak Energi.

Kaum munafik. Semuanya punya jet pribadi tapi bilang kita harus khawatir tentang perubahan iklim padahal mereka naik pesawat sepanjang waktu hedon mereka!

[mmogurl]

Daddy Issues Part 1: Savior

18+ | 1.7k | Homelander X Female Reader | protective homelander, reader's back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. My Own Writing Prompt: What if Homelander became your Daddy and was really good at it? This is my first attempt at writing for a 'Reader' character! I usually always write it as an OC, so this should be a fun challenge. There will be more, but I'm not sure how many yet - maybe 3 parts. I wanted to keep these side ideas shorter and easier to pick up and put down. Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

You’ve not had the best childhood. You were raised by an alcoholic, neglectful mother who cared more about getting laid by strange men that she met at the bar than you. This was paired with a father who would literally do anything but spend time with you, even when you flew fifteen hundred miles via airplane and stayed for the whole summer. Love, affection, attention, validation. These are all things that have been acutely missing from your life and so it should come as no surprise that you might be tempted towards the more hedonistic side of things.

After all, there is no better way to pretend that someone loves you, then when they’re fucking you.

Your bedroom has been a revolving door of men, much like your mothers had been when she was still alive. But, she’s left you alone in this world, long since dead from cirrhosis of the liver, and you’d really rather not have anything to do with your piece of shit father. With no siblings or family to call your own and nobody left to really give a shit, your life feels kind of empty. Fucking is the one thing that makes you feel alive, at least until it’s over and all of the feelings of guilt and shame come flooding back in.

That’s alright though. That’s what the beer is for. When too many voices start to nag you about your choice of lifestyle, you just drown it out. And no, you don’t think of yourself as an alcoholic like your mother. You are just self medicating, and find this over the counter prescription much more effective than the ones your psychiatrist had given you. You’d rather feel something than nothing after all. Maybe this makes you a hypocrite, but you really don’t care.

Perhaps it is this very state of inebriation that has led to your current situation though. You really should start taking accountability for the way your life has turned out and stop playing the victim. Sadly, there may not be enough time to make any serious life changes because things are looking pretty grim. A chance encounter with a good looking man named Mark that you’d met, ironically at the bar, has turned into a complete catastrophe, and even you with your insight and feisty spirit, especially when drunk, cannot see a way out of it.

Mark said he was parked just down the road, and there were so many lights and people walking down the main throughway that you really hadn’t considered you might even be in danger. That was until you’d both walked a ways down the alley, past the point of lights and still there was no car. Who the fuck drives a car in New York City you found yourself thinking, but by then it was too late. By then, Mark’s lackeys had jumped out from hiding, dragging you down an intersecting alley and against the wall of some abandoned building.

You are pressed painfully against the cold and dirty brick wall with two men holding you in place, one on either side of you. One heavier set man has a knife against your throat while the other laughs in a way that makes your skin crawl. Mark stands before you still looking like the handsome bait that he was and you can’t help but wonder what they might possibly want with you. You are too old at twenty eight to be thrown into some kind of grooming gang or human trafficking and you have nobody for them to extort funds from for a ransom.

Maybe they are just interested in raping and killing you and this is just more shitty luck that life has thrown your way. It is always so easy to play the victim, even when you are still partially responsible for how the cards fall in the wake of your bad decisions.

You try to jerk your arms free, thinking it better to be cut than to be raped by these scraps of human excrement. You had already intended to fuck Mark or you wouldn’t have gone home with him, but this show of depravity has most definitely changed your mind.

You feel the heat of dripping blood from your neck as the bigger guy with the knife actually nicks your skin. Mark already has his paws on you, a look of disgusting lewdness on his face as though he’s so pleased with himself for cornering you. His hand rounds your breast and the feeling of him touching you like this elicits the most gut wrenching scream from the very depths of your chest cavity.

Then the raw, searing pain erupts across your face. Always the consummate gentleman, Mark has struck you and he didn’t pull any punches. You can’t help but hear the rimshot play in your head and you wonder how it is that even as you’re about to die, your struck with the plaguing of your morose sense of humor. You supposed in the end, it was just a way to make light of how messed up things were. And right now, they were definitely about as bad as they had ever been.

As Mark once more closes in on you, the friend not holding the knife joining in at groping you as well, you attempt to scream again. Another throbbing fist hits you so hard in the cheekbone that it literally takes away all the fight you have. You’ve never been hit so hard before in your entire life and you feel a wave of defeat roll over you like the most hated white flag flapping in the wind.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to zone out the disgusting mitts clawing at you. For a moment you consider shoving your neck into the knife to avoid letting them take this any further. But, graciously, your thoughts of escape through suicide are averted when the ground shakes as though an asteroid had just been ejected from space and landed right beside you.

There is another flash of pain as the stout man with the knife slips and cuts you once more. Free from their grip for a moment in light of the confusion, you feel your neck and are relieved to find that the cut is shallow and not gushing blood. You slowly look up and find that all the men are turned away from you, looking at something incredulously.

Your eyes grow wide when you realize they are staring at the fucking Homelander. Your jaw drops in shock as he hurls forward, grabbing the neck of the man with the knife and popping it like a grape. Blood splatters everywhere as your blond savior’s eyes flare up with bright orange light, straight into Mark’s crotch creating a massive hole that you can actually see through. You almost laugh at the thought of his likely raging hard on getting evaporated to charred bits and nothingness. Serves him right you think as his body hits the pavement with a fleshy thud.

The last man attempts to flee and you follow the outline of his backside as he runs. Homelander’s eyes glow once more and you watch as the plasma hot lasers cut across the distance, starting at the assailant’s groin and carving all the way through his head, leaving him cleaved in two even pieces.

You barely have time to think about it before Homelander’s gaze returns to you, a look of concern in his eyes as he crowds you against the wall. “Fuck!” he shouts and you startle as he starts wiping the gore and blood away from your face, your neck. “Did I hit you?”

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “I think it’s the fat guy’s blood.” You say this with a little more humor than you probably should, not being able to resist the idea of insulting your attacker.

Homelander stops his fussing and regards you with eyes that are so much bluer in person than they appeared on television. He raises up one hand, finger pointed at you as though you’d just fooled him, in quite a clever way. The grin on his face almost makes you forget that you’d just had strangers threatening your life and your right to choose who you spread your legs for.

“You’re funny,” he finally said, looking you over, his expression growing more grave, almost irate. “Especially for someone who just narrowly avoided getting raped and thrown in the Hudson fucking Bay.”

You can’t help but wonder why he cares. You always thought he was just a pretend super hero for the cameras, for the mega corporation known as Vought to make big bucks. It all seemed staged and as far as you knew it was. Yet, here he was, America’s patriotic golden boy, making a very unscheduled save.

“What the fuck are you doing anyway!?” he asked cynically, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you have a death wish or something? You like the idea of serving yourself up to any guy who shows you a little bit of attention?”

His line of questioning was strangely personal, as though he knew more about you than he was letting on. Even though he had just come to your rescue, exactly when you had needed him most, you can’t help but feel a little indignant.

“It’s not like I wanted this,” you retort with a furl in your brow.

“You have to know you’re beautiful,” he sputters out, eyes darting around with discomfort at the topic, barely containing his frustration. “You deserve better than this.”

“Well, God has not seen fit to bestow me with anyone better yet. I’m still waiting,” she quipped back, but she could feel her shoulders getting weak and shaky as the shock of her encounter started to weigh on her.

“Fuck God,” Homelander barked back and his countenance relaxed significantly as his anger turned to worry at the sight of your trembling body. “You’re coming with me,” he stated more than asked.

Before you knew it, his arms were scooping you up, holding you securely against his chest as he shot into the night air. Despite the sound of rushing current in your ears and the tendrils of hair whipping at your cheeks, you felt safe and comfortable. You closed your eyes and waited for the ride to be over, but little did you know that it had just begun. Continue to Part 2

[hcneygemini]

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 sentence starters.

lyrics from rachel bochner's EP lovergirl. some lyrics have been adjusted to make them more suited to rp. feel free to combine, shorten, and edit phrasing as needed. do not add to this post or claim as your own. tw: suggestive themes.

angel numbers

slow it down, everything's fine.

fear of dying doesn't count.

we're connecting all the dots.

we're placing bets.

are we there yet?

is heaven real and does it matter?

i can't tell.

you kiss my shoulder when you think i'm sleeping.

a wish on birthday candles is the only secret i'm keeping.

you're my longest friend.

brooklyn

it's getting late, baby

we both got different places that we should be.

i might sound crazy.

i need an excuse to get a little bit closer to you.

i know you kinda want me to.

offer me a tour of your place.

what's my tarot reading have to say?

oh, i should stay?

it's 3AM in Brooklyn.

i'm seeing red.

i heard you the first time but, like, say it again.

say it again.

i understand this magnetic recklessness might bleed me dry.

i would do it again.

i can play it cool, baby.

i'm not the only one you wanted here in the crowd.

we make the rules lately.

i don't mind waiting until it all winds down.

if you're looking for plans, i know the city like the back of my hand.

anticipation's fun—let's wait a little more.

groupie

if it takes one to know one, then i think you've it, babe.

i think you've got it made.

i know it feels good when they're so obsessed.

it's written in the stars, it just hasn't happened yet.

it's hasn't, but it will.

the spotlight feels so good.

