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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 1 year ago

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Chocolate-flavoured lips (part 2)

Sanji x reader (romantic); Nami x reader (platonic). This is part two of two.

Hurt/comfort, romance. NSFW. Mentions of heavy themes (slavery, eating disorders)

This part is dedicated to @naive-daydreamer and @vespidphoenix. Thank you for your support!

*****

You had never struck him as particularly prudish, at least as far as the clothes you wore were concerned; on the ship you dressed practically, like the rest of the crew, but liked to doll yourself up when the two of you had a date, or went out for drinks with the rest of the crew. Sanji liked you whatever you wore (or wouldn't wear, he added in the privacy of his thoughts; he was a gentleman, determined not to pressure you, and holding you in his arms as you exchanged lazy kisses and caressed each other was more than enough, but it would have been a lie to say the thought of seeing you in your birthday suit wasn't enticing) but he was flattered to know you made yourself pretty when the two of you went out together, and he was proud to have people see him with a pretty girl like you by his side. He particularly liked when you wore a short skirt, since your legs were so lovely, and there was a off-the-shoulder top you owned that showed enough of your cleavage that Sanji had felt himself go red in the face the first time he had seen you wear it.

There was just one time you had looked ill at ease because of what you wore, and Sanji barely remembered it, since it had happened just two days after he had joined the crew. It was a particularly hot day, and he and his new friends agreed a swim was exactly what they needed; the boys (except for Luffy, obviously, who had remained on the deck) made do with a pair of shorts before jumping in the pleasantly cold water, while Nami was wearing a bikini in a colour that complimented the red of her hair.

"I have another one you can borrow if you want, (name)." she said, after you said you didn't own a swimsuit, and Sanji, who was walking past the two of you with a tray of cold drinks, felt his heart skip a beat at the prospect of seeing you in a bikini as well.

"No, thank you." you answered; you seemed uncomfortable, just for a moment "I think I can manage."

In the end, you swam wearing a shirt tucked in a pair of shorts; Sanji felt disappointed for a moment, but you proposed to play chicken fight all together, and the two of you won against Nami and Usopp, which was nice, and the celebratory hug the two of you shared even more.

On the next island the Merry docked at, after you and your friends had become involved in a fight with another pirate crew who had mistaken Zoro for the son of a local lord and tried to kidnap him for ransom, you went shopping with Nami and bought a one-piece swimsuit in a colour that complimented your everything.

"How do I look?" you asked him after putting it on for the first time, and it took him a while to answer, because seeing you in a swimsuit, no matter how demure, had made Sanji lose the power of speech.

"Extraordinary."

Sanji vaguely wondered why you had refused to borrow Nami's swimsuits; he thought that maybe you didn't like bikinis, or you deemed unhygienic to wear something belonging to someone else on naked skin. In the end, it was such an unimportant matter he had almost forgotten it, even though he did remember, after another, only apparently unrelated, event.

Two months had passed since you and Sanji had officially become a couple, three since your first kiss. You were together on your bed, and what had started as innocent cuddling had naturally, spontaneously become something much more exciting and fervent.

He was hungry, starving, for you (for the mouth he kept kissing, for the warmth of the body in his arms, for the sweet relief he imagined he would find when you would finally open your legs for him) while you unbuttoned his shirt and then helped him take it off; Sanji hungrily kissed you, as he felt your chest pressed against his, your heart beating twice as fast as normal, the softness of your breast so sweet under his hands. In the semi-darkness of the cabin, he gently laid you down on the bed, and felt your legs wrap around his waist.

"You are so beautiful." he murmured, and he heard you giggle.

"You can't even see me." you pointed out as you caressed his chest.

"But I know you; I know you are the most beautiful girl in the four seas."

"Oh, Sanji..."

You kissed again, and again, your mouths and bodies almost feverish as they searched for each other, explored each other, and found new ways to give each other pleasure. Sanji moaned when he felt your lips descend along his neck, to his chest and then to his abdomen. "(name)". he murmured, more fervent than any prayer he had ever uttered "My (name)..."

Fondling your breast through the fabric of your shirt was heavenly, but Sanji needed more; he slipped his hand under the lower hem, already anticipating the moment he would worship your beautiful body as you deserved... and a moment later you had grabbed his wrist.

"No."

"... sorry?"

"Please don't. I... I need to keep my shirt on."

Need. This is the word you chose to use, but in that moment Sanji didn't notice. The little light filtering under the door was enough to let him see you, now sitting on the bed, your arms wrapped around your torso as if afraid he would try to force you to take your shirt of.

"Please, Sanji-kun." you murmured, in a supplicant tone he had heard just once before... when he found you taking scraps out of the kitchen's garbage can. You sounded scared.

"Oh. All right." he said, sitting next to you; he was disappointed, but the last thing he wanted was making you uncomfortable "Of course."

"Sorry, I... I don't want to stop, just..."

"(name), it's all right. I... I think I need to go prepare lunch soon anyway."

"Oh. All right." you said, relief evident in your voice. Sanji put his shirt back on, you kissed him once more, affectionate and passionate as usual, and later, while you had lunch all together, you looked relaxed and happy as usual, but your boyfriend decided the two of you needed to talk a bit.

He found you later as you read sitting cross-legged on the deck, so pretty with the book in your hand, the wind stirring your hair and the hem of your skirt, the susurration of the waves all around you. The noise of his approaching steps made you lift your eyes from your book; you smiled as Sanji sat next to you.

"Hello."

"Hello. Bothering you?"

"Never. Come."

You smiled and rested your cheek on his shoulder, as clearly happy of that chaste closeness as you had been three hours earlier. Sanji would have liked nothing more than enjoying that quiet moment with you, but he felt the need to know, for the sake of the relationship you had just started building together.

"About earlier... when you asked me to stop..." he started, and your smile dimmed instantly.

"I'm..."

"You don't need to be; and you don't need to explain. Just... I wanted to know if I did something wrong, something... to make you uncomfortable..."

"Oh, no!" you immediately exclaimed, cupping his face in your hands to add emphasis to your words "You did nothing wrong at all. You were so sweet, so respectful. Believe me, it's not that I didn't want to... to be with you. I'm... I'm very attracted to you, Sanji-kun. I think you're very handsome."

He smiled, flattered. "Glad to know."

"As if you didn't. It's just... I don't feel comfortable with being seen shirtless. Would it bother you if I kept it on, while we are together? Or at least that we kept the room in the dark?"

"Only your shirt?"

"Yes. I'm fine with taking off everything else."

Now that was an unusual request, different from what Sanji had expected, that is, that you were moving too quickly considering you had only been together for a few months. Why was keeping your torso covered so important? Were you afraid he would find your body unattractive? Did you have a scar or some other blemish you wanted to keep hidden? The idea he would never see your naked beauty, and maybe never hold you in his arms, your skin against his, was more than a little disappointing, but Sanji didn't hesitate.

"Of course. Whatever you want, and feel comfortable with."

"Really? You are not... disgruntled?"

"I... don't want to be. You don't owe me anything, (name), even if we are together. Whatever problem one of us has, we can find a solution together. I want you to be happy; everything else doesn't matter."

"Oh, thank you! Oh, you are so sweet, Sanji-kun!" you exclaimed, clearly relieved, and kissed him soundly on the lips; you smiled, so close he could feel the warmth of your body on his skin "I promise I'll make it up to you."

He grinned. "Really?"

"Really. Soon, I promise. Thank you, I feel so lucky I am your girlfriend." you told him, and indeed, the joy and gratefulness in your eyes were almost overwhelming. Sanji couldn't say he knew and understood everything about you, not least because you were rather secretive about your past and never spoke much about your life before meeting Luffy, but what he had learnt, he loved, and he knew you reciprocated his feelings in full. Everything else didn't matter.

"I think I am the lucky one, actually." Sanji said; he let you go back to your book, and sat next to you for a while, enjoying the quiet happiness stemming from your warm, solid body curled up under his arm.

Weeks passed. Sanji kept cooking for his crew, kissing your ice-cream flavoured lips (by then you had to have tasted almost every variety in the world; you liked most of them, but chocolate was your favourite) and discovering corners of the sea he previously didn't even know existed. He couldn't have wished for a better life. The two of you kept meeting in one of the cabins when the others were away, cuddling and exploring each other's bodies; you were yet to be properly intimate, and Sanji couldn't say he was not anxious, but at the same time he could have gone on like this (moaning your name as you gently bit his neck between a kiss and another; grinding his hips against yours, until each of you could feel the other's arousal; kissing your breast through your bra after you had locked the door to keep the room in the dark) forever, and still he would be satisfied.

You were happy as well; because of him, and not just that. You now routinely polished your plate, even though you were the only member of the Straw-Hat pirates who had never asked for seconds, and one day that he inadvertently stepped on it as he reached you on your bed Sanji realized the broken beam on the floor wasn't creaking, meaning you had repaired it and weren't using it as an hidden storage anymore, which felt as the best news of his life.

Yes, everything was going perfectly for both of you; and then, as it often happens, destiny put a stick in your wheel - at least apparently.

*****

The blood staining his arms. The frantic heartbeat reverberating against his chest. The desperate, laboured breathing (proper to a person too stubborn and scared to let themselves give in, who kept drawing breath because they had ordered their lungs not to stop working, but whose energies were quickly failing) filling his mind and excluding any other thought. It was a terrible, nightmarish situation for Sanji, for whom not give in to panic had never been so hard.

Because that blood, that heartbeat, that breathing, were yours.

You shouldn't have even been there. While it was true that you had started practicing fighting with him and the others (after pointing out that while as a doctor your first duty was not to harm, you doubted that would matter to the various enemies your crew simply couldn't help constantly running into, and you didn't want to be a burden to your friends) you were still inexperienced, and on the day the Straw Hat pirates found themselves face to face with a whole platoon of Marines, Sanji asked (well, he begged) you to stay behind, preparing the Merry to depart as soon as your friends had gotten rid of their pursuers.

And you had... until you had seen Usopp get hurt on the battlefield, a stray bullet grazing his ankle as he strategically retreated towards the pier and making him stumble. Seeing your friend on the ground, you had unhesitatingly run to the battlefield to help him stand and carry him to safety.

And you had... even though it had meant being wounded yourself.

"Is she ok? Is she gonna...?" Usopp asked, anguish heavy in his voice, as he and Nami followed Sanji in the ship's tiny infirmary, fully furnished with everything a pirate doctor needed, and that they were unable to use "(name), I am so sorry! Can you hear me? I'm sorry, it is all my fault..."

"This will not help her." Nami brusquely pointed out, stopping him from advancing into the room; then, noticing the sniper's heartbroken expression, she rested her hand on his shoulder, doing her best to sound reassuring "We'll take care of her; you go help Luffy and Zoro."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you have any experience as a doctor that you forgot to mention until now yes, I'm sure."

Still uncertain, Usopp hobbled out; he glanced at Sanji before crossing the door, but the cook didn't notice, too focused as he was on you, on how pale and hurt you looked as he gently laid you down on the infirmary bed. Judging from the red stain on your shirt, the bullet had hit you in the stomach, at least ten inches below your heart, but that didn't reassure him; you had lost so much blood, and if they didn't do something now, that alone would kill you.

"Hey, darling." he murmured, his hand gently cradling your head; you were drenched in sweat, apparently in too much pain to speak, but when he was able to meet your gaze, he saw you mouthing his name, and then another brief sentence.

"There is nothing to be sorry for; you saved Usopp, you were so brave. I am... I am so proud of you." he said; he had never felt so much the need to cry, but he had no time for that, not while you were still breathing "It's gonna be alright, I promise."

But how, he wondered. He knew Nami had no medical experience, and his only episode with something more serious than a migraine was that time he had burned his hand on a stove and Zeff had put an ointment on and then bandaged it; eve worse, you were too weak and in pain to guide them.

He couldn't lose you; he just couldn't. You couldn't die. You were too young, too beautiful and special and generous and clever and kind, and you had only wanted to help a friend in need and had not yet seen all your dreams come true. What could he do to help? Did you need a transfusion? You could have his blood - all of it if you needed it. And it didn't matter if the island they had just left was swarming with Marines, he would go back swimming, find the nearest doctor and bring him to you...

