#this is what they call suffering for your craft

[merakiui]

the symptoms of being human.

jade leech x (gender neutral) reader note - being human comes with its fair share of very specific symptoms. or: jade has lived in saltwater his entire life. never has it leaked out of him before. // HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO MY BIRTHDAY BESTIE @heyyy11!!!!!! 🎉 many wonderful wishes of health, happiness, and good fortune for you!!!! :D it isn't a lot, but please enjoy this little gift i prepared in celebration!!!

But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.

A long time ago, a human penned that line in reference to merfolk and their inability to shed tears. A fact as intimate as that couldn’t have possibly been common knowledge amongst humans, or so Jade assumed every time the story was regurgitated at bedtime. He always did that: apply logic to areas where logic wasn’t needed. His teachers used to tell him, “Jade, sometimes you need to suspend your disbelief in order to immerse yourself in a fictional world.” He could try—and try he did—but he’d find himself lingering on that quote every time.

A slight amendment to that: merfolk can cry and they do suffer, but whether they suffer more is impossible to know without further study.

Jade operates under the notion that there are explanations for everything, even the wildest of lunacy. There is comfort in comprehension. He would spend hours holed up in his sleeping nook, poring over stories and texts on humans and beastfolk. He would compare and contrast them. Can a tearless cry indicate the amount of suffering per species, or is such an abstract concept even remotely quantifiable? Perhaps it is because merfolk cry silently that they suffer. Because there is no one who can hear their weeping in the deep sea. Because there is no physical proof.

It’s easier to recognize the physical signs of grief, for what happens within is shrouded in secrecy, veiled in the depths of the heart.

So when Jade comes onto land for the first time, human skin stretched over a skeleton altered with a potion, every inch awkward and aching, the sea leaks out of his pores. He feels like a pufferfish not yet expanded but on the verge of bloating, deflated and weak, salt still spilling. And he knows it’s salt because he swipes two fingers under his armpit and brings them to his mouth to taste. It’s saltwater.

He later learns, while sitting in Professor Crewel’s class and listening to him drone on about anatomy, that this is the phenomenon known as sweating. Jade sweats when he exerts himself, when his body temperature rises degrees over what’s internally comfortable and he needs to cool down, when he ingests something spicy, when he’s sick with a fever, when he’s stressed… It’s a fascinating facet of human biology he was previously unaware of.

Azul called these peculiarities “symptoms of being human,” and what intriguing symptoms they are! He hopes to experience even more as he completes his education on land, regardless of how troublesome they might be.

Having a symptom of something implies the affected is ill in some way—as if humanity itself is an illness and this human body serves as more of a hindrance than help. Jade will forever be an eel merman, and this body is just a clever cloak crafted to make his life on land habitable. Although there are moments where he thinks his original form would suit a certain task. Like swimming or any sport in the water, really. But he likes to struggle and fail, learning from every human mistake.

These symptoms are not terrible. Not to him, at least.

He meets you in the woods. You’re hunched over the ground, patting a compact lump of freshly disturbed soil. A burial, he thinks, but then he’s not certain. When you fashion a little marker out of sticks and ribbons, it occurs to him that he was right.

“Hello to you, too,” you say, turning to glance at him.

There’s something that stills in the air. A feeling catches and tugs at his heart. He can’t explain it—still can’t even to this day—but something trickles out of his eyes then. A droplet of water and then another and then more until silent streams are falling thick. He blinks until his once-blurry vision clears, only to find you’re looking at him fully now.

Jade gathers the wetness on his fingertips and licks curiously. Salt.

Horrifyingly, he’s sweating from his eyes.

He doesn’t panic. A grotesque part of him wants to know what else these eyes are capable of in this body. 

You draw in breath through your lips. A gasp. “Oh! Are you all right?”

He nods because even if his brain doesn’t understand it yet his heart does.

You are the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.

This isn’t fiction, and he doesn’t have to pretend to accept it as his temporary reality just to enjoy the story it promises. He knows. His heart—the eel-mer heart—knows. This salt is a symptom of being human, but a symptom of being a mer is that there is the strongest sixth sense for finding one’s other half.

“Are you sure?” you press, rising to your feet, digging through your bag for tissue. “You’re crying!”

He blinks back at you. I’m…crying.

He’s not sweating. He’s crying.

“Forgive me,” he says even though he knows there’s nothing to apologize for. “My eyes must not be working today.”

A sympathetic smile spreads on your face. “Did you come here with anyone?”

He shakes his head and explains rather simply that he’s come on account of club business. “I’m the only member in my club,” he elaborates unnecessarily, “and so I often come here to hike and forage. I suppose I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone on this route.”

“Club? You’re a student?” Before he has a chance to respond, you add, “No way! What school? I’m from Royal Sword.”

“Night Raven.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool. I’ve heard lots about that school. Oh, sorry, I’m totally chatting your ear off. If it’s not an issue, would you like to walk back together? Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m just worried about you.”

The affable conversation was so smooth Jade almost forgot he’s been leaking—crying—the entire time.

“Why would you be worried? I assure you there’s nothing in this forest that could harm me,” he says, holding a hand over his heart.

As if it isn’t the woods that might hurt him but, rather, the person standing in front of him. He has never felt any need to protect his heart, but now he thinks he must. If he’s to offer it to you in the future, he wants to do so when it is perfectly whole and packed full of happiness.

“Um… Well, I just don’t want you to do anything…harmful,” you say, stringing the words together awkwardly. “People care about you. They’d miss you.”

He glances past you at the burial. Just above, a nest of baby birds chirp noisily. He understands now.

“As it happens, I’m currently quite content.”

“You are?”

He tilts his head at you and smiles, teary-eyed and most likely red in the face.

“I am. Very much so. I’ve experienced another human symptom. I couldn’t be any happier.”

You exhale a quiet, semi-amused breath. “I’m glad.” Your hand is held out next. “I’m (Name). It’s nice to meet you.”

His webless, clawless hand closes around yours. “Jade Leech,” he greets.

— — —

“You look good,” Floyd compliments, watching Jade fuss over himself in the mirror. “Shrimpy’ll think so. And Mama. Pops, too.”

“So everyone,” he replies smartly, his hands shaking as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his suit. They reach for the jewelry strung around his neck. He’s wearing his mother’s pearls. Tradition and memory are twined throughout each one. For every hand that holds this chain, a new pearl will be added. It has been in his family for ages. After today, he’ll add his and the necklace will be a pearl longer.

He feels like he needs to pace up and down a mountain. Like he needs to strip this seaweed-esque suit off and jump into the ocean to feel free of constriction. Clothes are always so…unique. That’s the word he chooses to use. Another symptom, he’s certain, because clothes are to humans as colors are to merfolk. Humans attract each other with fashion styles just as mers flash colors and patterns at those they intend to charm.

“Everyone,” Floyd echoes, grinning to ease the tension. “C’mon. You know everything’s gonna be fine.”

Logically, Jade is aware of that. There were rehearsals and lists and triple-checks. Everything is in order. He’s ready. You’re ready. Illogically, he thinks he’s about to shake out of his skin from either excitement or anxiety or a combination of both.

Floyd’s hand comes down upon his shoulder. He relaxes beneath the squeeze. “You got this.”

“I do,” he whispers, turning away from the mirror with a smile.

He waits for you at the altar. A feeling he knows well enough claws at the back of his eyes. It’s been steadily encroaching since this morning, or perhaps it’s always been there ever since he first met you.

When he sees you, his world comes together and everything is warm and wonderful. There are tears on his face, tracking down his cheeks in hot streaks. It’s not embarrassing even though, somewhat flustered, he mouths to his parents that he’s simply sweating from the eyes. A symptom they’ll soon experience in their temporary human bodies.

Out of every human symptom he’s experienced, he thinks this one is his favorite.

You meet him at the front, and beneath an awning of the prettiest flowers you join hands.

“How do you feel?” you murmur, your thumbs running over his palms.

He’s going to say he feels like his world is brighter and wrapped in silk—like he’s looking love right in the face.

Through his tears, he smiles and says, “Like my eyes are working properly today.”

You giggle around a rising sob. Happy tears, he notes, much like the ones sticking to his face. “Weird. Because mine don’t seem to be working today.”

“A shame. You can’t see how beautiful you are.”

“I trust you.”

“I can’t promise mine won’t sweat halfway through the ceremony, but I appreciate your faith in me.”

“It’s fine. Mine are already doing that.”

And it’s everything to him—you, this union, the tears, these messy, complex symptoms of being human. Everything.

Jade thinks he’d like to rewrite that old quote from his childhood.

But a mermaid has no tears and so that may be true in storybook blue, but it is her heart that weeps for everything she has experienced, is experiencing, and will experience; the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.

[lolliepopcrusader]

Calling all chronic creatives - here's how to up your crochet game!

I'm an avid crocheter, but holding the hook for long periods of time became exhausting and painful. Being chronically ill, losing the ability to enjoy my hobbies was tough for me accept.

My husband took me to the craft store and we purchased a ergonomic crochet handle. This handle needed to fit my criteria;

able to hold a variety of hook sizes

hold up to high tension crochet projects (I do a lot of amigurumi crochet, which you need to complete with tight tension)

reduce my wrist/hand pain

reduce the amount of grip strength needed to hold the hook to avoid fatigue

This ergonomic crochet handle *seemed* to tick all these boxes. It was quite an expensive purchase and to be honest, I was disappointed in it in all aspects.

The purchased handle uses small rubber stoppers to hold the crochet hook in place, but as you are crocheting the hook works loose and spins around inside it. The handle itself was too small, making it painful to hold. I had to use a lot of grip strength to keep it in my hand, which is what I was trying to avoid by purchasing the darn thing. The little knobbly bit at the end really dug into my hand and hurt. It was so annoying to use and I gave up on it altogether after three days of using it (not to mention one of the rubber pieces broke apart within hours).

I expressed my disappointment to my husband, and he decided to come to my rescue! Over the course of a week, he designed me his own ergonomic crochet handle in a computer program called CAD. He then printed it out using his 3D printer. I can't even begin to tell you how much I love this new handle - its a game changer!

During the design process, he took into consideration all of my complaints about the disappointing handle and my criteria that I had listed. The handle he designed is bigger, so it uses less grip strength to hold it in place which also reduces my pain.

Instead of using rubber stoppers like the other handle, he designed a 'lock and key' system for keeping the crochet hooks in place and it works fabulously! The hook never moves and I'm really rough with my crochet hooks. It holds up to my high tension crochet projects and I have completed many amigurumi with it, even small, intricate items. Since it is designed with the lock and key system, my husband was easily able to print different keys to be able to hold multiple sizes. I've got keys ranging from 1.25mm all the way up to 6mm!

I can now crochet for hours on end and I swear my crochet skills have gotten so much better.

After expressing my delight at the crochet handle my husband designed for me, both him and I want others to be able to experience the freedom that I now have when crocheting. With chronic illnesses, its important for you to be able to continue with your passions as much as possible, so we have decided to make this crochet handle a sellable physical item for others to enjoy.

Here's the link to purchase one if you would like to give it a go!

Each crochet handle will come with the hook sizes;

1.25mm

2mm

3mm

4mm

4.25mm

5mm

6mm

If you want other hook sizes, send us a message and we can design one.

The cost of the handle and keys covers the cost of the 3D printing material, we are not making a profit off of this because we want as many people suffering from chronic illness to be able to enjoy crocheting again. We are happy to post internationally as we are based in New Zealand, send us a message before purchasing so that I can get you the cost of shipping.

I hope you will love this crochet handle and hook set as much as I have!

[perpetual-stories]

How to Use Character Flaws to Enrich Your Writing

Readers identify with characters who are relatable and peppered with imperfections. When a writer crafts believable character flaws, they open the door to interesting conflict, engaging personalities, and ample character development.

What Is a Character Flaw?

A character flaw is a trait that prevents a character from being perfect.

Sometimes this fatal flaw leads to a character’s demise or at least undercuts their character strengths and presents a prominent setback they must overcome.

Any character can have flaws, including a protagonist, antagonist, love interest, confidant, deuteragonist, tertiary character, or foil.

Why Give Your Characters Flaws?

A character’s flaws serve many functions, particularly ensuring that the character is relatable and engaged in inner conflict. Carefully crafted flaws can do the following:

Make the character relatable to an audience of readers or viewers

Present an obstacle that must be overcome during the course of the story

Create character weaknesses that another character in the story can exploit

Create an obstacle that prevents a character from immediately solving a conflict

Set off a character arc that allows a character to grow and change

Provide quirks that distinguish characters from one another and make them memorable to audiences

Emphasize broader themes that are amplified via specific character flaws

Create comedy—from Homer Simpson to Michael Scott, the best comedic characters are hopelessly flawed

What Is an Example of a Character Flaw?

In the Thomas Harris novel The Silence of the Lambs (and its subsequent film adaptation by director Jonathan Demme), Hannibal Lecter has what could charitably be called a personality disorder: He is a cannibal and a sadomasochist.

Lecter’s character flaws, however, are somewhat offset by his brilliant mind, which he uses to help the main character, Clarice Starling, apprehend a serial killer tormenting Appalachia.

Lecter is an example of how in fiction, even characters with the most severe personality flaws can embody a degree of three-dimensionality.

12 Character Flaws to Use in Your Writing

The array of possible character flaws is boundless. Here are 12 time-tested character traits that inherently generate conflict:

Perfectionism: A finicky perfectionist is never satisfied. They can rarely accept that a project has been completed, and they rarely accept the finished work of others. Perfectionism is a great flaw for a detective, a doctor, or an office worker.

A know-it-all attitude: An arrogant, self-righteous know-it-all has great potential to fall flat on their face, whether comically or dramatically. High school stories often feature a know-it-all foil to the main character. These archetypes work particularly well in comedy, especially when the know-it-all suffers from a broader lack of intelligence.

An inability to move on from the past: Many police procedurals and superhero stories feature heroes haunted by their past, such as murdered parents or the victim they could not save. This major flaw presents obstacles as they work to solve crimes—but when the obstacles are overcome, the story’s happy ending feels earned.

Laziness: Laziness is a flaw that leads to obvious conflict, some of which can be quite funny. Lazy sloth detectives and doctors can be either hilarious or the source of grave conflict, depending on the tone of your storytelling. A lazy character in a position of authority can generate a lot of tension for your plot.

Physical vulnerability: Some characters suffer from a physical weakness that can escalate into a fatal flaw. Superman’s tendency to wilt in the presence of kryptonite hamstrings him, while the great warrior Achilles was undone by his fabled heel.

Low self esteem: People who fundamentally dislike themselves make for fascinating characters. Jesse Pinkman’s self-loathing leads him down all sorts of dangerous paths in Breaking Bad. On the other end of the spectrum, the young adult author Judy Bloom has crafted gorgeous character arcs from youthful characters, like Linda Fischer in Blubber, who begin their journeys with low self esteem.

Vanity: Vanity is the undoing of many real world characters, and so it also works beautifully in fiction. Politicians, artists, models, and athletes in stories are routinely undone by vanity as they gradually develop a bad reputation. Ordinary people can be wrecked by vanity as well, so it’s a common character flaw in many forms of fiction.

Lust for power: Unbridled thirst for power has undone many a character, from Mr. Kurtz in Heart of Darkness to Frank Underwood in House of Cards. Power is intoxicating, and characters who seek it are both relatable and easy sources of conflict.

Lack of maturity: Many character arcs begin with a person in a hopeless state of immaturity who then grows over the course of the story. Immaturity can also manifest as rudeness, like when a bigmouth makes tactless remarks.

Fear: Common in action dramas and comedies alike, fear—be it cowardice in the face of duty, a specific phobia of spiders, or an irrational fear—is a great character flaw that naturally drives a story.

Hedonism: Some characters cannot resist temptation, whether that involves an illicit drug, food, or a fetish. Sometimes this excessive desire is due to addiction—it’s no secret that many famous protagonists are alcoholics—and sometimes it’s due to a general lack of self-restraint and willpower. For a character like Fyodor Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov, hedonism and lechery make him both tragically amusing and subtly sinister.

A gruff exterior: Some characters seem initially impenetrable because they are taciturn, standoffish, or even hostile and lewd. Typically these characters house a vulnerable interior beneath their coarse shell. Bringing out that vulnerability and lack of self-worth can be a strong driver of story.

Please like, comment, reblog and follow for more!

[scvrmqueen]

His Final Girl - Danny Johnson

Pairing: Danny Johnson / Ghost Face x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, blood, gore, trauma

Premise: You survive a brutal encounter with the Ghost Face. After revealing himself as Jed Olsen, your former coworker, Roseville is finally free from the killer’s grasp. Little do they know his work is far from over - and he doesn’t leave survivors. 

AN: Hi y’all! So pleased to introduce my first Danny Johnson piece. This was loosely inspired by the song The Perfect Girl by Mareux. Please like / comment / reblog if you enjoy, your interactions keep me writing! 

They tell you it's a miracle - a true blessing to have survived. To be a final girl.

Final girl. At least that's what the articles have painted you as, no one dared utter the blood-soaked moniker to your face. You became headline news, a gruesome tale reminiscent of the finest slasher movies. "Ghost Face Unmasked," the Roseville Gazette headline read, "Killer Disappears Leaving Only Surviving Victim."

You clenched the newspaper tighter, head swimming as the droning tone of your heart monitor continued to climb. His mask taunted you from the front page and the fresh wounds littering your abdomen throbbed incessantly at the sight.

Five stab wounds to the abdomen - those had been his killing blows. A jagged slice on your throat just beneath your chin. That scar had been incidental, a result of your futile struggling against his unyielding hold. Whispers of astonishment floated around the hospital, shocked that an otherwise meticulous killer completely missed your jugular vein and carotid artery. They didn't understand that it was a calculated move on his part.

"Can't have you bleeding out on me yet, doll face. We haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

You shivered at the memory, fingertips ghosting the gauze on your neck.

Prior to his deliberate unmasking, the Ghost Face was more ghoul than man. He was transcendental, a horrific concept derived from the most sinister ghost stories. He was the dread that permeated moonless evenings, spreading paranoia like wildfire in the inky depths of Roseville. He was the smooth, sultry whispers that promised death and suffering over static-laden phone lines.

But just as Ghost Face had been an entity, Jed Olsen had been just a man. A charming, carefully crafted persona - all effortless grins and placating quips. Roseville adored Jed, hanging off his every word as if the city would collapse without him. Perhaps that was why his enthusiastic interest in the Roseville murders - in Ghost Face - had been overlooked.

Unlike the rest of the Chronicle staff, something about Jed's amiable disposition perturbed you. His wide smiles never quite extended to to his eyes. Those chocolate irises always seemed to conceal something sinister, a darkness that you couldn't quite grasp.

Once when Jed was still shiny and new, before the murders, you had mentioned your strange observation to a coworker. You were met with eyerolls and condescending coos that Jed practically embodied good old American values.

If only you had trusted your instinct.

You had kept Jed at arms length until you couldn't. After the first handful of victims sent the city into a frenzy, the chief editor informed you that the star headliner required some assistance. Evidently, Jed had requested you as a partner specifically. After all, your previous coverage of the Night Stalker conviction had earned you the reputation of an excellent profiler at the Chronicle. 

The phone calls began shortly after your first article with Jed was published. Unlike his other victims who expired within a week, your game of cat and mouse had been dragged out over the span of several months.

“Oh, I like you, kitten,” he had said, his dark low chuckle still echoing in the recesses of your mind. “Let’s see how feisty you still are when I spill those pretty guts.” 

You were a shell of your former self when you returned to work. Though medically cleared, your coworkers seemed to share the sentiment that your recovery was too expedited. 

“You know, Y/n, you can take more time,” your editor had quietly advised, voice barely raised above a whisper as if his words would shatter your fragile existence. “No one will blame you if you’re not ready.” 

Fuck that. Fuck Jed Olsen. You’d be damned if he took this away from you. 

So here you sat, poised at your desk, alert eyes carefully scanning the outline of your latest article. Your coworkers had long since departed, an eerie silence coating the office as the natural light dissipated from your cubicle. Despite your can of mace and pocket knife, a staple of your wardrobe these days, you never felt safe alone anymore. But you couldn’t go home now. You had a deadline to meet, and you worked better without the sympathetic glances of your peers weighing you down. 

And yes, you were aware that working late in the desolate building wasn’t the best decision. In your defense, it had been a month since the incident. What paranoia lingered in your chest was quietly sated by the reminder that Jed was gone. If he wanted to finish you off, correct his unusually sloppy execution, he would have done so by now - your survival was headline news for Christ’s sake. 

Still, you recalled the note he left at his desk following the attack: Don’t worry, I’m not done. 

I’m not done. 

I’m not - 

The shrill ring of your desk phone swept you from your apprehensive trance. There was that familiar sense of dread. It coated your tongue and lingered on your lips, stinging your wounds and clutching your rapidly beating heart. 