i never thought i'd want to share it.

one look at you and i'm like everybody else who's staring.

i like acclaim, but i love the way you turn the city into a stage.

i always saw myself in the starring role.

baby, for you i'm flexible.

i love the way you do it to me.

you take the spotlight, i'll be the groupie.

you're a primadonna girl.

i'm front row for the show.

you already know.

bright lights feel so good when i'm standing out in the open.

i could meet you in the green room when the curtains close.

put my name on the guest list.

okay, you have my attention.

creative liberties

okay, it was fun at first.

i've been wanting you so bad until it hurts.

i know that's how you like it.

i'm in the dirt.

i'm home alone, catastrophizing the worst.

i know so damn well that i'd cave and be yours if you just said the word.

i can't stop thinking of you.

i know you're probably thinking of somebody else.

i fell in too deep.

i took some liberties in stories of you that i tell myself.

i'm not crazy, i know it's fiction.

i've got you where i want you in my head.

i can fill the blanks in, words that you're not saying.

you need me.

you want to be more than friends.

you can't stop thinking about me.

it's probably only what i'll tell myself.

it's the truth, but modified.

i know it's not real life, but i can barely tell.

in my head, we're kissing in the bathroom stall.

in my head, i'm tracing down your body with my fingertips.

i know it isn't real, so how's it feel like this?

in my head, there's seven different versions of you in that dress.

your face is painted on the back of my eyelids.

alchemical

i think you mean it when you whisper something nice.

i see you in poetry.

i tend to find the messiest of phrasing.

i convolute or dilute what i feel.

would you mind if i put it quite plainly, and i asked you to touch me tonight?

won't you come over?

i am melting into this.

so come closer.

you could never get too close to me.

i tend to shy away from moderation.

consider me a hedonist at heart.

forgive me if i come off heavy handed.

once i start, i don't know where to stop.

won't you come closer?

i wanna be what you need.

i wanna know what you need.

oh, pretty please.

carolina honey

i ran three blocks just to kiss you.

i feel the lovers that precede you.

i think i'd give them all up if you asked me to.

i wish you would.

you stayed up a little later just to linger by my side.

you effortlessly recite things i could never write.

your metaphor bleeds into fact.

darling, i'm in the palm of your hand.

i don't know how, but i need you now.

we know i can't stay, even if i want to.

carolina honey, can you tell me what to call you?

it's no surprise i'm dreaming about you sleeping in my t-shirt.

when you walk me to your door i drown hook, line, and sinker.

this is the type of tenderness i know is gonna kill me later.

promise me you'll think of me when you're alone.

i look for you in every room.

i know what you are, babe.

can you see right through me too?

without a doubt

you said you don't wanna hurt me.

that's a silly thing to say.

if you want love, then you want hurting.

all good things come with a little bit of pain.

you said you're always gonna trust me.

i couldn't hold it in my brain.

i don't know much, but i know some things.

love is gonna chew me up.

love is gonna spit me out.

you will do the same.

love is gonna turn me in.

love is gonna break me down.

you will do the same, without a doubt.

when you get a taste of something sweet, you don't wanna give it up.

you'll stomach the repercussions.

there's a crash to every rush.

humans decompose into ashes, into atoms, so permanence is hard to entertain.

no matter what i say, i'll do it anyway.

love is gonna build me up.

even though i want to, i won't hold you to forever.

you don't need to love me always, as long as you love me now.

[overgrown3d]

What do you need to hear right now?

✨How to select your pile?✨

1. Slow your breathing, taking deep inhales. Focus on feeling present in your environment.

2. Looking from left to right, use your intuition to pick the pile meant for you (what you connect most with.)

3. Doesn't resonate? No worries! Pick another, it's message may be just right for you.

• • •

pile 1 -> pile 2

-> Pile 3

Pile 1 ;

Cards: 6 of Swords, Queen of Wands, 2 of Wands, Knight of Wands, The Tower (base)

"You have the strength to move forward, Keep going!"

The biggest obstacle in your life right now may be your thoughts. Perhaps you have tried to change or improve certain aspects in your life, particularly the actions you perform to meet your goals, and feel burdened with insecurity as you face hardships and deal with your circumstances. Maybe you've tried to change your life in the past but got disheartened, believing you weren't capable of overcoming your struggles. It seems that you've nurtured an idea, business, relationship, habit, or any action that isn't serving you anymore now that you've grown outside of it. Like building a foundation on unsafe lands, only after an event happens do you realize that it is time to bring about change for your own sake, and rebuild your life on stronger soil. Realizing this may cause a great deal of pain for you, but this change will be fruitful in the end.

~~~~🍃

There is indecision in what next step you should take, but know that you've overcome the greatest leap of all: The first step. You absolutely do have courage to shake off the shackles of your past, whatever they may be. What's next in store for you is a lot of action, but this time with the right decisions and choices.

We all have different circumstances in life, what we need to do is make the best out of it, with whatever we've got. 💚

~~~~🍃

Pile 2 ;

Cards: 10 of Swords, The Emperor, Justice, 3 of swords, 7 of swords, Ace of Wands & The Fool (base)

"You must look like a fool before becoming the master."