In the meantime Nami, equally worried but faster to act, had found everything she thought they would need (a plastic basin, sterile bandages, antiseptic, pliers, a pair of scissors, and a few other things she didn't even know the name of) in the room's various cabinets, and she was quick to place everything on the table next to the bed.

"We need clean water, and cloths to clean the wound." she said, instinctively taking charge; Sanji didn't consider himself a particularly passive person, at least when it was a life or death situation, but he had never been more grateful "But first, take off her shirt."

Sanji took the scissors from her fingers, ordering his hands to stop shaking, and placed the blades at the sides of the bottom hem of your shirt; half a second before he started cutting, your hand grabbed his wrist.

"No...!"

"It's ok, darling." he tried to soothe you "I just need to cut off your shirt, we need to check the wound."

"No!"

"(name)... I don't want to hurt you, I need..."

"No..." you said once more, no longer in a startled cry; he saw you mouth his name, and then please, and then shake your head in a desperate, determined refusal. Don't do it, you were telling him; it was plain to see, at least for someone who knew your heart, please, you mustn't. I don't want you to.

Sanji did it, quickly cutting the shirt in the middle, exposing your bra, the (apparently) deep wound next to your navel... and something else he for a moment did not know how to interpret. He remembered the promise he had made you, and how important it had been for you to keep your shirt on or at least to prevent him from looking at your torso, and whatever he had thought you wanted to keep secret, out of shame or modesty or something else... he would have never thought of that.

"What...? Is that a tattoo?" Nami asked as she prepared the bandages, at first only vaguely surprised, both since they had a way bigger problem on their hands and because after all that was not such an uncommon sight; a moment later she darkened, her eyes focused on her friend's still bleeding stomach "But that is..."

"What?" Sanji asked, for half a second forgetting he had never felt so scared, and helpless, in his life; for half a second, nothing was more important that knowing the truth "What is that? It seems..."

"I'll tell you later. Now, water and cloths." the navigator answered, calling him to order and passing him the basin; Sanji quickly obeyed, leaving the infirmary after a last, pained look to your motionless body on the bed. You met his gaze and then quickly averted yours, softly crying in shame.

*****

In the end, the wound was less deep, and therefore dangerous, than Sanji had feared; he and Nami had stopped the blood flow, she had been able to sew up the wound (and then puked in a bucket) while Sanji found a book to help them take care of you during your convalescence.

When they told the others you were feeling better and had told Nami you were confident you would heal perfectly, Usopp started to cry, overwhelmed with relief, Luffy cheered, and even Zoro laughed and clapped; your friends were happy they were not going to lose you, and Sanji hoped you knew how loved you were.

He prepared a broth for your dinner, light but rich to help you regain your strength, put it on a tray with a glass of water, and asked Nami to bring it to you.

"Don't you want to do it yourself? Don't tell me you have had a fight, with everything (name) is going through." Nami said. Sanji shook his head; he didn't feel comfortable telling her how clearly you avoided looking at him every time he visited you in the infirmary, as if too ashamed to look at the man who cared for you more than anything else.

"Can you tell me about her tattoo?" he asked once she had returned from the infirmary and happily reported you had already tucked in and were looking way better than the previous day "I don't want to gossip, but I'm worried for (name), even now that she is on the mend. If there is something worrying her, or that is making her sad, I need to know; I want to help her."

Nami nodded slowly, as if unsure it was her place to discuss her friend's personal matters, even if with the best intentions; in the end, she made sure the two of them were alone in the kitchen before speaking.

"I suppose you need to know, being her boyfriend and all that; and now that we know the truth, she will need all our support." she conceded "The one on her stomach... is different from most tattoos you see, right?"

Sanji agreed. Your tattoo was different from the flowers, butterflies or other delicate decorations he usually saw on the skin of girls your age; it wasn't even the name of a former boyfriend (which would have broken his heart) or a tribute to a loved one who had passed away. It seemed like a code, even though he had no idea what it was for: ten characters, numbers and letters without an apparent logic, and an hyphen in the middle.

"That code... that code is one of those slaves have tattooed, or even branded, on their skin by their masters. It cannot be washed away, so that a slave cannot hide their condition, and makes it easier for a master to prove they belong to him if a slave runs away."

Silence fell in the Merry's kitchen. Sanji was happy he wasn't holding anything fragile, or spillable, in his hands; for a whole minute he felt physically unable to speak.

"... a slave?" he whispered in the end.

"I'm afraid so. I have only read about it once in a book, a long time ago, but if I remember correctly, the first two numbers mean that (name) was born a slave, instead of being sold or captured." Nami explained; she looked ill, as if she felt the pain and misery their friend and doctor had to have felt while in captivity "While the last three letters refer to a country not far from the one where Luffy met her, which is where she must have been born. Poor, poor (name)..."

She looked at him, as if waiting for his reaction, waiting to know what he would do to comfort his girlfriend; the problem was Sanji had absolutely no idea.

"I'll talk to her." he decided in the end "Thank you for telling me the truth, I know it wasn't easy for you."

The orange-haired navigator shrugged. "(name) is my friend." she said, as if that explained everything. And it did.

Sanji knocked softly at the infirmary's door a minute later; from the inside, you softly invited him to enter.

He was happy to see the broth's bowl was empty, the tray placed on the little table next to the bed. Lying on your back, you turned your head to smile softly at him. "Hello."

"Hello to you. If you want to sleep for a while I can..."

"Not at all. Please, come, you know I'm always happy to see you."

Sanji smiled as he moved a chair next to the bed; on your request, he helped you sit on the bed, grimacing for the pain in your abdomen.

"I'm fine." you gently reassured him, noticing his alarmed expression "Or at least, I will be in a few days. I just need to rest, and to give my body time to heal. Sanji... I am so sorry."

He blinked, both of his hands cradling one of yours resting on the blanket covering the lower half of your body. "Sorry for what?" he asked, unable to think of something you could have to apologize for.

"You know. For... for not telling you about my tattoo. About my past. Nami told me you talked about it."

Sanji nodded. "Please don't be angry with her; she only wanted to help you."

You assured him you knew, and therefore you could never be angry with your friend. Rather, you expected him to be upset, or at least disappointed, that you had concealed such an important part of your past from him; Sanji had told you all about his childhood, at least after he had met Zeff, but in return he didn't even know where you were born. "It was unfair on my part; you are my boyfriend, and you have been nothing but kind and protective. I know that even people who are in a relationship are entitled to their privacy, but..."

Sanji smiled, a moment before lifting your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it; it pained him to see you like that, so full of shame and regret, but he knew that facing those emotions and sharing your secrets would make you feel better later.

"Exactly. It would have been different if you had not told me you were already in a relationship, if you had been married or had children, but... I am not angry, really. Not with you, at least." he admitted, and he sighed "I just wish I could have those who hurt and humiliated you here to make them beg for mercy at your feet."

You smiled, pained and grateful at the same time. "I know you would; and that is enough for me." you told him; you hesitated for a moment, and then whispered the name of the kingdom where you were born, and where slavery was still widely practiced.

"I have always been a slave, since I was taken out of my mother's womb. I received my tattoo when I was five, which is also when I started working in my master's farm together with the other slaves. The pain of the needle on my skin is the oldest memory that I have."

"You were put to work when you were five?"

"Oh, yes; and some other masters have their slaves branded even before that, even if naturally one can't really work when they are so little. My master lived in the countryside, and I and the other slaves worked in the fields and took care of the animals; at the same time, he was a very capable doctor, and he decided to instruct me and three others, to assist him in his work or to earn an higher price if he ever decided to sell us."

You sighed. "One day, or little by little, I will tell you everything." you promised, placing your free hand on top of his "I know I don't have to, but I want to; I want there to be no secrets between us. But it is not a pretty story, as you can imagine, so I'm not exactly anxious to relive those memories. Anyway, I lost my mother when I was nine, so there was nothing that could have kept me from escaping; and when the opportunity arose, I did, even though I knew the punishment for runaway slaves was enough to make you beg for death. I ran, and ran, and didn't stop until I reached a kingdom where slavery is outlawed, even though that didn't mean I was safe."

"That is where you met Luffy."

"Yes. We became friends in a matter of hours, you know how it is with him, and when he asked me to join his crew as ship's doctor, I didn't need to think twice. And then, just a few days later, I met you."

You were wearing a clean shirt, that Nami had helped you put on; lifting the bottom hem, you brushed your fingers against the bandage covering your abdomen. "I wish at least the bullet had hit me where my mark is." you muttered "It is too big to be covered by a scar, but still..."

"You could have it covered." Sanji suggested "With another tattoo, I mean; so that you could wear a bikini, or a top that leaves your stomach bare, and people would see just a flower or a butterfly. You wouldn't be forced to see it either, every time you take a shower."

You sighed. "I wish I could." you admitted "The problem is, it is illegal for a tattoo artist to help a runaway slave conceal their condition; rather, they are required by the law to denounce them, and most masters would also reward them for their help. I can't take a chance, any artist I could ask for help would only have to call the Marines, and I'd be brought back to my master. I have promised myself I would never go back, Sanji-kun; carrying the mark on my skin, and having to keep my stomach covered, is a price I'm happy to pay. Now I'm free, free to go wherever and do whatever I want, and this is the only thing that matters... together with you, that is." you added with a smile, that Sanji returned, his heart still full of anguish even though so many things he hadn't been able to explain about you made sense now.

"The reason why you ate so little... and were used to take food from the garbage can..."

"Well, slaves do not eat the same food as their master, as you can imagine; we often received scraps from his table, and I retrieved food that the cook had thrown away more times than I can count. As a slave, I ate in a day and a half as much as I do now in a single lunch, and was used to have food taken from me regularly, every time the master was displeased. I'll never be a bottomless pit like Luffy, but having been used to eat little for so long, for a while my stomach simply couldn't take more than that. Now that I have been with the crew for a while things are different, I got used to a regular diet, but until I met Luffy a single apple was enough to keep me satisfied for a day. Until I met you, for me food was not... something you enjoyed, and found pleasure in; I ate because otherwise I would die, and to avoid being lashed because I didn't have the strength to work."

"I see."

Sanji sighed, suddenly realizing he also had a secret he needed to share. "While we are at it, I also have a confession to make; I know of the food you kept hidden under a beam in your cabin. Months ago, soon after I found you taking food from the garbage can, I... I was worried for you, that you were suffering from an eating disorder or something like that, I went through your stuff. I'm so sorry, (name); I shouldn't have, whatever the reason."

"No, you shouldn't have." you agreed, and then smiled "But I could never be angry with you, especially since I know you wanted to help me. Let's make a pact: from now on, there will be no more secrets between us, and whenever one of us is worried or upset for some reason, we will talk about it. After all, being in a relationship means also this."

Sanji agreed. He wanted nothing more than to end the conversation, kiss you and lie next to you on the bed to cuddle for a while, but there was one last thing he needed to know.

"Of course; you can ask me whatever you want." you encouraged him, but it took your boyfriend a while to find the right words.

"As a slave, were you ever ordered to... I mean, since you are young and attractive, and I know that sometimes masters want to..."

"Oh. That."

A new, vaguely bitter smile appeared on your lips as you smoothed your shirt on your stomach. "Would you really like to know?"

"I am sorry if it is painful for you to talk about it, but since we have talked about becoming intimate... You know I would never force you to do anything in any case, but if you had... gone through a trauma..."

You kissed him. Quick but deep, as you rested your hand on the back of his head to steady yourself; and when you finally parted, he saw you smile - a real smile, full of joy. "You really are the sweetest man in the four seas, aren't you, Sanji-kun?" you asked "In any case, you needn't worry; that at least I was spared. My master enjoyed women and so did his sons, but none of them ever touched me, because... you see... for my mother it had been different."

"... you mean...?!"

"... that I was his, yes. It's ok." you hurried to add, seeing the shocked, outraged expression on your boyfriend's face "What is done is done, and since hopefully I'll never see him again, my master cannot hurt me anymore, and I am free to forget he was ever part of my life. I am not saying I wasn't traumatized by what I lived through; but at least I was luckier than many other slaves."