It’s just a phone, you reminded yourself, it’s not him. 

Taking a moment to regulate your breathing, your hand paused over the white receiver. You could let it go to voicemail, you reasoned. The small defiant fire that still raged within you, the flame that refused to be snuffed, argued that he would win if fear controlled your every action. 

“Hello?” You answered, sounding more tremulous than you cared for. A familiar static responded. Attempting to compose yourself and appear unaffected, you asked a bit more firmly, “Hello, may I help you?” 

“Hiya, Y/n.” Click. You slammed the phone down, nearly hyperventilating. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. The authorities had expressed with finite certainty that Jed had skipped town, a hypothesis only further confirmed by his pattern of sporadic relocations. 

When the phone sounded once more, you were determined to ignore it. Sure, it would infuriate him, but if death was knocking at your door, you refused to play his sick game of cat and mouse. Still, a growing rage melded into the tendrils of fear curling around you - a wrathful affliction that accumulated venom in your throat. 

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You spat. The phrase ‘seeing red’ suddenly made perfect sense, as if your fury had extinguished your survival instincts. 

A mirthful chuckle followed in response. Before he could retort further, you ground out through clenched teeth: “We’ve played this little game before, Jed. Couldn’t think of something more original?” 

“Oh, dollface,” he sighed, “keep talking like that and I might just reconsider slicing you from chest to sternum.” 

Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction at the memory of his steel blade. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he added, “Ah, who am I kidding. Leaving survivors isn’t really my style, Y/n.” 

“Guess you’re not as good as you thought,” you sneered, determined to give him a taste of his own twisted medicine. Experience reminded you that Ghost Face was protective of his meticulously designed reputation - he had to be taken seriously, feared like the boogymen before him. If he was going to get under your skin, then you would be damned if you didn’t do the same. 

“Oh, I think you’ve felt just how good I can be, kitten,” he hissed, voice dripping with a suggestive venom. “Maybe I should refresh your memory? Remind you of just who you were screaming under, begging-”

“Fuck you.” Your interruption lacked the bite you intended, dimmed by the hot tears cumulating over your flushed cheeks. “Fuck you, you psychotic piece of shit,” you rasped, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. 

He groaned - groaned, and the sound churned the pit of your stomach. “So mean, kitten, and after all we’ve been through together.” The spiteful remark you prepared died on your tongue as he continued, “but try as you might to wound me, not even you can ruin my good mood tonight, Y/n. Because I get to watch that pretty blood spill again, I get to hear those delicious little cries of terror again.” 

“Oh, and Y/n?” His voice dipped impossibly lower, his words caressing your ear and sending waves of chills through your body. “It’s Danny, not Jed. Be a good girl and scream that for me while I’m gutting you like a fish.” 

Ice coursed through your veins as the dial tone wailed in your ear. There was no time to spare contemplating the harrowing Deja vu that washed over you. Danny hanging up only meant one thing - 

He’s here. 

But this time, you were prepared. You moved to dial the authorities, reasoning that you could remain put and hold Danny off until their arrival. The police station was only ten minutes away. And if you didn’t bleed out in 30 minutes previously, ten minutes was child’s play. 

That was the plan until the phone line went dead, promptly followed by the office lights cutting out. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, Danny certainly hadn’t lost his flare for the dramatic. 

Fight or flight was a fickle thing. You had always been more inclined toward flight, reasoning that overpowering a killer who had managed to subdue men twice your size wasn’t feasible. Remaining in your cubicle awaiting a gruesome fate was out of the question, you had to at least attempt an escape. 

More knowledgeable after your first brush with the reaper, you knew Danny was out there, poised with that gleaning hunting blade. Concealing the canister of mace in your palm, you stepped out into the darkness.

Death didn’t frighten you anymore, you decided. If anything, death would be a reprieve from the horror he afflicted. Still, you were starved for revenge, determined to tear into Ghost Face just as he had you. Any hope for survival was minimal at best. But if you were going down, well, you would drag Danny to hell with you. 

“Come on, Danny,” you cooed, impressed with the smooth, taunting lilt of your voice. “Come fucking get me.” As you approached the entrance to the stairwell, eyes flittering around each shadowed corner, an inky figure emerged. He nearly would have blended into the night if not for the white of the phantom mask. 

Panic briefly seized your chest, though you remained rooted to the linoleum tiles. His head tilted, a mocking wave greeting you as his other gloved hand raised the signature knife. You were certain a gleeful grin was concealed beneath that damned mask. 

“Hi honey, I’m home.” You were briefly jostled by the lack of his voice modulator, taking a moment to soak in the previously comforting voice of Jed - no, Danny. 

There was no one coming to save you this time. The devastating realization nearly strangled you, burned your lungs with a vicious rancor. Danny stepped forward slowly, as if testing to see if you would flee. He was close enough that you could smell the thick leather of his gloves muddled with the coppery waft of previous victims. 

Cautiously, you raised the hand not preoccupied with pepper spray, extending it toward his mask. Further closing the already miniscule distance, your hand grasped at his hood, tugging it down when he made no move to stop you. Holding your breath, you pulled off his mask. A tense silence permeated the air as your gaze scanned his sharp features, heart fluttering at the reveal of those dark, hooded eyes and crimson lips. 

“Why?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. He cocked a perfectly manicured brow, chocolate orbs piercing through you. His face twisted into an expression that reminded you of a lion prepared to devour its prey - a sort of ravenous hunger that made your scars pulse. 

“Because I can,” he responded simply, as if that were all the justification required. You didn’t flinch as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you impossibly closer. He towered above you, head dipping lower so his breath could ghost along your jaw. 

“Because you’re mine.” As if possessed by the intensity of his confession, you didn’t struggle as his lips claimed your own. A guttural moan vibrated through his chest, hips digging into you. The slow ache building in your core prompted you to contemplate that perhaps if things had been different, if you weren’t the final girl of this story, you would willingly follow Danny to the depths of hell. 

Your reverie was interrupted by cool metal piercing the scar tissue of your abdomen. Blinding pain enveloped your senses, a strangled gasp escaping you as those crimson lips continued their bruising course. He allowed you a brief reprieve if only to lower you gently to the cool tile, moving to straddle your waist. The blade retracted before slowly digging in, once again targeting a previous wound. You couldn’t prevent the tormented scream that slipped from you. 

“That’s it, kitten. Let it out, let it all out.” He was taking it slow, dragging out your torture as if punishment for surviving. His knife remained embedded in your stomach, the sting becoming unbearable as a strained giggle tumbled from your lips. Danny’s eyes briefly widened before narrowing, his hand moving to the twist the blade. Hysterical laughter bubbled within you, hand clutching around the mace he had yet to notice. 

“See you in hell, Danny,” you chortled, teeth stained with blood. Sporting the psychotic expression, crimson smeared on your torso and lips, Danny couldn’t help but acknowledge that you had never looked lovelier. His amusement quickly faded as you raised the canister, releasing the toxin into his uncovered eyes. 

“You fucking, bitch!” Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, you gripped the handle of the blade, tearing it out of you with an animalistic scream. Before he could recover, you plunged the blade into Danny’s chest. It took the remainder of your strength to push through the taut muscle, your opposite hand clutching the back of his shoulder to lodge it further in. 

Twin crimson streaks pooled on his lips, a harsh cough spewing the liquid over your face. Ripping the knife from his heart with renewed ferocity, you rolled Danny off you, reveling in the way he slipped to the floor beside you. Blood descended freely from the wound, staining his suit and dripping languidly to the ground below. 

He laughed, the sound fading into a gurgle as blood pooled in his lungs. Unable to move from your spot, you turned your head to bask in the gory scene. Danny was already staring at you, lips upturned in a twisted grin as his hand reached for your own. 

“I always knew you would be my final girl, Y/n.” You smiled, real, genuine, pride swelling in your chest as you lay bleeding out. You did it. Though you would die for this victory, you relished in the knowledge that it would not be in vain. 

You prepared for the ebony tendrils of death to consume you, welcoming the endless expanse of eternal slumber. As your eyes fluttered, consciousness fading, a thick fog enveloped the office. It creeped steadily toward you, wrapping around you and Danny in a suffocating haze. 

You gripped his hand tighter, heaving your final breath. Unprepared for the inevitable realization that your story with Danny was far from over. 

[rhas-writes]

Always - Zhongli x Reader

Spoilers! for Zhongli backstory/lore.

Content? Fluff, angst, hurt. Format? Headcanons/Imagines. Pronouns? You/Your. Relationship? Romantic.

Context: Fallen Archon Reader! - Part 1 - Part 2-

Synopsis: Zhongli has to live on without you and it's all his fault.

---

Zhongli is a man of proper etiquette. Some may call him old-school but he will treat a lady as such. He will hold the door open for her, pull the chair out, compliment her with genial words.

One thing he will never do is kiss the back of a lady's hand. Should a woman reach her hand out accordingly, he will always shake it. He pays no mind to the taken aback stare he receives for doing so. The intimacy of such an act is reserved for you and you alone.

Another thing you will not catch him doing is dancing. Everyone thinks he is being his typically reserved self when he declines the offers. In truth, he declines because oh so long ago he declined you. If he dances with someone when he couldn't dance with his own wife, what kind of husband would that make him?

Zhongli has received many compliments on his face, manners, and wardrobe. He appreciates them all, but he does have his favorites. When Hu Tao compliments his rare smile, he's reminded of yours. He couldn't resist the slight upturn of his lips when you would smile at him so adoringly.

When the elderly lady thanks him for helping her carry her groceries, he thinks you would be proud. He's come so far from being the brutal and merciless Warrior God.

Perhaps his favorite are the compliments directed toward the tasseled earring that sways with his every movement. He agrees that it's a simple and beautiful piece of jewelry. Only made more precious knowing you crafted it with your own hands.

Whenever asked, Zhongli will say "there are so many varieties of tea, how is one to choose a favorite?" However, Madame Ping is experienced in his preferences.

His favorite is white helleborus picked at noon and brewed until the last rays of sun touch the sea. It tastes like home, like comfort, like the perfect amount of sun during spring. Though she longs for the taste, she dares not ask him for a cup of the dwindling stash he keeps. For no helleborus has grown since your light faded.

More often than he'd like to admit, Zhongli finds himself staring expectantly at the northern wharf of the harbor. All who would remember the statue that once stood there have long since been silenced, including him.

Although Zhongli has very little mora to his name, he does in fact have a collection of trinkets bought solely by him - many of which are gifts from grateful Funeral Parlor customers or items he gained through trade.

He restores these items to pristine condition and places them on a shelf in his home. When the day comes where he is finally able to visit your grave, he will leave them for you. Until then, he will continue to collect all the things he knows you would have enjoyed.

On the nights sleep evades Zhongli, he recounts his memories of you. Powerful and ethereal you. Erosion threatens to take every moment he spent with you if he doesn't reminisce.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to burn the contract that keeps his lips sealed on the topic of you. What he wouldn't give to be able to write all that you did for Teyvat. What he wouldn't give to turn back time and re-do one decision.

He's stuck in a game where he's always losing bits and pieces of you. Perhaps, this is the price he pays for shedding so much blood. This is the suffering he inlaid upon others. Even so, you shouldn't have had to pay as well.

Although it's been over 500 years, Zhongli has never once entertained the thought of taking another partner. There are reasons such as, he doesn't deserve one, he fears losing again, etc. But what holds him back more than anything else is he is still in love with you. And he's sure he always will be.

---

Thoughts? Critiques? Share your thoughts

Published: 14 July 2022

[wardenparker]

You’re So Vain - Chapter 10

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.    

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+! We finally made it! Word Count: 17.1k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, fingering, train sex, vaginal sex, protected sex, impromptu bondage, biting, FEELINGS, there’s so much yearning in this chapter oh god, exhibitionism, sex toys. Summary: Dieter has gone out of his way to make your birthday special, but you have no idea just how far he’s truly gone. Notes: There’s a bit of dialogue in this chapter that is mentioned as been spoken in Swiss German although it is simply written in italicized English. Not knowing anyone who speaks the language fluently, we decided to not simply rely on an online translator and use our imaginations instead!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

It hadn't taken much for Dieter to convince the director and producers of his film to let you do the portraits that would appear on screen as painted by his character. You had predicted that they would consider it a great marketing angle and you were right - but the director actually said that he liked your style and had asked what you would charge to do a portrait of his wife for a Christmas gift. Now you have a small space all your own at the studio where the canvases, brushes, paints, and myriad of other supplies procured for you by the set design team all sit alongside reference photos of Dieter for the four portraits that you have agreed to produce during the time that you're here in Switzerland. Today has been a particularly long day. Fourteen hours at the studio for the both of you, and Dieter has been working with barely any breaks. You're completing the second of four portraits in your little makeshift studio with the remnants of your dinner from the craft services table that you fetched for yourself hours ago, wishing it could have been a nice dinner out with Dieter somewhere or even room service. Things have been going so well - so much better than you ever could have imagined - and with tomorrow being your birthday you're seriously looking forward to the train ride to Basel about as much as you're nervous about the tattoo appointment that you'll have while you're there. The only thing that could make it better would be Steph and Nora magically appearing at the hotel, but you know they're going to the aquarium tomorrow so you'll just look forward to your FaceTime call instead.

“Deet!” Dieter has to stop himself for rolling his eyes and sighing when he hears his name being called by the director. Not that he hates working with this guy, he actually really likes his vision - he was just ready to grab you and go the fuck back to the hotel. Turning around, he nods to the middle-aged man who was bringing the script to life. “Yeah?”

"We've got a quick little thing we want to add to the schedule tomorrow," he flashes Dieter a smile, knowing that his lead actor has asked for the day off. But he's figured out a way that he thinks will make it palatable for the star. "Just a couple of hours in the late morning, I know today was a long one."

“Remember, I said I was unavailable tomorrow.” He gives Steve a slightly apologetic shrug and shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s just two little hours in the morning.” The director insists, certain that he can make the prospect appealing. They’re not behind on filming at all but they could get ahead, and the studio would love it. “In and out, you’ll barely even notice you were here.”

Dieter frowns, not liking the way he was pushing. “Sorry, man.” He shakes his head again. “Tomorrow is my soulmate’s birthday. That’s why I said I was unavailable.”

You had no intention of eavesdropping. You really didn't. But your door is half open for air flow and they can't be more than a few feet away. The brush poised in your hand to and a few final strokes to the canvas nearly drops into your lap at the same time your face falls. They want him to work tomorrow...will he get in trouble if he keeps refusing? You really don't want the director to end up upset with him... "I'll move it up to earlier in the morning if you want. She'll never even realize you got out of bed." Steve asks, playing it off like it's nothing at all. "What's two little hours?"

He understands prodding, he’s done it plenty of times to get his way, but right now it’s irritating. “Her birthday is twenty-four hours.” Dieter tells him flatly. “I’m unavailable for every one of them.”

"It's just a birthday." Doing his best to make it sound easy and breezy, Steve shrugs his shoulders again. "She'll have another one next year. It's not a big deal."

Scoffing, Dieter shakes his head in disbelief this time. “Yeah, she will. But I think leaving the woman who is my soulmate by herself in a country that she doesn’t know by herself is a pretty shitty thing to do.” Dieter argues. “I’ve already said that I’m off and we have plans.”

"Gonna be another long day when you get back, then." Steve huffs, sensing he's lost the battle. "And your girl better have that painting done before you guys leave tonight."

“That’s fine.” Dieter frowns slightly but doesn’t snap at the man. He understands the pressure from the studio is intense, but production is ahead of schedule. “She’s working on it now.”

"See you day after tomorrow then." While the man might look frustrated, he doesn't push the point anymore and strolls on down the hallway. Maybe he can get his leading lady to come in for some extra work tomorrow instead so he can still get ahead of things.

Dieter huffs to himself, knowing that there is no way he could possibly miss any portion of your birthday. He would be the world’s biggest dick for that. He turns and moves towards your space, ready to see how far along you are.

"Hey." Alright, you might be a little - a lot - soft after hearing him adamantly defend wanting to spend time with you, so when you look up and see him in your doorway you can't help but smile. "You done for the day, handsome?"

The past week has been good - really good - between the two of you and he’s giving you an easy smile in return. Even if it’s slightly tired. “They’ve finally released us for the day.” He confirms, walking into the small room and looking around as was his habit.

"Last few brushstrokes." You motion at the canvas before applying just a tiny bit more paint to the bust on the figure in front of you before you nod at it in approval. "This one is officially done. Do you want to take a look before we leave?"

“I always want to see what you paint.” Dieter drops a kiss on your forehead and turns to look at the canvas.

"It's the one I sketched last week." On the second day you spent together, you had spent a few hours of the evening with him sitting so you could sketch out a portrait for him to show his director along with a few other pieces from your sketchbook. He had huffed at you for focusing on his profile when it made his nose the focus of his face, but he hadn't had any idea at the time that the real focus of the piece would be his eyes.

This - you and him - has become significantly easier over the past week, making Dieter wonder at times how the hell things had gone so wrong at the beginning. He knew, of course, but still - this was what he wanted. You sliding your free hand around his waist and tugging him close to your body on your stool as he catches sight of the portrait. "I—" He's stunned. The vulnerability in the brown eyes on the canvas makes him feel exposed. Raw and open for all the world to see. It's as if every bit of pain and joy he's ever experienced is on display. All his sins and triumphs listed. He can't even think of words right now as he stares at the face that he sees in the mirror every morning and yet, seemingly never sees this.

“What do you…um…” You panic slightly when he doesn’t say anything. After a week you’re used to Dieter’s low-key constant stream of consciousness. He’s rarely totally silent but when he is it’s usually because he’s thinking about something very deeply. But now that it’s your portrait of him that he’s contemplating, you’re nervous. “You…do you hate it?”

“No.” The word is almost forced out of him in surprise. Surprised that he doesn’t hate it. Not that your art is bad, he just doesn’t like himself. “It’s— I look real.” He tries to put it into words, but it’s almost impossible. “I— you see everything.”

“You’re always so busy hiding your eyes…” The look on his face reads shock, and you shift nervously on your stool. “I wondered how often you actually look at them.”

"As little as I can." He admits quietly, his hold on you becoming slightly more desperate. Unable to believe that you see him, exactly like this. There's a word that flutters through his mind and scares the hell out of him, so he doesn't say it. Never wanting to give you that ability to crush him, but it’s now something that is on the edge of his consciousness.

“Danica said the eyes are the windows to the soul,” you remind him softly. Not that he needs to be reminded of what his sister said to him years ago. Instead of saying anything else, you just wrap your other arm around his waist and look up at him. “Anyway, I—I’m glad you don’t hate it. Since you’re going to have to look at it a lot on set.”

There is just a moment where the two of you are staring at each other, one that makes Dieter want to say something. Something crazy and reckless and would be something that shattered this tentative relationship the two of you have started. Lining up with that word that is still knocking around in his addled brain. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, not wanting to fuck up.

The kiss is deep but not lascivious, more gentleness than lust, and that word floats through your head again for the hundredth time but you tamp it back down before pulling away. “Ready to go home, Dee?” Home. It’s silly, but that’s what the hotel has become.

"Are you done for today?" He asks, biting his lip as he pulls back to stop that sappy little smile from riding across his face at the idea of going 'home' with you. "We have things to do tomorrow, so running back over here isn't an option." He winks, not mentioning your birthday, instead giving you a dirty innuendo.

“This is actually finished, so I’m ready to go.” Standing up propels you into his arms a little bit deeper, and you can’t help but smile a little bit wider. “Thank you, by the way.”

"For what?" He cocks his head in confusion and furrows his brow at you.

“For…” It’s slightly embarrassing to admit that you were accidentally eavesdropping just a few moments ago, but it was an accident. “I heard Steve ask you to come in tomorrow.”

"Oh." He winces slightly sends you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I don't know why he was pushing. We are on schedule."

“I’m sure movies are like most businesses. If he gets things done ahead of schedule it spends less money and he gets a gold star from the studio.” Reaching over to grab your purse, you press a kiss to Dieter’s cheek when you straighten up again. “You didn’t have to say no for me.”

"Yes, I did." Dieter frowns, not wanting you to think that he would blow off your birthday to work. "I had told them that tomorrow was off the schedule before we ever started shooting. They had scheduled it in and have other things planned." He gives a small shake of his head. "He's just being greedy."

“Either way.” Nudging him toward the door, your fingers lace through his automatically. There’s rarely anytime you walk together now that you’re not holding hands. “I appreciate it. So, thank you.”

"Don't mention it." He feels weird when people thank him, like he doesn't deserve it. Probably because he feels like he doesn't due to the years of bullshit. But the way you thank him has him squeezing your hand. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

“How about the cafe by the hotel?” A few nights ago you had stopped there for supper after leaving set and loved it. The good food and live music had left you in an excellent mood after a long day, so you’re hoping it will do the same tonight.