Get to work, baby! The message you need to hear right now is get into action! You've got the m-fing chances to be successful! This signals massive career change or great profits. You may have healed or are in the process of healing from a catastrophic event, leaning into a lot of internal questioning, perhaps overcoming grief or loss. You may be exploring different careers you can pursue, or areas of study. You got to take action despite your hesitance to new beginnings, and there will be a great need for discipline, learning new techniques, acquiring skills to master your area in interest. Most likely you will need to sacrifice your hedonist tendencies, maybe even a person that is unbelieving in you, and whatever else is holding you back. I'm hearing "necessary sacrifice". I'm getting the vibe that this could be a business, freelance work, maybe a very demanding job that you considered doing. Delve into uncharted territories and keep reconsidering your career path if you question it being right for you. Your strength relies greatly on your ability to start, now you just need to GO! GO!GO!

~~~~🍃

Pile 3 ;

Cards : 10 of wands, Knight of Pentacles, The Star, Knight of Cups, Ace of Swords (rev)

"You are your biggest investment"

Focus on yourself more, man! It's likely that you're burdened with too many tasks and responsibilities, possibly some from a partnership? Get more in touch with your emotions, your relationships, with yourself, dammit!!! I'm getting massive workaholic vibes here, and that applies to all forms of labor btw! Give yourself a break, you deserve it so much. Neglect your logical, ultra-efficient side for now, because I guarantee that getting a break from your responsibilities (Maybe you are the breadwinner, caretaker, student, or an ambitious person trying to kickstart a business) will produce greater financial success/less financial burden. It's possible you're stressing too much about money, but to you, that stress is reasonable. Let go of the thoughts that limit you to your area of work, and start exploring more of your identity and emotions. You will be able to make a lot of progress with this balance. 💚

~~🍃 You reached the end of the reading, 'till next time!

[indelicateink]

in amc iwtv I get the sense everyone is bad yet no one is naughty.

I’m finding it really interesting that the creators of iwtv have indicated they’re going for three-dimensional characters—which is seemingly as defined by "not setting out to be villainous." they’re not…naughty.

here’s my metric: “bad” is doing bad things as one is swept up by circumstances. “naughty” is creating the circumstances.

in the (book) world of Anne Rice, both are forgivable, in time. yet in the show, naughty seems to be shunned? which is a pity to me, because i felt Naughty was a delicious part of AR's wild ride.

and lbr: even avoiding Naughty and sticking to Bad, there are a fair number of audience members who will never, ever, ever, forgive characters for their bad crimes of passion to date. frex, book!armand’s malicious push of lestat from a tower was instead transmuted into lestat becoming a partner who would drop his less powerful partner from the height of a 747. it’s been explained as a crime of passion: he hurt his husband catastrophically after losing control when they had a physical fight that exploded after years of resentment and acrimony. this pivotal intimate partner violence was a line in the sand for many, and the show’s choice for lestat has made him irredeemable in their eyes.

“bad” is weakness. relatable. condemnable.

“naughty,” counterintuitively, is somehow so beyond the bounds of acceptability that it can practically just be chalked up to a character flaw. the horror can almost be fun.

i mean, is anyone ever truly naughty in amc iwtv? will anyone ever do the cut-and-dried very intentional Very Naughty Shit that’s hard to waive away, and get forgiven anyway?

maybe amc!claudia comes to the closest to enjoying Naughty--serial killer trophies, endangering her parents. but her experience is so shaded with pain and trauma it pretty much veers back into Circumstances. but still: there is some extravagant Naughty to be enjoyed there. likewise, when louis kills the lawyer and later butchers the alderman to gory effect, there's righteous Naughty in rejecting consequences and the oppressive bullshit role societally assigned to him, and coming down on these racists like the fucking hand of god. but again, it's less about the decadence of selfishly indulging in the id and more about expressing rage and pain. in amc!louis’s “memory is a monster” telling, he described lestat dipping his toe into “naughty” with torturing the tenor who didn’t measure up. killing indiscriminately. throwing a hedonistic mardi gras murder party. small beer in the Anne Rice world. but we can’t even enjoy those acts as Naughty, because it’s not lestat’s point of view: we “hadn’t met the real lestat yet.” maybe circumstances will reveal a slant that makes the acts just Bad. maybe some didn’t even happen.

in canon, one of lestat’s more eye-searingly Naughty acts was turning david to vampirism against his will. he took his time and did it thoughtfully; it was unambiguously heinous. (could also be construed as rape in book!vampire blood-drinking lore.) lestat acknowledges turning david against his will was Naughty, lestat cried over it at the time, and said he would do it again anyway. to litigate this as Bad we'd say oh, he did it out of loneliness, he didn’t want david to live that new mortal life and for lestat to not have david for eternity. but really: he admits it was naughty--he did it just to see if he could, because he wanted to. everyone chastises him for being naughty.

and then everyone forgives him, even david.

in book!iwtv, armand straight up arranges claudia’s murder. per post-finale interviews, it sounds like in amc!iwtv, armand doesn’t care about her, but goes along with killing her (and louis) to stay in the coven; he’s a victim of trauma, circumstance, weakness, fear. but in book!iwtv, armand is Naughty: he owns his shit. he deliberately kills claudia to make sure he has louis to himself. (long after the fact, he admits to his book readers he also performs some frankensteinian torture on claudia before her death—out of curiosity. and then no one in canon ever addresses this. maybe no one reads armand’s book?? but hey, the audience sure has to sit with it.) litigating this as Bad, we could say oh, book!armand did it out of insecurity and fear—he had been so lonely for so long, and he didn’t want to lose louis, he wanted him unambiguously; also his life of trauma has shaped him in unimaginable ways. but no, man: shit’s Naughty. it was deliciously self-serving.

louis and lestat grieve for the rest of their lives. but everyone eventually moves on re: armand, or is at least able to sit with both the atrocity and the fact that they love him.

i’m getting the sense amc!armand is just a victim of circumstance in the paris debacle: he’s not masterminding anything; the coven is in control here. armand betrays louis so armand is able to stay with the TdV. armand doesn’t care about claudia—he does care about louis—but he’s been shaped by trauma and learned helplessness to commit to assisting in their deaths so he doesn’t lose the life he knows. armand later affirms louis's mistaken assumption that armand was the one to save louis from execution, and rolls with the continued lie even to the point that it lands him in an acrimonious situationship with louis for possibly the rest of his life. amc!armand? enduring on the path of least resistance.

honestly i resent that armand has been weaksaucified compared to book!armand? (tbf: this show is an organic work in progress with ambiguous storytelling, but that’s the current sense I’m getting from post-finale explanatory interviews. time will tell.)

here’s what’s interesting about the Naughty Shit in the world of Anne Rice: the vampires are eternal beings who let loose some fucked-up abhorrent acts against victims and each other--but living those eternal lives, our vampires quickly or gradually they come to forgive each other these things. (insert dissertation about anne rice’s Catholicism here.) it’s implied vampires are living on an entirely different scale of time, reality, and morality, and we’re never going to truly get it: you’re just a human reader along for the ride.

there’s something marvelously transgressive about Naughty. book!lestat is one of the most naughty--it's a point of pride among the characters, who call him their Brat Prince: he does what he wants, when he wants, and is rarely out of the backsplash zone when the shit hits the fan, but almost never seems to learn from it.

with Naughty, you can go on Adventures and intentionally do terrible things that should not be forgiven (yet in this universe they mostly are), and on these Adventures horrible things happen to you, and you grieve and hurt about the terrible things that you’ve done and that are done to you, and eventually you pick yourself up and go on to have another Adventure.

“bad”: relatable and uncomfortable. “naughty”: lol, that was some evil shit! thank god it was entertaining; irl we Would Not But Up With That, but hey, they’re vampires. both “bad” and “naughty” are valid! but damn, I’m missing the latter? armand lost his naughty storyline in s2, but here’s hoping real!lestat (and maybe even armand! louis? daniel??) gets to lay down some wicked naughty in s3.

[moonshynecybin]

Do we know who inside the vr46 academy is a good cook?

Like we know alex is a better cook than marc and likes to cook

I think pecco proclaimed himself to be a good cook but what about the others?

power ranking based entirely on vibes here. if there is hard evidence that i am wrong be silent. be so silent. let me play in this space. in fact play with me

pecco. a gnocchi god. seems like the kind of guy you would give a big, technical recipe book about FOOD SCIENCE to at christmas that he would earnestly enjoy but then he wont stop talking about flavor wheels and food thermometers and shit. ALSO a good collaborator in the kitchen i think. learned from his grandma :)

luca: just seems the most competent at life stuff in general. i dont think hes a creative cook necessarily, but he is good at following a recipe and like. applying general cooking rules when he wants to. EXCELLENT at cold prep as well... best knife skills perhaps

franky: true neutral. i can see him as grillmaster honestly, but kind of bad at indoor cooking and catastrophic (like real bad) at baking. MVP of the annual cookout to me...

celestino: eggs. end of list. actually maybe has one meal that he makes really well that hes super proud of... and brings to every single potluck ever

mig. good at making like. weird snacks and nothing else. perhaps makes perfect homemade popcorn with lots of interesting seasonings etc. but little else.

bezz: burns water

valentino: not convinced he has ever had a meal that wasnt takeout tbh. too much time spent kicking around paddocks for literally his ENTIRE life and also a stupid rich hedonist to boot

[buskingalbatross]

what's the one sink you can't ship? (things to do when you have come home for the day, showered, eaten, and fallen into disrepair: analyze danandphilcrafts - slime (2024) and the context of its coming to be)

or, basically, because let's be real: this is where I extol the de facto vintage princes of the internet, who have cultivated and continue to cultivate a form of video-making and community-building that is utterly novel, radiant, and defiant.

*:･ﾟ✧