Silence fell on the two of you, a silence finally made not of unsaid things and secrets you didn't have the strength to share, but of the quiet, resilient awareness what you had gone through was known, and understood, and respected. Escaping captivity, and then becoming part of Luffy's crew, and even falling in love with Sanji and pursuing a relationship with him had not magically cured you of all the abuse and pain you had experienced; still, it was a step forward, as well as the best starting point you could ask for.

In the end, Sanji stood; he bent to kiss you once more, also deep, but not quick. "I'll let you rest for a while." he promised "If you feel up to it, later I can help you stand and you can come sit on the deck, enjoy the sun and the air."

"I'd love to." you answered; you didn't say thank you, because you knew he'd find it superfluous, and he could read it in your eyes anyway.

A last smile, and your boyfriend was closing the door of the infirmary behind him; you cautiously laid down on the bed, sighing contently, aware he, and the rest of your friends, were still a shout away. Aware, for the first time in your life, that you were not alone.

*****

"Will you really not tell me where we are going?" you asked, maybe for the fifth time since the beginning of the day. You were not worried, since you knew you could trust your friends and Sanji especially, but he was being uncharacteristically tight-lipped about your destination, which intrigued you a great deal.

It had all started early in the morning when, reaching the deck after helping Sanji wash the dishes after breakfast, and glancing at the map Nami was consulting next to you, you realized the ship was heading in a different direction from the one your navigator had set two days before.

"Has our destination changed?" you had asked, but Nami's only answer had been a wink and a knowing smile.

"Ask Sanji." she had told you, and when you had, your boyfriend had acted even more secretive, simply saying you would see it soon.

And now this. The island you had reached was mid-size but relatively unimportant for the crew's affairs, and you couldn't begin to understand why your boyfriend was acting so excited; he was leading you among the streets of a busy marketplace, clearly looking for something, or someone, even though he had told you he had never been on this island before.

"Let's see, it should be close... he said there was a bakery across the street..."

"Sanji-kun, is this about our ice cream dates? Are you looking for a famous parlour or something like that?"

"Sorry? Oh, no; but we'll get that to celebrate later. This is different... oh! Here it is!"

There was indeed a bakery across the street from the door you had stopped in front of; at first you thought it was a shop of some kind, apparently closed given the shut door, but the banner above the door advertised a very different sort of trade...

It was a tattoo parlour.

"Sanji, no." you whispered: you were wearing a shirt reaching down to your thighs and your stomach was perfectly covered, but you quickly glanced all around you, half-expecting to see Marines descend upon you to bring you back to your master "Please, let's go back to the Merry; I can't stay here, I told you..."

"It's all right."

How could he not understand? "No, it's not!" you repeated urgently; you appreciated he had your best intentions at heart, but could he not see the danger he was putting you in? "When they see my tattoo..."

"(name)." Sanji said as he took both of your hands in his, softly, as if begging you to listen to him instead of giving you an order; and this was the reason you found yourself suddenly unable to insist "I know; I haven't forgotten what you told me. Please, trust me; it is going to be fine."

You didn't answer, but remained where you were while your boyfriend knocked at the door.

"We are closed." a curt voice stated from the inside.

"This is Sanji from the Baratie."

"Oh! Just a second."

A moment later the door opened; a shaggy haired head peaked outside. "Are you sure you weren't followed?"

"Positive. Can we come in?"

"Of course; hurry, the fewer people see you the better."

The man who closed the door behind the two of you had to be roughly your mother's age, were she still alive; he was tall and somewhat fierce, the sort of individual you didn't want to meet in a dark alley at night, but then he smiled kindly at you, and you felt safe all of a sudden. His skin was, unsurprisingly, covered in ink; arms, neck, shins, any part of his body left exposed by his clothes was tattooed.

"You must be (name); it is good to meet you. And Zeff's boy! A real pleasure. I am Den, welcome to our island."

You both shook hands with him, before Den gave you a minute to look around. You didn't remember your only, traumatic visit to a tattoo parlour, but this was roughly like you imagined it. A work table cluttered with tools you didn't know the name of, coloured ink bottles, dirty rags and other things; a reclining chair with a stool and a floor lamp next to it; pieces of paper of all sizes on the walls, showcasing the various designs the artist could realize.

You looked at your boyfriend, both of your arms protectively hugging your abdomen. How can you be sure this man will not betray us?, you wanted to ask him, but before you could utter a word, Den lifted the bottom hem of his own shirt, exposing a large tattoo of dancing blue flames.

The tattoo covered his abdomen.

"I have been enslaved when I was eight, after a reversal of fortunes made my parents unable to pay their debts." he explained softly "When I was a little older than you, I was able to escape. I wandered around for a while, running from the Marines, and I thought I would starve or never find a home to call my own until I met a young woman who was the apprentice of a tattoo artist, and she decided to help me, even though her master would have probably killed her if he knew. She gave me this tattoo, to cover my slave mark; and then she taught me, so that we could do the same for whoever needs it."

"Den has met Zeff years ago; he told me all about this tattoo artist friend of his when I was younger, so I called the Baratie two days ago and asked for directions." Sanji happily explained "Den is going to cover your slave mark, so that you won't have to hide anymore."

"Free of charge." the tattoo artist hastened to add, rubbing his hands together as if he couldn't wait to get to work "Although, if you are really Zeff's former apprentice, my wife and I wouldn't say no to a home-cooked meal! What would you like, missy? Many girls ask for flowers, or an heart; the jolly roger of your crew could be a nice idea, even though that's... incriminating as well..."

Sanji saw you bit your lip. "You needn't worry; you are safe, otherwise I wouldn't have brought you here." he reassured you, suddenly unsure of his plan; the fact that Zeff trusted Den was enough to reassure him, but perhaps it would have been better if the two of you had discussed this before... "If you want... to think about it for a while, I'm sure we can..."

"No." you stopped him; and a moment later, he saw you smile "I'm going to do it. I want to do it. Den-san, could you draw me a bird?"

The artist promptly answered he could tattoo sparrows, eagles, cranes, parrots - whatever you wanted. He took a pencil and a sketchpad from the work-table, and you guided him in drawing a long-winded bird that, you told him and Sanji, was present in large numbers in the kingdom you grew up in.

"My mother loved birds, and she told me the stern was famous for the huge distances it covered during migration; they could fly from one side of the world to the other, tirelessly, unafraid of predators and inclement weather. We would see them sometimes, at our master's farm, and while we had been instructed to chase them away, I loved them and sometimes I stole bread to feed them. All birds are free, unlike me at the time, but they could travel far and wide, the sky was their only limit... I would have given anything to be one of them."

You smiled. "And now I am; I am free, like a stern, with my own flock. Covering a slave mark with the image of a bird is the best revenge I can ask for."

Den asked you to sit on the reclining chair and immediately got to work, perched on the stool next to you. Sanji hovered nearby, not wanting to disturb the artist, anxiously observing the tattoo taking shape; completely still, your shirt lifted so that it only covered your breast, you seemed completely at ease, smiling happy as if not feeling the pain of the large needle pricking your skin.

"You can admit this is all because you want to see me naked." you whispered when Den had to leave you for a moment to take a smaller needle; the gratitude and affection in your eyes were so intense Sanji felt overwhelmed for a moment. Neither of you spoke, but your thoughts, your emotions, had never been so clear to each other like in that moment; you had never spoken of love yet, it was too early and neither wanted to rush things, but there was no other name to describe the intimacy of that moment, the quiet but intense bond of two people completely focused on each other, so full of devotion and warmth the world had all but disappeared around them.

"Exactly, that's the only reason." he answered, doing his best not to smile "And what a lucky coincidence, I have always liked tattooed women..."

It took Den almost two hours to finish your tattoo; Sanji had seen it taking shape little by little, while you had avoided looking at your abdomen, preferring to see the complete result only.

"That's it, perfect." the artist said in the end, his voice full of satisfaction, as he stood from the stool and cracked his neck "Ready to see it, missy?"

"Of course I am!"

A full-figure mirror was placed against one of the walls of the room; you stood and walked to it, already anticipating the joy of seeing your tattoo and at the same time fearing you wouldn't like it. You held your breath... and then you smiled, observing the small but resilient bird taking flight on your abdomen, its long-winged black body only slightly longer than the mark it was covering, and of which there was no trace.

Sanji, by now more than capable to read your emotions, smiled as well. "Do you like it?"

"I love it! Oh, it is so beautiful!" you exclaimed, turning on one side and the other to observe your new tattoo from different angles; it was really lovely, but as well as from a purely aesthetic point of view, and the pleasure of having your favourite animal engraved on your skin, you loved what it represented: the freedom you had always been entitled, the memory of your mother, and the determination to never let anyone decide for you and your life "Oh, Den-san, thank you so much!"

The artist smiled, clearly pleased with the result of his work and not only that; you couldn't believe you had felt intimidated by him, only two hours ago. "I'm glad I could help. No one deserves to carry that filth on their skin, especially a nice girl like you. Hope it brings you luck, and say hi to Zeff for me when you hear from him!"

You thanked him again and again before you and your boyfriend left, leaving Den to his affairs and to open to the public. This time you didn't bother checking for Marines nearby, or to make sure your tattoo wasn't visible under your shirt; the ugly mark, memento of a past you wouldn't have to relive ever again, was gone, replaced by a symbol of freedom and resilience you were determined to honor every day of your life.

"Do the others know?" you asked in a whisper as you walked away from the tattoo parlour, hand in hand; your tattoo was now bandaged, and Den had thoroughly instructed you on how to care for it, including an ointment you needed to buy to clean it twice a week.

Sanji shook his head. "Well, Nami does, or at least she will know what that little bird is for once she sees it. The others don't know anything; I told Luffy, Zoro and Usopp we needed to make a detour here for a very important reason that concerned you and your safety; no one had anything against it. They'll probably be surprised to see it, but I don't think they'll insist to know the truth... unless you decide to tell them."

You smiled, heart full of affection and gratitude for your friends; you knew knowing about your past as a slave would change nothing in their opinion of you, and if ever you were in danger of being enslaved again, they would tirelessly defend you. Yes, you might decide to tell them the truth; one day. Now, for a while, you just wanted to enjoy this, not having to hide, to hate your body, to close your eyes every time you even just had to change your shirt.

You were free - finally, completely, irrevocably free, and while you had risked your life to escape, and again as you ran from your master and did all you could to stay hidden, of this you had to thank no one but the handsome young man next to you.

"I... I really don't know what to say." you murmured in the end, as you approached the town center "There are no words to describe how grateful I am; I'll never thank you enough..."

"Then don't." your boyfriend suggested with a smile; he stopped walking and took your face in his hands, his blue eyes sparkling as if he were the one who had just received the best, most thoughtful gift of his life "I only want you to be happy and serene, and unafraid. What about we celebrate with an ice-cream?"

"That's a splendid idea. My treat this time."

"If you really want to..."

You laughed, wondering if you had ever felt this happy; it was as if your heart were soaring, high and free, there were the stern flies. You kissed Sanji, and he kissed you, unheeding of the people who could see the two of you.

"Let's go." you said then; your boyfriend smiled, and he let your hand guide him along the busy street.

TAGGING @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx. Hope you like this!

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Black Leg Sanji #Vinsmoke Sanji #Sanji #Black Leg Sanji x reader #Vinsmoke Sanji x reader #Sanji x reader #Taz Skylar #Bellona's stuff #100 notes

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thelightsandtheroses · 2 years ago

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For You, I Would Ruin Myself | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!Reader Rating: 18+, MDNI as usual. Summary: Your career probably just ended last night. Stuck in a long standing but now loveless relationship, your priority was your Hollywood comeback and finally getting the recognition you worked so hard for. Falling for your controversial co-star, Dieter Bravo, and the resulting scandal was not something you ever saw coming. Word Count – 10k Warnings: infidelity, language, a very light sprinkling of smut, drug mentions, alcohol mentions, references and discussions around eating issues and previous eating disorders, jealousy and resentment, mentions of exercise, one passing reference to previous suicidal thoughts (no detail), un beta’d, age not specified but potential implied age gap if you squint. Look, I don’t know what happened here, something just took me over this weekend and then I had ten thousand words before I knew it. Banners & dividers are not made by me and are from the talented @/saradika

“You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love The slowest way is never loving them enough Do you really want to know where I was April 29th? Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?” High Infidelity - Taylor Swift

Today

Your phone is in genuine danger of overheating. Notification after notification, missed call after missed call roll in. You can’t face it.