"Whatever you want." He knows you will miss your tradition with Steph and Nora. Missing being away from them on your birthday means that he needs to make sure you have a great time. Starting now.

“That’s a dangerous thing to promise.” Not that you would ever ask anything extraordinary of him, but he likes to be teased and you like the way he blushes when you do. “What if I wanted something kinky?”

Dieter's immediately waggling his eyebrows at you. “Okaaaaay.” He huffs out eagerly, grinning at you even if his cheeks heat up slightly. For someone who has had orgies he finds that you fluster him in the weirdest ways. He blames it on the soulmate factor rather than the emotional entanglement. "Spanking? Bondage? Pegging? What are we talking about here?"

“Well…” Truth be told you had just been teasing him, but since it’s now the topic of conversation as you stroll out of the studio together, you bite your lip and tilt your head at him. “I’m not actually sure…most of what I’ve done is pretty vanilla. But I wouldn’t mind trying something new.” Which is not to say you are in any way dissatisfied with your sex life. It’s almost for certain that you’ve had more sex in the last week that you had in the entire ten years prior, and you don’t know of it’s the soulmate connection or just him, but it’s all been amazing.

"Okay." Dieter sees the hesitation on your face and knows that you aren't exactly the most experienced. One night after sex, the two of you had gone through some of your sexual histories. Not that Dieter remembered all of his, but he had told you what he could. "What have you thought about? Maybe some kind of secret fantasy. You know I'm not going to judge."

Admittedly your secret fantasies have more to do with romance than with sex, but that’s definitely too much for your week-old relationship to handle. You’re not expecting him to sweep you off your feet - you’re still just trying to find an even footing together. But it’s been going so well that you don’t want to rock the boat. “We did one the second day we were here,” you tell him. “The bath.” A few of his cast mates and members of the set crew that you’ve made friends with wave as the two of you leave the building together, a few of them tossing birthday wishes in your direction as you go. “But, um…” Your voice drops. “I don’t know if I’m ready to jump all the way to handcuffs or rope, but some people use softer things as restraints, right?”

"Bathrobe ties are a good one." Dieter tells you with a small grin. "Ties....I think there are a few packed in my suitcase. Lib somehow thought I was going to wear ties." He rolls his eyes and winks at you. "It'll only go around my neck if you’re cutting off the oxygen supply." He teases playfully.

“Baby steps.” You shake your head at him, now finding those comments much more teasing and flirtatious than you would have once. Your senses of humor aren’t so far off from each other, his is just more macabre. “Remember, we’ve been so good at not wanting to strangle each other.”

He snorts and shakes his head, grinning and lifting a hand at one of the harried looking PAs that is rushing from the parking lot. He leans in and brushes your ear with his lips. "Except that kind of strangling makes my cock harder." He teases quietly.

“Tease.” You throw him a pout as you walk, wondering for a split second when you became so fucking attracted to him. Or had you always been and your anger been in the way?

Dieter chuckles and steers you towards the car that had even rented for him to use. It was a small little thing, meant to get him back and forth to the hotel. “Always.” He promises.

“So supper and then we’ll get some sleep? Absolutely nothing in between since neither of us has any inclination in that direction at all?” You can barely keep a straight face through the sarcasm, knowing that without fail you’ll end up naked and satiated under those soft hotel sheets just like each night before. It’s intoxicating to be wanted, in a way that you’re much less afraid of it than you expected. This kind of need crawling under your skin isn’t harmful, it’s actually empowering.

“Absolutely.” Dieter rolls his eyes and drolls his answer sarcastically. Not like you hadn’t gone through the condoms the hotel had sent up twice. “Straight to bed.”

“And absolutely no shenanigans on the train tomorrow.” The little car is just big enough for two, but you had opted for a slightly more relaxed mode of travel tomorrow - taking the train from Geneva to Basel to visit the museum that houses so many of Hans Holbein the Younger’s works - and get you your first tattoo at one of the best reviewed shops in the country. The watercolor has been ready for almost two days now and you’re equal parts nervous and excited. “Tomorrow is a very solemn day. Obviously.”

“Very solemn.” Dieter agrees, opening the door for you and motioning for you to get into the passenger side. You don’t have an international driver’s license, so he had been driving back and forth. “No fun or smiling whatsoever.”

“So it’ll be like our first couple of dates.” The jokes are okay now. Now that things are going more smoothly and the two of you are doing your best to be open with one another. It’s been easier than you thought in some ways. Letting him in little by little instead of flinging open your existence to him all at once seemed to make you surer of the thing, and every day is a step in the right direction. And that includes the ability to joke together.

"Less screaming." Dieter wrinkles his nose at you and shuts the door when you are tucked into the passenger seat to round the front of the hood to slide in beside you.

******

The hotel isn’t far from the studio and the cafe is bustling when you step inside. It’s not a tourist trap despite being close to the hotel and the lake, but rather a brand-new place owned by a young couple that started having live music simply because their musician friends would show up any time of the day or night. The menu is full of fusion and international ‘greatest hits’, and their Switzerland-does-America version of fried chicken had had Dieter in the kitchen begging for the recipe to pass on to Rico when he got back to LA.

It's natural to have his hand on your waist, the warmth of your body transferring to him through your thin shirt. Walking in and greeting the wife who was working as a hostess for tonight. "We are back for more of your amazing food." He announces with a grin.

“Dieter!” She embraces him like an old friend, equally excited to see you as you get a hug of equal force before she ushers you over to a dark corner to sit. “We we’re hoping to see you both again,” she tells you with a grin. “We are going to make you American fondue.”

"American fondue, huh?" Dieter huffs, unable to stop the small grin as he looks over at you. "What do you think about that?"

“I’m in.” Fondue was on your list of things to try anyway, and everything at this particular cafe was amazing last time.

“Magnifique!” That earns a happy exclamation from your hostess, and she scampers off to the bar to grab what she swears will be the perfect drinks for the night.

"I like how we've just kind of given them control over what we eat." Dieter huffs with a good-natured grin. "It always means we are going to overeat."

“But we’re gonna be so happy about it.” The chance to nestle into his side for a while is more than welcome since you missed being able to spend downtime with him on set today.

Snorting, he turns his head and nudges his nose against yours. "Until you get the gassy side of stardom." He jokes. "I'm not lactose intolerant but this stomach gets sensitive sometimes." He reminds you with a rub on said belly.

“Ya know,” you peck a kiss on the bridge of his nose and grin. “After a certain point, lactose ages out of things. So maybe you just need to be eating fancier cheese.”

"But I like the squirt cheese in a can." He pouts at you, poking his bottom lip out and scrunching his nose at the kiss on his nose.

“Well then I hope you like having air freshener sprayed at your ass, because fart smells are not my jam.” There are a lot of things that Nora’s illness forced you to get over pretty fast, but somehow bad farts are still the thing that you can’t stand.

Dieter snickers and nods seriously. "No Dutch ovens." He grunts like he's just revealed some earth-shattering information.

“You’ll be sleeping on the sofa.” You warn him seriously, until your façade breaks and you laugh, snorting and winking your nose in the process.

"Kicked out of the bed in my own room." He huffs, meaning none of it and he starts laughing at you. Unable to resist leaning in for that kiss when you snort and wrinkle your nose, his total weakness where you are concerned.

“Only until you slither your way back in for cuddles.” You may have done it on purpose, and you’re not even sorry. It’s worth it for the soft look on his face right before he kisses you.

“So you acknowledge that I will be sneaking back into the bed.” He nods with a small giggle of his own. “Good.”

“I—” It flusters you a little, but you half-shrug and reach for his hand. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“You do seem to like my cuddles.” He teases, knowing you are just as committed to them. There hadn’t been one night that you haven’t ended up wrapped up in each other.

“Just a little.” It’s not like there isn’t plenty of evidence - like the way you’re cuddled into his side right now. “Guess I’m more of a cuddle whore than I thought I was.” Or maybe you just needed the right cuddles.

“Which is perfect, because I, myself am a whore.” He pauses, tucking his tongue into his cheek. “Of cuddles, of course.”

“You’re horrible.” You giggle, hardly meaning it. Even a few weeks ago, you might have, but not anymore. Now that word is swimming around inside you and instead of frustration there is nothing but affection.

“You finally noticed!” Dieter chuckles and he could listen to your giggle forever. Amazing that he could barely stand to be around you before and now he hates not hearing you laugh and seeing you smile.

“Affectionately.” You’re still giggling when the owner reappears with two tall beers and a dish of beautifully fresh olive tapenade and slices of baguette as a first course.

There is something to be said for sharing this with you. It’s better than he had imagined, the way you smile when you hold your beer up for a toast makes his heart flutter. “To a birthday to remember.” He offers quietly.

“We’re two minutes in and so far I’d say that’s definite.” You tap your glass against his and take a sip before showing him the time of your phone - which you only noticed because of the “IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY IN SWITZERLAND!” text you had gotten from Steph.

He smirks and lean in to press his lips against your cheek. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you, baby.” The little terms of endearment come easily now, just like the way that smile of his makes your cheeks burn.

“Oh, I did go ahead and get you a present for your birthday.” He hums, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small, folded piece of paper he shoved into these pants this morning.

“Nooo.” You pout at him pointedly. “I told you not to! You’re literally paying for me to have a three-week vacation and talked your director into using my paintings in your movie. That’s so much.”

He sends you a playfully mean mugging look and shakes his head. “Because it cost me so much to let you stay in my room, in my bed.” He huffs, pushing the paper towards you.

“The plane tickets, all the clothes, all the —” The second you flick open the piece of paper, words stick in your throat and your jaw drops like concrete. It’s not large - done on the hotel’s stationary in ink that you’re sure came from one of their pens - but it’s…beautiful. A sketch of you lying on your side in bed with the sheets slung low on your hips and one hand reaching out toward the observer. He must have done it one morning that he woke up before you. Each line is delicate, tracing your figure the way only a lover could. “Dee, I—” But the words completely fail you, even looking up to find him carefully watching like he’s afraid you won’t like it. “It’s—I don’t even—” Letting out a choked half-laugh, you launch yourself at him even though he’s mere inches away, wrapping your arms around him but careful not to put a single wrinkle in the page you’re clutching. “It’s beautiful, baby. I love it.”

“Good.” Dieter exhales in relief. He had told himself it was a stupid birthday gift. The trip tomorrow much more appropriate, but he had still brought it with him. The need to give it to you clawing away at him ever since he had woken up to pee and come back to find you reaching for his side, seeking him out.

“I’m going to frame it when we get back to LA.” Carefully keeping the paper flat, you dig into the bag you’ve been carrying to and from the studio to slip his drawing into the pages of your own sketchbook for safe keeping.

"I don't think it's worth that." Dieter huffs, biting his lip to conceal the pride that you would want to frame something he had created. Not quite the same, but it makes him feel like he's displaying art on the fridge again.

“I do.” There’s a certainty to your voice that can’t be denied by either you, and when you turn around again to face him you press in to kiss him softly. “I’m sure if it.”

It's slightly annoying how much he blushes around you, he's Dieter - fucking - Bravo, but it just means that he's vulnerable. Instead of grumbling about it, he slides his hand around you, pressing against the back of your neck to deepen the kiss slightly.

“You know this is probably why they stuck us in a dark corner.” When you two of you finally part again, you’re grinning, breathless, and have the good manners to look just a tiny bit sheepish about it. “Stuff the PDA Americans away from the other customers while they make out.”

“Probably.” Dieter doesn’t care about that at all, but he turns to the beer and chuckles. “Why don’t we eat so we can go to sleep like we planned?”

‘American’ fondue, you come to find out, means that the gorgeous melted cheese is cooked with beer instead of wine, and all the little accoutrements that go with it are fried in some way - and honestly it’s one of the most delicious and filling suppers you could possibly have asked for. By the time you and Dieter stumble back into your hotel room over an hour later it’s much later than you ever go to bed at home, but that doesn’t stop you from stripping each other down and finishing off another box of condoms before passing out tangled in each other’s arms like always.

The alarm is set so you don’t miss the morning train to Basel, but the first few hours of this birthday might be better than any that have come before. And though the you of the last ten years would protest it…it’s because of Dieter.

******

“Where’s the coffee cart?” Dieter huffs, getting up to poke his head out of the small cabin the two of you had reserved to head to Basel. He’s grumpy because it’s early, but also because you both had to get up and leave without coffee in order to make the train.

“I’m sure it’ll be around soon.” You’re far more awake than him, if only because this is such a big trip - big day in general - for you. The countryside whips past the windows and you cut the video you were recording of the scenery short so he his grumpiness won’t be caught in the recording. “I’m sorry we had to dash out this morning.”

“It’s not your fault.” Dieter grins, remembering what he had immediately done when the alarm had gone off. He had been awake enough for that.

“No, but I definitely enjoyed it.” You shoot him a grin and tuck your phone back into your purse. There’s no pockets in the dress you picked out to wear today, but it’s comfy as hell and leaves your shoulder exposed for the tattoo artist later so that’s all that matters.

“The first official birthday present of today.” He chuckles and slumps back down into his seat. “I’ll wake up for that any day of the week.”

“Me too.” Patting the bench seat beside you, you tilt your head to extend the silent request for him to come and sit. “If the cart doesn’t come around soon, I’ll go down to the dining car and get you some coffee myself, okay?”

“No.” He shakes his head and slides across the small aisle to sit beside you. Immediately leaning against you and cuddling into your body. “I’m just grumpy.” He admits petulantly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to get a headache,” you tell him honestly, dropping a kiss on top of his head as he cuddles up under your arm. “Me either. So we’re both gonna have coffee and there’s no need to be sorry.”

He sighs happily and burrows into you just a bit more, closing his eyes. That word is popping up in his brain more and he figures he needs to go back to sleep or get some caffeine so he doesn’t fuck things up and ruin your birthday.

It’s about ten minutes later that a chipper older gentleman knocks on the door of your cabin, announcing the arrival of the much-anticipating coffee. When you poke your head out to grab a cup each for you and Dieter, you also grab some pastries to make sure you have a little bit of breakfast in you. Being hangry won’t make today any fun. “Black coffee and a Nutella croissant.” You grin, handing them over to him.

He groans happily, taking the coffee and immediately pulling the lid off to take a sip. “God, I love it.” He takes a sip and moans. “So good.” He doesn’t even realize that he came so close to saying those words, too busy closing his eyes and letting the caffeine hit his system.

“I thought you’d like that.” Plopping down beside him with your own breakfast, it’s all you can do to try to calm your stupid-ass heartbeat from the sentence he almost said. This is getting ludicrous. Every time he uses that word you feel like you’re about to bust out of your skin. Maybe you need to have a talk with Steph later.

Coffee and croissant consumed in silence except for the little sounds of appreciation. He feels more alert by the time he’s licking a smear of chocolate off his thumb and draining the last of the coffee from the disposable cup. “What do you want to do first?” He asks, wanting to see how you are feeling.

“How early is the tattoo appointment?” He had made all the arrangements for you, forwarding your art to the shop and refusing to budge when you quibbled over payment. Despite being excited you’re actually pretty nervous, only having felt the inherent pain of permanent ink second hand from him.

“I scheduled it for two.” He hadn’t wanted to rush you in the museum and figured that you would find somewhere to eat before you went to get your tattoo.

“So how about we wander around the museum first thing, then find someplace to eat before the appointment, since you said it will probably take a while?” The train is scheduled to arrive just after the Kunstmuseum opens, so you’ll have a few hours to walk around and absorb things before needing to be on your way.

“That sounds like exactly what I want to do with you today.” Anything you want, that’s what’s on the table. “And hey—” he bites his lip, wondering if you will be insulted by this, but he wants to offer. “If when you get started on your tattoo, if you don’t like the pain, if it’s too much - I’ll sit for you.” He offers. Knowing that there is pain involved in getting your soulmate’s tattoos, but it might be less than the tattoo itself. If he remembers right, it’s just a quick searing pain rather than the hours in a chair. Some people think they will like it and they don’t. “If you want, of course.” He adds hastily, not wanting you to think he doesn’t think you are capable of it or anything.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Squeezing his hand in yours, you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek and nudge it with your nose. Dieter is capable of being sweet at the most unexpected times, you’ve found, and it really makes you wonder how many of these moments you missed out on over the years by being stubborn and short-sighted. You shake that thought away for the moment, though, and take another sip of your coffee before squeezing his hand again. “I want to try to do it myself. It—it means a lot to me. To have my family represented like it will be.”

“I completely understand.” He does, just like the triangles were singularly significant to him, he would have never let you sit for them for him. You are seated next to the window, allowing you the sights as the train forges on and he leans against your shoulder to look out with you. “We could always have train sex.” He suggests playfully after a moment.

You nearly snort in response, looking over at him with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on your lips. He didn’t watch you get dressed this morning, so he has no idea that you not only tossed a fresh pack of condoms into your purse, but also put on the skimpiest lingerie you’ve ever owned in your life - bought especially for your birthday. “We could, huh?” It’s flattering as hell, the way he can’t seem to get enough of you, and makes you feel wanted in a way you can’t describe - even beyond lust. “Would that be fun for us?”

Dieter starts to rock his hips in the same motion that the train makes. The clacking keeping time with his thrusts into the air. “Whadaya think?” He huffs, grinning at you. “Wanna ride my rocket on a train?” He is teasing and yet if you are down, he will be all over you, unable to even express how much he loves that your sexual energies match. The idea that you were some sort of prude was way off.

Leaning in close, you nip at his earlobe and grin when you can feel him jolt slightly against you. “Look in my purse, babe.”

He glances at you warily, trying to sense a trap. He had a very hands off policy on a woman’s purse after the one incident where he had his ass kicked after rifling through a connection’s purse for her stash, but he reaches for it. Opening it up and grinning immediately when he sees the foil packets tucked into a pocket. “Someone’s horny.” He coos teasingly, looking up at you with that same silly grin.

“Thinking we would go an entire day without fucking would have been extremely foolish.” Shifting on the bench a little, you know full well that the smirk on your face has gone devious. “Although, you should know. Our hotel can’t send anything up with room service, but they did have an excellent suggestion of where I could find the other thing I wanted for today.”

“What did you ask for that they couldn’t get you?” That has him sitting up straight, eager to hear your answer.

“Telling you isn’t as much fun as you finding out for yourself.” You tell him honestly, biting your lip from the slight nerves flipping in your stomach right now. Yes, it’s your birthday, but you’re the one tied up in a bow as a gift for him right now.

Dieter sits for a moment, trying to figure it out before he starts looking at your clothes. Narrowing his eyes as he gauges if there are lines he hasn’t seen before under your clothes. He stands up and walks over to the door to flip the lock and immediately starts pulling off his shirt.

“There he is. Eager and ready.” A rapidly undressing Dieter is a sight you’re now intimately familiar with, and you have to say a silent thank you to the universe for putting the two of you in a car with no windows facing the inner part of the train. “I swear, I don’t understand people who can’t admit to wanting their own partners. Shit’s so stupid.”

“So you admit you wanted me when you slammed the door in my face?” He asks, sticking his tongue out between his lips as he unbuttons his jeans.

“You weren’t my partner then.” You remind him, wishing not for the first time that you could banish the memory of every single time you ever hurt him.

You frown and Dieter immediately rushes over to kiss you. “Yes baby. I know. We weren’t together, I was just teasing you.” He murmurs, not wanting to ruin your birthday.

“Everything’s okay.” That is something you can promise him, kissing him back and letting him pull you into his lap when he sits down on the bench seat again. “I just hate that time was wasted on me being a stubborn asshole.”

“You just played hard to get.” He jokes, running his hands up and down your back. “But we are right where we need to be.”

When you duck your head to kiss him, your hands gently move his - directing them from your back to your thighs and encouraging his fingers to slip under the hem of your dress. With no one able to see inside your car, he could undress you fully and you wouldn’t mind in the least.

He chuckles against your lips, loving how eager you are. Ever since that first night, you have demonstrated how much you love his hands on your body. “Dee…” The nickname has long since stuck with you, almost nearer to a pet name between you even though it’s the same one his manager uses. “No ripping, okay? I want this set to last.”

He snickers, biting your bottom lip. “I told you I would buy you more panties.”

“I know.” It’s not that you particularly care about the pair that he tore two nights ago, it’s that you really like what you picked out for today. “But you don’t need to tear these.”

“Oh.” You’ve piqued his interest, “Why is that, baby?” He hums, tucking his mouth against your throat and nipping while his hands slide up your thighs and over your hips to squeeze.

“Because…” Taking ahold of his right hand even as he’s fogging your brain with the feeling of his lips and teeth on your skin, you slide it down to the apex of your thighs as you hover in his lap. There’s no doubt that you’re wet enough that you’re practically dripping into his hand - since the panties that you’re wearing offer absolutely no protection whatsoever. “Of this.”

“Jesus fuck.” Dieter groans when he finds the crotch of your panties missing, stroking your bare cunt directly. “You are walking around in crotch less panties and you expect me to not drag you into a corner everywhere we go?” He huffs.