one of the best things the internet has ever done is given the coolest insanest introverts the chance to be loud and be loved. to have the chance to catalogue their lives in intimate (yet distant) association with other like-minded people, and to express themselves and their perspective on the world. for Dan and Phil, what it's led to, its culmination, has been the creation of an empowered queer subculture that is deeply invested in the concept of queer devotion—the complex forms it can take, its numinous inexpressible sacredness—and that is actively, through knowing and experience of that devotion's existence, in rebellion against the extractive, unkind, unfeeling, oft-oppressive society that reigns as normative.

the experience in the world of Dan and Phil, in contrast to many experiences had in the "real" world, has always been one that's felt intensely emotional, rebellious, existential, free, full of kindness, and full of laughter and love. at the heart of dnp's community, the string tying us together, is the massive mythology and plethora of lore of dan and phil's history beginning at the point where it converged because they met. as well as the idea of two people who are as close as two humans can get to each other. the beauty inherent in that.

the relationship Dan and Phil share has for many years been the axis around which their channels, their tours, and other projects have rotated. their being able to chronicle that relationship through the internet, through youtube, and for that relationship to be, in hindsight, purely, amazingly, and even unapologetically queer from the very start, is something profoundly meaningful and artistic in and of itself.

I find it intensely amusing and, frankly, compelling, that while the phandom has become self-aware of the ridiculousness inherent in yelling about two human beings having even momentary physical contact, we cannot stop ourselves from doing it. because it feels powerful and magical and terribly unshackling. touching has become symbolic. symbolic of an amalgam of the best things about what it means to follow Dan and Phil: to be free and connected and queer, openly, and to trust in each other to be there for one other in a world that is often in opposition to people like us.

Dan and Phil holding hands for their audience to see in DanAndPhilCRAFTS - Slime in front of baphomet has to do with all the things so many wonderful people have said it has to do with: acceptance and actualization of queerness, an image of queer power, allying oneself with the other to showcase alignment against cisheteronormative society, a representation of dysfunctional, obsessive, hedonistic, codependent queer love.

And it also has to do with freedom, defiance, happiness, and confidence. It has to do with making something only legible to a niche audience of people that Dan and Phil care a great deal about, because it is fun and exciting and insanely cool. It is about embracing and celebrating the magic that flows, the creativity that flows, between two incredible queer human beings.

Sometimes I think that at least a small part of the reason We're All Doomed exists is because of the way dark things stand out on a light background. The horrors seem stark, more overwhelmingly apparent, when bumped up against great love. Injustice and catastrophe are sometimes more startling and distressing when you are privileged enough to live outside of those things, when what you return home to at the end of the day is comfort, safety, and love. In a similar way, the themes of devotion and love are often heightened in horror narratives. In this sense, Slime is also one ideal medium for sharing a story that is especially impactful to the phandom, one about Dan and Phil's relationship to each other and their community and the ongoing story of their creative lives on YouTube. The themes of love and trust stand out because of the horror, and are heightened further by the intentionality of the storyline and the control Dan and Phil exert over the plot.

what's the one sink you cannot ship? a line from Phil just after Dan says, during their slime crafting, that creativity is nothing without friendship. An inverted paradox of a line. A mystery to be solved, a thread not to be untethered, a parody of itself, a hint to a history. All belonging to all of us, all part of us.

tldr: no one is doing it like them

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

Percy Jackson

Stars on the Water by liketolaugh

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

On Heists and Home Economics by chellethewriter

Over the last few days, Annabeth has spent a great deal of time imagining what was stolen, what could cause Percy and the Stolls so much antagonism and strife. She imagined valuables and prized possessions and even—thanks to Malcolm—something as ridiculous as an engagement ring.

But never, not once, had she considered the possibility of a baby doll.

Because who in Hades would?

“That wasn’t just some children’s toy!” 

And Annabeth can feel it. She can feel Percy's rage bursting forth with his words—a pressure that whips through the pavilion like the briny wind of a sea storm. It's something primal, she thinks. Something desperate. So when Percy rises to his feet, climbing and cresting like a tidal wave, Annabeth doesn't blame the Stolls for shrinking toward the floor. If she didn't know Percy so well, she would do the same. 

“That doll,” Percy grits out, “is worth fifty percent of my Home Economics grade!"

Of Storms and Bloodlines by inkncoffee

When people thought of Poseidon they thought of the sea; Poseidon, Lord of the Seas, Commander of the Waves, the Stormbringer. Upon consideration they would add Earthshaker, for catastrophic events such as earthquakes were hard to forget. Few remembered, however, that Poseidon was also Lord of the Horses. Stormbringer and Earthshaker tended to squeeze that one out.

Percy had been able to talk to horses for as long as he could remember. He liked to think he understood them. Although he's not entirely sure why the new stallion thinks he's its foal.

Poseidon is not jealous that Percy thinks a horse makes a better father figure than himself. At all.

Not By Design by inkncoffee

Being a stepfather was hard enough even when your new stepson wasn't the greatest demigod of his time.

Paul's journey from that guy dating Sally to being Percy's father.

Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!

Broody Feelings by writerkat

Quite abruptly, Balam's behavior takes a sudden turn for the aggressive. Though some know why, no one knows how.

It may be wind up up to Iruma to find that out. As well as how to get Balam back to being the gentle giant he's always been.

A Spoonful of Sugar by silvershadowkit.

The stress of living in the Netherworld finally causes Iruma to succumb to the worse of human conditions: the common cold. How do his friends and family react in this moment of crisis?

He's Doing Just Fine by ScatteredNova (Timewormbloom)

Asmodeus and Clara discover the truth behind Iruma's parents and decide that it's their responsibility to make up for the love and affection he missed out on growing up. But they somehow miss the fact that Iruma is doing just fine without his previous family, and he's enjoying his new one very much.

Just a Bit Warmer by Creativitee

Iruma gets himself, quite literally, stuck in a bad situation. He calls on his familiar somewhat accidentally for a little bit of help.

Kalego is more than displeased at the situation to say the least, until he realizes it may be just a bit more dire than first glance shows.

SVSSS

simmering heat by tagteamme

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a curse that is a little different than the hedonistic traps he and his husband normally fall victim to. In fact, it’s the opposite— in order to make it out of this curse alive, Shen Qingqiu must abstain from touching Luo Binghe.

This should be nothing more than a much-needed holiday for his old hips and waist, right?

[thecreaturecodex]

Gigi

Image © @iguanodont

[Of all my self-insert characters, this is my self-insertiest. I consider myself to be somewhere in the Venn diagram overlap of Mary Poppins, Bugs Bunny and any given Addams, and that's the spot where Gigi comfortably holds court. She's also the manifestation of my use of friendly but weird spellcasters to steer the party in the right direction. Which means I wanted to be sure in the flavor text to emphasize that Gigi's a light touch. She's the kind of character who will craft the PCs magic items, cast a reincarnate spell if one of them dies (because it's way more fun than resurrection, plus she doesn't happen to have that many diamonds on hand...) and point them towards the next adventure, not the sort of character who will do everything herself. ]

Gigi CR 21 CG Fey This woman is fat, jolly and subtly inhuman. Her skin tone is a light purple, shading to red on her hands and feet, and her witch’s hat moves as if something growing from her head is holding it in place.

Gigi is the “Scary Fairy Godmother” of Varisia, a powerful inhuman witch who helps the people there survive the onslaughts of other monsters. Gigi is a phouka, but rarely appears in her natural form, preferring a humanoid guise. When not appearing as a human, she often takes the form of a gnome or goblin. She lives in a well-hidden cottage in the Sanos Forest, and from there ventures forth under invisibility or disguise to engage in her well-meaning meddling. Gigi prefers to act subtly by giving advice, casting beneficial spells and hexes or pointing people in the direction of a magic item or clue, rather than unleashing her true power at a moment’s notice.

When Gigi does decide to fight, she can be truly terrifying to behold. She is one of the most powerful witches in Avistan, and couples that with her natural abilities as a pooka. She usually fights under cover of invisibility, and uses debilitating spells to end combat quickly and efficiently. Gigi is proud of her magical prowess, but is well aware that a well placed knife can solve some problems spells cannot. If she is in a playful mood, or is fighting to teach a lesson rather than kill an enemy, Gigi will instead use Flyby Attack and Greater Dirty Trick to inconvenience and annoy opponents. Gigi is happy to play a support role in a fight, especially if teamed up with her right hand gal, Priscilla.

Gigi began her life as an ordinary phouka in the First World, who spent her time living hedonistically and annoying fey and mortals alike. One day, she came upon a chameleon caught in the web of a giant spider, and she let it free. She spent days watching this lizard, fascinated by its patience in hunting and movement, and followed its slow and steady journey. Eventually, the lizard led her to Mormo, the Goddess of Predators. That Great Old One had been regaining her strength and putting together her plots to strike against the Mother of Monsters Lamashtu. She had sent various reptiles out as living invitations, to extend an offer of allegiance to anyone who might notice. And Gigi was the only one who noticed.

Gigi became an instant convert and Mormo is now her patron, granting spells through that same chameleon (which Gigi named Liz). Since Mormo received a cool reception in the First World, Gigi decided to move to the Material Plane to support Mormo in the Great Game and to win her allies and converts. She chose Varisia as her home base because of the remarkable density of catastrophic events that occur there regularly, as well as the large number of adventurers fighting against said events. Gigi is the patron of several groups of adventurers, not all of whom know her real identity and agenda, and at least one of which knows her solely as a helpful disembodied voice. She is also one of the driving forces behind the increasing integration of goblins into the societies of other humanoids, as she has a soft spot for tricksy little monsters.  

Gigi      CR 21 XP 409,600 Variant phouka witch 16 (vellemancer) CG Medium fey Init +11; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +38

Defense AC 44, touch 35, flat-footed 32 (+11 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 natural, +8 armor, +13 deflection) hp 440(35d6+315) Fort +25, Ref +32, Will +32; +4 vs. mind-influencing spells DR 15/cold iron; Immune disease, divination, poison; SR 23 Defensive Abilities blur, eldritch shield, invisibility

Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 40 ft. (average) Melee dagger of subtlety +30/+25/+20/+15 (1d4+9/19-20), slam +23 (1d4+3), gore +23 (1d8+3) or 2 slams +28 (1d4+7), gore +28 (1d8+7) Special Attacks hexes (DC 34, beast’s gift, delicious fright, evil eye, feral speech, fortune, regenerative sinew, slumber, speak in dreams, ward), sneak attack +5d6 Spell-like Abilities CL 12th, concentration +25 (+29 casting defensively) At will—deep slumber (DC 26), major image (DC 26), suggestion (DC 26) 3/day—baleful polymorph (DC 28), blindness/deafness (DC 26), confusion (DC 27), dimension door, fear (DC 27), mirage arcana (DC 28), telekinesis (DC 28) 1/day—feeblemind (DC 28), greater shadow conjuration (DC 30), irresistible dance (DC 31),  phantasmal killer (DC 27), song of discord (DC 29) Spells CL 16th, concentration +32 (+36 casting defensively) 8th—demand (DC 34), horrid wilting (DC 34), maze, mind blank (already cast), prediction of failure (DC 34) 7th—harm (DC 33), heal (DC 33), jolting portent, shadow body, umbral strike (DC 33), waves of ecstasy (DC 33) 6th—cone of cold (DC 32), flesh to stone (DC 32), geas/quest, greater dispel magic, greater heroism, stone to flesh  5th—cure critical wounds (DC 31), greater forbid action (DC 31), inflict critical wounds (DC 31), overland flight (already cast), pernicious pranksters, reincarnate, waves of fatigue 4th—blessing of fervor, charm monster (x2, DC 30), death ward, debilitating portent, inveigle person (DC 30), neutralize poison (DC 30), wandering star motes (DC 30) 3rd—aversion (DC 29), bestow curse (DC 29, already cast), clairaudience/clairvoyance, fly, helping hand, remove blindness/deafness, speak with dead (DC 29), vampiric touch 2nd—anticipate peril (x2), cure moderate wounds (DC 28, x5), ghostly disguise (x2), inflict moderate wounds (DC 28, x5), mortal terror (DC 28, x2) 1st—charm person (DC 27), doom (DC 27, x2), identify, ill omen (x2), ray of enfeeblement (DC 27), vocal alteration (DC 27) 0th—arcane mark, dancing lights, detect magic, read magic Patron—Fate

Tactics Before Combat Gigi casts mind blank and overland flight on herself each morning. She also casts a bestow curse (-4 to all attack rolls, saving throws, skill and ability checks) into her witching gown each morning Contingency Whenever Gigi is reduced to 100 hit points or below, she is teleported to the hidden basement of her house in the Sanos Forest

Statistics Str 25, Dex 32, Con 28, Int 42, Wis 22, Cha 36 Base Atk +17; CMB +28 (+32 dirty trick); CMD 60 (62 vs. dirty trick) Feats Accursed Hex, Agile Maneuvers, Bouncing Spell-like Ability (baleful polymorph), Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Craft Wondrous Item, Dodge, Eschew Materials, Extra Hex (x3: evil eye, feral speech, ward), Flyby Attack, Greater Dirty Trick, Improved Dirty Trick, Mobility, Quick Draw, Spell Penetration, Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +43, Appraise +51, Bluff +49, Diplomacy +49, Disable Device +33, Disguise +45, Escape Artist +43, Fly +43, Heal +38, Intimidate +49, Knowledge (arcana, local, nature, planes) +48, Knowledge (dungeoneering, religion) +45, Knowledge (history, nobility) +51, Linguistics +36, Perception +38, Sense Motive +38, Sleight of Hand +43, Spellcraft +48, Stealth +46, Use Magic Device +45 Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Common, Draconic, Elven, Gnome, Halfling, Sylvan, telepathy 100 ft, 20 others Gear tome of clear thought +4 (expended), manual of bodily health +4 (expended), headband of mental superiority +6 (Appraise, Knowledge (history), Knowledge (nobility)), belt of physical might +6 (Str, Dex), dagger of subtlety (as sword of subtlety), hat of fortune’s favor (as headband), cackling hag’s blouse, witching gown, lesser cloak of displacement, periapt of health and proof against poison, bracers of armor +8, goggles of minute seeing, metamagic rod of Quicken Spell, rod of abrupt hexes, staff of vision, wand of cure serious wounds, ring of wizardry II, ring of spell turning, contingency statuette, scrying mirror, 4,000 gp worth of crafting supplies, 2 doses of herbs and oils for reincarnate spells, 80 pp, 7 gp Spells Known As above, plus resurrection, greater teleport, contingency (as 6th level spell), break enchantment, hold monster, teleport, scrying, secure shelter, spite, remove disease, tongues, bear’s endurance, bull’s strength, cat’s grace, eagle’s splendor, fox’s cunning, owl’s wisdom, mage armor, cantrips SQ change shape (Small or Medium humanoid or Tiny to Large fey, alter self or fey shape II), legendary, quick change, scry on familiar, selective invisibility

Special Abilities Eldritch Shield (Su) Gigi gains her Charisma modifier as a deflection bonus to Armor Class and Combat Maneuver Defense. Expanded Wishgranter (Su): A vellemancer adds the following spells to her familiar for free: bear’s endurance, bull’s strength, cat’s grace, eagle’s splendor, fox’s cunning, and owl’s wisdom. The vellemancer can cast these spells only as part of her wishgranter ability, but she can sacrifice any prepared spell of 2nd level or lower to spontaneously cast one of these spells. Invested Hex (Su): Each day, Gigi can implant a number of hexes equal to half her witch level  plus her Intelligence bonus (24/day for Gigi). Any given creature can have only one hex implanted at a given time, and implanting a new hex ends the previous one (the witch still loses the use of this ability she spent on the previous hex). Only beneficial hexes capable of affecting another creature can be implanted with invested hex, and this counts against the uses per day of hexes with limited uses per day or per creature. To implant a hex, the vellemancer must take a standard action and touch a willing creature. The vellemancer can activate the hex as a free action, or the hex can activate automatically when a single predetermined condition is met (decided when the hex is implanted). The subject must be within medium range (100 feet + 10 feet per level) for the witch to trigger the hex, but a predetermined condition can activate the hex regardless of range. An implanted hex lasts until the next time the witch regains her spells. Once triggered, a hex is no longer implanted and can’t be triggered again. Invisibility (Su) Gigi remains invisible even when she attacks. She can activate or suppress this ability as a free action. Legendary (Ex) Gigi's statistics are built off of 25 point buy and she has the equipment of a 20th level PC. This increases her CR by 1. Quick Change (Su) Gigi can use her change shape ability as a move action. Selective Invisibility (Su) When a phouka is invisible, it can choose to be visible to a single creature. A phouka can later choose to become invisible to that creature as well, but if that creature succeeds a DC 32 Will save, it can still see that phouka for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based. Wishgranter (Su): A vellemancer can borrow mental strength from others’ hopes and dreams to empower her own spellcasting. A creature can make a wish as a free action at any time, even during the vellemancer’s turn. The vellemancer must be able to hear and understand a wish in order to use it as a spell component. A spell that doesn’t normally have a verbal component gains one when cast using this ability. A wish doesn’t need to mention the name of a specific spell, but it must describe an outcome that can be accomplished by casting a spell the vellemancer knows (for example, wishing to be more likable could supply the verbal component for alter self, eagle’s splendor, or even baleful polymorph, depending on the results). A vellemancer gains a +1 bonus to her caster level when using a creature’s wish as a verbal component in this manner, but she cannot include herself as a target of such spells. She can be affected by such a spell if it affects an area rather than one or more targets. A vellemancer is under no compulsion to grant a creature’s wish. Once the vellemancer grants a creature’s wish using this ability, she cannot use this ability to grant that creature any further wishes for 24 hours.

Liz CR N/A Variant lizard (chameleon) familiar (pilferer archetype) N Tiny magical beast (augmented animal) Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +1

Defense AC 30, touch 14, flat-footed 28 (+2 Dex, +2 size, +8 natural, +8 armor) hp 220 (effectively 35 HD) Fort +10, Ref +18, Will +22 SR 21 (31 vs. divinations) Defensive Abilities nondetection

Offense Speed 20 ft., climb 20 ft. Melee bite +21 (1d4–4) Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Statistics Str 3, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 2 Base Atk +17; CMB +17 (+21 steal); CMD 23 (25 vs. steal, 27 vs. trip) Feats Greater Steal (B), Improved Steal (B), Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +38, Bluff +25, Climb +10, Diplomacy +25, Disable Device +22, Disguise +25, Escape Artist +34, Fly +34,  Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, nature, planes, religion) +30, Linguistics +21, Perception +33, Sense Motive +30, Sleight of Hand +42, Spellcraft +30, Stealth +54, Use Magic Device +25; Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics, +4 Stealth Languages speak with master Gear bracers of armor +8, wand of scorching ray (50 charges), contingency statuette SQ empathic link,share spells, sneak

Special Abilities Contingency: Is Liz is ever swallowed whole, she teleports back to a spot ten feet outside of Gigi’s house. Sneak (Ex) Liz gains a competence bonus equal to half of Gigi’s witch caster level on Sleight of Hand and Stealth checks. Variant Lizard (Ex) As a chameleon, Liz gains a +4 racial bonus to Acrobatics and Stealth checks, instead of the normal lizard racial skill bonus. As a familiar, a chameleon grants a +3 bonus to Stealth.

[the-gays-all-here]

Blorbo Posting!

Hello! I mostly post into the void with my various characters but I have been trying to be a little more active in the Fallen London space so here is my official FL blorbo posting!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

My main is Hero Clyne (She/He). She is a Licentiate Femboy with amnesia and a take no shit demeanor. She hates the Masters and Dislikes most of the organizations in the neath trying to topple them because they aren't much better! She's married to Shiloh Brabec (One of my Alts) and they have a son named Westley Sawyer! She is an Ex-Seeker and she barely remembers the surface :). His ambition was Light Fingers and hated it, and it has destroyed his psyche ever since he completed it. I rotate her around like she's in a microwave. Her tag is #The Reckless Amnesiac

My main alt is Shiloh Brabec (He/Him). He is a Correspondent, and Author and a joy to be around. He tries very hard all of the time to do good and have fun and he loves his wife more than words can say. His ambition was Hearts Desire and he had a lot of fun with it and is quite happy with the outcome! He's Autistic and will talk your ear off about writing because he loves it so much. His tag is #The Genial Bastard

My (formally..kinda) Seeking Alt is Butch Dykeson (He/Him). He's a He/Him Lesbian who is also half Devil. He's got a lot of problems. He is (was? it's complicated) in a lesbian polycule and his wife is the Seeker he was planning to follow into oblivion and the reason he even went down that path in the first place. They...are still married but haven't spoken since she doused herself in irrigo :) He finished his ambition, Bag a Legend, and it felt like nothing. He misses his wife tails. He also uh...is soulness now- can't imagine why! His tag is #The Catastrophic Hedonist

Lastly we have Sticks Stone (He/Him), he's my Nemesis Alt! I simply wanted to complete all four ambitions! He is Butch's childhood friend from the surface that is basically like his older brother (They were both living off the streets). He's trying his best but every day keeps happening to himTM. His tag is #The Trivial Muscle