You turn over on the sofa you collapsed into last night, bury your face in cushions and half-heartedly scream.

No one can hear you, but somehow it helps.

Your career might be over.

Everything in you says you need to be on this; you need to respond; you need to have your lawyers and your agent and a goddamn crisis consultant probably. Your reputation, your future, it's all at stake right now.

Hollywood won't be kind to you for a public scandal like this, not when you cheat on someone like Alex, not when it's with Dieter Bravo.

You don’t want any of it.

The doorbell rings. Once.

Twice.

Incessantly. There’s only one person who would do that, who would ring the bell in quite that rhythm.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. He’s not going to go away.

You groggily make your way to the door, only half aware you’re still in last night’s clothes, still probably have last night’s makeup on your face which you’ve now smeared even more.

You want to say he’s seen you in worse shape, but you know he hasn’t. You know you’ve never let him see him like this.

Dieter Bravo is standing on your porch with what can only be described as a sheepish expression. He’s in an infuriatingly comfy looking t-shirt you want to bury yourself in and looks like he’s not long crawled out of bed himself. His hair is wild and unruly, how you like it. It makes you think of how he looks up at you sometimes, eyes wild and a salacious grin on his face, all too proud of the way he’s artfully taken you apart with his fingers, his mouth, him.

“So, you’ve seen it then?”

“Baby, I -”

“Hey, congrats,” you say flatly, “I think you’re probably trending on Twitter now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says without preamble, “I didn’t think this would – how are there even photos?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“They’re being -”

“Dieter, it was always going to be different for you. Different rules, right? You can afford to screw up, hell they expect it. I- I had other expectations put on me. I’ve uh, clearly failed to meet them and I’m going to have live with that.”

Dieter touches your arm gently, grazes his thumb up and down your forearm and stares right into your eyes.

“If you ask me to, I’ll deny it,” he says seriously.

“Hard to deny photos, babe.”

“Photoshop, deep fakes, rehearsing a scene. If you need the out, I’ll do it.” And he will, even if it shatters him in the process. And you’re sure it would, because if you could just deny it, it would damn well break you.

“It’s too late for that.”

“I didn’t want this for you, for us,” he says. “Not like this.”

“Makes two of us.” You take a deep breath. “Do you want to come in then?”

What does that song you used to love say: it was only a kiss, how did it end up like this?

It doesn’t start with a kiss, of course. It starts with distrust, with indifference and frustration.

This was your big opportunity, the role you’ve waited for and it happens to be filming in a beautiful location. You’d begged your agent to find you something new, something mature and intelligent and more than the secondary roles you’d played since your unexpected hiatus all thoseyears ago. You needed more than the pigeonhole Hollywood wanted to push a former child star into. You are tired of being seen that way, feel too old for it frankly, you needed to do something new.

Dieter Bravo needed a redemption arc; after Cliff Beasts 6, after his drug habit became public, after his breakup with Annika who seemed a more public stabilising force. You knew his insurance alone for this film had no doubt taken far more of the budget than it should have. You knew he was trouble. You just didn’t care enough to pay attention to that.

You should have known it would end in disaster.

Before - Day 1 of Filming

Alex is calling his manager again, for another audition, another tour, anything to be out there more. You heard him talking to his manager last week, heard the disappointment that both the album sales are drying up and that movie studios aren’t interested right now either. He has a premiere in a few weeks, they’re hoping that will reignite interest because otherwise it’s not looking good.

He’s a better musician than actor if you’re honest.

You’ve known Alex for the entirety of both of your careers. You were both pushed, or pushed yourselves, into the vicious celebrity beast when you were only children. Alex still has that All-American charm, that safety in his eyes you relied on when you were younger. You’ve been together for more than ten years.

Everyone loves your relationship.

Except maybe both of you right now don’t love it so much anymore. In the past seven months something has changed; a bitterness has crept in, taken root around Alex.

It’s not that he’s a bad person.

You just don’t think he loves you anymore and it’s killing you. The absence of love is a vine, choking your neck and constricting with every breath.

Every compliment feels bitter; like you’ve deliberately chosen to get some lucky breaks and take his opportunities from underneath him. The work you’ve put in, the sacrifices and accomplishments you’ve made are ignored and turned to mere luck.

It doesn’t matter that the positions were once reversed. You had four-year hiatus from Hollywood that he didn’t - his star rose and yours fell. During those years, people forgot your own accomplishments as you became just Alex Wood’s girlfriend. You’ve been playing catchup with your peers in the years since you started working again and now you’re finally getting somewhere. It’s just that you think Alex has a problem with that.

If you’re honest, Alex Wood very clearly does not want to be known as your boyfriend first, and a celebrity second.

Right now, you’re waiting in your trailer, running lines for your first actual filming scenes with Dieter Bravo for this film that means so much to you.

You’ve heard of Dieter for years but never crossed paths before. You’ve read about him; the good, the bad, the downright ugly.

This film is a big studio drama, a high budget picture; one that your agent thinks will catapult you to award nominations and you understand Dieter’s agent believes will help undo some of the damage of Cliff Beasts and the subsequent period.

You’re worried about this. Too worried.

Dieter seems like a liability. In your chemistry read, he was almost aloof until the cameras started. He seemed utterly uninterested in even really speaking to you, and you were dubious of him. You’re not sure how someone can seem so lazy, so unbothered about everything and then turn out such heartfelt performances. Okay, he hadn’t had as many of those roles recently, but you know they are in his repertoire.

You need this role, you love the script. It means something to you - your character took root in your heart, you want to represent them well. You’re not sure Dieter is in this for the same reasons.

He hasn’t done anything to indicate that. He’s been pleasant, quiet but professional. It’s only day 1 of filming though.

Alex is only here for the rest of the day - he flies home tomorrow morning. He promise he would help you with this scene, but now he’s busy on the phone and shows no sign of wanting to end the call. They’re talking about cross fit now for some reason, so you stand up and decide to see if maybe Dieter wants to run through the lines, or anybody really if he says no. There’s only a short time before you need to go film this after all.

You wave at Alex to say you’re leaving. You want him to stop, want him to care you’re leaving but he just nods.

Before - Day 2 of Filming:

Dieter Bravo is nothing like you expected. You’re sitting in his trailer, running through an updated script for the day’s scene. To your surprise he’s been alarmingly respectful so far. You’d heard that in Cliff Beasts 6 he propositioned pretty much everyone.

“I think for this line,” he says slowly, “we should be facing each other. I know the script says you’re facing away, but it would feel more natural, don’t you think?” You’re amazed he even has suggestions; you’d expected very little interaction with him off camera.

“Are you really going to wear sunglasses inside?” you ask incredulously. Is he hungover, or strung out again, or is he just that pretentious?

“Yes,” he says, “Did you hear what I said?”

You run through the lines, rolling your eyes at Dieter’s answer. “Take them off, Dieter, they’re not in the script and if you want to face me I’ll need to see your eyes.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Just did.”

“Ergh. Look, why did you sign on for Cliff Beasts?”

“Do you know how few films were being made during Covid? I needed to work, needed to do something, get out of my house and a big franchise like that? The money was good., They courted me, they wanted me. I mean, I knew the script was – I knew what the script was. I didn’t think it would all end quite like it did.”

“I bet.”

“So, you saw the documentary then?”

“I might have scrolled past it on Netflix once or twice, might have accidentally played it for a few minutes.”

“None of it worked out in the end. Annika, any of it. You -” He shakes his head.

“I know.” You’ve seen the press, seen the news reports and blogs and just why Dieter needs the comeback himself. Why perhaps the version you’re seeing is not the same man in Cliff Beasts 6, or the man from Hunger Strike. Maybe this Dieter Bravo is an entirely different man.

“So, what did you do for all those years anyway?” he asks suddenly, snapping to attention and focusing right back on you.

“Huh? Lockdown? Well, I-“

“No. You quit the industry right, for years? Well you came back but …” he trails off.

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t consciously quit, but it was the right move for me at the time.”

“Drugs?” he asks without judgement. You can’t blame him for that assumption. You’ve been amazed others haven’t come to the same conclusion.

“No, I dealt with some other forms of self-destruction though.” You’d be dead if you hadn’t walked away then, that’s the truth.

You were young and burnt out and anxious. You thought it was normal to count every calorie, to exercise until your head hurt too much to continue. You thought it was normal to throw up with nerves all the time, to be physically ill due to exhaustion, to criticise every part of your body and let others do it too, to hate your voice, hate your mind. Hollywood could be an insidious bedfellow and you’d let it set root in all your insecurities. You almost died for it.

The only way to survive was to walk away, find a way through to recovery. You’d even gone to college, studied an entire degree in another country and enjoyed the relative anonymity of your life there.

You’d truly missed acting though; missed how it made you feel. You’d been your family breadwinner from an early age and so it hadn’t ever felt like a choice you had ever made for yourself.

After several years away from acting, a lot of therapy and after suitable encouragement from loved ones, you chose to re-enter Hollywood, but on your terms. You made a choice when you never had thought it was even a choice before.

Since returning, you’d been involved several indie films, you even returned to your TV roots for a recurring role as your first break back. You worked your way back into Hollywood’s good graces with small roles, hard work and undeterred focus, and this - this was the result.

“And now?” Dieter asks carefully.

“I’m good, I think.”

“Well, dating that all American boy, you’ve got how many Instagram followers? You must be pleased, your comeback’s working.”

“It’s not like that. I like acting,” you say emphatically, “I like getting to wear another character for a bit, tell their story, y’know? And screw social media!”

“I get that. You’re uh - not what I expected.”

“Same.”

“Hmm, yeah?” He places to an arm on the sofa, his hand so close it’s almost touching your collarbone. He’s wearing rings and some sort of beaded bracelet, loosely tied around his wrist.

“So, um, let’s try it your way,” you say, taking a deep breath. The trailer feels hotter somehow.

When he scoots closer to you on the sofa in his trailer, his thighs lightly touching yours and looks in your eyes, you can kind of see it.

His eyes are crazy beautiful.

You can feel heat swimming at the bottom of your stomach. You notice how his eyes darken, how he licks his lips for just a second.

Fuck, he’s a good actor.

Before - Week 2 of Filming

Alex hasn’t called you in three nights. He said he needed to prepare to write his new album and so he’s been on a trip with his band to Nashville for the past week.

The night before he left, he told you that he was concerned you were trying too hard with this new role, that you needed to be less - less you because everyone would think you reeked of desperation. He told you to relax and smile more.

His words have haunted you ever since.

Maybe you’re not ready for this, you think, maybe you are trying too hard.

You can’t talk to Alex though because he’s too busy with his band to text you back either, it seems. He has enough time to update Instagram though.

You’re not sure if you miss him or not.

“If you weren’t here, what would you be doing?” you ask Dieter as you sit in your trailer, in full costume running through yet another last-minute rewrite. The director was taken by a particular view at sunset and demanded the scene was rewritten to incorporate this completely.

“I’d have another gig,” he replies confidently, “I don’t think I like being out of work too long these days.” You think back to what he said just a fortnight ago about why he took Cliff Beasts 6.

“I meant if you weren’t acting,” you clarify.

“Oh, painting,” he replies without hesitation.

You stare at him with surprise. You hadn’t expected him to answer properly at all; you’d asked Alex the same question once and he’d said he’d always be this way, always have these jobs, just how Dieter had started out his answer.

Dieter had taken your flippant question seriously though and with confidence. Painting? You haven’t thought about that before, hadn’t thought of Dieter doing that before. You can’t help looking at his sizeable hands for a second, wondering what he would like painting.

“You paint?”

“Yes. It’s - it’s all art, all of this. I guess that’s who I am.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, just think about his words.

“What about you? What did you do in your temporary retirement?”