“I didn’t think you’d find out this early in the day,” you admit, albeit sheepishly, as he draws a gasp out of you with his long fingers.

“Should have known baby.” He practically purrs it as he starts to rub your clit. Giddy that you wore this on your birthday. It’s like his own present to open. “Addicted to you.”

“P-probably— oh fuck.” He’s learned your body so well in the space of a week that you have to wrap one arm around his shoulders for leverage just so you don’t lose your balance when he makes you shudder with each stroke of his fingers. “Should have guessed. Fuck Dee, so good baby.”

When you cum, he loves to have his mouth on you. Pressing hot kisses along your throat as he works you closer. Loving the unrestrained way you whimper in his ear. “Cum for me. Cum and I’ll fuck you right here.” He promises, words slurred against your skin.

“Fuck yes.” It’s not as though it takes a huge amount of coaxing - he has the uncanny ability to bring you up to that peak and make sure you come crashing down with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. As much as he might claim to be addicted to you, you have to admit that you might be addicted to him too. “So close, baby.”

“Good.” Dieter groans, cock twitching in his pants and he swears one day you are going to make him cum without touching him.

His fingers rub tight circles on your clit, relentlessly building you up to the top of that gorgeous mountain and pushes you right over the edge so that you’re clinging to him and moaning his name in his ear as your cunt clenches down on nothing and your hips rock in his lap. This right here is a vision he wants to see for the rest of his life. The thought takes hold in his mind and he moans your name while your ride his fingers. Watching you come apart is the best thing he’s ever seen.

As soon as you can move again, you’re clamoring off of his lap to pull his jeans down just a little more. His trapped cock springs free, making both of you groan in appreciation while you nab a condom for him, impatiently waiting to have your place in his lap back.

For Dieter, it’s a frantic race to get the foil packet open and rolled down his aching length. Eager to buried inside the hot confines of your cunt that cradles him so perfectly. His cock twitches once he’s done and reaching for you. “C’mere baby.” He begs, needing to be inside you.

“Gonna have to keep me steady.” The train rocks slightly, moving rhythmically down the tracks, and you hold tight to the luggage rack above his head while you get situated straddling his thighs. This position has your tits directly in his face, which is obviously one of the reasons he loves it so much, and your free hand fiddles with the strap of your dress playfully. “Do you want it all, baby?” You ask, knowing he’ll be biting at your dress if it’s still in the way. Besides, the bra you’re wearing barely counts as clothing and he loves being teased. “I’ll take this off if you promise to be a good boy and suck on my tits while you fuck me.”

Groaning, he nods eager. “I will, fuck I’ll suck on your titties.” He promises, “I’ll suck them the entire time.” He won’t, he’ll end up kissing you, but the sentiment is there. “Let me suck your titties baby.”

It’s a gorgeous thing, how eager he is today, and how you know he’s not faking it or embellishing for your benefit just because it’s your birthday. He’s just always ready to go, matching a sex drive you didn’t even know you had. “Okay,” ducking your head, you nip at his bottom lip while he lines himself up, and you sink down into his cock as you pull your dress over your head. “Since you’re always so good to me.”

He doesn’t know which is making him groan more, you sinking down on his cock or you taking off your dress. Either way, his eyes are lighting up at the barely-there bra and he wastes no time burying his face in the valley between your breasts before sucking a nipple into his mouth through the sheer material.

“Fuck, baby.” Throwing your head back in response to the way he’s trying to bury himself in your chest only pushes your tits deeper into his grasp and you gasp out his name as you start to grind his favorite figure 8’s in his lap. You really haven’t had this kind of sex drive since your teens and if you think about it too much you might start to think that word again, so you don’t. You shut your mind up with the way his cock drags along your inner walls, rising and falling on him and impaling yourself like a willing martyr.

His mouth is eager, and his hands are greedy. He’s allowed to be with you. You’ve never once pushed him away or said that it’s too much, that’s he’s too much. Being with you is like the balm to his soul he didn’t know he needed, and he lays himself bare every time. Groaning into you, the steady clanking of the train times the rolls of your hip and the push of his feet in perfect harmony.

You never thought he would be the person you got lost in, but it happens so easily. The moments swallow you up and let you exist outside of the world, only thinking about the way he seems to fit you like a lock and key. It’s not until afterwards that you think of course - you’re soulmates, no matter how long it took you to get here. He is the key that fits perfectly to your lock, and vice versa. At least as far as your physical relationship goes, that part has always been obvious. It’s the emotional part that you’re still afraid of, and you find yourself constantly doing anything not to think about it. All that matters is the here and now. That’s what you tell yourself when you’re wrapping your arms around him and moaning his name into every deep kiss. It’s going so well, don’t ruin it.

His mind is empty of everything except you. Savoring every moan and whimper that pours out of your mouth and tucking it away. His hands grip you harder, something he discovered you enjoy immensely, and he bites down on your nipple just to hear you gasp.

More isn’t something you typically ask for - the two of you seemingly always working up to a near frenzy at some point in the day - but right now there’s something about the way his fingers are sure to leave bruises on your hips that is driving you crazy. “Harder, baby,” you whine, groaning when his fingers dig into you again. “Fuck — wish we had some rope or something.”

“Shit.” Dieter hisses around your nipple, letting go of one of your back to blindly pull on the belt that was looped into his pants.

It probably wouldn’t look sexy to the outside observer, the frantic way the two of you work to get his belt free and wrapped around your wrists behind your back, but once you’re there it is spectacular. The leather bites into your skin just enough without cutting you, and his grip on the strap pulls tight every time you bounce with one his length with the rhythm of the train. It might be the most control you’ve ever given him over you physically - the most obvious show of trust - in your entire relationship. I know you won’t hurt me, that this will only feel good. And holy shit are you correct about that.

Your arms behind your back makes your tits perk up more, right in his face as they bounce in the confines of your bra. “Fuck baby, look at you.” He groans, admiration shimmering in his eyes as he watches you.

“Y—you like that?” You know you certainly fucking do, the angle making him strike something inside you that is completely new and building you up again fast and furiously. “You like me at your — fuck! — mercy, baby?”

“Yes.” Dieter is honestly more of a sub than most men and has no problem with letting his partner take control, but right now? Yes. He loves this. Your walls are nearly strangling him and he loves the frenzied fever that your body is trying to push for.

At this angle and intensity, you know you won’t last much longer, and you look down at him from having your head and shoulders pulled back to see all your own desperate need mirrored in his face. “Then t-take me,” you practically moan the words out as the rhythm of the train pushes him deep inside you again. “‘M all yours.”

That shouldn’t make him nearly snarl in pleasure. It shouldn’t be a bullseye into the heart of caveman thought he’s never had before. But it does and it is. Dieter tugs on the belt harshly, pulling your arms back and forcing your head to tilt back slightly, his teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck while his cock drills up into you.

The people in the cars on either side of you definitely just heard you cry out his name at an unholy volume, but fuck if you care right now. You’ll have teeth marks in your skin and belt imprints in your wrists and you’ll wear them like badges of honor for however long they last. It’s only another dozen thrusts before your whole body is locking up above him, shuddering in pleasure from an orgasm so intense you swear the whole world goes blank for a second and you forget to breathe.

He cums when you do. Immediately pushed over the edge by the feeling of your body trembling in pleasure. It’s too much. That word, that forbidden word nearly cried out in a phrase that would strip him bare, so he doesn’t dare. Instead, he’s capturing your lips in a kiss, trying to banish the thought with every stroke of his tongue against yours.

“I…” When you can breathe again, panting against his lips and pressing your damp forehead to his, it’s almost too strong. The words - the feeling - it’s there. But there’s no way in hell he would feel the same. Not this fast, or maybe not ever. So you force your lips into a quirked smile and let yourself laugh. “I guess we’re both switches,” you observe. The other thing will stay tucked away. Locked up in your heart maybe forever. He never needs to know how fast you fell in love with him once you gave yourselves the chance.

Dieter laughs breathlessly, kissing the indentations of his teeth on your skin in silent apology. You will just have to wear them until they fade, and he had dug in hard. “I guess so.” His fingers are gentle as he loosens his belt from around your wrists so that it falls to the floor and he leans back, bringing you with him.

“Think anybody heard us?” You giggle in his ear, knowing there’s no way that they didn’t. With your wrists free again you can wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him for support as his own wind around your waist to keep you steady.

“Let them hear.” Dieter doesn’t really care. The two of you are in a private car on a train. Just two of millions who had potentially had sex on this route. He would be proud to weather that ‘scandal’ with you. “At least they can’t say I don’t do a good job.” He jokes, nibbling on your neck playfully.

“You always do a good job.” That much you can promise him, as you brush damp curls from his forehead and leave a kiss in their place. “I’m pretty sure I’ve had sex with you more times in one week than all the other times before, combined.”

Tsking, he is secretly pleased with that little odd fact. “What is wrong with people?” He huffs. “You are gorgeous and should have been beating them off with a stick.”

The way you fluster at that - at such a simple compliment - has your cheeks and ears burning but you just shrug. “Wouldn’t matter now, anyway,” you remind him softly. “Now that…” You have to swallow the words all over again and end up gesturing between you. “Now that we’re this.”

“Now that we’re this.” Dieter echoes with a soft smile. He leans in and kisses you tenderly. “We better clean up. We should be there soon.”

You steal one more kiss before climbing out of his lap, reaching for the tissue box helpfully supplied to you as passengers - or left behind by the last occupants of the car. Either way, you grin when you pull your dress back over your head and reach to pick up his belt to hand it back. “Restraints seem to be a yes.”

“I was surprised you wanted to do it.” He admits, removing the condom and cleaning himself up. “But I will never say no.”

“Spur of the moment thing that turned out very well.” When you’re both tidied up and dressed again, you plop down beside him on the bench and sigh. “So…I’m guessing you liked your surprise?” After all, the lingerie was as much for him as it was for you. If not more.

“I am, but I think you forgot the idea of a birthday was that I and supposed to surprise you.” He teases with a small wink after he’s already lifting his arm around you to let you curl closer.

"And I loved both of my surprises." The drawing he had given you last night is tucked safely in your own sketchbook and the surprise wake up of his head between your legs this morning would have been gift enough on their own, but technically this whole day is your gift and that just makes you feel spoiled beyond belief.

“The day isn’t over yet.” He murmurs, turning his head to kiss yours. “I want this to be the best birthday ever.”

"What else could you have possibly planned?" Short of flying Steph and Nora out in complete secrecy, there isn't a damn thing you can think of that you could want for today. And that would be far too much to pull off - not with the way Steph's job has been lately. "This is already by far the most extravagant birthday I've ever had, Dee. Even if all we did was just ride this train."

“Wellllllll.” Dieter rubs your arm and wonders if this is going to mean anything to you. “I may have arranged for us to have the gallery to ourselves this morning.” He confesses. “We are being given a private, personal tour by the curator. Just us.” It was actually something he had done himself, not asking Libby to take care of for him. He had wanted to do it himself.

"You what?!" Sitting straight up in his arms, you can feel all the blood drain from your face as your eyes blow wide in shock. "You—the whole place?" You're honestly so shocked trying to process the enormity of the gesture that you're not really forming full sentences. "How?"

“I may have tossed my name around a bit. Apparently, they like me here?” He admits, biting his lip and shrugging. “Plus, a promise of signing autographs for the staff and a donation.”

"Dee..." There are tears welling up behind your eyes, you can't deny that. What he went through to do something so meaningful for you is absolutely not lost on you, and you wrap both arms around him tightly. "Oh my god..." There aren't enough kisses in the world to say thank you, but you give him several immediately. "I—I will have a nerd girl meltdown; you know that right? Like this is going to be the highest-level art dork you have ever seen from me, and I swear I'm going to work so hard to make your birthday memorable this year." You may not have bottomless funds or a name to throw around, but fuck if you're not going to do everything you can for him - especially with that feeling living in your chest now.

Grinning like he won the lottery, he gives you a small shrug. “I know how much it means to you. I wanted to be able to make sure you had plenty of time uninterrupted with her.” He tells you, referring to the painting you are most excited to see.

“Thank you.” You bury yourself against his side, hugging him tightly and nearly giggling with excitement. It’s not that no one has ever done anything nice for your birthday, it’s that no one was ever capable of doing something so big, and the fact that he arranged something so personal means the world to you. “Thank you so much, baby.”

“You’re welcome.” He sighs, happy that you don’t think it’s lame. He hadn’t felt you would, but someone else would have been offended it wasn’t some expensive gift.

******

The walk from the train station to the museum is welcome after three hours in that little car. It’s far too early in the day for anyone back home to be awake yet so it’s just you and Dieter walking hand-in-hand through the busy streets of Basel with you sporting a dopey ass grin on your face the entire time. The day has barely begun and it’s already perfect.

It’s silly. It’s over the top and it’s probably completely unnecessary, but Dieter spots a flower vendor, setting up his baskets of flowers to sell and he can’t help himself. The first flowers he had given you were ones that had been bought for him and thrust into his hand. Right now, he wanted to choose some for you. “Come on.” He tugs you off course, known for that there is some time before you need to meet the curator.

“What are—” Whatever he has spotted, you don’t see – just a nice older gentleman fiddling with his wares behind a flower kiosk. “Dee?”

“Good morning.” Instead of speaking English, Dieter switches to the Swiss German dialect that is used in this area. He had been using English because most everyone who has come up to the two of you has recognized Americans and he hadn’t wanted to exclude you. “I would love to purchase some flowers for this beautiful woman this morning.”

“Good morning!” The man pops up from his seat and reaches to shake Dieter’s hand before tipping his cap to you, noting the confused look on your face. It isn’t the first time he’s met a tourist couple, so he just brushes it off with a smile, grateful that he doesn’t need to dust off his rusty English. “What does the lovely lady like?”

“She likes lilies, but I’m searching for peonies, zinnias, poppies, lavender and flower of the Incas today.” He admits, squeezing your hand and flashing you a smile before he looks back over at the lovely older man. “They are special to her, so today - I want her to have the most beautiful ones.”

“An interesting combination.” The man throws you a playful wink, understanding in a basic way that this conversation is confidential. He starts to buzz around his buckets and baskets, looking for each flower. The zinnias and peonies are abundant and in many different colors, the poppies he has are solely red, and the lavender and Peruvian lily are plentiful as fillers for bouquets that he will make throughout the day. It’s not a combination that he has ever done together before, but that doesn’t mean it won’t look nice. “A bouquet?” He asks Dieter, showing him one by one that he has each flower that has been requested and letting him choose the colours of zinnia and peony. “Or a crown fit for a queen?” He throws him a wink with that remark – waving a hand at his specialty – flower crowns of all shapes and sizes hanging from his little stand.

Dieter looks over at you and smiles. “A crown.” He decides instantly, pointing to the yellow zinnias and the pink peonies. “She deserves it. She’s—” He breaks off, shocked at his own next words, but he says them anyway. Safe in the knowledge that you won’t understand him. “She’s the woman I love.”

“A crown, then.” The older man doesn’t fuss or tease like an American seller might, just nods his head with the understanding that this is a gesture from a man clearly not ready to have the conversation. It’s not as though it’s the first time he’s ever seen a man say it with flowers - just the first time he’s ever seen it with such a unique combination. “This will only take a minute,” he assures Dieter before ducking behind his stand to get to work.

“I had no idea you speak German.” You admit, looking suitably impressed and surprised when he turns back to you. So far you had heard just the tiniest bit of French from him in Geneva but nothing more.

Dieter turns and gives a slightly self-conscious shrug. “You don’t speak it, so I tried to stick to English to make you feel included.” He tells you honestly. “Plus, everyone has known we are Americans.”

“Look at you just being super considerate and impressive.” It didn’t take you too long to figure out that part of his praise kink probably comes from a lack of sincere compliments in his life - most people just blindly trying to kiss his ass without caring what they have to say. So, you’ve made it a point to make sure that any sincere compliment you have for him is said without a trace of any kind of teasing. Especially right now, when you feel like your cheeks are on fire from what you just watched. “You…um…you remembered all the flowers?” Sure he’s seen the painting you did, but you would never expect him to retain it like that.

Nodding, he basks in the affectionate look you are sending him, covering him like a warm blanket. “I did.” He reaches around you and caresses your shoulder. “They are going to look so pretty on your shoulder.”

“Yours, too.” Never forgetting for one second that he is actively encouraging you to leave a permanent mark of yourself on his body, you lean in and press your lips to his softly. “You’re spoiling me, Dee.”

“I want to spoil you.” He murmurs. “You have been amazing here with me. And I— I’m enjoying this. A lot.” He doesn’t say what he wants to, that’s too much. But he had to let you know how much he was enjoying you being here.

“I am, too.” You bury your face in his chest for a moment and sigh, inhaling the familiar scent of hotel soap and his cologne and making your smile grow even wider. “Remind me to bake Libby a thank you cake when we get back to LA.”

“Don’t do that.” He huffs playfully. “She will be intolerable.” He does owe his manager, she had known what she was doing after all, despite him thinking she was crazy.

“Steph has kept her gloating to a minimum.” The small amount she had done was earned, of course, since she was the one who kept encouraging you to give this bizarre situation a try. You don’t know how the hell she’ll react if you admit to her that you’ve actually developed that feeling for him. She’ll probably start planning your wedding. Nope. Nope. Don’t have that thought. Far too giant of a leap.

Dieter chuckles and drops a kiss on your lips. “Together they would be unstoppable.” He grumbles.

“No cake then.” You pretend to pout, pushing out your lower lip just because you know it will make him kiss you again. “Maybe we’ll just post some pictures to social media today to make her happy.”

His lips find yours again, he just can’t help himself. “That will make her giddy.” He promises, looking over to see the florist finishing up and moving out from behind his station with the flower crown. “My lady, your crown awaits.” He theatrically intones.

“Crown?” Your jaw practically drops at the word, and you immediately follow his eyes to the man emerging from out of view. A little bundle of flowers was all you were expecting - a small bouquet that you could tuck into the open zipper of your purse. A crown is an infinitely bigger statement, and this one is stunning. “Oh, wow…”

“It’s okay, right?” Dieter worries that you don’t like it instantly. That he had chosen wrong.

“Baby, it’s gorgeous. I love it.” You promise him, barely catching the end of your thought before you can give yourself away.

Dieter grins, taking the crown from the older man gently and turning to very seriously place it on your head. Adjusting it carefully with his tongue poking out from between his lips. “There. Perfect.”

“Beautiful.” The man agrees, smiling to see the absolute joy on your face as Dieter fusses with the crown.

“Danke schoen.” is about the extent of your German, but you thank the man profusely as Dieter pulls out his wallet.

“You should tell her,” the man nods his head toward you, ultimately only charging Dieter half of what he normally asks from tourists.

Dieter makes up for the generosity by tipping the man extra, smiling and winking at him. “One day.” He promises, although he doesn’t know if that day would ever come honestly.

“Soon.” He encourages, laughing when you nab Dieter’s hand and press a kiss to his cheek. There has been no shortage of PDA over this last week, and today will be no exception. Especially not with the way your heart is swelling, and you swear you would give yourself away tonight if you talked in your sleep.

Dieter thanks the man again and grins at you. “Ready to go be nerdy together?” He asks.

Slipping your hand into his, your head down the street together side by side. “You’re so lucky that I have kept my constant listening to the Six soundtrack to my studio or else you would have smothered me after the fiftieth time playing ‘Haus of Holbein’.”

“Oh my god.” He groans, giving a small chuckle. “You are a nerd.” He doesn’t mean it really. “Although I’m interested in what you would have set as my theme song when we first met.”

“You don’t want to know that.” The ringtone you had set for him originally was done out of annoyance and an abundance of misplaced negative feelings, and you actively cringe thinking about it. Now that you know him better, the song doesn’t fit at all.

He snickers slightly, knowing it must have been bad. “Your ringtone was the Imperial March” He admits with a bashful grin.

“I…deserve that.” You shrug, shaking your head at the awful accuracy. “I totally deserve that.” The fact that everything has changed between you so drastically is an intense relief, but you still cringe slightly. “Yours was ‘You’re So Vain’…”

Dieter sputters slightly, trying to contain his snickering but it doesn’t last long. Laughing out loud and causing a few glances your way, he full on belly laughs at your selection. “Oh god, that’s so great.” He’s not mad, honestly tickled at your expression of displeasure at him being your soulmate. “It’s our song now.” He declares playfully, throwing his arm around you.

“Oh god,” you groan, huffing dramatically at him even as you let yourself laugh with relief that he isn’t mad or offended. Things really have come a long way, which you prove to yourself with teasing. “We’ll have a Pride & Prejudice themed wedding with that as the first dance,” you snort – imagining how ridiculous that would all be. “I’ll walk down the aisle to the Imperial March.” Joking about it is how you’re going to cope with the fact that it’ll never happen, you decide – since for the first time in your entire adult life you’re wishing it would.