(He's my newest blorbo and I do not have any art of him yet 😭)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

I have more Blorbos I post about, so if you want to see more of them- OR you want to possibly get art of your guys every July, come follow me on Art Fight!

https://artfight.net/~holyquizmac

[landwriter]

oh my friend tell me about that just like love follow up it sounds BRILLIANT

Oh boy oh boy! Okay I've already shared so many snippets and too many tidbits so I'll just tell you *about* it.

tl;dr: If Just Like Love was about what how the Corinthian and Hob Gadling come into each other's lives in the absence of Dream and happy ignorance that it's he who haunts them both, then the sequel is about everything they manage buy with that ignorance, and what they bear in finally paying it - when the ghost they've been moving and speaking around this whole time comes back to them both.

Just Like Love jumps off from 1989 show canon and is basically set up like, okay, if just enough information was withheld, these two characters could meet, and they would be changed enough for canon to shift. Maybe the could even save each other. Or there could be a promise of it, at least. I sincerely meant to just write dirty sex but the themes. You know how it is. The symbolism got me again, boys, I'm hit, etc.

But the other thing that is withheld is Dream himself, because of his very special ability to get in his own way and make that many other people's problems. At the core of him I envision this huge bezoar of entangled duty, fate, and repression. None lend themselves well to accepting change for oneself, or allowing it for one's creations. Certainly not to being accused of it by a mere man. Being named in 1889 by Hob as a needing thing - who seeks not knowledge but base company and friendship - is such a grave insult to him. He isn't known for accepting help in canon. He thinks himself an island and indeed every time he has reached out in hunger it seems to have ended in catastrophe.

This is in contrast to Hob and the Corinthian both, unabashedly hungry, hedonistic creatures, who nonetheless are fated for their deepest and most lasting bond being to:

someone who both Made Them (as far as Hob knows!)

and can Unmake Them (as the Corinthian certainly knows and Hob surely must wonder about),

and reviles such base things as want. What is wanting something when there is duty, after all?

read: Dream, Oneiros, Protestant Work Ethic of the Endless :)

(a fun show note! Dream finds the time to condemn them both for not 'doing'/creating to his standards - the incredulous 'But what have you done?' in 1489; Dream's bit I can't summon off the top of my head at The Corinthian's unmaking at the Cereal Convention. meanwhile these guys are here to drink wine, swive women, soldier and feast)

Back to the rest of the missing information about each other: Hob does not know that the Corinthian was an accomplice in Dream's imprisonment. Hob does not know the Corinthian was made by Dream. Hob does not know he wasn't made by Dream. Hob doesn't come along on the Corinthian's Morning Arson Jaunt in Just Like Love - he doesn't even know Dream is imprisoned. Why would he? It's not like the Corinthian is especially keeping a secret here. The information is simply irrelevant because the Corinthian has no idea Hob even knows Dream. Let alone that it's Dream, in both his presence and absence, that has brought them together. They could have been allies in this, and it would have gone differently.

But instead the Corinthian frees Dream, alone. Because he was made with his master's arrogance. He wants Dream to chase him. To see him. To not find fault with the shape he was made in by Dream's own hands, and instead of casting him aside anew, to see the worth of him. Hob, in naming him and seeing him and wanting him still, gave him, I think, the last fateful drop of surety. And I think it's sort of a perfect tragedy, actually, because these two characters find something like what they were looking for in each other, and the relief of that is what sets them both on this path to misery, delivered in the shape of their missing North Star, carrying all the knowledge they were earlier spared, a fundamental disbelief in change, and the unfinished business of unmaking a wayward nightmare.

Which is to say: Just Like Love's sequel is a totally fun lighthearted madcap romp of Hob finding the Corinthian in America, going on adventures together, and caring for each other in way neither has had the luxury of ever before - of seeing and naming and changing one another: monster, hungry, not-quite-human, not-quite-nightmare - living, briefly, in their own little world; until Dream returns and finds them both, together, and the story stops asking how they might change one another, and starts asking if it will be enough.

[fantastic-artemis]

AND AND AND I've had some time to process, it took me a while bc y'all know episode six was not what I saw coming. But. I understand now that Aziraphale is correct. His actions and methods and words drive me up a wall, but he's right! They can make a difference!

Aziraphale is the only one willing to fight to keep what he loves.

Crowley wanted to run away in season one and let the apocalypse play out while they were safely in Alpha Centauri. Beelzebub and Gabriel abandon their respective offices and go off together in season two without a care for the fact that the apocalypse will absolutely happen without them there to intervene. Everyone but Aziraphale seems to think that's fine and they can still be happy without humans and Earth.

But Aziraphale. Sweet, hedonistic, idealistic Aziraphale understands that they need humans and they need Earth to be happy just as much as they need one another. Not even Gabriel and Beelzebub could truly be happy off in Alpha Centauri. There's no pub, no music, no Ritz, no books, no sushi, no Queen, there's nothing!! Add to that how much Aziraphale cares about people as well as his religious trauma and flawed devotion to the idea of goodness and a redeemable Heaven and. Yeah. Of course he is doing what he's doing and he is RIGHT. They can't run off and hide because that's a guarantee they will lose everything.

Now, of course he went about it wrong. He didn't communicate about a damn thing, he said everything wrong, he broke Crowley's heart, he is being naive and is absolutely being manipulated without knowing it yet again. His current plan will likely be a catastrophic failure. But he's trying more than any of the others because he understands the stakes.

And that's why I believe that season three will result in Aziraphale, Crowley, Gabriel, and Beelzebub joining forces to either create a Heaven and Hell that work together to keep the balance and keep humanity going or they will destroy Heaven and Hell entirely, freeing the angels and demons from the great plan send post.

[masterofrecords]

Angstober day 3: Self-Destruction

Okay I really thought this prompt would be more violent and... idk, explosive, but I seem to be in a serene mood today...

---

The Twin Moons

The material plane is an odd place. An empty slate – an intersection of magics – a complex knot of free will and outside influence.

That makes it powerful and that makes it fragile.

With the balance broken, there is only so much the Gods can do to preserve it. The connections between planes are unraveling, sustained temporarily by the strength and the sacrifice of the Sun Angel. But even her will can only halt the catastrophe, not stop it.

By now, even the Vengeful Hedonist accepting his responsibility as the Kind of Hell couldn’t, but some Gods pursue him in vain hope.

The Twin Moons turn their eye to humanity though.

Their magic might be borrowed, but their strength is not. With some help, with a little push, they will be capable of doing what gods could not – removing the rot that had penetrated too deeply, severing the knot, tearing the planes apart for the matter of the world to heal itself.

In that world, there would be no place for Gods.

The Gods of destiny and death, they accept it as a simple truth.

They hint, and their followers understand and accept it, too. They figure out the things that the Gods, by their nature, cannot say.

All they need is a little divinity, and the Twin Moons will give it.

In their eyes, it is the more merciful fate. Instead of keeping their power uselessly in the void of between-planes, they will join the now loose river of souls they were once shepherds of.

They do their duty until the end. They guide the helpless, depowered souls of the Gods on their last journeys and fill the Hospitable Crafter’s masterpieces with their divinity.

A God is not meant to give up their power, but they do, with no one to watch over them or to guide them. The broken shards of moonlight run along the river of souls to the land of the living, and only their shells remain.

The pain comes as the connections snap, prayers and dreams gone, emptiness filling the consciousness. For the first time in eons, the Twin Moons remain alone. Unrestrained, the river of souls carries them into the darkness, and they fade, two souls reaching for each other.

As their followers had once put their faith in them, they put their faith in humanity.

---

The gods described here are the gods of death Remi, Qiao Xiu and Kalidasa from various previous angstober pieces serve. I'll just link the one with all of them together: The Council

[writingfromruins]

Little gods of un-nothing all up and down your sides prickling like rats who today tangle their tails in your tale and eat you whole so today you are alive on sugar, the rage you’ve kept low banked, and something roiling with tiny feet and many mouths you do not recognize but is, itself, also rage, this time unbanked, and keeping the three separate is why you are so tired these days.

You are knee deep in purple, all up and down your shins in messy little nebulas, and you open your mouth to swallow a rat whole to eat yourself from the inside out in hedonistic hunger. No half measures. No way to touch a world that doesn’t bruise you back. You walk into anything hip height or below with the grace and confidence and speed of a meteorite and let the lit up pain receptors tell you where the lines are. Where the rules are. Where the world is. You have little gods in your mouth and you can feel their little feet down your throat.

It is good to be unmade, sometimes. It is good to be devoured. You have spent most of your life not knowing what pain is when you feel it, not being able to put a name to acrid rage, a life spent raising little gods like rat kings with their tails all tangled in each other, going nowhere, starved rat corpse tied to live rat starving. You’ve been the dead rat before. You’ve been the hungry little god. A body is a body is a body is food. Your little gods of chew-through-the-wall love you like they love the promise of a way out, even when it hurts. You hold them in your mouth and your stomach and your hands and you let yourself in the spin and the hole-in-the-world get angry.

The rat you swallowed chews through some of your more essential lines, the central nervous chord ringing down your spine gets severed in the bloodrush and you go cheerfully limp and dizzydizzy from the backlash. Good little gods that keep you all giddy awake and incoherent when they struggle in the cramped dark of your stomach. The noise you make these days when you feel the ache come through the acid is more delight than damaged. You are so tired these days. When you do not stop despite this it is sometimes because you could not stop without a catastrophe.

A SOUL THE SHAPE OF COLLATERAL DAMAGE // PD

[trulybetty]

Chiffon | Chapter One