“I wrote a little. I think if I didn’t do this then I’d want to write.” You pause, before adding, “Am I- am I trying too much?” You need to know, and you trust that Dieter will tell you the truth.

“In this role? No. Why?” Dieter looks at you with vague distraction, as though you’ve completely pulled him out of character, away from wherever he was for the moment.

“No reason.”

“Why?” he repeats, pouting at you. Is that - is he flashing the puppy eyes too?

You roll your eyes. “Alex just said something.”

“Oh,” he replies knowingly, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why not?”

“He strikes me as the type.”

“The type to do what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Dieter just shakes his head. “C’mon, then. Show me what you were thinking we should do with this scene.”

Before – Week 3 of Filming:

You’ve learnt a lot about Dieter in two weeks. He favours comfort over style off set; loves a robe and you’ve never seen him wear denim or hard pants outside of when the role requires it. Which as he is playing a former biker gang member is most of the time he’s on camera. It honestly should not be legal for him to look as hot as he does in this role.

He’s surprisingly warm, not as stand-offish as you heard. At least not with you.

Most days you run lines together or drink coffee together in your trailers.

Dieter’s mostly sober now, or at least sober from drugs he tells people. He smokes a lot and you’ve seen him in the hotel bar several times in the evening but he seems in control.

There are no rumours though, no issues. The man is a consummate professional. Not what you expected after Cliff Beasts 6.

You feel like you’ve known him forever.

He might even be your friend. He can only be your friend.

You try and swallow down the way he makes you feel both in and out of character, the way when his hands brush against you at the crafty table it makes your whole body shiver and you’re sure you’re blushing.

You can’t let this go anywhere.

You cannot be that woman.

You try and avoid him for the rest of the day. Run lines with a different cast member, refuse to get a snack for the rest of the day.

Fate has other ideas though when the two of you end up in the same elevator at the hotel. You know you both are on the same floor and that’s at the top floor of this frankly enormous hotel.

“You avoiding me?” he asks casually, standing close to you. The whole elevator is empty but he’s taking advantage of the opportunity to still be as close as possible.

It’s like he knows.

“Dieter, I - we -” You can’t find the words, you don’t know how to say this. What if it’s all in your head and this tension isn’t there? What if it’s just being lonely and pathetic?

“I heard something about you, from Jake the other day,” you say, caught in a wave of bravery. Jake is another of your co-stars, a veteran Broadway actor turned screen actor. He’s playing your brother in the film and the two of you get on particularly well.

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s worked with you before.”

Dieter nods.

“He says that you never run lines or scenes with people. He asked how I got you to agree? He couldn’t believe it when I said I’d just asked and you said yes. So, why did you say yes?”

“Honestly? I wanted to have sex with you - still do.” His bluntness surprises you, but really it shouldn’t. This, right here is Dieter Bravo.

“I’m with someone,” you reply weakly.

“You’re not happy though, are you? I think you want me too. I think you know it.”

How are you only on floor seven? How are there still so many floors to go? Then you’ll be on the same floor and what do you do? Watch him go left and you go right and never talk about it ever again?

“It’s nothing to do with you,” you say as primly as you can. “And we’re very happy.”

“Oh, you look it.”

He is so close to you and you can’t help leaning against him, feeling that solid weight behind you.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to be selfish,” he says in a low voice. “Take it from me.”

“Expert in that, are you?”

”Well, a lot of people would say that I’ve devoted most of my life to some form of hedonism.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“They were some pretty strong drugs, pretty girl.”

“Dieter-”

“Uh-huh, sweetheart?”

“We can’t,” you say. You have Alex, it’s not fair, it’s not right.

“What do you want? Do you want me too?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“When was the last time you were selfish, huh? Did something just for you?” His voice is smooth, low, irresistible. “Why don’t you let me help you? Trust me, I’m very good at this.”

You open your mouth and shut it, unable to argue. You do want him, you know you do. The elevator sounds and the door opens, bringing you out of the moment.

You immediately step out into the hallway and then you freeze.

You want to say something, but you don’t have a script for this. This is one of those moments; you’re at a bifurcation. Go right and never know what could be, but know it’s the expected pathway. Or follow him, choose something else. Be selfish.

You turn and face him, look at his darkened eyes, at the way they’re almost imploring you.

You move just fractionally closer, position your face closer to his. Just a little more and you’ll be kissing.

He meets your lips first, takes away that first move you’re too hesitant to commit to. He breaks the boundary for you.

He closes his eyes after a second, deepens the kiss.

This was inevitable. You think you knew this was going to happen the moment you looked into his eyes on day two.

You follow him to his room.

Before - Week 4 of Filming:

“Shit, ouch,” you say as your hip is pushed into the door handle of your trailer.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, dragging you with him and back to your sofa.

His hands are on your hips, pulling you onto his lap as he runs his fingers over the hem of your top, traces underneath the fabric to the edge of your bra. Thank God you chose to wear your good bra today.

You can feel him, feel the hardness against his trousers. It makes the heat between your legs even worse.

He smirks when you shudder as he moves his hand down your torso, down to the edge of your skirt and you’ve never been more grateful you decided against jeans when you hurriedly got dressed this morning.

It’s not even six am, you’re due to get into costumes soon - too soon.

Time doesn’t feel like it’s real right now. All that matters, all that counts is the feeling of Dieter’s lips on yours, on his fingers slowly working their way down your underwear, circling that bud of nerves and finding just that exact spot, exact motion that makes you gasp.

“That all for me, darlin’?” he asks, smirking salaciously.

Screw going to the costume department. All that really matters is how he brings you to the edge, brings you past the point of no return, knows all of the ways to make you gasp and see white, see stars. You think he likes watching you like this - observing when the tension in your body releases and you collapse boneless into his arms.

Does Dieter do this on every set? Is this real, you want to ask, or is this just the film, just the characters taking over you both? Where do Dieter and you begin and your characters end?

It feels real to you, it feels so fucking real.

Before - 6 weeks into filming

Alex has a premiere in LA so you fly out to go with him. It’s for a movie he was in last year. He played the brother of the main character in a cult action franchise. It was the last job he seemed to enjoy and the last big offer he had.

You want to stay where you are, want to carry on filming, stay with Dieter, but you don’t. The guilt has been following you around for weeks because every day you’re more and more sure that this is not a fling.

You know Dieter Bravo more than you think you’ve ever known anyone else. It’s not just the sex, it’s not the way you both desperately crave crawling into each other’s skin, desire and need everything about each other. Yes, there’s a physicality to it, but there’s more too. At least for you. You’re afraid to ask him if it’s the same.

You talk though. Not small topics, but real and honest conversations. You talk in your trailers with sex drunk eyes, you talk in your hotel rooms in sweaty messes.

You feel like you know him, the real him. The Dieter who likes to paint and yes, is a bit of disaster but he feels like he’s yours. He fits your broken edges and you fit against his.

You don’t want to lose him when this movie is over. You don’t want him to become an acquaintance you just wave to at premieres and make polite small talk with.

You’re terrified it’s different for him though; you know his reputation, the way he’s floated through life without commitments. Annika was his longest public relationship and he’s admitted to you it was his longest relationship overall too. It didn’t seem to end well. What if he doesn’t anything more now?

Dieter isn’t yours to keep, even if you want to.

So you leave Dieter for Alex’s premiere and go and play the dutiful girlfriend.

For all your concerns that Alex resents you now, that the distance between the two of you is insurmountable because your relationship only works when your light is duller than his, he has been in your life for such a long time. He’s interwoven into almost all your highs and lows. Extricating yourself from that is harder than it sounds.

Alex was there when you were ill; when you almost died and needed to leave the public eye. He was there through the unglamorous side of your life; through you crying over a bagel, through hours and hours of therapy. Your recovery had required so much attention and he had never complained, he was always there. He loved you. You were good together. He’s been your only serious love your whole life.

Is the past enough to carry on now though?

You’re not sure if he loves you, you’re not sure if the two of you will survive the year. Even without Dieter, you don’t think it would be likely.

Alex doesn’t seem happy to see you when you arrive in LA, even though he wanted you with him at the premiere.

He scowls when the photographers ask for a shot of you, ask about your film, tightens his grip around your waist.

You stop answering questions they ask you, direct them back to Alex with your widest smile.

You try and look at him with adoration, devotion, to make him the star tonight. You try and ignore how foreign his hands feel on your waist, try and stop comparing them to Dieter’s.

“I love you so much, baby,” he says as you walk into the cinema after the cameras are gone.

You smile a little wider, look at Alex with what’s meant to be devotion. You practice your role.

You’re thinking about Dieter the whole time.

You have missed your home. The small but eclectic bungalow in LA that’s all yours – a renovation project over the years. You’ve missed your bed, missed your shower, missed hearing the same old birds in the morning.

You’ve really missed your coffee machine the most.

Alex hands you a steaming mug of coffee just how you like it when you walk into the kitchen. He’s scrolling through his tablet as you sit at the counter.

“The reviews are good,” he says, beaming as he finally looks at you.

“Yeah? Of course they are.”

“This reviewer said my scenes were a standout.” He points at the article on his tablet proudly.

“Alex, that’s great.”

Alex nods and then flicks to another window. “There’s some good photos of us too,” he says, leaning over so you can see his screen.

He clicks onto the next article and his expression changes. It’s about you. The article frames Alex as your long-term boyfriend and how great it was you flew over with your busy schedule to join him. You think that Ollie, your publicist, will be pleased with the press to be honest, will be happy that the article says the movie you’re shooting now is already tipped to be an award winner when it releases. You immediately you clam up at the thought you’ve taken away from Alex’s night, from him. You didn’t want to do that.

His frown has grown the more he reads the article.

“Huh,” he says, ”you look a little different in this one.”

“Different?” you ask in surprise because it looks the same as the photos in the previous article.

“‘S not a bad thing really, baby.”

“What do you mean?”

You look at the photo more closely.

Oh.

It’s a bad angle, that’s all it is, right? Maybe you should have skipped lunch yesterday, you’re just a little bloated and the dress was tight anyway and - you can’t look at it a moment longer.

“Oh,” you say, “I mean- the dress was -“

“Exactly, don’t worry about it.” Alex kisses you on the cheek and returns to his scrolling.

Before - Week 7 of Filming:

You turn up the speed on the treadmill in the hotel gym. You hate this. You hate this. Since Alex’s premiere, you haven’t missed a day at the gym.

Dieter walks in. He looks infuriatingly casual in his wildly patterned, comfortable trousers and grey t-shirt. Is he wearing Crocs?

If you wore an outfit like that, the paparazzi would have a field day.

“You haven’t come to see me since you got back.” He sounds miserable, like a grumpy toddler.

It’s true, you haven’t. You can’t blame him for those photos, you can’t blame what’s happening between the two of you, but you’ve clearly lost focus. For Alex to say what he did, you know it was really bad.

It’s not just that though - things have clearly got bad again and if that’s the case you don’t want Dieter to see you, not until you’ve sorted things out, not until you’re ready.

You jump onto the edge of the treadmill, one foot straddling each edge of the machine as you press the stop button.

You’re out of breath as you look at him.

“I just needed to get some training in,” you say.

“There’s other types of training,” he replies, a salacious smirk on his face. And that’s clearly the problem, you’ve spent too much time with him and haven’t left yourself enough energy to train and keep yourself in the right shape. This film matters to you, this all matters so much to you.

“Hey,” he says sharply before softly adding, “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“I - I -” You sigh and step off the treadmill. “I just need to take better care of myself.”

“Care of yourself? What do you mean? Why don’t you let me take care of you, huh? You know I can,” he says with a crooked grin.

“Don’t, please. Look I know this is just a set-hook up for you, okay?” You whisper, looking around the empty gym, “But this all matters to me. This role, this everything. I’m screwing up, I’m not prioritising correctly. I - I can’t make it any worse.”

“So this is just a hook up?”

“It’s not?” You look at him seriously then.

“I mean, yeah, it uh - it’s nothing, casual - yeah.”

“I thought you wanted it that way.”

“When did I say that I wanted that?” Dieter demands.

“I thought it - I didn’t know it was real for you too.”