Dieter hums, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when you mentioned a wedding. Telling himself that you are just joking. Instead, he opens his mouth and starts to sing, badly off key. “You’re so vain…you probably think this song is about you. You’re so va-in….”

“Neither of us is allowed to sing.” One finger pokes him in the side as the museum comes into view. Neither of you can carry a tune in a bucket and you both know it. “For everyone’s sake.”

“Ow.” It didn’t actually hurt, but he sends you a pout, rubbing at his rib just to make you feel sorry for him. It might earn him an extra kiss and he’s found he loves kissing you.

“Awwe, poor baby.” The fact that he’s exaggerating and there’s no way you actually hurt him doesn’t stop you from pausing on the sidewalk to kiss him. Although now you have definitely doomed yourself to trying not to have any wedding thoughts whatsoever for the rest of the day. He probably doesn’t even want to get married. Least of all to me.

When your lips press to his, he can’t help but grin. “Thank you.” He huffs when you pull away, sending you a wink.

“So what’s my ringtone now?” Since the subject has been broached, you have to admit you’re curious. It was more than a week ago that you changed his, and you wonder when yours changed in his phone.

Dieter pulls out his phone and opens up his sounds. When he pushes a button, Adele’s song comes out of the speakers. “So can I get it right now? Mmm. Can I get it right now? (Can I get it right here?)” He flushes slightly. “You seemed to like that song at the concert.” He explains.

“Awwe, yours is so much more personal than mine,” you admit, flustering a little than he even paid that much attention to you on what ended up being another bad night. Taking out your own phone, your ears are burning as the song that plays when he calls you starts up. “Ohhhhh you gonna take me home tonight…Ohhhhh down beside that red fire light. Ohhhhh you gonna let it all hang out - Fat-bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round.” By the time you changed it you had decided to opt for comedy, and already noticed that Dieter loves to check out a good ass.

Grinning, he shakes his head. “Guilty.” He confesses easily. “Love that song too.”

“It’s a good song.” And at the time you changed it, a love song would have been presumptuous at best. “C’mon, Dee.” Nodding to the museum now just a block away, you give his hand a soft squeeze. “Let’s go be nerds.”

“Let’s go be nerds.” That will be the theme for the day if he has his way. Whatever you want, he wants you to have. Pleased that he gets to spoil you on your special day.

The Old Masters curator of the Kunstmuseum Basel is waiting for you inside when you arrive, and Dr. Brinkmann shakes Dieter’s hand eagerly before offering you the same gesture and wishing you a happy birthday. The whole place is quiet today, just employees and the two of you, and he was excited at the prospect of a private tour when Dieter told him that you had a background in art as well as just being enthusiastic.

“Thank you for doing this.” Dieter tells him, really turning on the charm. “This has been on her bucket list, and I could think of no greater way to treat her to a once in a lifetime event.”

“As I understand it, the main attraction for you today is Lais Corinthiaca?” He asks, amused smile growing wider when you can barely contain the excitement in your features when he mentions the painting. “We have a few drafts of the piece in our collection as well, that I took the liberty of bringing up to the gallery this morning so you can see them side by side.”

You’re clutching Dieter’s hand so tightly that you might accidentally dislocate a bone, but you’re at a level of excitement that pretty much has you vibrating out of your skin and cannot be held responsible for the tightness of your grip. “Would—would you mind—if we saved her for last?” It feels silly asking, but this is a painting that you fell in love with as a teen and you’ve been dying to see it in person ever since. But the fact is, you know you won’t pay attention to a single other piece once you’ve seen her. “Like a saving the best for last sort of thing? Is that alright?”

Dieter grins, exuberant that you are this excited for something he had planned out. He never plans things, but this was personal. This was you and as a part of really trying, he was making an effort. The curator glances over at him and he nods. “Whatever she wants.” He agrees.

******

Spending the entire tour of the museum telling yourself that you absolutely will not cry ends up being about as futile as you expected. The moment you step into the gallery where Lais hangs on the wall with the other drafts and copies on easels around her, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The painting isn’t terribly large - just over a foot high and under a foot wide - but she is the only thing in the room you seem to be aware of at all besides Dieter’s hand in yours.

It’s beautiful, watching your reaction to her. He finds himself watching your eyes misting up, ignoring the painting. Right here is the feeling he had when he had seen her so long ago, sinking into repose and then finding wonder in this piece. He brings your joined hands up and kisses yours softly.

It’s silly to say that a painting feels comforting, or welcoming, or even like coming home - but in this moment it’s a little like déjà vu. As if Dee was always meant to be a part of the first time you stood in front of Lais. As if the overwhelmed tears on your cheeks make just as much sense as any of his fans getting choked up when he takes pictures with them. It’s almost like time travel - you could swear that you can smell the wet paint and musky tallow of burning candles lighting up Holbein’s space.

Dieter knows that you will be staring at the piece for a while, but he doesn’t rush you. He couldn’t count the hours he had spent with her, not just because he had been stoned. This is a special moment and he’s happy he gets to share it with you.

You’re not sure how long you look. The curator has a few factoids to share and a little history of the piece, and before you know it the three of you are standing together in front of the various versions of the painting deeply immersed in your own personal theories about who the lady might be reaching out to or what she might be offering to the viewer.

“I think she’s beckoning him to her.” Dieter poses. “There’s a coyness about her in this draft.” He points to the slight crinkle around the eyes. “Teasing.”

“Lais was a courtesan.” The curator nods, clearly ruminating on the facts of the piece where Dieter is looking at the emotion in her body language.

“She feels warm in the final draft.” The painting on the wall reaches out to you like a pleased lover - you have to agree with Dieter on that one. “The gesture is soft, like she’s letting her guard down.”

“It takes a special man to allow a woman to let down her guard.” Dieter hums, almost to himself. Somewhat talking about the way you’ve let your guard down as well.

“M-maybe…maybe she was scared,” you murmur, not quite looking over at him. Are you certain he’s talking about you and him? Absolutely not. But are going to go out on that limb just in case? Well… apparently so. “Letting somebody in when you’ve built up ten-story walls isn’t easy…”

Dieter nods, still studying the portrait. “No, it’s not.” He agrees, knowing that he had deflected with his partying and casual sex. He had been afraid of being hurt too. “But…” he nods towards the final piece, the one that is prominently displayed. “The prize is worth it.”

“I—” It’s on the tip of your tongue, that thing you’re absolutely not going to say, even as you lean into Dieter’s side and put one arm around his back. “I really hope you mean that,” you say instead, wishing you were braver. That those walls weren’t still there at your knees, just waiting to be needed again. You want them gone, but you have to admit that you’re still scared.

His arm comes around you. Naturally and easily, folding you against him as if you belong. Because you do. “I do.” He turns to kiss you, because the moment calls for it.

The curator has retreated out of infinite politeness, but neither of you have noticed. You’re tucked against Dieter’s side with both arms around his waist now, trying desperately hold back words and tears that make might this moment too heavy. “You are, too.” Those words, at least, are soft. Nearly whispered because they’re just for him. “Worth it, I mean. Worth…well, everything…”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say something stupid. His brain battling between ‘Marry me’ and ‘I love you’. Both enough to scare you away. It’s too soon and there’s still so much to learn about each other. So he doesn’t say it, he lunges forward and this kiss is desperate, needy and giving at the same time.

It takes longer than maybe it should before you can force yourself to break the kiss, trying as hard as you can to communicate everything you’re feeling in that one moment before you smile up at him sheepishly. Your cheeks are burning in his cupped hands, but you are reveling in the tenderness of the moment at the same time. “Save that thought for when we’re alone,” is your breathless suggestion, trying to be polite about the fact that you probably shouldn’t just make out in front of the museum curator, but knowing that you’ll be craving that feeling again in no time.

Dieter chuckles and looks around. “I think we are alone.” He admits, grinning about it. He’s not ashamed. “But we should wait. Do you want to take some pictures with her?” He asks, nodding towards the portrait.

“You know what I mean.” Your lips twist into a coy smirk, and you pull your phone from your purse to hand it over to him. “Will you take a couple? You’re better at selfies.”

“Of course.” He snaps a few of you by yourself before he includes himself in the photos. Smiling with you and knowing that Libby will be squealing happily when they go up on social media.

“We should find the curator.” Tucking away your phone again after snapping photos of each of the copies of Lais’ portrait, you lean over to kiss Dieter one more time. “Best birthday ever, baby. And the day’s not even half over.”

“Good.” He’s proud of himself for that. That he’s able to give you a great memory when there are quite a few that involve him that are less than stellar. But this is what starting over is all about, making new memories. “We still have the rest of the day to either crash and burn or make it epic.” He teases, hand squeezing your ass playfully.

“We’re not going to crash and burn.” Your arms around him squeeze gently, like you’re trying to summon the strength in yourself not to blurt shit out that would scare him off at the same time you’re trying to reassure him. “We’re not like we used to be.”

“You mean anger isn’t our first reaction?” Dieter gives you a shocked look, mouth open aghast. “Nooo. Say it isn’t so?”

That earns him a laugh, and your nose wrinkles on a grin as you shake your head. “We tend to react to most things with horniness first, these days.”

“I mean…yeah.” He rolls his eyes even as that required kiss is dropped on your lips for the nose wrinkle. It happens pretty much every time now. “How else am I supposed to react when I know exactly how well you fit me and how good my name sounds being moaned out in my ear?”

“No fair.” You pout heavily, squirming slightly against him. “You can’t just talk about it, you’re gonna get me all worked up.”

“Poor baby.” Dieter coos softly, using the fact that the two of you are alone in the gallery room to pull up the edge of your dress and slide his fingers along the banding of your panties. “I guess we are going to have to see how long you can hold out.”

“Dee,” you whine his name softly, pouting again until he relents and smooths your dress back into place. “We’re gonna end up skipping lunch and finding someplace to fuck,” you predict, shaking your head at him in amusement.

He smirks, loving how eager you are for it when just a short while ago he would have bet his entire drug stash you wouldn't sleep with him if he was the last man on the planet. "I have an idea..." He hums, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“What kind of idea?” This morning on the train definitely proved that you’re up for a little experimentation today.

"Well...." Dieter grins, sliding his hand back up to your waist and turns you to the exit of the exhibit. Determined to talk and walk at the same time. "I was thinking we would find a toy store. Maybe discover something for you to wear while we are having lunch."

“To wear, huh?” The curator is waiting for you at the end of the short hallway, and you kiss Dieter’s cheek quickly before you get close enough for the older man to overhear you. “Sounds like fun.”

He grins in triumph as you thank the curator profusely, gushing over the experience. Proud that he could set this up for you.

"I really can't thank you enough for providing such a unique experience to us." Honestly you never could have even conceived of a museum visit like this in a million years and the whole thing felt like a dream even before making it to the Holbein section of the galleries. As someone who has dedicated yourself to art education, you've learned more just today than you did in entire semesters at school and the fact that Dieter made all of it happen just makes your heart swell.

"It was my pleasure." He assures you with a smile, taking your hand and shaking it gently. "Rarely do I find people so passionate about Holbein as you and it is refreshing." He nods at Dieter, shaking his hand next.

"Hopefully I'll be back again one day." Though you can't allow yourself to be presumptuous enough to assume that you would come back again with Dieter in the future, your absolute hope is to one day bring Steph and Nora when your niece is just a little bit older. No matter what, you dearly hope this won't be the last time you see Lais Corinthica in person.

Dieter quickly fulfills his part of the agreement, giving out autographs and taking pictures with most of the staff of the museum, laughing and turning on the charm for them. They had done him a huge favor and he owed them that. Once done, he guides you out of the building and grins happily. "So, what's next birthday girl? Lunch or toy shopping?"

“If we toy shop first, then I can wear it at lunch.” The idea has been rolling around in your head since he brought it up, knowing full well that it isn’t something you would want to be actively playing with while you get your tattoo.

"You read my mind baby." Whipping out his phone, he looks for the closest store that would cater to those toys and selects it. "It's only a few blocks away." He smirks, and winks at you. "Let's go find you something to have nestled in your tight little cunt while you eat, and I can hold the remote."

“I’m going to be a wreck by the time we get to the tattoo place, aren’t I?” With his large hand entangled in your smaller one, you grin at him as you walk down the street together. “Something remote controlled, huh?” He’s going to love that.

"Well considering I don't think it's a good idea for it to be buzzing away inside you while you are in the chair..." He drolls, grinning at you. "I figured I'd relax you by making you cum before we get there."

"And an endorphin rush afterward is a great pain killer." You inform him, as though he isn't acutely aware of the feel-good rush as orgasm can provide.

“Babe.” He pouts at you, poking his lower lip out and turning on the wounded look.

"What? I—a couple of the girls on the set crew told me that getting their first tattoos made them really horny..." For a second you're afraid you've offended him somehow, and you shrug innocently hoping that you didn't say something wrong.

"No, I know." He promises. "It does make you horny. And you're teasing me talking about endorphins."

“It’s not teasing if you get to fuck me as many times as you want when we get home tonight,” you remind him, fully aware that that is where the night will end up. You’ve never had a significant other on your birthday before ever and you want to make sure every second is memorable. “And probably on the train again, too.”

He whines at the prospect of that and tugs you forward when he starts walking a little faster. "Fuck." He grunts, shaking his head. "Can I – would you let me with the toy?" He asks breathlessly.

“Would I let you fuck me with a toy?” Your forehead furrows, like you’re almost wondering why he’s even asking - he saw your toy collection. “Of course, baby. We just have to find something fun.”

"No, I—" He stops and bites his lip, his eyes practically alight with excitement. "I mean being inside with the toy." He explains, knowing that it's a possibility that you might not be into it, but if....

“You…” Tugging on his hand makes him stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and you pull him close to the building you were walking beside so that the other pedestrians will just walk around you and ignore you. “You want to…” Your voice drops cautiously low, but there is definite curiosity in it. “You want to double team me with a toy, handsome?”

"Fuck yes." His dick twitches in his pants just thinking about it. "Something small. The bullet buzzing away inside you while I'm right beside it." He swallows, nearly drooling at the idea and raises his brows. "What do you think?"

"I dunno, babe..." Alright, now you are teasing him. Batting your eyelashes with your voice low and your arms around his waist to keep him close. "You're always saying how tight I am. Do you think you could fit?"

His knees buckle slightly, making his body drop a couple of inches before he catches himself, leaning back against the wall. "Fuuuuuuuck." His whine is nearly pained, and his breath is ragged just thinking about it.

"I'll take that as a yes," you giggle evilly, leaning in to kiss his cheek before straightening up again. "Come on, baby. We're almost there."

"I can't fucking walk." He huffs dramatically and turns towards the wall to adjust himself.

It takes him a second to recover, but you kiss the pout from his lips and two blocks later you're rounding the corner into an alley to the discreet entrance to an adult 'entertainment' store.

"Okay." Dieter is over his pouting, eager to see what the store has available. Theoretically, he'd love to buy something and have you wear it out of the store. "Let's see what we can find."

"This place is huge..." Normally your toy purchases are made discreetly at the little locally-owned shop one town over, but this place is nearly an emporium. "I don't even know where to start." Signs indicating lingerie, costumes, games, toys for him, toys for her, toys for them...this store has it all.

"Anywhere you want." He promises, smirking at the selection. "I think we can just start in the toys for her if you want."

“Organized. I appreciate that.” The sheer size of the place is actually a little overwhelming, and you tuck yourself into Dieter’s side as you head up the stairs to where the toy sections are indicated.

"Now, if you don't like something, don't just agree because I like it." He cautions. "Because I like a lot of things. Doesn't mean you will."

"Maybe we can start with things you do like, though?" Looking at the racks upon racks and walls covered in options, you spot an area of shelving that clearly sports panties with vibrators built in and you tug him in that direction. "I've never had anyone else to play with these things with, so I don't know what's good for two."

"Anything can be for two." He tilts his head as he starts considering. "We will just have to see what sparks our interest."

“These are…interesting.” There are shelves upon shelves of boxes and displays touting discreet play, but after a while you stumble upon a group of them that are controlled by phone app. Some of them look like the same sort of device you’ve been seeing all along, but a few boast countless vibration patterns and the ability to work over long distances. “One of these could be fun…” You pick up a box with a bright pink device on the cover marked explicitly for long distance play as well as close encounters. “How long do you think long distance really means?”

"Considering I don't plan on being too far away from you, I don't think it will matter." He grins at you. "But maybe we can experiment with it. Have you go into the bathroom and I'll see if I can make it turn on?" There is a dirty little wink sent your way with the idea.

"I'm going back a week before you." It's not a thought you've had a lot of fun with, but he is scheduled to be on set for six more days after you fly back to LA. "And we live...not too close." You shrug meekly, realizing that you must sound incredibly clingy right now. "I was thinking of that."

His grin gets even wider and his eyes light up. "Ohhhhhhhhh, I see." His dark chuckle is filthy because of what you are proposing. "We will have to try that."

"Could make for some fun FaceTimes." But the fact is, if you think too much about how in a couple of weeks you'll be sleeping without him again, it's going to seriously bum you out. So you turn on a bright smile again and start comparing some of the devices on the shelf. "Are these sort of what you had in mind?"

"Yeah." Dieter wants to ask you to stay, have Libby change your ticket but he knows how needy that would make him seem. Even though you are enjoying yourself, you do have a life away from him. You have to be ready to get back to it. "Which one looks like something you would wear? Or want to wear?"

"Is it weird that I prefer my sex toys in unnatural colors?" There are bright pinks and purples and blues all laid out in front of you. "I'm not trying to pretend it's a real cock, ya know? I don't want something that's like...as close to your skin color as possible. I'd rather just have it be you." He's still holding the box you handed him, and you look over at it to glance at the features listed. "Plus, it's easier to tell if they're clean or not."

"No I agree." Dieter nods quickly. "Honestly I drift towards the neon colors, and glow in the dark ones are fun too." He chuckles.

"Glow in the dark sounds fun." For no reason other than it being silly, of course. "Do you see one?"

Snickering, he looks around and points to one. "There is a neon purple on that is supposed to glow in the dark." He tells you, admiring the was the toy is curved. "Looks like it goes inside you and presses against your clit."

"Think you'll fit in along with it?" You toss him a smirk as he stands beside you and bite your lip trying to imagine how full you'll feel - as if he doesn't make you feel like you're being split in two all on his own.

Groaning quietly, his eyes flutter shut at the thought of being buried inside you beside that toy. "Yes." He whispers, slightly breathless.

"That's gonna be your new favourite thing, isn't it?" The thought makes you giggle evilly, and shiver in anticipation at the same time. He's so enthusiastic about the idea that it can't be anything but pleasurable.

“Everything with you is my favorite.” He gushes without even considering how it would sound. He’s unable to remember the last time he’s had so much fun with sex, or so much of it.

"Same." Leaning into his side, the now familiar and comfortable bulk of him makes you sigh a little and you look up to find him smiling down at you just the same. "I..." Ah, fuck it. "I hope you know that if I didn't have to get ready for the school year, I would stay until you're done shooting."

“Really?” He is shocked at that, pleasure flooding his chest when you nod shyly and bite your lip. “That’s good to know.”

"What can I say?" His smile makes your heart clench and feel like it's going to explode at the same time and that word is at the forefront of your mind again. "You've grown on me."

“Like a rash.” He teases.

"Sure, babe." You roll your eyes, blowing out a breath that could have turned into annoyance except for the fact that you can actually tell when he's teasing you now. "Like a rash."

“But I’m your rash.” He coos, leaning in and kissing you. “Besides, you like the beard burn on the inside of your thighs.”

"Yes, you are. And yes, I do." The last place on earth for you to get self-conscious about a kiss is in the middle of a sex shop, and you lean into it unapologetically.

He nips the bottom of your lip. “Good.” He breathes out. “I’ll put that burn there whenever you want.”

"Do you want to look at anything else, or go grab some lunch?" With about an hour left before your appointment, you're starting to get a little more nervous, but being right here in his arms is the most soothing place you could ask to be.

“Anything you want to pick out for me?” He asks, curious to see where your ideas would lead you.

"Well you don't need a Tenga Egg." You throw him and smirk and lace your fingers through his to start strolling towards the section of toys meant for men.

“No, that would disappear and then I get to go to the hospital.” Dieter winces, shaking his head.

"Is something like a cock ring too simple?" He has a whole stash of toys, you know that, but you don't really know his preferences with them or even what they are. This will be the first time you've ever used them together.

“No.” Dieter bites his lip and smothers a small moan at the idea of wearing one as he teases you. “I think that would be fun.”

"Vibrating or not vibrating?" There are racks upon racks of the things, and you get lost a little in his little sounds of excitement as the two of you start to look through them.

“Fuck, vibrating.” Dieter decides with a grin, spotting one that is remote controlled as well. “That one you would control, baby.”