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Warnings: implied alcohol abuse, implied drug abuse, reference to a previous volatile argument, angst. Word Count: 4,049 Summary: It's been almost a year since Bryony and Dieter have been in the same room, the last time had ended in raw truths and bitter words. AO3: Linked

x.chiffon masterlist.

Chiffon Chapter One.

Los Angeles, Present Day.

The Chateau Marmont, a timeless Hollywood icon, had borne silent witness to countless tales of glamour, scandal, and whispered secrets of the entertainment industry. If its walls could talk, they would spin legendary tales that would captivate any audience. 

The Chateau's gardens had been transformed into a sparkling Eden, with fairy lights twinkling amidst the dark foliage. The normally humble pool, now under the luminous glow of floating lanterns, had been transformed, their flickering lights casting playful shadows. The scene was straight out of a vintage Hollywood film, radiating an opulence that spoke of the golden days.

The invitation had drawn Hollywood's crème de la crème to the 'Silver Screen Soirée: A Night of Legends,' a nostalgic nod to the glorious era of Hollywood, echoing the grandeur of Steve McQueen, Elizabeth Taylor, and Paul Newman. A notable industry event, it was hosted by one of the major studios, their flair for the dramatics was evident in the enchanting surroundings.

Dieter made minute adjustments to his suit jacket as he ventured into the lavish scenery. Respecting the theme, he had donned an impeccably tailored, single-breasted white suit jacket that nodded to the classic aesthetic. Underneath, a pristine, pleated bib tuxedo shirt peeked out, complemented by a sleek black satin bow tie. The ensemble was harmonized with black trousers and loafers, exuding elegance.

Tonight marked his first venture into the public eye since embarking on his quiet journey to sobriety. Already, the contrast was startling. The incessant heckling from the paparazzi, once an easily shrugged-off annoyance, now stung sharper in his newfound clarity. He’d struggled to maintain a façade of cheerfulness when an interviewer, with poorly masked glee, referenced the catastrophe of 'Cliff Beasts 6', suggesting that his career couldn’t plummet any lower.

Forcing down the lump in his throat, he replied, "Art, you see, is art. It's not confined by genre or bound by expectations. It's about exploring new horizons, experiencing diverse narratives." He paused, catching his reflection in the lens of a nearby camera. "After all, isn't that what makes us humans so extraordinary?"

He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his lips, the taste of his feigned pretentiousness threatening to make him retch. Yet, at that moment, standing under the lights at the Chateau Marmot, Dieter Bravo realized that the journey of self-discovery he was on would not be without its struggles.

He navigated through the kaleidoscope of Hollywood's elite, and expertly sidestepped the waiters who wove through the crowd, offering flutes of champagne on silver trays. Each offered glass was a gentle reminder of his recent commitment. While he hadn't gone completely teetotal, with the odd glass of wine at home on a rare occasion, he was certainly limiting alcohol at events like this that were usually a trigger, a resolution that he was intent on keeping that evening.

He surveyed the extravagant hotel grounds, an elaborate tapestry of luxurious flora and lavish decorations. The grand estate bore witness to countless debaucheries and the hedonistic exploits of celebrities past and present. The Marmont, as insiders affectionately referred to it, held as many stories as it did secrets, with Dieter's own personal narrative interwoven among them.

His memories of this place were often hazy, like a reel of film exposed to too much light. One particularly wild memory surfaced—a late-night post-premiere party where decorum had long since been abandoned. Recollections of naked bodies plunging into the pool in the early hours of the morning, lines of cocaine arranged with meticulous precision on gleaming silver trays just like the ones the waiters now carried—these were all fragments of a past he was striving to move beyond.

He had been one of them, a part of the revelry that night, swept up in a wave of reckless indulgence. The night had ended with him and a group of fellow stars in a hedonistic attempt to recreate the infamous pool scene from 'Showgirls'. 

Now, sober and more self-aware, Dieter felt an odd disconnect. He was still a part of this world, but he no longer fit into it the way he used to. The ghosts of his past indiscretions still lingering.

Dieter approached the bar, bypassing the familiar allure of the myriad of alcoholic options on offer. He ordered a soda water with a slice of lime, choosing the drink for its tart taste that encouraged slow sipping. This way, he reasoned, his glass would always be in hand, providing a silent yet effective rebuttal to any offers of alcoholic drinks. While he was not ashamed of his decisions, he wasn't particularly interested in it becoming a subject of speculation or casual party conversation.

This journey towards sobriety was not his first rodeo, but it was the first one he was genuinely committed to. He had no desire to hear sarcastic references to his previous failed attempts—one of which had culminated in him making a show of checking into rehab for the benefit of the paparazzi, only to sneak out through the back door moments later, greeted by an idling limousine while having already downed half a bottle of vodka.

He murmured his thanks to the bartender and discreetly slid a generous tip across the smooth surface of the bar. Then, as if on cue, in a moment that seemed to be plucked straight out of an old Hollywood movie, the crowd of people momentarily cleared, and his eyes landed on her. Across the sprawling gardens, she was a vision, her deep brunette hair catching the light, creating a halo that seemed to set her apart from everyone else. 

As he drank in the sight of her, a pang resonated through his chest, his heartbeat skipping in the familiar dance of yearning and remorse. It twisted his insides, a poignant reminder of what he had lost, of the love he had carelessly squandered.

Bryony.

She stood out even amongst the sea of Hollywood's glitterati. Many guests had adopted a relaxed interpretation of the 'Old Hollywood' theme, but Bryony had gone all in.

Her gown, a stunning blush pink that was reminiscent of the days when film was silver, fell to the floor in a cascade of silky fabric that hugged her. He watched her turn to greet someone who had called her name, the cape of the dress skimming the floor twirled with her in a bright upturn, much like the smile that now graced her face.

It was a visual homage to the bygone era, a nod to the glamour and sophistication that old Hollywood was known for. It was breathtakingly, heart-stopping beautiful—much like the woman wearing it.

Luxury was on grand display. Champagne was flowing in bountiful fountains, cascading down towers of crystal glasses that sparkled under the twinkling lights. Feathered centrepieces graced each table, adding an air of old-world glamour, while black and white portraits of classic movie stars from the 40s and 50s were scattered strategically across the sprawling hotel garden.

One particular portrait caught her eye. A golden-framed black and white photograph of Steve McQueen alongside his iconic car from Bullitt. She couldn't help but smile at the slight oversight. After all, Bullitt was a classic from the late 60s, missing the party’s theme by a good couple of decades. Nonetheless, the charisma and rugged charm of McQueen felt right at home among the vintage allure of the evening.

As she stepped into the luminescent garden, Bryony couldn't shake the feeling of being somewhat on display. Her attire for the evening was a pure work of art, something that she would have no business in purchasing for herself. Who, after all, could justify splurging a few thousand dollars on a dress that might never see the light of day again? Luckily, having a best friend who was a renowned stylist had its perks. Cricket, in her eternal resourcefulness, had procured the stunning dress for Bryony, a freebie loaner for a friend, that was worth a small fortune. Which also added to the anxiety Bryony had for the evening.

When the invitation came through for the event, Bryony had been reluctant to go, but with a script she was having a hard time getting traction on she needed the opportunity to network and pitch. So she had turned to Cricket for help, or a more apt explanation was that once Cricket got wind of Bryony attending an actual real in-person party for the first time in what seemed forever, even if it was a work event, had badgered her until Bryony gave in to Crickets request to dress her.

What followed after was a back-and-forth of emails with ideas and sketches from the stylist before Bryony off-handedly mentioned a love for a particular movie from the 40s and then as quickly as the emails had started they stopped. Communication abruptly ceased for three days, Bryony had been puzzled but also grateful for the break from the seemingly never-ending emails. Then, without any warning, on pinged her inbox. Its subject was impossible to ignore: 'THIS IS THE ONE, STOP LOOKING NOW & OPEN ME!!!'.

The dress was breathtaking. A meticulous modern reinterpretation of Lucille Ball's iconic outfit from "Du Barry Was A Lady" - the film Bryony had casually mentioned. Its unique cut emphasized Bryony's figure, while the ombré beadwork on the left shoulder added a touch of subtle opulence. The pièce de résistance, however, was a flowing cape that accompanied the dress. The cape swirled around her, making her feel as if she was wrapped in a bubble of glamour, and she found herself wondering if capes could become a staple in her everyday wardrobe.

As she navigated through the crowd, sipping her champagne and exchanging pleasantries with industry execs, she couldn't shake off the niggling feeling of anticipation. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as if history was about to repeat itself. Scanning the crowd, she spotted a few familiar faces. Some of them peers, others industry veterans, and a few up-and-coming talents.

And then, there he was.

Suddenly she was trying to catch her breath, her voice stolen. A wave of heat surged from the pit of her stomach, spiralling up and coiling around her neck. It settled as an uncomfortable lump at the back of her throat, a silent testament to the onslaught of chaotic emotions coursing through her. 

The universe truly had a cruel way of throwing her in Dieter's path over and over again when she least expected it.

Dieter was holding sway over a crowd on the other side of the lush gardens. Even from this distance, his magnetism was unmistakable. His laughter, as infectious as ever, ricocheted, piercing through the dull murmur of scattered conversations around her. Each echo was a sharp twinge in Bryony's chest, her anxiety gnawing at her as she considered the possibility of crossing paths with him.

He appeared changed. He had filled out, shoulders broader and posture more commanding. His healthier appearance was hard to miss, an added vibrancy to his aura that made him seem more... alive. He bore striking resemblances to the Dieter she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

This was the first time Bryony had laid eyes on Dieter in nearly a year, marking the longest duration of time they had been apart since their initial encounter in New York half a dozen years prior. With each passing month, the notion that Dieter was genuinely a figure from her past gradually solidified. It had allowed Bryony to seriously consider, and even start to embrace, the prospect of moving forward without him.