You started this conversation with the intention of breaking up with him and now it’s turned into the two of you trying to define your relationship? You step off the treadmill, pinch your forehead. This is too much.

This conversation has derailed, become messy. You thought Dieter wanted to keep things casual, you thought that met his expectations but looking at him now you’re not so sure.

You can’t do this. This relationship, whatever it is, has distracted you, has removed focus.

Your head throbs and you grip the edge of the machine, look down at the floor.

“Hey, forget us for a second. Just tell me what’s really happening with you,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t look at him. “It’s stupid.”

“I had to read the whole script for Cliff Beasts 6 and I still took the part. In my defence, I need the money and the plot made more sense when I was on coke.”

“I just didn’t look right in the photos of Alex’s premiere, I’m probably one pound from the costume department putting a photo of me on a target board because they’ll have to alter everything.”

”Stop right there. You’re fucking hot, okay? And what are you talking about with the costume department?”

“Dieter, while people might be fine with you walking around Crocs, they expect me -”

“Fuck that.”

“Even Alex said -”

“Wait, this is what this is about? Fuck him. Actually, don’t.”

“Dee, this is serious.”

Dieter looks at you carefully. “Oh, this is what you meant, isn’t it? The other methods of self-destruction, you - ”

“Don’t.”

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. Please?”

You take the hand he offers.

Before - Final Day of Filming:

“I can’t believe it’s the last day,” you say as you lie back against the pillows, still gasping. You turn to face Dieter on the other side of the bed, pleased to note his body gleams with sweat like you’re sure your own does.

You don’t want this to end.

You want to see his home in Sherman Oaks, you want lazy mornings and coffee with him. You want to be able to kiss him outside and not care.

Since you came back from Alex’s premiere, since your confrontation at the gym, you’ve finally understood that this isn’t just the movie for him. That it’s real for you both.

It’s real. It’s something.

You trace the lines of the triangle tattoo on his arm, run your fingers down to his wrist, interlace your fingers with his for a second, lean in to kiss him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

He looks at you; his eyes dark and heavy, his hair mussed and unruly. There’s a vulnerability in his expression. You had always expected Dieter Bravo to be someone who knew what he wanted, who would be assertive, confident and maybe even selfish. He can be those things certainly, but his puppy dog expression is a little too well practiced. He is insecure and needy too, has more layers and vulnerabilities than he ever conveys to the public.

“Who says you’ll lose me?”

“When this is over… when we go back home. I don’t, I don’t know how we do this. If you even want to.”

He props himself up on an elbow, turns himself so he’s facing you too. “If I want to?”

“We’ve never defined this, never said if it’s more than a fling while we’re shooting.”

“Oh, you have a lot of flings on set then?”

“No,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat. “Do you?”

“What are you asking me this?” he replies, a little defensively if you’re honest. Of course he’s had flings on set before, you know he has,

Is this real? That’s the only question you need an answer to, that’s what you really mean.

“What happens next?” Close enough.

“Well,” Dieter says, leaning over to kiss your shoulder, pepper kisses up to your jaw, “that’s up to you.”

“Me?”

“I can’t put this - this burden on you. If what we’re doing right now was exposed, I’d ride it out no problem. But you - sweetheart, they’ll ruin you. I don’t want you to - I don’t want to destroy your life by being me. And I will.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you say bravely, “maybe I’d let you. Maybe I want you to.”

There’s an underlying safety in your responses, in Dieter’s words. You have a feeling if you tell Dieter right now that after this shoot ends, you never want to be with him again, he’ll accept it. He might not like it, you hope he wouldn’t like it, but you know he’d accept it.

That’s why you’ll continue this, you know that.

You think of the way he was with you was after realising why you were in the gym following Alex’s comments and that disastrous premiere. He hadn’t judged you, hadn’t tried to tell you that everything in your head was wrong, argued that you looked a certain way. He knew what battles with internal demons were like, so he knew how to support you.

He never actively draws your attention to his efforts to ensure you eat each day, that you don’t overexercise, but you know what he has been doing. Plus, he made his own point about his feelings on the situation in his own very Dieter Bravo way. With his mouth, with his hands, with him.

You know this situation should feel dangerous and wrong, but it’s the safest you’ve ever felt, the most real you’ve ever been.

“I don’t want this to end,” you say after a moment. “But I don’t want to ruin my life, ruin my career either.”

“So we won’t. Won’t end it, won’t ruin you.”

“‘S not that simple.”

“It can be. We can make it that simple,” he says, moving so that he’s over you, so that he can trace kisses back down to your throat, down to your breasts.

“I need to talk to him when I get back, need to end things, do this right.” Or more right at least, you know what you’ve been doing hasn’t exactly been kind. It doesn’t matter if you’re not in love with Alex anymore, it doesn’t matter if the barriers between you are insurmountable, he deserves an explanation.

“Really?” he asks, an apprehensive expression on his face.

“Can you give me some time to do that?” you ask. “Then - then we can do this without the guilt, right? Without wrecking any of our lives? Just give me a little time?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I can do that.”

He meets your lips again, kisses you hard and says everything neither of you can say with his actions instead.

Before - 1 Week After Filming:

It’s like Alex knows what’s coming. Ever since you came home from the shoot, he’s wanted to make things right.

“I was an asshole to you after my premiere,” he says to you when he picks you up from the airport, “I’m sorry. Really sorry”

You want to say more, you want to say his words were dangerous and did he want you to relapse, was that his secret unspoken intention? You want to tell him that his jealousy has broken the love between you both beyond repair. You want to scream and ask whether he realises that he’s only happy when he’s more successful than you? You want to analyse and pinpoint when the two of became so separate; mark it on a calendar, file it as evidence.

Things improve though. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because neither of you have booked any jobs right now, both of you are in that quiet period between auditions and confirming your next roles where every day is a temporary vacation. They’ve always been some of your favourite times with Alex before. When things are good with you both, they’re good.

It can’t last.

Dieter Bravo is the leading man in your mind all the time. You email him, text him, call him, sneak over to Sherman Oaks when you can. You even add him to your google alerts, you don’t want to lose sight of him.

You haven’t seen him since shooting wrapped and you feel unmoored. If you thought that the absence and ending the film would dull your desire for him, make you rethink matters then you were wrong.

You need to find a way to end things with Alex, to move forward. You want to move on.

It’s your birthday and despite your desire for a quieter celebration, somehow your team have organised an overly lavish event.

It’s good to see old friends from your hometown though, old co-stars you haven’t caught up with for a while.

It’s just it’s midnight and your feet hurt, and you’re exhausted and tired and really you want to go home.

You want to sneak over to Sherman Oaks and spend the night with Dieter. You’d like to have him standing next to you right now, have his hands on your waist. That’s your birthday wish.

Instead, it’s Alex with his arms around you and then he’s speaking and you’re only half-listening, only half-there because you can see Dieter in the corner of your vision. He’s standing with Jake and he’s here, he’s here and you want to go over to him, but you can’t.

You’re not paying attention, don’t realise the room is so quiet until you notice Alex is on his knee and no - no.

Dieter looks away from you.

It’s the worst place, it’s the worst time. It’s the wrong guy.

There are too many people. They’re staring expectantly and this is your nightmare. If Alex knew you, he’d know that. He’s smiling up at you almost triumphantly though.

Why, you wonder, why now?

Whatever happens, whatever you do next is probably going to be one of the worst things you’ll ever do to one of them.

You giggle nervously, eyes darting around such a crowded room who are all cheering you on.

“Baby?” Alex asks, a sudden look of panic on his face.

He looks younger for a moment. You’re instantly taken back to when things were different. When Alex fought for you, supported you, when he held you hand when you cried after therapy appointments. It was a time you’re sure anyone else would have left you in, but he loved you and looked at you with love. You remember how secure he made you feel, how safe when the world was terrifying and all you wanted was to hide away.

Because you’re a coward, because you’re guilty, because you’re scared you say yes when you should say no. The word constricts around your throat immediately, you can taste bile in your mouth.

Alex kisses you as you see Dieter walk away.

“Please, please talk to me,” you plead, standing in Dieter’s porch.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say, is there?” He looks terrible; he’s wearing a shabby robe over what look pyjamas, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other leaning against the doorframe.

“I panicked. There was a crowd.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything,” he exclaims bitterly, shaking his head.

“I told you what I want, I asked you to give me time.”

“Time to break up with him, princess, not fucking marry him!”

“I am not marrying him.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

You wipe furious tears away and shake your head. “I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. ”

“Are you gonna string me along forever? I mean, dammit! Are you still fucking him ? Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me which of the two of us is the one who can make you cum the best, huh?” He throws his glass tumbler in his hallway. “It’s like Annika, you, you’re both the same. I was fine before, I was fine before she got me into my feelings and you - you! You know you’re not that special. I could - I could go out and I could find someone else. Someone who will break up with their boyfriend, better yet someone who doesn’t have one!”

“Dee, I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m just your idiot, aren’t I?” he asks helplessly, “It really fucking sucks being on the other side of this you know. Karma is a bitch.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll make it right.”

“Yeah? Do me a favour, don’t call me before you do.”

”Okay,“ you say in defeat. That’s fair, you can’t do this to him. You can’t do this to yourself either.

As you turn away to leave, he grabs your arm, pulls you back.

“Hey, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he says gently, softly saying your name to sooth you. “Don’t go, don’t leave like this. I’m an asshole, you knew that already though. I’m just - that killed me last night. Don’t go. Please.”

So you don’t.

Before - Last Night:

Alex is staring at you like you’re a stranger. Every version of you he held in his mind has just died behind his eyes.

It doesn’t matter for a second, it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t love you, that your relationship is dead already because you’ve hurt him, humiliated him. You never wanted to hurt him like this.

This is a nightmare. You swallow nervously and pinch your leg, remind yourself you’re still here, you’re still breathing.

“Well,” he says to you with a cruel smile, “you really wanted to lose the America’s sweetheart label, huh?”

“Don’t,” you say carefully, clutching your bag tighter to your stomach like somehow the flimsy thing will shield his words.

How has this happened? How has this got out so quickly? You had a plan.

Five minutes ago, everything was fine, everything was normal. You were at the premiere of the movie you’d had a secondary role in before your movie with Dieter. It felt like such a long time ago since you had been on that set, but it was great to be back with the cast and crew again.

This was always going to be your last public event with Alex. You’d told him you needed to have a serious talk this weekend. You’d even messaged Ollie, your publicist, and told him to prepare for the communications, the statement about what would be your amicable break up.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this though.

The article, though that might be a generous term for it, wasn’t live while you were walking on the red carpet but by the time you entered the movie theatre, it felt like everyone had seen it.

Your phone has been ringing incessantly and everyone is still staring at their phones, then you and then back to their phones.

You want the ground to swallow up.

You’re just grateful you’re in the lobby, away from prying paparazzi and cameras.

It’s posted on a Alex fan blog - one who wasn’t an official journalist, who wouldn’t have contacted your publicist for a comment and therefore didn’t give an opportunity to your teams to squash the story, Their only focus, only priority was Alex. Now you’re their biggest enemy, so now they’ve exposed you.

It’s more than just a veiled rumour, an allegation, there are photos. Grainy screenshots of what looks like CCTV footage of you and Dieter at the hotel on location, you’re kissing in the hallway - how could you have been so careless, who would have given these to the blogger? There’s a photo of you walking down Dieter’s street that day after your birthday party too, a photo of you hours later with mussed hair and a slight mark on your neck and - you can’t look at any more of them. This has been weeks in the making.

“How could you do this?” Alex asks, a furious and heart-breaking mix of anger of hurt on his face, in his voice.

“Alex, this isn’t the place,” you reply quietly.

“No, it is the place. You fucked Dieter Bravo? How long? How long it’s been going on? It looks, it looks like -”

“Can we please go talk somewhere else. I want to talk to you, I want to-”

“Fuck that. Fuck what you want. Clearly you’re getting enough of that.”

“Alex, please!”

“I don’t know you anymore. Who are you? We used to make fun of guys like him.”

“He’s - don’t. He’s not what you think, he’s - please, don’t say that. You don’t know him.”