"His and hers vibrators," you giggle a little at the thought, but immediate feel the lump in your throat when Dieter's lust-blown eyes settle on one that lists multiple speeds and a Bluetooth connection. "Find one you like?"

“You haven’t lived until you have a vibrator against your taint.” He tells you seriously, picking up the box and flipping it over to read the back of it.

"I guess I'll never live, then." You tease, poking him in the side. "Pick whatever you want, and we can spend all night tonight playing with our new toys."

He grins for a split second before he widens his eyes and turns on a puppy dog look. “Mommy I want this.” He pouts playfully, wondering how you will react to that.

There's a moment there where your throat just runs dry and you nearly choke on the word, surprised to find yourself wishing instantly that it was you and him out somewhere with a little kid Nora's age that has your eyes and his wild hair. You only let the thought exist for a second before you're blinking it away, shaking your head to banish it like a haunting spirit. "I'll pass on the mommy kink," you tell him, making yourself laugh although you can hear how awkward it is. "But if that's the one you want, it's what we'll get."

He snickers, pulling you into his arms and kissing you, a grin still on his lips. “I had to.” He teases. “But no mommy kink. Got it. Does nothing for me anyway.”

"Since we're experimenting today, is there anything else you do want to try?" The check-out is downstairs on the main floor, but the two of you are slow to make your way in that direction. Too wrapped up in each other to care about speed.

“I think we should start slow, right?” He asks, looking over at you. “I don’t want to overwhelm you or have it turn out to be too much too soon.”

"I've used toys before." It's not as though having something vibrating in your pussy is a brand new sensation. It will just be new to do it with someone else. "I mean I'm not saying I'm ready to try out being a full-on dominatrix, but if there was some roleplaying or something kind of lowkey that you wanted to add in…we could do that."

“Hmmmm.” He grins and leans down to bite your shoulder. “Sounds like the birthday girl has some ideas. What do you want, baby? I’m your very willing accomplice.”

"Honestly?" The way that word makes your forehead pinch and your eyebrows raise with worry is obvious, and you shrug slightly. "I just...I know you're more adventurous than I am, and I-I don't...want you to get bored..."

Dieter frowns, stopping immediately and turning towards you. “Have I made you feel like I’m bored?” He asks, needing to know if he’s made you feel this way or if it’s just a general worry.

"No." He hasn't at all – always making sure that you enjoy yourself and that you get off before he does at least once. More if he can manage it. "I'm just...I'm just a worry wart, I guess." You're just realizing you're in love with him and that has made you instantly terrified of fucking things up, apparently.

“Baby.” Dieter senses that this moment is not one for jokes. His hand that isn’t holding a toy rests on your waist and he tugs you close. “I promise you, if I need something, I will let you know.” He murmurs softly. “I’ve had more amazing sex in the past week with you than I have had in years.”

"Okay." Both of your arms come around him, holding him just as tightly for a moment and letting yourself listen to the steady bump of his heart in his chest. It's only been a week; you remind yourself with annoyance. Chill the fuck out. "Let's go get something to eat. The appointment's coming up fast."

“Yes ma’am.” He pats your ass and pulls away. “We will pay for these and put them on in the restaurant.” He tells you with a grin.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat​ @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri    

YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape​ @sammus-white​ @spanishmossmagnolia  @frasmotic @quietpainter    

My Masterlist!

[kirishimasensei]

what spring does with the cherry trees (part I)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Bakugou Katsuki, his champion gladiator.

part I | part II

author :: KirishimaSensei (Misha) pairing :: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader word count :: 2.3k tags :: Spartacus AU | adult characters | adult language | descriptions of violence | ancient Roman slavery

i. "How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running..."

Sword meets spear, steel against unyielding steel, sending a symphony of sparks flying from both men’s weapons and onto the sands. You can feel the roar of the crowd around the pulvinus where you sit, the vibrations finding haven in your otherwise motionless body, creeping its way through your heart like desire. But even still, the sound of steel rings in your ears, drowning out all other noises of the arena until all you can hear is sword against spear against shield.

The day is growing late, coloring the sky with a deep magenta glow that signals the approaching dusk. Though the sun is slowly descending, the heat still lays on you like a blanket, surrounding you, warming your already overheated skin as you absentmindedly call for wine.

You startle when you feel a hand at your shoulder. Your thoughts have been intent on the games, but now free from your reverie, you smile up at your godfather and accept the glass offered to you.

“I had not known you were so captivated by the games!” Todroki Enji says, pleased at the revelation, the changes he has seen in you since you were a child.

You have been away from Capua for five years now, and have returned a woman now grown. Your best friend and godbrother, Shouto, had left for school at the same time, as children of a certain age and state do when the time comes. Since then, your father has sadly passed on, your mother long since gone, and instead of staying in Rome with your step-brother and his wife, you decided to return to Capua, welcomed without question into the Todoroki household. 

Shouto had decided not to return, staying instead with his own mother to care for her once she was dismissed from his father’s home. You would miss your childhood friend, and although Shouto vowed never to return to Capua, he promised that the two of you would never be too long away from one another. 

Being Shouto’s friend, and spending so much time at Villa Todoroki, you have been well acquainted with gladiators and what the sport entails. As a child, you could barely stomach the gladiatorial games, disgusted at the senseless killing, the bloodshed. The skill that the warriors possessed, that you were intrigued by, studying them as they trained in the practice field below the Todoroki Villa balcony. But the idea of forcing someone to kill for sport, that your younger self could not bear.

“I have only now realized their appeal,” you admit before taking a sip of your wine. 

You have to hold back a grimace. Not Cestian, you note, but an inferior vino. Next time, you will be sure to request water. You hand the glass off to your body slave and turn your attention back to the display before you.

It is not the games themselves that you have learned to favor, but the gladiators who fought in them. More precisely, one gladiator in particular who is putting on quite an impressive show at the moment, leaving you fixed on the edge of your chair.

The gladiator’s hard body shines radiant beneath the Roman sun, so much that you believe that he must have been sculpted from bronze, carved with thoughtful, meticulous strokes, lovingly crafted by the gods themselves. He is made of strong lines and chiseled plains, wide shoulders tapered down to a slender waist. Powerful arms, stronger legs, a graceful jaw paired with eyes like jewels and lips like sin.

Bakugou Katsuki is the most glorious being that you have ever seen.

“A spectacle isn’t it?” Enji asks you. “Katsuki is well versed in pleasing the crowd.”

“Well versed, indeed,” you reply, though you are not so joyous. 

The thought of this match has plagued you since news of it. Katsuki and the undefeated Champion of Capua fighting sine missione – to the death. It was enough to reduce you to tremors. But now, seeing the two before you, your nerves quickly fade, leaving only longing in their wake.

Katsuki owns the arena – the sand beneath his feet, the swords in his hands, the crowds clamoring around him. His opponent will soon be his too. The day will be won and he will be the new champion.

You watch as Katsuki side steps his opponent’s attack, leaving the man sprawled upon the ground. He quickly recovers, though, and lunges for Katsuki who evades the sword meant to pierce his stomach and bends beneath the weapon. He then lands a blow to his attacker’s back, once more sending him to the sand.

Katsuki’s laugh finds its way up to the pulvinus, wrapping around you like a tangible thing. You have heard him speak in the ludus, instructing his fellow gladiators with the right combination of firm demands and helpful guidance. You have heard his voice during practice spars, taunting his opponent with playful banter. You have dreamed of his voice, of Katsuki whispering in your ear as he thrusts inside of you, passionate words made rough and thick. If you were deaf to everything but the gladiator’s voice, still you would be a contented woman.

“Does your gladiator fear nothing?” you ask of your godfather, never taking your eyes off the man in question.

“Katsuki is fear!” Enji says. “See how the Champion of Capua quivers before him!”

And how you quiver, too, now that you can share in your godfather’s mirth, for he spoke the truth. Not but minutes after his declaration, the once champion’s head rolls upon the sands, his body dropping to the ground. You cannot suppress the smile that blooms upon your face as Katsuki’s name echoes through the air, a steady throb trembling throughout the amphitheater, not so different from the one forming between your thighs.

Once back at the villa, Enji takes both you and his wife under each arm. “A celebration is in order!” he announces, pulling you two tightly towards him. “The House of Todoroki will be on every tongue in Capua!”

You smile at your godfather’s rejoicing. A celebration was in order, indeed. Katsuki’s victory in the arena has turned the incessant fire within you into an inferno, one that will not be easily quenched nor sated. The flames lick at your flesh, heating your body with a sultry sheen, so much that you fear your godfather would feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Truly this has been a most joyous day,” you reply, moving from Enji’s side, “but I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening. The hour grows late, and I am weary from such blessed excitement.”

“May you have peace in this night of celebration!” Enji’s wife, Kaina says. “Surely the men in the ludus are commemorating their house’s victory tonight as well. I pray the noise does not resonate too loudly in your chambers.”

You give the woman a courteous smile. “A discomfort born free from grievance. The Champion of Capua must be honored, on this, a most splendid day.”

“And what of our champion?” Enji contemplates, to your pleasure. A plan has already been set into motion, one now being carried out so easily without much prodding on your part. “Surely he should be properly rewarded for his showing in the arena,” he continues.

“All the wine he could ask for,” Kaina replies. “I’m sure the others will see that his glass stays overflowing.”

“And women!” Enji says, then turns to his body slave. “See that his bed is overflowing as well!”

You pause to feign thought for a moment before speaking once more. “I could send my slave, Hiroko, to pleasure your champion. Surely a tribute such as she would be most welcome, yet untouched as she is.”

“A generous offer,” Enji declares, clearly approving of your idea, eager to start partaking in his own celebration. “I will send someone to prepare your slave immediately.”

“Oh! There will be no need,” you say, glancing at Hiroko. The girl’s expression is veiled, but you know that you will be chided once in the privacy of your own quarters. You are in no mood for a lecture, but you know that the outcome will be well worth it. You turn back to your godfather, attempting to conceal your excitement. “I will see to Hiroko’s preparations.”

“Do you think this wise?”

You turn and consider your companion. “And of what do you speak?” you ask with mock curiosity. 

Hiroko scowls at you, and in turn, you can’t keep the smile from your face. You begin to remove your jewels as you wait for her to answer.

“You think me so dense I cannot see through your schemes?” Hiroko asks you. “I am quite aware you won’t be sending me to the gladiator this night. You plan to go in my stead.”

You laugh, quirking a brow. “You do know me so well.”

And, truly, she does. She knows you better than anyone else, and though you are younger than her, you have known no one longer. And though she is, strictly speaking, your slave, you have a deeper connection with no one else. You two share a similar visage, as well. Lips akin to one another, eyes both of identical shape but of a slightly different color, both beautiful in your own right and similar to those who regard you two only in passing. Some people remark on how she favors you, while most stay silent, all obviously aware of your father’s indiscretion.

But to you, Hiroko is your closest companion. Your slave only by birth and custom. You know your only difference is your mothers’ stations, and for a purpose unknown, the gods have seen it fit to bless you with a proper Roman birth. Hiroko was your sister regardless, and were it that your roles were switched, you know that she would treat you similarly.

“You worry for nothing,” you reassure her, but Hiroko merely shakes her head and begins to assist in undressing you. You give her nose a soft kiss. “Do not be so sullen.”

Hiroko throws her hands up with a sigh and moves away from you. “We could be caught,” she tries to explain, but her concern falls on deaf ears.

You groan in irritation as you remove your clothes and launch the bundled fabric at her. “If someone comes, merely feign sleep. ‘Tis a simple task, carried out time and time over.”

“And what of you?” she asks, walking the clothes to the closet. “You could be hurt! He is a gladiator! He put a man to grass today!”

“And how I trembled as he did!” you reply, smiling at Hiroko through your vanity mirror’s reflection as you take your hair down from your plaits. You cock a brow at her agitated expression. “Would you deny me my one desire?” you continue, pouting.

“Your one desire?” she asks, incredulous. “Never have you desired only one thing. You are a greedy girl and the gladiator will quench your thirst for now, but then eyes will be set upon new conquest. When you have your fill you will leave him as you do all things.”

“No,” you respond, appalled. “No, never. If he were mine, I would never see him from my arms.” Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you smirk. “Or my cunt.”

“The mouth on you!” Hiroko gasps. “Just because you seek to lay with a savage doesn’t mean that you have to behave as such.”

You gasp in displeasure. “Katsuki is no savage!”

“And you know this how?” she asks and you feel your cheeks heating at the words yet unspoken, knowing how they will sound in the ears of your companion. Your thoughts will seem naïve, childlike, but they are so heavy on your tongue that you must speak them anyway.

“His eyes,” you say. “The depths in which are more burning, more crimson, than any flame I’ve ever seen. How I long to gaze into them as he touches me, his war-hardened hands gripping my flesh. His voice, deep and low in my ear.”

“You talk as if in love!” Hiroko says, clucking.

“Nearly so,” you reply.

“You have yet to even share words with the man,” she says, “and now you make declarations of love.”

You don’t respond, not quite knowing what to say, so Hiroko leaves you to disappear into her adjoining room and the returns with a handful of folded clothes. 

“Will this suffice?” she asks, unfolding the stola and holding it up for you to see.

It is something Hiroko has not worn in ages, too small and too short, but perfect for you and your purpose. You drape the fabric over one shoulder and wrap it around your waist, letting it fall high on your thighs. You cinch it with a belt of woven gold thread and tassels, then slide your feet into Hiroko’s sandals.

“Come,” she beckons and then she dabs scented oil onto your skin where Katsuki might linger – behind your ears, in the hollow of your throat, the valley between your breasts. She removes the gold collar from her own neck and places it around yours.

“Should I mark your skin as well?” she asks sarcastically, eyeing your ankle. Hiroko’s bares your family’s mark, permanently tattooed to signal her as a slave.

“That seems a bit unnecessary,” you reply, smirking at your companion. “The marks he will leave on my body will be well worn.”

Hiroko rolls her eyes as you smooth down the fabric around your thighs. You admire yourself in the mirror as you speak. 

“In any case,” you say, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You of all people should know.”

Before she can respond, you turn around so that your companion may gaze upon your completed appearance. “Do I look a slave?” you ask.

“No,” she says. “You look a Roman in slave’s clothing. As always.”

You smile. “For tonight, it will do.”

i. Pablo Neruda, "Every Day You Play..."

a/n :: I’ve been trying to write this for literal years and I think I’ve found the motivation. But, if you’ve read something similar to this chapter before, no you haven’t :)

Also, I have big plans for this fic, so if you’d like to see more, please let me know!

[nanowrimo]

What Books To Read at Each Stage of Writing Your Novel

Have you ever wondered what books to read while writing your novel? In this article, Ph.D. and NaNo writer Ursula Saqui offers books to read at every stage of your novel.

With all the craft books available, you might ask yourself, "Should I save a cat, outline using the snowflake method, or take advice from Stephen King?"

The question is also what book to read when. For example, read about subplots when you start writing, and you might get so overwhelmed that you stop altogether. Or, if you draft your story without knowing genre expectations, you'll have to make significant revisions later.

The following are a few of my favorite books and where they best fit into the writing process.

Before you start writing 

The books you read before writing should deconstruct common myths (e.g., suffering is necessary for good writing) that could distract you while also getting you into an optimistic (yet realistic) mindset about the work ahead.

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert is the answer to gut-punching questions like "Who am I to be writing this?" that arise in the gap between having an idea and getting it onto paper. Gilbert offers advice on serious topics such as courage, permission, and persistence while playing the role of your adventurous friend tugging at your sleeve, saying, "Let's go. It will be fun." You will finish this book with a plan to handle fear, rejections, and slumps.

Next, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird will help you get your pen ready with chapters about the necessity of writing "Shitty First Drafts" and how to focus on writing what you care about ("The Moral Point of View"). By taking Lamott's advice, you will get your intuition back and start trusting yourself even on the first draft.

While you are writing 

Now you have confidence, strategies for dealing with roadblocks, and some words written. But, whether you are a pantser or a plotter, you will get stuck and need to fix gaps and edit.

If you want a clear explanation of terms such as "plot point" and "inciting incident," the mechanics of story arcs, and an easy structure for writing scenes, then James Scott Bell's Plot & Structure is the best reference. With 14 chapters on technique, writing exercises, and a checklist of critical points, this book offers advice that you can immediately implement and improve your writing.

Matt Bell's Refuse to be Done also offers concrete advice about things such as creating characters and reusing settings in Section One. However, the biggest benefits come in Sections Two and Three. Section Two guides your first draft to a structurally sound second draft through re-outlining and rewriting. Section Three takes your second draft through multiple editing passes to get you to a final draft that is agent-ready.

After you are done writing 

When your book is nearly ready for publication, Courtney Maum's Before and After the Book Deal will be a must-read. She answers such practical questions as how authors get paid and how to survive book tours and trickier ones such as how to handle resentment when other authors don't write a blurb for your book and what to do when you hate your book cover.

Finally, whether or not you end up with a book deal, The Way of the Writer by Charles Johnson will be an excellent read after you finish your novel. It takes you out of the frenzy and reminds you about the fundamentals: the call to write, devotion to the craft, and the pleasure of words. His longevity as a writer and teacher is inspiring and reminds us that we are writers beyond any one work, published or not, as long as we keep putting words to the page.

Ursula Saqui, Ph.D., is a consultant and researcher by day and creative writer by night with works in The Daily Drunk and Multiplicity Magazine. Her current novel in progress is a thriller, The Mancari Murders, which she started during NaNoWriMo 2021. When she is not drinking tea, writing, or hiking, she is shooing any one of their four cats off her desk. You can find her on Twitter at @UrsulaSaqui.

[simplyotometrash]

Saw your recent hc- is it okay if I request the dateables reacting to a gn mc who (also) gets cold easily? :0

Absolutely! I would love to do this for you! I don't have LOTS of experience writing the dateables, I especially struggle with Barbatos DX

Dateables x gender-neutral MC

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

MC Gets Cold Easily

Diavolo:

He never really knew before you two started seeing each other romantically.

Man lives to work, despite his carefree nature, so it's no surprise that he didn't know this about you.

So when you were in the castle with him and suddenly stuck your hands up his shirt, he was a little more than shocked.

"MC, are you alright? The castle is very warm but your hands are freezing! Do you need the heat to be raised more?"

Needless to say, he's a very caring boyfriend who just worries about you.

You explain that you get cold easily and that it's perfectly normal for you, and he is significantly less worried.

It did also occur to him that you are always a bit chillier than he is simply because demons have a higher body temperature than humans.

He's just a big golden retriever of a man.

If you ask him to warm you up, he'll do it no matter what.

Working on papers? Come sit in his lap!

Sitting on his throne? His arms are waiting!

He doesn't even flinch at night when he feels your cold appendages against him, he actually thinks the cold of your skin feels quite nice against his hot skin!

Barbatos:

He had a feeling when he would catch you rubbing your hands in an attempt to warm your hands and fingers up.

He would always offer you gloves and ask if you needed anything.

"MC, it may be normal for you but please don't hesitate to call upon me if you're too cold."

You two are together quite often at the castle and he grows to notice when you begin getting chilly.

He'll prepare you warm drinks and choose cups that transfer the heat to your hands.

He seems to come out of nowhere with a blanket just for you.

He can't always physically warm you up himself, he's a busy man serving the Demon Prince after all. He can't drop his duties on a whim no matter how much he wants to.

But he always seems to know that you're cold and he has something for you without you ever needing to ask.

Now, this isn't to say he won't be the one warming you up when he doesn't have duties to attend to.

He's very happy and willing to hold you in his arms to warm you up manually that way.

He often lets you wear his gloves when it's just the two of you together.

He works very hard to ensure you're never cold for very long.

Solomon:

You pressed your icy hands to his neck when you sneaked up behind him one day.

You thought it'd be a funny prank to pull.

He tried not to flinch.

He flinched.

"MC, why are your hands like ice? The Devildom is often a very warm place."

You explained that you got cold easily, ever since you were a child.

He did wonder if you had an underlying condition and wasn't hesitant to inquire about your medical history in order to cross that off the list of causes.

You ask him to warm you up and he feels flattered.

He'll wrap you up against his side using his cloak and you'll be quite toasty.

I think he's also a very warm person, normal human body temperature, but he just seems to run warm.

He also sets to work crafting a potion for you to drink whenever he's unable to keep you warm with his own body heat.

He doesn't want you to suffer throughout the day when he can't hold you against him. He even ensures the potion doesn't taste bad.

Simeon:

You two were in Purgatory Hall spending time together.

It became a staple in your routine the closer you got with Simeon.

He had noticed your frequently cold hands while the two of you were merely friends, though he never asked you why. He figured you were just colder naturally.

But you two started dating and you started asking him to warm you up.

"MC," he said one day while you were snuggled against him. "Are you just naturally cold? I've noticed you always feel much colder than others."

You tell him that you've always gotten cold easily, there was never any reason why.

He never asked again. He didn't need to. He knew all that he needed to know.