The last time they had been in each other's presence, it had ended in a blazing argument of bitter truths. Bryony hadn’t held back, wanting to hurt him, and she did. She’d screamed at him until her voice was hoarse until he’d become silent at the viciousness of her words. Even then she hadn’t stopped, she had told him she didn’t care what became of him, even if he ended up in the gutters and to top it all off, that she would be happy to never see him again.

It was all lies.

She wouldn’t forget the hurt that had crossed his face at those words, the ones that had sobered him on the spot enough that he didn’t even have a trademark retort to throw back at her.

Hot tears on her face, she had just wanted him to feel the pain that she had been nursing ever since their bitter breakup years before. Wanted him to experience the ache that he constantly tried to drown in a sea of drugs and alcohol. She had wanted him to understand the depth of the wound he had inflicted on her—a wound that seemed to open anew every time they crossed paths.

As their eyes finally met over the din and sparkle of the party, a moment of acknowledgement passed between them. A moment stretched into a small eternity in which the noise of the world seemed to dim and their shared history came rushing back. The tension between them was palpable, even with a sea of people separating them. 

Suddenly, as if a bubble had just popped within her ears, the pressure of the muffled noises around her dissipated and their silent exchange was quickly drowned out by laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the undercurrent of Hollywood gossip. 

Her attention was pulled back by the gentle squeeze of her date's hand, Craig—a quiet, unassuming gesture that felt both comforting and alien. Looking up at him, she was struck by the contrast he presented to Dieter. Her date was not a magnetic force like Dieter, but he was solid, reliable. His eyes held a softness that offered security, a trait that was in stark contrast to Dieter's intense gaze.

As they moved deeper into the party, Bryony's mind was a tumult of thoughts. "You look stunning, Bryony," Craig murmured into her ear, his warm breath tingling against her skin. He pressed his body against hers, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, offering silent reassurance.

A practised smile graced her features as she replied, "Thank you." It was a token of appreciation for his compliment, one that felt hollow in her chest.

They waded through the claustrophobic, jostling crowd, the ceaseless buzz of conversation, the clang of glasses against each other echoing around them. Bryony's gaze inadvertently flickered back to the far side of the garden to where she had just seen Dieter, he was gone now. A sharp uninvited pang of melancholy pierced at her chest that had her reaching up and placing a hand against it as if to stop the feeling from spreading, but it was too late. The anxiety and sadness that Dieter’s presence brought her seemed to be a permanent cross she was due to bear and she wasn’t sure what she had done to deserve it.

As if sensing her upset, Craig offered her a warm smile. His fingers intertwined with hers, their connection tethering her amidst the sea of chaos. His voice was a gentle hum in her ear as he tried to distract her with humorous anecdotes from his recent project. She laughed, the sound echoing around them, a semblance of normalcy in a situation that was anything but. Yet, even as she laughed at Craig's jokes, her gaze would drift, time and again, towards Dieter.

Elegantly weaving through the throng of industry professionals, producers, and artists, Dieter had managed to disengage himself from the mundane conversation he had just been a part of. He had been distracted by the presence of Bryony, her solitary figure amidst the sea of people, was all the motivation he needed. Her face was alight with a reserved excitement that made his heart skip a beat, even after all these years. 

Approaching her, he watched as her gaze shifted, from abstract greenery around her to him. He watched Bryony’s eyes widen a fraction before looking around for a likely means to leave before he got to her. The uncertainty in her eyes as he got closer formed a knot in the pit of his stomach causing him to frown. There had been a time that his presence of just his name in a conversation would light up her face.

"Hey," he said softly as he finally reached her, "It's been a while."

She was as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps even more so. His eyes traced the elegant curve of her jaw, the softness of her lips, and the bright spark in her eyes that had always captivated him. He remembered how those eyes used to soften when she looked at him, how they used to light up with laughter. 

"Dieter," she greeted, her voice steady, betraying none of the tumultuous feelings stirring within her.

She had spent the evening skillfully sidestepping any chances of coming face-to-face with him. Her heart pounding as she manoeuvred through the room, engaging in animated conversations, laughing at all the right moments, sipping her drink just so. To anyone watching, Bryony was the epitome of poise and grace, unflappable in the spotlight. But beneath the composed exterior, her thoughts were a chaotic jumble.

Every conversation seemed to revolve around Dieter to some degree, the industry insiders speculating on his noticeable sobriety that evening, questioning the sincerity of his recent rumoured attempt at rehab. They spoke in hushed tones, taking bets on how long until he would relapse. Dieter had earned his reputation as the Hollywood bad boy over the past three years for due reason, his erratic behaviour and substance abuse issues leading to him being blacklisted from all major studios.

Whenever his name surfaced in conversation, she'd listen politely, an unreadable smile on her face. Then she could she would expertly steer the conversation in another direction.

And now, here he was, standing in front of her. She couldn't deny the lump in her throat or the slight fluttering in her stomach. Again, taken aback by how good he looked, it really was as if he was glowing.

For a moment, they stood in silence, an undercurrent of nostalgia and unspoken words passing between them.

"Da-" his nickname for her on his tongue, not sure if he was allowed that formality anymore he corrected himself, "Bryony," he replied, his voice more husky than he intended. "It's good to see you."

Bryony eyed him for a moment, she hadn't missed the slip in the almost use of his nickname for her. There hadn't been a moment since their breakup where he hadn't relished using it or dropping it in conversation. The fact that he'd stopped himself left her conflicted, one part was thankful that he was finally respecting her boundaries, while another part mourned the loss of the intimacy the endearment had represented.

The mental back and forth of the evening was giving her a headache.

"How are you?" she asked, purposefully avoiding the question of whether she was glad to see him, especially when she was still working that one out herself.

"Good," he responded, the word so simple, yet full of meanings she wasn't sure she wanted to decipher, "I'm doing good."

The awkwardness, the formalities, and the fact that he hadn't made a sexually inappropriate comment yet were disarming to Bryony.

A moment of silence stretched between them, filled only with the ambient noise of the party. As they stood there, a sudden gust of wind rustled through the leaves overhead. A stray lock of Bryony's dark hair was caught in the breeze, obscuring her face momentarily. Acting on reflex, Dieter reached out and gently tucked the strand behind her ear.

It was then he spotted it. The delicate outline of a triangle nestled inside another triangle tattooed just behind her left ear— a small, discreet, yet significant mark. His breath hitched slightly, memories flooding back with poignant intensity.

"You didn't…" he started, his voice just a whisper. The tips of his fingers traced the tattoo's edge, she stiffened at his touch.

"Dieter…" her voice was low, almost a murmur. She didn't meet his eyes, in fear of what she would see there.

He moved his hand away, a torrent of emotions swirling within him. Betrayal wasn't one of them. Hurt, maybe. Confusion, definitely.

"You said you had it removed," he said quietly, his gaze now fixed on her profile.

Long ago, still hurt by his actions and their recent breakup, she had claimed the tattoo was removed. She recalled the flicker of hurt that crossed his face, swiftly masked by his trademark grin as he ordered another round of shots for the group he was entertaining.

With a playful twirl, he had left Bryony alone at the hotel bar, his arm already slung around a blonde bombshell who seemed all too eager to whisper sweet nothings into his ear—her tongue not staying entirely in her own mouth. The memory lingered, a poignant reminder of the complicated history they shared.

She finally turned to meet his gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "I lied," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. The silence that followed was punctuated only by the soft rustling of leaves and the hum of the party around them.

His mind was spinning, old emotions and new revelations colliding within him. Yet, he knew this wasn't the time to unpack everything. She'd lied, yes, but she'd also carried their shared symbol with her all these years.

"That's… surprising," he finally said, his tone carrying no accusation, just raw honesty.

She nodded, her eyes still locked with his. In that silence, a new understanding passed between them. Their past was complicated, their present even more so.

Over the months Bryony had imagined so many different ways of running into Dieter again, each one she’d act nonchalantly and give him no time of day. What she hadn’t planned for in all of these theoretical scenarios was that he could show up seemingly sober and looking like her Dieter, the one before Hollywood got their claws into him.

Her breath catching in her throat, anxiety bubbling in her chest she clutched the champagne flute in her hand so hard she was afraid she was going to break it. She needed to leave, she needed the calm that only came with distance from Dieter.

She finally turned to look at him, unable to meet his eyes, afraid she could easily slip into old habits

“It was good seeing you Dieter, I'm..." she paused, grasping at what to say, before she settled on, "I'm glad you're doing well.”

“Bryony,” he pleaded, unsure himself what he wanted from her, but knowing he wasn't ready to see her leave.

“I have to go,” she finally muttered before quickly turning away from him,

Dieter watched her go, slipping into the crowd and disappearing out of sight. He was very much aware that he held no claim over her, and had no entitlement to any part of her.

The chase of his first highs had hit a wall in the aftermath of his Oscar win. He had tried and failed to recapture the intoxicating ecstasy of that victory. The newfound pressure that came with the title of "Oscar Winner, Dieter Bravo" was a weight he was unprepared for. It had sent him spiralling, the chase of his initial highs morphing into a desperate escape from the reality of his faltering grasp on everything.

He’d taken advantage of Bryony being there, secure in the belief that no matter what he did, she would always be there to pick up the pieces. Because no matter what shit he pulled, she always showed up. 

Until one day she didn’t.

He knew that he couldn't lay claim to any part of her. He had forfeited that right when he had chosen everything but her and expected her to be okay with it.

He was left standing alone in the crowd, his heart heavy. The echo of her absence was a grim reminder of the price he had paid for his choices. And as the party went on around him, Dieter was left struggling with the sobering reality of his actions and their fallout. 

He had a long way to go and many bridges to mend.

Bonus:Cricket's email...