“Well you clearly do, huh? You know, you always want to come across like such a nice girl, but it’s fake, right? You’ll do anything for that Oscar, to get famous! You’re a good pair, the drugged-up sell-out and the ambitious slut!”

“Alex, stop! Please, just stop.”

“Hurts, right? Being exposed like this in front of everyone. Why? Why would you do this to us?”

“It wasn’t mean to happen, but you and I know we’ve been broken for a long time and I just -” You tail off, not sure where to go from there.

“You said yes. When I proposed you said yes.”

“It was in front of everyone, what other option did you give me?”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it. I stuck by you when you were had nobody, were nobody. I was there with you when you were a suicidal anorexic wreck. I supported, thick and thin, baby. I would have married you. But, hey, I’m not Dieter Bravo so I guess that’s not enough.”

It would have hurt less if he had hit you. How could he bring that up, hurt you that way? Mention the parts of your past that he knows your team have kept out of the public for years. For a second you think see regret on his face before it hardens to something you don’t recognise.

”Nah, I’m done. Doll, you really are the fucking worst,” he says.

“You know what, baby, so are you,” you reply, acid on your tongue and a shrug in your shoulders.

You need to get out of here right now. You can’t hold it together one minute more.

You turn around and push your way through the shocked crowd.

You think you might have just left your career in the lobby with Alex.

Today:

You can’t have this conversation in yesterday’s clothes. You leave Dieter in your living room while you go and change, wash your face, try to do something with your hair.

It’s a marginal improvement.

When you emerge, Dieter is still there. Part of you thought he might have left already. He walks from your kitchen back to your living room with a steaming cup of coffee and a granola bar.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” he asks, handing you the mug and the bar. You don’t want to eat, can barely bring yourself to even think about drinking but Dieter’s face says he won’t let it go until you at least try.

You take a sip, grimace, put the cup down and take a bite of the granola bar. You are surprisingly hungry, despite the sick feeling in your stomach. When even was the last time you ate?

“What do you know?” you ask after a moment. “Did you see - how did they even get pictures? How are there even pictures?”

“I‘ve seen the article. I uh, I saw the video from last night too. Alex was - he definitely got some attention.” An unpleasant expression crosses Dieter’s face.

“Oh.” You didn’t know that had been filmed, no doubt someone had uploaded phone camera footage, or live streamed it, and it had gone viral by now. It makes sense.

You think of Alex’s angry outburst and scowl. You haven’t even told Dieter everything about that yet, your team had kept all of that out of the public domain for years.

“Fuck him for doing that in front of everyone.” His eyes are angry, scanning you over like Alex’s words could have left a physical mark.

“I humiliated him, Dieter. We humiliated him.”

“Do you regret this - regret me?” he asks, looking away from and running a hand through his hair.

“No.” You don’t. You can’t regret him. He’s changed your life, opened you up to something you never knew you needed, never realise you didn’t have.

“Our agents, publicists, all of them are talking. I think maybe the lawyers too because of the photos,” he says after a moment, “I guess they’ll come up with a plan, let us know what’s next, how we manage this. I find it’s best to leave them to that, we can - we can just be here.“

“Right.” You’d almost forgotten you were a commodity, not your own person in Hollywood.

“Hey, we’re not ending this, okay? Right? Unless -”

“No, no,” you say, panic rising because you can’t go through this and lose him too. You just can’t.

You pull him closer to you, let him wrap your arms around you, slip your hands under his t-shirt, up his back. There’s something comforting in his warm skin, in the way you can fit together.

You kiss him, gently at first. He meets your kiss fiercely, saying everything neither of you can with his lips, with his tongue instead. You can almost taste the fear and desire and apologies between the two of you. There’s something else though too.

He pulls away first, takes your hands in his. “Alright then. Forget everyone else, we’re doing this.”

You meet his lips again, pull him closer to you. Your world has just flipped upside down but he’s here and he still wants you and oh, how you want him too.

You need him.

Just as you start to guide him to the sofa, to find the safest, most basic language between the two of you, you hear a slam behind you.

You spin around in horror, only to find Becca standing there, a tray of coffees in one hand and an unamused expression on her face.

“Well, you two have absolutely ruined my week, haven’t you? Do you know how many calls from Ollie I’ve had since last night? I have never heard a man simultaneously sound so angry and so upset before and I actually watched Hunger Strike, Dieter. ”

If your relationship with Dieter had ever sounded romantic to you , all ideas of that quickly fade once it’s reduced to arguments and fierce debate between two teams.

Neither side can agree on a statement, if there should be a statement, on how to present the two of you, or not.

What both sides can agree on though is that you both royally screwed up by not telling anyone in your respective teams that this was happening. They also agree that the publicity for you is a lot worse. For Dieter, it seems to have weirdly improved his publicity with some journalists instead, except with Alex fans. They are not fans of Dieter right now, but they probably hate you more.

There are a few articles though, Dieter’s publicist says, that are asking if this is a relapse, if Dieter is back on his vices of sex and hard drugs, if perhaps a rehab stay is needed. It all supports his rock n’ roll image though, the longstanding bad boy actor.

“I’m way too sober for this conversation, it’d honestly be better if I was still coked out,” Dieter says by way of justification, “And if you can’t tell, I don’t need rehab because I’m sober, okay?” He looks for a second like maybe he regrets this and then his eyes meet yours and he settles.

His publicist seems to consider that Dieter’s actions while sober are only marginally better than if he’d relapse. Perhaps that’s what they expect of him. The thought chills your bones because this is his team. Surely they have to believe in him.

“Your co-star, Jake, has reached out, said he’s willing to support you both if the two of you want it, and only if the two of you do. He’ll need to know our angle of course first to decided what, and if, he’ll say anything. It’s good to know there could be support. I think his team are pretty pissed,” Dieter’s publicist says from the computer screen. All you can think is that Jake is an angel.

You never thought you’d face a scandal like this.

“I don’t know if that will help, but it’s good to know. Look, this will pass, all of this” Ollie says to you kindly, precariously balanced on an ottoman in your living room that was only ever intended as decorative. “Tomorrow, next week, there’ll be another break up or inappropriate social media post, or something and they’ll move on. The important thing is to limit damage right now until then. If you had told me this was happening, we could have prepared, could have had plans in place. ”

“I did tell you I was breaking up with Alex this weekend.”

“You missed out that it was because you were hooking up with your co-star.”

“I may have omitted some minor details.”

Dieter coughs at that, meeting Ollie’s resulting scowl shamelessly.

“Oh, yeah?” Ollie says, looking back at you and shaking his head.

Dieter has an arm snaked around your side, but you notice his other hand is twitching, tapping the edge of your sofa impatiently. He needs to smoke, needs a moment away from this.

“Look, let’s take five, come back and decide the plan and just ride this out, right?” you say, looking at Dieter with what you hope is a meaningful expression.

Ollie nods stiffly, disconnects the video call and walks into another room. Usually that’s your study or sometimes yoga room, but today it’s Ollie’s crisis room. You half expect to see old conference phones, flip-boards and sharpies if you walk in there.

You point towards your garden with Dieter, making the universal symbol for cigarette.

Once you’re both in your garden and alone, you exhale. Dieter immediately lights a cigarette, inspects it carefully.

“I fucking wish i had something stronger,” he mumbles.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “No one has asked you if you’re okay. They’ve asked me, you’ve asked me, but no one asked you.”

“This is - not an issue for me. I’m pissed off that they’re - the shit they’re saying about you. Look I’ve had all the bad publicity, this is nothing to me. I mean it’s a little ironic that certain people jump to conclusions I’ve relapsed, the one time I haven’t. Thing is, it all goes with my public image now, right?”

“But if it’s not true -”

“You know it, I know it, the people who matter know it.” He takes a drag of his cigarette. “I didn’t want the story out like this though. Ollie says you’re already losing jobs, losing sponsorships,” Dieter says sadly.

“He also said it won’t last, remember?.”

You reach out to take a drag of his cigarette and lean against him for a moment.

You stare out at the lush, all too manicured lawn ahead of you. You know what the days and weeks ahead look like; the crisis management, the careful words and avoided cameras.

Weeks ago, Dieter had told you that this would ruin your life if it came out the wrong way, that he would ruin your life, and you said it sounded like a challenge. Even so you knew it was bravado, that was why you’d both agreed not to expose yourselves like this. This is a nightmare scenario; you feel a mix of humiliated and angry and hurt right now.

You don’t regret him though, you can’t. And even if you have ruined everything, ruined your career and all that hard work, for him? Maybe that’s okay, maybe that’s not so bad a price.

For a moment you wonder what today would be like if you hadn’t taken that role, if you and Dieter had never met. Would Alex have proposed? Would you still be feeling like your loveless relationship was slowly destroying you, like you would never be good enough? Would you have even realised how numb and sad and alone you were, how much you minimised yourself for others?

If Dieter’s here though, maybe it will all be worth it.

He wraps an arm around your waist.

“I’m not worth this,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder.

“You are.”

He is.

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal character #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year ago

Text

Battle Of The Knights pt. 1: May The Best Knight Win

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: I mean none really there's a gun at some point but no one gets hurt

Genre: kinda fluff

Summary: "So let me get this straight, you all like me, so you each want to take me on a date and let me decide what to do after?" You can't believe the words you're hearing even as you repeat them back.

What happens when the relationships you've built with Marc and his two alters are turned on their heads by a proposition that is anything but simple? How can they expect you to risk blowing up the carefully crafted dynamic you've worked so hard to create? And why do you agree to such an insane suggestion?

***

You met Marc first. He was charming and quick on his feet. It made you fast friends. Though he was guarded and you knew there were things he would probably never tell you. It didn't stop you from embracing a friendship with him. One filled with movie nights and playful insults. It was Steven you met next. You'd seen him getting off a bus and excitedly ran over to who you thought was your friend only to have a confused Brit staring back at you. You probably should've realized it wasn't Marc when he didn't respond to you calling him but it didn't occur to you until after you grabbed his arm.

"Dude, did you not hear me calling you?" You had said once you caught up to him but he backed away from you as if you'd grown another head.

"I- I'm sorry, have we met?" He asked.

"Marc come on, this has got to be your lamest joke yet." You'd rolled your eyes. "The accent too?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Drop it Spector, you're no good at this."

"I believe you've got me confused with someone else, I'm Steven. Steven Grant." He'd shook his head adamantly and for a moment you really thought it was someone else.

"Wow you're- really sticking to this."

"Yes because it's true? And if you'll excuse me, I'm late for work so, bye." Steven scurried away and you hadn't known what to make of that interaction.

The next time you saw Marc you weren't sure if he'd recognize you or not which had him demanding an explanation when you walked passed him without a word. Of course, when you told him you saw him days ago and he literally didn't recognize you, he reluctantly explained to you that he has an identity disorder. Trauma he wouldn't get into, causing a fracturing of his mind that resulted in three, not two, separate consciousnesses sharing one body. You didn't know much about Dissociative Identity Disorder but you cared about Marc and so you did your research, and asked questions when you had them, trying to be a good friend to him and eventually Steven as well.

Between the two of them, you learned pretty quickly they didn't like talking about the third consciousness, alters you learned they were called, and as a result, you knew next to nothing about him. You didn't know his name or what he was like, he was a mystery, but you knew he was there. It was a door you let stay closed, in fact, you don't even think he wanted to meet you that day you finally encountered the third member of your friend's fractured mind.

It had been Steven's birthday and you wanted to surprise him with a cake. So, using the key they gave you, you'd gone to their apartment while you knew they'd be out to set up the cake. Unfortunately for you, it wasn't Steven who came strolling into their flat that afternoon and you didn't realize it until too late. The whistling should've clued you in honestly, Steven doesn't whistle, but you were excited and so when the door creaked open you didn't hesitate before speaking.

"Happy birthda- oh my god you have a gun!" Your hands shot up when the man pulled out a firearm quicker than you could finish saying birthday.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" You're so frazzled by the weapon pointed at you that you don't immediately notice the accent in his words but then it dawns on you.

"Oh. That makes three." You say quietly.

"I asked you a question."

"My name is y/n. I'm a friend of Steven's and Marc's. It's Steven's birthday so I brought him a cake." You tell him.