Simeon doesn't complain about the coldness of your skin, especially when you press your cold hands against his bare sides.

It doesn't seem to faze him.

He'll often make you tea, just like Barbatos, to help warm you up.

He has brought your hands up and blown warm air onto them. It was quite endearing.

Never hesitate to tell him that you're cold. He wants to make sure you get warm quickly.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Monday: Jak and Daxter

Meddling Mar au: In Which Jak's younger self had no intention of staying in the past

The Rift Rider disappeared through the gate, and already Jak felt a sense of loss. There was, he decided, something darkly ironic about the kid turning out to be his own former self. It meant that he really was the only person who unconditionally cared about him. Kind of pathetic sounding when he thought about it that way.

"I should've warned him about Errol," Jak realized after a moment, heart twisting in his chest. "I didn't warn him about Errol!"

"Errol?" Keira looked confused.

"You couldn't, Jak," Samos said sternly. "If he knew and remembered the past, it would jeopardize the future. Everything must play out as fate has designed it."

Something cold wormed through Jak's gut as he turned slowly to face the sage. "You knew what was going to happen to me," he realized, "You were just okay with what they did? You couldn't even try to warn me?!"

Samos leaned on his staff and gave Jak a disapproving look. "I told you "be ready for whatever happens". It's not my fault you never listen to me!"

The dark eco was rising in him, depleted and exhausted though it was. Jak struggled to keep his voice level, and even so it came out as a low growl.

"You let me get into that craft knowing Errol was going to kidnap me off the street and experiment on me for two years. You sent that innocent little kid back in time knowing he's gonna suffer the same thing."

He drew away from his old mentor in disgust. "What makes you different from Kor?"

"Now that's going too far!" Samos gasped.

Behind him, Keira stood frozen. Numbly, she whispered, "Errol did that to you?"

Daxter grimaced. "You never noticed how that pea-brained peacock talked to Jak?"

"Precursors..." Keira dropped to crouch on the ground, holding her head in her hands. "Jak, I-"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off suddenly by the glow of the Rift Gate intensifying. All at once, something shot out of the portal and over their heads, landing with a spectacular crash. They all whirled to find what appeared to be the Fisherman's boat from Sandover, with some extra bits welded on. It was all thoroughly smashed now, but Jak could have sworn he saw a Time Map affixed to the prow.

"Ah-ha, oof, that smarts!" a voice groaned from the wreckage.

Jak blinked. "Uncle Erasmus?!" He sputtered.

"Eh? Whozzat, who said that?" Parts clattered and a skinny arm appeared. "Pah! So much dust! I say, Mar m'lad, do you see my monocle down there?"

It was the Explorer! But what in the name of all the Precursors was he doing here?

Jak waded through the rubble and began tossing debris aside. His adoptive uncle's dusty face appeared only a moment later, looking older than he remembered.

"Who? Who? What?" The man squinted at Jak for a moment, then let out a jovial laugh. "Bless my soul! Jak! You made it after all!"

Erasmus the Explorer hauled himself up to slap Jak heartily on the back. "Poor form, y'know, leaving your poor old uncle without a word like that -- and not telling me about the tyke, wot! Look at you, lad! Barely grown at all in five years? What sort of rubbish have you been eating?!

"What the...five- five years?" Jak stammered, "It's only been two!"

Erasmus jumped like he'd been electrocuted. "Sink me!" He exclaimed, "Elocution? Verbosity? Sink me, things have changed!"

The older man turned to call towards the rattling still coming from the wrecked boat. "See here, you young rip? Keep practicing and you'll get to it eventually like your brother, eh?"

His what.

Out from under what used to be a bench seat popped a head of tousled green curls. Before Jak had time to properly feel relief, a scrawny child no older than eight or nine hauled himself from the wood and metal, brushing off his arms in annoyance.

"Yeah yeah, Uncle E. Or maybe you keep up practicing and you'll learn to say more than "I want food", huh?" The child signed quickly and fluidly, but with more than a little sass in his gestures.

"What the-?!" Daxter tightened his grip on Jak’s shoulder to keep from falling off. "Jak! It's- It's-!"

"It's the Kid!" Jak whispered.

His younger self looked up upon hearing Daxter's voice. An instant of confusion crossed his face, followed by recognition. Then his eyes narrowed.

In an instant, he'd shot across the space between them to land a vicious kick to Jak’s shin. Jak yelped and grabbed the boy's arm.

"What was that for?!"

"That's for sending me away with Grandpa Green!" The little boy retorted before winding up for another kick. "You're the worst brother ever!"

"Hey!" Offended on Jak’s behalf, Daxter leaped down to land on the boy’s head. "Show some respect, Junior! We busted our tails to find somewhere without any Krimzon Guards or metalheads!"

"Metalheads?" Erasmus interrupted, "Oh! Those creatures that have been trying to eat Sandover? Hm. The name's a bit on the nose, isn't it?"

Keira blanched. "What do you mean "trying to eat Sandover?!"

Samos hurried forward. "That's impossible! The metalheads didn't enter Sandover until the day we left!"

The younger version of Jak eyed Samos suspiciously. "Yeah, and you dropped us off the same day, genius."

Samos blinked and turned to Jak. "What did he say?" he demanded.

"Uh..." Jak stared down at the boy. "Did you set the Time Map coordinates to the last used jump, or the one before that?"

The green sage paled. "Did that shrub pick the wrong coordinates?" he gasped, "That puts everything in danger! The past- the future!"

Daxter groaned. "Oh don't tell me we gotta do more time travel to fix this! If I gotta defeat the Acherons again, so help me-!"

The smaller Jak -- the one the Explorer had called "Mar" -- pried Daxter off his head and set him down gently.

"Those dark sages? Uncle E told me how you guys beat them up to free the Lurkers."

The Explorer surveyed the cavern around them as the Rift Gate shut down and collapsed. He leaned on his walking stick and nodded several times in satisfaction.

"Never been to this place," he mused, more to himself than to the others. "At last! Places in the world I haven't been!"

Erasmus hobbled over to Jak and squeezed his arm affectionately. "Awfully glad I found you, young chap! Look after that rascally brother of yours, eh? I'm off on a new expedition!"

"Wait-! You can't-!"

Erasmus wasn't listening. Whistling cheerfully, he dug around the shattered boat and came up with a wicked looking harpoon. He settled it on his shoulder and all but sashayed into the tunnels.

"He's gonna get himself killed!" Daxter squawked, "There's still metalheads in there!"

Little Jak -- Mar? -- scoffed. "He's okay. I told Uncle E and the Warrior how you used to kill those. If you harpoon the gem from a distance, they can't get to you."

Well. Jak supposed that was fair enough. If Uncle Erasmus really had been watching over his younger self for five years, he would've had to have learned how to defend them from metalheads.

Samos began to pace, on the verge of panic. "This isn't what was supposed to happen," he mumbled, "He isn't supposed to- and he knows his name-!"

He turned sharply. "Jak, bring the boy, quickly! We must consult with Onin!"

Jak and Daxter exchanged meaningful looks. "Why? You can't throw him back in again, it's too late for that."

"Time will be thrown out of order! The timeline will fracture!" Samos tugged at his ears in distress. "Jak, you must trust me!"

Jak stiffened. He took a step back, placing himself between the sage and his time twin.

"I did," he said quietly.

No more blind trust. Whatever was going on here, Jak would figure it out without meddling seers and sages. He'd already gone through hell for them once. He wasn't about to let it happen twice.

"Dax, Kid, let's go."

He had no idea what he was doing, what they would do next. But it had to be better than staying in the ruined nest with someone who had for all intents and purposes betrayed him. He would untangle it all later, when they were somewhere safe.

They had time. The worst was over now, right?

[lesbiansforboromir]

I'm sick and in bed and that means I get to be mean to Faramir. SO! Whenever the topic of his character comes up (who he is as a person and what he values etc) the only quote from him people ever seem to use is the 'I love that which they defend' schpiel, despite Faramir having... A LOT MORE quotes about his worldviews than just that one. But fine! Let's talk about JUST THIS one quote and how it reflects on Faramir.

The quote (as used in gifsets, fanfic and artworks) is written thus; 'but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory, I love only that which they defend.' The assumption being that ‘that which they defend’ is referencing the people of Gondor, thereby affirming Faramir as a pacifist who loves his people, yes?

But the thing is no one needs to make assumptions about what ‘they defend’ means, that quote is cut off mid sentence! It ACTUALLY continues; 'that which they defend: the city of the Men of Numenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom.'

See here, Faramir isn't talking about the PEOPLE he and his soldiers are defending. The population of Gondor and indeed Middle Earth at large that is being defended in Gondor’s perpetual war is a complicated mix of ancestries that include the middle men Faramir later despairs of emulating. They are certainly not all part of ‘the men of numenor’ nor are most at all invested in Gondor’s ancientry etc. He is talking about the political entity of Gondor as a remnant of the lost Numenor that he so idolises and the history it represents. It is a nationalist sentiment.

To Faramir, 'glorifying war' (as he perceives it) is an aspect of lower men, of lesser culture, not befitting high men. Not going to war mind you, it is just the glorification of such that he despises, the fact that it is a necessity of these times that warriors are lauded; “For as the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts. Such is the need of our days.” 

It is already dismissive and callous to ascribe a LOVE of war to the Rohirrim, who appear just as aggrieved by loss and suffering as anyone, but what Faramir calls ‘love of war’ is really just the preparedness for it and those who respect others for that preparation and practice. The Rohirrim have never gone to war as a sport. He means duelling, wrestling and encouraging people to learn to defend themselves because as he says! ‘Such is the need of our days’. 

But those things, to him, are uncivilised, the mark of “we too have become more like to them [the Rohirrim], and can scarce claim any longer the title High. We are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things.” So Faramir, in his claim of not loving a sword for it’s sharpness etc, is distancing himself from those men, showing in fact a callousness for the people he protects, holding idealised concepts of racial superiority and nationalism over defence. 

Denethor accuses him of just this! 'your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle. [-] but in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death [-] with the death of your father and of all your people whom it is your part to protect'. Notably, Faramir replies, 'So be it'.

Anti-war sentiment is fine! Yes war is bad in general and shouldn’t be entered into lightly. But the message in LotR is not so simple and specifically Faramir's reasons for being anti-war-GLORIFICATION are not so selfless or noble as people like to believe. The war in LotR is not some political mess organised by higher powers and forcing those lower than them to suffer for their inscrutible machinations, it is a war of necessity in defense against (as Faramir puts it) “a destroyer who would devour all.” The wars that were for self gain and expansionism were what enriched Gondor and allowed it to become the ‘Queen among Queens’ that Faramir is yearning for. How can one be anti-war and yet idolise the colonialist Gondor of history? You can't.

The Gondor of old that is 'feared only as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise' that Faramir wants to emulate does not exist and Gondor's beauty was always supported by its King-lead military conquests to the east and south. But Faramir still wishes 'the silver crown return', for the King to come again and for this to somehow return his country to it’s former glory. Only under the Steward’s rule were Gondor's borders receded by design, and under Aragorn it proceeds to 'subjugate the South' once more. Minas Tirith is certainly at peace in the future however, it does not see siege or desperate battle again, which is the peace Faramir is looking for, 'Minas Anor again as of old, full of light, high and fair.'

So! Faramir is not Anti-war, nor does he love his people. Faramir resents the loss of the illusion of a wise paternalistic Gondor 'queen among queens' that does not have to bother with such lowly pursuits as war for the sake of self preservation and the praise that comes with it. HE LOVES ONLY THAT WHICH THEY DEFEND! (The great history of passive and magnanimous Gondorian supremacy that he has made up in his own head) I am so dizzy and my heart is beating way too fast I hate being sick adieu

[yandere-daydreams]

absolutely obsessed with the idea of an all powerful god-like creature keeping their darling in little a pocket dimension. ur taken care of, u have everything u could possibly want, but the place is maybe just a little too perfect and homey and no matter how far u run into the surrounding forest u always end up back at the the quaint little cottage

tw - imprisonment, altered reality, manipulation, slight dehumanization, generalized eldritch-fucking.

It'd be fun if the mysterious, eldritch, omnipotent creature keeping you locked away from the world you belong to never thought to actually sit down and explain the kind of situation you're in, either, the kind of dimension they pulled and shaped into something resembling a proper home. Why would they? Humans are so simple, so quaint, made so happy by pretty things and pleasing sensations, easy to keep content with soft beds and good food and a shelter that keeps you at a comfortable distance from the climate and conditions you haven't yet learned to overcome. They can provide all of that for you, craft a world where you'll never know hunger, where you'll always have somewhere warm and safe to hide yourself away, where there's just enough hardship to keep you occupied while they're away, tending to things you couldn't possibly understand. You have everything you need to keep you happy, to keep you healthy. They're willing to give you everything you could ever want, and in return, all they ask is that you stay put and try to enjoy it.

And you're such a sweet little thing, too confused and too timid to ask any questions when you wake up in your new bed, to do anything but cuddle into their chest and let them hold you for another few minutes, another few hours, until they've had their fill. Even when you find your voice, you speak quietly, never yelling or cursing them out as you ask where you are, who they are, when you'll be allowed to go home. They do their best to answer you, to hold you on their lap even as you squirm and shift, to be patient, and gentle, and everything they have to be while attempting to calm the emotions of a being so prone to extremes. Like any good caretaker, they nurse you through your shock, your stupor, letting you poke and prod at your new surroundings, shy away from their touch, steal and hide anything you might be able to use as a weapon, as if anything in this realm could possibly escape their notice, as if anything in this realm could possibly hurt them. You're skittish, unsure, but they try to be gentle with you, regardless. It's only a matter of time until you realize that you're safe, here. That you don't have anything to worry about.

They let you slip away, when you gather up the confidence to tear yourself out of their arms, scramble through the unlocked door, and escape into the forest they've used to decorate your little world. They let you run until you realize that no one's following you, until you realize that there's nothing but the forest, no running water, no singing birds, no cars or voices or footsteps, other than your own, of course. You don't turn back, of course, don't call out for them, but you don't have to, not when they were so careful, not when every direction only leads back to your home, to your cottage, to them. You can spend as much time as you want plotting out the land, looking for something else, and you should, it's better that you get it out of your system now than try to contain your curiosity and suffer for it, later on. It's only a matter of time until you get tired, until you get cold, until you come home and let them show how generous they can be, how loving they can be. It's only a matter of time until your nature gets the better of you and you retreat to what you recognize, to what makes sense.

It's only a matter of time until you realize that, to put it bluntly, you really don't have any other choice.

[polkanight]

Can we talk about Soren? I want to talk about Soren.

(I may eventually talk about Claudia in another post but I’m not certain)

(also SPOILERS FROM TDP SEASON4)

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So, I’m watching tdp from season 1 and knowing how things unfold, my stomach churns by seeing how Viren treats BOTH Soren and Claudia, but I want to focus on Soren bc he’s closer to my experience as the child of a narcissist parent.

Being the child of a NP (someone who’s emotionally immature and relies on their children to meet their needs), on your teen years, felt like walking on thin ice 24/7. I never knew what would trigger a critic, a snark comment about my body, my intelligence, my ability to compromise and to finish tasks, etc.

I was, more than once, called silly, dumb, aloof, to watch my weight, to watch how I dress, etc, etc. all of that coated with the premise of love, of “I’m teaching you how to do things”, of “I’m your tutor, your mentor, your only friend, your only safe harbor”, someone, the only one I could “rely on”.

This comes at the cost of the development of our sense of self-worth. As child of NP parents notice this, we’re taken by an anger, a strong desire to put up distance from NP and at the same time the utter panic of not being able to do it, being triggered when we get a message or a visit by NP. It's also very interesting to see how Soren and Claudia developed these issues in very distinct ways, but both triggered by being raised as someone who most likely is a NP.

(look at him defying the idea that magic- the very craft of Viren, the sole identity of Claudia - is something all-positive to be ever-cherished)

Growing up, we learn that our mood revolves around our NP, and no matter what we do, we know we’ll never get the approval or even the sympathy of the NP. They carry the room with them, their needs, ideas and wants must always be a priority, even if it means dragging the house down.

I’ll quote this:

“Until they have a need that’s being met.”

And here my Soren dam cracked in s4, and my heart races and my breath catches for a fictional little boy.

You should stop if you don’t want Spoilers of S4.

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I had a really REALLY REALLY hard time when Soren finds Claudia and I anticipated that he would eventually find out Viren was alive, but I honestly wasn’t ready for his talk with Claudia, and I also have a few cents to spare.

Claudia tells Soren that “Humans understand suffering because it goes back over generations.”

And Soren is trying to his deep, beautiful, bright core to break this cycle of resentment, violence and remorse. (mygod he’s so precious god help me)

Then, Claudia comes in with the (involuntary/naturalized) family blackmail.

“Without magic you would be dead. Without dad’s magic.”

The guilty trip, being indebted, being trapped in the cycle, but we want out, and to hell with what we owe. We owe them nothing, because they took our sense of self and we build it from the entangled emotional mess that it is our heart.

I can see his face looking up at the image of his until-then deceased parent, I think I will carry this for a long while because I had no idea how it would affect me, but the fact is that more than once, a child of a NP parent will think of how things will be by the time the NP is “gone for good”.

I give zero fucks if people think this is ungrateful, spiteful, selfish, mean, cruel, but the fact is that being stripped of your self-steem and of the ability to grow to the things you love, to grow to life, is the spiteful, selfish and mean thing.

When he tells Claudia that they don’t have to do what Viren wants, he’s expressing a well-known mixture of pain, guilt and relief by thinking the NP is dead.

They aren’t around anymore, the weight of their impossible standards are over, we are free from their grasp, we can pursue our passions, we can thrive in our relationships with people from out of our blood relatives circle. If it seems exaggerated, it’s because these are all things that the NP meet with cynicism. There is “no life, no real friends, nothing can replace your family”. And I say that’s bullshit.

Whereas I have relatives that I truly love, I have friends who have provided growth, patience, love and support, we have learned from each other, we have fought and forgive, we give each other space when needed, we are not seen as an extension of their self, we can be a proper person.

Can you understand how much this means to Soren? How much he thrives by being around Callum, whom is endlessly curious about magic but at the same time wary of it, by finding purpose in protecting Ezran and by fighting alongside Rayla. Soren knows and feels how he changed, he’s more confident to trust in his sense with animals (this is so beautiful too, I can’t even), and he is smart, he has such wisdom, and this is shown since s1.

I never understood people who treat him as a dumb annoying comic relief. He is the very soul of the changes that need to happen in the conflict between Xadia and Katolis, and I only hope that Viren eats an entire humble pie so he proves he’s not actually a NP and that he acts the way he does out of pure desperation and hubris.

I truly hope Viren sees his lovely, smart and incredible boy for what he really is, and not as an extension of his hurt self.

[sortofanobsession]

To Cry for the Moon Part 10 (Moon Knight x Female Eternal!Reader)

Author's Note: The one is going to be tough, but I promise it will pay off. We actually do have a plan for this story.

Please do not take, copy, or translate without talking to me first. Reblogs, likes, and comments are encouraged. But anything else please message me first. I work really hard on these, I was a writing apprentice for a comic book writer and learned this craft despite having issues I had to overcome, like essential tremors, a mild reading disability, and aphantasia. I put my heart and soul into everything I write. Thank you.

The story idea, and most of the voicemails to Steven & Marc were written by @jupitersmoon167 (the original post I saw is here!) Also realized I should probably add content warnings, so I did and tagged them. If you think I missed a warning please send me an ask. I try to tw tag even the tiniest thing so no one has to suffer if I can help it.

Y/N = Your Name. Y/N/N = Your Nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her. Story is 3rd person POV. Italics are the reflected alter talking.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Tagged: @rosaren2498, @yuugenmomo, @faefanatic,  @urlocallsimp @assassinsasha23, @queenariesofnarnia, @rmoonstoner,  @crypticruler, @animelover18, @philiasoul, @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol, @22carolina08, @preciousbabypeter

Primary Pairing: Steven Grant x Eternal!Reader, Marc Spector x Eternal!Reader, Khonshu x Ma'at!Reader

Content Warning: Mental Illness, Injury, Death, Violence, Fighting

Word Count: 2k+ (for those curious the whole fic wc is 17,332. And it is nowhere near done lol)

WIP Series Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 11, Part 12

Part 10: Seemingly the End

After getting off the plane painful memories came rushing back. Y/N had not been back here since the Eternals separated. It was a painful memory but she pushed through it. After taking a short trip to a small city, Y/N pulls out her phone. She makes one last call before they venture too far from the jungle-surrounded city to have signal. She calls Steven and isn't surprised to hear his outgoing voicemail again.

“Screw the theatrics, I don’t even know if you’re even going to get this. We’re in the middle of the god damn Amazon because Druig thought it would be a grand fucking idea to place his cult here of all places. He’s a stubborn bastard, but if we’re gonna pull this off we need him. I'm sorry, Marc, Steven. I am so sorry. Osiris can tell you what is happening, all Khonshu has to do is ask. Khonshu was more right about me than he could have ever known. And well, I meant it earlier when I said you should talk to your dad, you uh, never know when he’ll kick the bucket, so to speak. I miss you guys, I wish I could talk-” she lost signal as they got further from the city. She hoped enough of the message went through. She put her phone away and took to the air to attempt to narrow down Druig's commune location.

Her feet touch the ground as they near the modest commune. She could feel the people around them. Their hearts are kind and welcoming. She watches the people around her as the others talk. They all feel like good people. She can feel their loyalty. It's quiet and content. Her focus is drawn and she feels herself truly smile for the first time since leaving London when Druig finally walks out.

"Please," Druig says with a smirk, "Make yourselves at home." 

He studied Y/N as she got closer. "Who do I need to control off a cliff for taking the stars from your eyes?" Druig asks as she finally near him.

"Wouldn't kill him, or them, if you did, but you'd probably still enjoy it," Sprite told him. Druig raised a brow.

"Doesn't matter," Y/N says, knowing it was so much more than her issues with Marc and Steven. "It's good to see you." It wasn't a lie. She always missed Druig. He was more her brother than the others. Druig could always understand how overwhelming her powers were. How being surrounded by people was a blessing and a curse. He could feel the minds around him like a constant buzz. Y/N always felt the same thing but instead of minds, it was hearts. Having to sit back and watch the wars and conflicts as time went on weighed on her heart as it did his mind. They had an understanding of things that the others just couldn't comprehend. The heart and the mind were vital to human existence after all. The only difference was he could control minds, she had to judge hearts as is. And honestly, he thinks he was given the easier task. 

Druig rolls his eyes but hugs her, he didn't need to read her mind to know how broken she was. "Told you that you should have come with me. They would have loved you. No one would have broken your heart." He gestures to the members of his commune. 

"Ask me again after you talk to everyone else," she tells him. 

"I might just hold you to it." Druig grins.

"I might just let you." Y/N hugs him again.

Druig chuckles as he pulls away, and goes to the main hall with her just behind him. 

She knew he was stubborn but she had hoped he wouldn't resist them so much. He gets under everyone's skin so easily sometimes. And Ikaris made it easy. It didn't help Sersi's phone went off. It made Y/N want to check hers, but she knew she wouldn't have anything. Marc didn't want anything to do with her. No need to waste the battery. Instead she reached out with her powers to feel the community Druig had cultivated for years. They were so content. It wasn't easy knowing if the team failed, these people would die. Her attention was drawn back by Ikaris saying Druig was wasting their time. Druig hadn't agreed to join them. She wasn't really surprised. She had been hopeful, but not unrealistic.

Y/N follows Druig out. "You told me to ask you to stay again," he says. 

"I did," Y/N replied.

"Would you?" He asks.

"Not if it means I'd just have to stay here and watch them all die without trying to stop it. Osiris and Isis believe we can stop it. I have let them down enough ready, I have to try."

"And you're here to convince me to help," he states.

"I'm here because I missed you and I would feel better if you were there. Is it so bad I wanted to see one of my best friends one last time before we all might die or get reset? Yes, I was hoping you would help us, but I'm not going to make you." 

"You still wouldn't join me, would you? You love your human too much, the one that broke your heart. You could always bring him."

"His mind would drive you up a wall. They have at least 3 personalities and Khonshu in their head."

"Sounds crowded," Druig admits. "But does sound amusing. Haven't had a new challenge in centuries."

"If you want a challenge then join us, forcing a celestial to sleep, I don't think you could find a bigger challenge."

"I see what you did there," Druig says, shaking his head.

"And you know me too well to know I can't just let humanity end because of Arishem's lies. I've always been willing to die for the truth, only this time I genuinely might."

"Try not to," he says. Before they can say much more, they hear Sersi shouting. Deviants. Deviants had found them. Y/N takes off running, summoning her wings as she did. She flies and joins Kingo in trying to buy the others enough time to get the villagers clear of the fight. As Kingo focuses on keeping one of them busy, Y/N tries to keep them away from where Sersi is leading the people. She shouts for Sersi when the other Eternal is hit while trying to fortify the building. Y/N immediately launches a round of feathers at the beast to draw it away from her friend. Her attacks are joined by rifle fire and her heart sinks when she sees a number of villagers under Druig’s control shooting at the beast. She goes to volley another attack when Druig jumps over the deviant and shoots at it. 

“Seriously?!” She shouts as she drops down to block the creature's tail as it swipes at the humans. Her wings took the brunt of the blow. She hopes that Druig is paying enough attention so that she doesn’t end up with a bullet in her back while trying to defend his people. She doesn’t even have enough time between blows to get a hit in. She focuses everything she has on staying ahead of the deviant's tail. She was starting to think that splitting her powers may have actually been a mistake when she feels herself losing her footing. Unable to get into the air was limiting what she could do. She tries to summon a blade but the deviant shifts faster than she can, wraps its tail around her leg and slams her into the dirt, before she can get her wings back up to protect herself, the jaws of the beast latch onto her side. Ripping a scream from her as it does. 

The only reason it doesn’t kill her is that Sersi traps it in a metallic tree and Druig pulls her out from the shocked creature’s gaping maw. She pushes him away. She doesn’t have the energy to tell him how stupid he was being. She left Sersi to talk sense into him. Y/N took to the sky to get a better chance for an attack. The pain in her side was unbelievable, but she focused on attacking as the deviant broke free from its improvised cage. She’d never been so glad to see Ikaris in her life when he shows up to take on the deviant now heading for Druig. He took the beast out swiftly with his eye beams, before going after another. She tried to give him aerial support, but it was becoming harder and harder to build up enough energy for an attack. She feels water hit her as Sersi battles a deviant by hand. Y/N is just as shocked as the rest of the group when Sersi transforms the deviant into a tree. 

Y/N begins to feel her wings fade and flicker, and her vision grows fuzzy around the edges. She knows she won’t last much longer. Her heart is beating too fast and the bite on her side has already soaked her shirt and jacket in blood. She knew her phone was probably smashed in her pocket. There went her chance at telling Steven and Marc goodbye. She tries to lower herself gently to the ground but her knees buckle and she falls. She hears shouting and feels hands on her. They move her and she stares at the tops of the trees. She wishes she could see more of the sky. She loves the sky. She loves flying. It felt natural. She wishes she could see the moon, one last time. To know that maybe, just maybe she'd get to say goodbye. She tried, but all that came out was a choked sob. She wanted to tell them all that she would see them in the next life. It wasn't until hands gripped her face and brushed back her tears that she focused on the figures now blocking small bits of the canopy.

She tried to reach for them and her blood-soaked hand was pulled into Sersi's own. She shook her head at Druig as he tried to help her. Her other hand gestures for them to come closer. They do. She summons up as much energy as she can. "Save them for me." 

"We will," Sersi says. 

She leans her head up with the last strength she has and bumps Druig's forehead earning a sad laugh. Her head drops back down but he returns the gesture.

"You've got nothing to worry about now," he says. Her strength is gone, she closes her eyes and knows it's over. A fleeting thought of goodbye and then darkness. 

Druig was on his feet as soon as he knew she was gone. He looked at the destruction around them and the blood on his hands. Sersi squeezes the limp hand in hers before she stands up. She needs to think. She has to call Steven. Sersi feels another piece of her heart shatter. But before she can do anything she's called because Y/N isn't the only loss. Gilgamesh had fallen defending Thena. And Thena was inconsolable.

Egyptian Underworld 

Osiris hears shouting. He approaches the scales as the chains of the plate holding the feather break. He picks up the feather and it feels wrong. Very wrong. Too much like a normal feather and the ethereal glow dims slightly. That was not good. He gently sets it aside. "Time to intervene," he says and gestures for Anubis to follow him as he opens the gates and they pass through. Summoning their avatars he opens the path to Y/N. "Oh little feather, what did you do." He nods at Anubis who has his avatar carefully lift Y/N and they return to the temple. "Fix her up as best you can. Her master may have forsaken her, but we shall not. Teach those Celestials that they have no more power over death than we do."

Osiris was quick to retrieve the feather of truth, encouraged by the slight glow that it still held. It was her, she had told him. Now he would use it to put things back the way they should be. A devoted goddess like Ma'at deserved at least that. If she was too far gone and beyond his reach, he would have Anubis do what he was best at, what he was worshipped for. But Osiris felt it would work. They would not be saying goodbye to Earth. It was not their time yet.

Ruins of Druig's Commune

"Where is she?" Kingo asks as he goes to retrieve Y/N to place her alongside Gilgamesh.

"What?" Druig pushes past him to find Y/N's body gone.

"You're sure she was dead?" Ikaris asks and earns a vicious glare from Druig. 

"Yes," Druig spat.

"Maybe an animal-"

"Don't-" Druig warns.

"Druig," Kingo starts. 

"Then we have to find her," Sersi says. 

Sprite and Thena stay with Gilgamesh while the others search and find nothing. No signs of tracks, no trace. Nothing. They eventually decide that they had to give Gilgamesh a proper send-off. And Sersi still had something she needed to do.  

Once Sersi was able to clean her hands she found her phone and found Steven's number. She calls it. They don't answer, though she wasn’t surprised. They probably thought Y/N had borrowed her phone to call. So she left them a message she knew would destroy them if and when they do get it.

 "Steven, or Marc, it's Sersi, I…I hate having to do this in a voicemail. I would rather do this in person, or even in a real phone call, I…if we had more time I would do this in person, but we lost Y/N. Part of me hopes Khonshu knows, she always found it annoying when he boasted about knowing all that happened under the moon." Sersi let out a shaky laugh. "She…well, she fought to the end. She loved humanity, she loved you all. She loved you, both of you. She would want you to know."

Sersi hung up and just hoped the message got through. But she would find a way to reach them, to save them, and all of humanity. Druig was onboard now. They would end this for all of them. Their deaths would mean something.

Temple of the Gods

The first thing that registers to Y/N's mind is the cold. She feels cold, the cold stone beneath her makes her shiver.

"Welcome back, Ma'at," the voice of Isis' avatar says. "The goddess will be glad you pulled through." Y/N goes to speak but is hushed. She hears footsteps approaching followed by a whispered conversation she cannot process. Y/N finally opens her eyes but puts up no fight as she is lifted. The avatar of Anubis sets her back down but this time on a soft blanket that the goddess' avatar gently wraps around her. "You have been through quite the journey, and you need rest. Sleep now."

The next time she wakes Osiris is there, his avatar looms above her as he updates her on what has happened. Her family had lost another soul. Gilgamesh had fought and earned a warrior's death and were it up to Osiris he would be rewarded in his afterlife. Sadly, Gilgamesh, like Ajak, was beyond his reach. 

"But your feather saved you," he told her. "Your commitment to serving humanity in this life and the next is what brought you back. Your strength will hopefully return with time, but your heart beats again, and when the time comes you will show the Celestials that we gods are not to be underestimated. He sat the feather gently beside her, the faint glow although weaker than before still shown. "You have earned more time, feather. I know you will use it wisely."

She wakes again in a bed with soft light shining through the open window. "You are safe," the voice of Osiris' avatar spoke. "You will find everything you need in this room. Bathroom, if you feel like you have the strength is through there." He gestures to an open door. "You are safe here. Osiris will summon you when the time comes."

"I need to call my family, to call-"

"If you wish to help them you will not waste your energy," another voice spoke. She recognized the avatar for Horus. "You wish to join your friends again to fix things, do you not?"

"I do," she admits.

"Then do not waste your energy or tax your healing system with concerns that won't matter. You do not yet know if you can join them or if they will succeed. Why make them suffer your death twice?"

"And Khonshu has not graced us with his presence, even Taweret is surprised, but no need to worry the old bird over things he cannot change. Heal first, then you can right your wrongs."

[alice-angel12x]

Into our world

Inspired by @im-back-with-pink, and @the-caffeine-dumbass

Summary: A sickly reader (baker) has nothing better to do and is stuck at home. So why not waste time and play some games till the date of your next health check-up.

You sat in their bed as they scrolled through social media while texting friends. Suffering from rheumatic fever is the worst. It greatly weakened your heart and lungs, and the random but painful burst of pain in your joints has left you stuck at home. Luckily your family is very well off and you were waited on by many maids, leaving you little to no reason to leave your room.

Which got boring really fast. Your read every novel and manga series in your bedroom twice, draw an entires books worth of random art, sketches, and blueprints of complex crafts you wanted to do. But sadly, crafts work is not allowed in your room, you had a studio dedicated for that next door. Sadly rheumatic fever has you locked in your room, so no crafts, or in-person interactions with friends either. Though your kitty, Mittens was decent company.

But as her friends texted, they suggested that you play video games to pass the time. And to also get you hooked on games like them.

‘Alright, what game do you guys suggest?’ You text your friend.

‘ you should try this game called “Cookie run: Kingdom” its fun, cute, and you can decorate a kingdom. It also has a lot of cute characters’ your friend texted.

‘Are you talking about the game everyone is crazy about? And lots of cookie simping?’ You asked.

‘ you will b simping too soon’ your friend responds.

You sighed as they slowly opened their app store and downloaded the game, and down the rabbit hole, they fell. As You collected Cookies, decorated their Kingdom, and took care of each cookie they had, blissfully unaware of the hearts you capture from behind the screen.

--------------------------

The cookies behind the screen, the cookies grew fond of their player, or the baker they called them. They so wished to be by their baker’s side, so when the phone was off, they worked tirelessly to find a way to escape the digital world of their game.

“Come on! Is it Done Yet?!” A young cookie whined.

“Patients strawberry crepe cookie, this is a very dangerous spell,” Espresso Cookie sighed.

“Just a little longer everyone,” A calm and regal-looking Cookie said.

All the Cookies you collected stood in excitement as the time is finally close at hand.

-----------------------------

As You and Mittens sleep, your phone began to shine brilliantly as all the cookies began to pour out from the screen. The cookies were awed at the sights, and just how large the new world was around them as compared to their world.

When Suddenly the lights turned on, and the cookies turn to see their beloved Baker had awakened. As You woke up and took a sip of water, you heard a bounce of cheering on your left. Tuning to see a bunch of cookies smiling and calling out to you.

“Baker! Baker!” they called out as You just stared in complete confusion.

“Was my medicine switched up?” You groaned as they looked at their medicine bottle.

“Baker!” The cookies cheered as they began to climb onto the bed.

“Beloved baker it is so good to finally meet you,” Pure Vanilla cookie smiled as he stepped forward.

“Pure...Vanilla Cookie?” You yawned as you stare down at the cookie.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, baker,” Pv smiled.

You slowly reached out to touch the illusion, only to find that there was indeed a cookie in front of you. But sadly you were still too tired to stay awake as their eyes began to close and their mind drifted off.

------------------------------------------------

CRASH!!

You gasp awake at the sound of something breaking, as you jump awake. Looking around you see a broken flowerpot and standing at the scene of the crime was Custard Cookie, Pancake Cookie, and Chili pepper cookie. The three noticed that their baker has spotted them, and quickly try to hide from view. Know with a clearer mind, You only stared in shock that the actual cookie run characters are currently causing havoc in their room. Suddenly you felt something squishy in their hands, quickly looking down. There curled up in the palm of their hands was Squid Ink Cookie.

“I… Annoy?” the tiny octopus cookie asked shyly.

“Um no, you’re fine. Just surprised,” You smile softly, causing the squishy cookie to push into your palms more.

You smiled gently as you looked around your room and noticed all the cookies roaming around their room. You can only sit and wonder what are you going to do with all these cookies?

_____________

Continue?

MasterList

[belethlegwen]

Welcome, to the MASTERLIST POST!

[HEADER CREDIT TO: @chamomile-g-tea <;3] Hey everyone! My name is Belethlegwen, or Belle for short! (Please call me Belle, it's just so much easier) I'm a Giantess-leaning G/t fan who writes G/t fiction and enjoys art, writings, and getting to chat with people about G/t and other nerdy things. I currently have two active works ongoing over at the ol' AO3, (and one unfinished/abandoned, more explicit work that I won't be directly linking here).

The Stranding is my biggest work ever, even outside of the G/t fandom. It is currently being updated (roughly) weekly, and is still actively being written. Almost two years after a man named Henry suffers a shipwreck and is rescued by a woman named Melanie, the two left on a journey to try and return him home, only to suffer a shipwreck of their own. The good news? They made it, Henry is home and is among his own people again. The bad news? To him, and everyone else in his homeland, Melanie is over fifty feet tall. An out-of-time, out-of-place situation, Melanie has to navigate being integrated into a small military force for a nation that seems to be in a tense, fracturing peace with it's nearest neighbour, and also just navigate a world that has never had to deal with anyone or anything like her before. [I personally recommend reading until at least Chapter 12 - Nightmares before starting on The Rescue]

The Rescue is the prequel-piece to The Stranding, and is also currently being updated (roughly) weekly, and is still actively being written. Melanie travels to the beach after a storm, as she often does to find driftwood and debris that can be used for crafts to keep herself busy in her lonely life, and sees a ship in distress just off of the shore. Unable to believe what's happening, she is able to rescue a sailor from the nearly-doomed vessel and take him under her care.

She helps him adjust to life in her land, which is vastly different-- almost like a different time entirely-- from this own. The biggest obstacle to doing so, however, is that the man isn't even eight inches tall. [I personally recommend reading The Stranding up until Chapter 12 - Nightmares before beginning this work, but I am also not your real Dad and can not control you.]

ABOUT RECURSIVE FICS: Click Here

Here is a link to the SHORTS AND BONUS SCENE Masterlist Here is a link to the FanArt and Commissions MasterPost!

The Faerie Spell is a separate work of fiction from Melanie and Henry's adventures, happening in the same world as @adjacentperception's Rose & Laporte series.

Blurb: A first-person-perspective written work (at least thus far) following Daphne as she attempts to navigate a strange and upsetting curse where a Faerie has stolen parts of her essence so that the Fae can, whenever the mood seemingly strikes them, steal Daphne's height and attain a more human-like appearance to hide that they are a Faerie. While the spell is active, however, Daphne becomes 5.5 inches tall (give or take a few millimeters). [More is available in the synopsis on the Directory Page!]

Written by: @adjacentperception and @belethlegwen

What's left of a hero when everything is taken from him? What's left of a villain with no identity?

What's left of a man who has no choice but to save the symbol of a system he's fighting against?

Within a city constantly besieged by a super-power fueled war between Good vs Evil, a hero is captured by a powerful villain and their secret organization and forced to play part in a twisting and enigmatic plan; to tear down the systems in place that keep the League of Heroes in an ultimate seat of power to rival the government itself. But… is the system as good as it projects itself to be? Are the villains and their henchmen really as evil as the media says? Is it truly as simple as tearing it down, or does that simply open up space for a new, worse system to enter?

Is the harm we do when we believe we're helping mitigated merely by our wishes to be better? To create something more? To fix what we believe is broken?

Do we hold blame for creating the evil we think we're fighting against, regardless of our intentions?

This work features descriptions of violence, abuse, neglect, and uses adult language, as well as mentions of nudity and sexual topics.

KO-FI LINK:

If you like what I do and wanted to send along some thanks, I was heavily encouraged by an extremely sweet tumblrite to make a Ko-Fi so they could force their generosity on me and I could use it to buy Starbies (Starbucks) to fuel me while I write more! It was an incredibly thoughtful and sweet thing to mention to me and if I think too hard about it I will cry, so here, please! Enjoy this link!

CHARACTER REFERENCES:

Henry:

[Image credit: RL friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous for now] Age: 30 (Rescue) - 32(?) (Stranding) Height: 5'9", or 7.2 inches A highly-skilled sailor from the land of Vogunti Royalty, Henry Lemuels left the port of his home's Capital City on a privateering mission from the King, only to have his vessel, his crew and himself, swept up in an immense storm. The wreck claims the lives of all but him, and he washes up on the shores of a strange land to be rescued by a giant woman.

Melanie:

[Image credit: @LNBeep on Twitter!! Amazing artist <;3] Age: 32 (Rescue) - 34 (Stranding) Height: 5'4", or 50 feet An "early-retirement" crafter from Canada, Melanie Barnes suffered a string of bad relationships and a devastating loss in her family before stepping away almost completely from her old life, isolating herself in grief. She picked up driftwood art crafts to keep herself busy and semi-social by selling them at flea markets, and one days comes across the bizarre wreck of-- what she believes to be-- an elaborate model ship. After rescuing a small man, she has to adjust her life again to try and keep him safe, and hopefully help him return to his homeland in the future.

I'm hoping to add more character info and references in the future as I get more commissions done, but I hope you like what I have so far and that you enjoy my works! If you'd like to ask me any questions at all about myself, my works, my characters or my worlds, my asks are open! Much love, - Belle