"You're a friend of Steven's?"

"And Marc's. Can you please put the gun down?"

"They told you about us?"

"Technically only because they had to. I was Marc's friend first but then I saw Steven one day and when he didn't recognize me Marc had to explain why. He told me there were three of you but they don't really answer any questions about you." You explain quickly. There's a moment of silence and you almost miss the switch between one alter and another. The gun is tossed to the ground with faint disgust and you're certain Steven has taken over.

"Y/n, Gods, I'm sorry about Jake. He's protective. It's, kind of his job." Steven says.

"Happy birthday." You breathe out quietly, relieved you're no longer at the business end of a revolver.

"He didn't hurt you did he?" He walks over to you carefully.

"No. No, I'm not hurt, a little spooked but I'm fine. I just- I wanted to surprise you for your birthday."

"Yeah sorry about that. Surprises are tricky."

"Oh trust me I will not be doing that again any time soon." You say with a chuckle.

"You baked me a cake."

"I did, I didn't get around to lighting the candles before Jake came in but it's vegan. I know it can be hard to find good vegan stuff."

"Thank you! Seriously, I- I really appreciate it."

"Of course Steven." You say. "I can't believe you guys have a gun." You shake your head as you cut Steven a slice of his cake.

"I didn't even know we had one and I'm- really sorry about Jake, he's- not the friendliest guy."

"Don't be sorry and he doesn't have to be friendly. I'm very aware that you're all different personalities. Sure you've all got the same face but I think that's where about 80% of your similarities begin and end, I mean I'm sure there are others but, the point is, you deciding to be my friend after we met does not mean I'd expect the same from Jake. He doesn't have to be my friend, he doesn't even have to talk to me if he doesn't want to. The only thing is if I do run into him again I'd appreciate him not pointing a weapon at me." You shrug.

"You are- so wonderfully understanding." He breathes.

"I mean from what I've read I imagine DID can be pretty disruptive I don't want to make it any more complicated for you. I'm not doing much just, being supportive, trying to help however I can. Like an external carer for your system." You say with a smile. There's a very sudden, very quick, change in Steven's demeanor, shoulders squared as his eyes narrow into a glare.

"They don't need you. I take care of this system." He grits out and you know immediately the new stranger has returned.

"Jake, I'm assuming. Hi again. I didn't say they needed me. I'm sure they're very capable, I'm sure you are very capable, but I'm their friend, so I'm here as support. That's what friends are for. Even for you if you ever decide you want it. Just, try not to point any more weapons at me."

"There is not a thing that you could do for me."

"Never say never, Jake. Look can you bring Steven back so he can actually eat the cake I made for him? I'd offer you a slice but it's vegan and something tells me the guy who carries a handgun to run errands doesn't give a rat's ass about that sort of thing."

"You don't know me. Don't pretend that you do."

"It was an educated guess. I don't have to know you to make a guess based on what I've already observed. Steven's vegan but Marc isn't. I can't see a reason you would be but don't get me mixed up I'm not pretending to know you. I know exactly 2 things about you, your name is Jake, and you carry a gun, I'd guess regularly. Oh, and I think you speak Spanish, based on the way you speak English but that's another guess."

"What are you doing?"

"At this point just pissing you off I'm sure. I know you have no interest in being friends with me Jake and that's fine, I just want Steven back so we can keep doing this back and forth where you get progressively more annoyed with me or you can let him front again." You say with a calm look on your face. You can see the muscles in Jake's jaw work as he glares at you as if he'll be able to set you on fire if he only thinks about it hard enough, then, there's a switch. Wide eyes look at you with confusion.

"What did you do?" Steven asks.

"Nothing." You shake your head blinking innocently at him.

"He's muttering angrily in Spanish."

"All I did was say I don't think he's vegan." You shrug and Steven laughs so hard he has to sit down.

"All you did was say you didn't think he wasn't vegan? He's not!" Steven chuckles.

"Well- I also may have implied that he's not as complex as he thinks he is and while I didn't mean it as a negative I can see how someone like him might take it the wrong way."

"Someone like him?"

"Jake seems like the type who makes a point to maintain a level of emotional distance between himself and anyone he comes in contact with. Perhaps it's his way of ensuring he's an effective protector, I don't know I'd have to talk to him more to find out but I think he values that ability to keep people at arm's length and I think he doesn't like that I can read him in any capacity even though it's mostly surface level information I've gathered. The implication that I can figure anything out without him telling me the thing- I don't think he took that well."

"Then- he's going to hate when Marc tells you pretty much everything about him."

"He doesn't have to. Marc I mean. I don't need him to tell me about Jake." You shake your head.

"I know, so does he. He still will. Because you've met him. And he likes having someone other than us to talk to about our situation. I- like it too."

"Oh- well in that case either of you can talk to me about anything. Always." You said to them and you meant it. You still do. You care about them so much, and it took a while but Jake did eventually open up to you. He still tries to maintain his mystery but his tricks don't really work on you the way he thinks they do.

You like to think that at this point you know them all pretty well, which is why this conversation feels very out of character from basically the start.

"Y/n, we have a confession to make." Steven says, avoiding looking at you.

"I hate when you guys do that because it's never something serious. You don't keep serious secrets from me." You say walking into your kitchen to grab water.

"Never say never princessa." Jake's wry smile when you look at him makes your brow furrow.

"Wait did Steven bow out of this so called confession?" You ask.

"Sí, although I think Marc should be the one to tell you this in the first place."

"Well have Marc come out here then, someone start talking before I start getting anxious." You say. Jake nods and blinks.

"We- you are really important to us. Basically the most important person to us besides, you know each other." Marc says.

"I know. That's not exactly a confession though, I've known that for ages." You frown.

"I know, I know, it's just- we've developed romantic feelings for you and we're unsure how to proceed at this point."

"We? As in all of you? Independently of each other, you all have romantic feelings for me?" You ask.

"Yes." He nods.

"And I take it you're telling me because you've known me the longest."

"Also yes." He nods again.

"Okay." You cross your arms.

"Jake suggested we each take you on a date, you know without the others involved- that way you can make an informed decision on being with one of us. The others, of course, will respect whatever choice you make after."

"Each of you- wait a second, what?" You blink at him.

"Well usually when you're with us, we're all so used to you that it's easy for us to just switch in and out as wanted I mean even just now you spoke to all three of us in like ten minutes but we figure if you should experience each of us without the others looming." Marc explains.

"I'm sorry are you trying to Bachelorette me?"

"It seemed like the most efficient way to solve the problem." He nods.

"What problem?"

"We all have feelings for you. It's not like we can decide for you who to be with so we thought this would help you decide. You can set any rules or limits that you feel would make this easier for you of course. The only one we have is that the others are not allowed to butt in under any circumstances." Marc explains.

"So let me get this straight, you all like me, so you each want to take me on a date and let me decide what to do after?" You can't believe the words you're hearing even as you repeat them back.

"Yes exactly." He nods.

"Good god." You breathe out.

"So- are you on board?"

"You're all insane, you know that?"

"Are you with it or not?" Marc asks.

"I think this is ridiculous, but I know how you get. So if this is what you've decided you need, fine." You say. "Steven goes first. Then Jake. Then you. I'll give each of you one week, during which you can pick any day for your date. I won't be sleeping with any of you. I also won't discuss my date with one with the others. And don't discuss them with each other. I know you guys are competitive and the only way I'm going to allow this madness is if it stays friendly. The moment you start fighting it ends because you're family and I'm not dealing with that." You say.

"What are our weeks?" Marc asks.

"I'll text you."

"What?"

"Two days before, I'll text you to let you know your week is going to start. To clarify, on a Friday I'll text you and you'll have that Sunday to the following Sunday." You say.

"That's- short notice."

"Well if I assign you your weeks now, Steven gets less time than Jake who gets less time than you- it's fairer to do it this way." You shrug.

"Okay. Your rules." He nods. There's a moment of silence before Marc speaks again, from the look on his face you'd guess there's discussion in his head. "We're gonna quit while we're ahead. We'll be waiting for your text messages. Goodnight." Marc says sharply and exits your apartment. You chuckle just a little at his abrupt exit but he's definitely right to leave. Back at their own apartment, the trio is in discussion as soon as the door shuts.

"I can't believe she's on board." Marc says.

I can't believe we even presented that to her. Marc sees Steven frowning from the reflection in the fish tank.

"You had no problem with the idea when Jake originally suggested it."

Well the other suggestions were way worse, lesser of evils and all that. Did you see the look on her face? I think we may have actually convinced her that we are completely off our collective rocker.

Honestly, hermano what would you have suggested in place of this? Jake's voice rings in Marc's head, tired and mildly annoyed as is his standard disposition.

I have no idea I'm just saying she thinks we're insane. Also, what is our course of action for when she doesn't pick any of us?

"When? That's pessimistic." Marc frowns.

Did you hear what she said? 'You're family I won't deal with fighting' Do you honestly think there's anything we could say that would convince her that choosing one of us over the other two wouldn't result in chaos among us? She's always made a point to not make any of us feel more favored than the other. She's not going to change that.

"We told her we'd respect her decision-"

Sure we did but anyone can say they'd react favorably to a situation they haven't been in. We don't know for sure that we will be okay if things change. I know that I would put her happiness above mine but you and Jake? I mean Jake would kill for her and even if she doesn't know that it goes that far, she's likely not going to take the chance.

"You don't know that. It's in her hands now. Stop trying to figure out what she's gonna do and worry about your part in this. Or don't. Your choice." Marc walks away from the fish tank, effectively ending the conversation between him and his alters. Maybe this is a crazy plan, but nobody said romance made sense.

***

Taglist: @queerponcho @avengersinitiative2012

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #marc spector angst #steven grant fluff #steven grant angst #jake lockley angst #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

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rweoutofthewoods · 4 months ago

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hello… I read the regulus bpd fic and I’m floored, even by just the description alone. I myself am a regulus kin and even when I got the email notif I just knew it would resonate with me. the miscommunication tag, the aspect of feeling like you know the other person as if they’re your other half but that other half just doesn’t seem to understand you, and you hardly feel seen. I've never really voiced how I feel out loud before especially in regards to my FP, so to see it on AO3 tags was like you’d force me to do the ice bucket challenge against my will /j

and then reading the actual fanfic? nail on the head. I’m just wondering how you got it so accurate as from what you’ve said, you resonate with james in PPP more? and although you said this regulus is textbook bpd, he still feels alive, like you’re writing from something carnal and real, as real as PPP james. I'm astonished by your writing once again

Hi! I'm always glad to hear when people think I get it right, because obviously my own depiction may not resonate with everyone, so this means a lot!

And yes, I'm nothing like Regulus, but honestly, I've always had a pretty easy time writing him. I think it's 1. I'm pretty good at empathizing and putting myself in other people's shoes, and though that leads to less nice things like me often getting the worst secondhand embarrassment in the world, it's also very helpful in writing, because I feel like I'm able to really dig in and try to understand different characters. 2. it's nice to write someone so different and separate from myself, and it gets rid of that personal barrier that might come from trying to depict someone more like you. AND 3. when it comes to bpd, there's some things that are pretty universal across different types of people, so while there are parts of ppp James that definitely I relate to more than this regulus, those core feelings I think a lot of us share. Like explaining that consuming, painful feeling where it literally feels like your heart is trying to turn over in your chest when you're triggered? Maybe I can't relate to Regulus as his personality, but yeah, shit, if those of us with BPD haven't all experienced that kind of pain so unbearable it feels physical.

And if anything, I feel much clearer and better able to express what BPD is actually like NOW than when I wrote ppp. Honestly, it was probably discernable in some of my depictions back then that I was not comfortable with the disorder or even sure who I WAS, which is why that fic took on a lot of those themes of James' struggle with even accepting he had an issue. While this one, Regulus is fully aware he has BPD, other people are aware of it, and it more so studies how it affects relationships and his day-to-day life.

This was a ramble of an answer, but ty for reading and I appreciate you!

#mere answering things ;)#fic: october will cure me

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strawurberries · 2 years ago

Note

i loved your post about vash and reader’s stretch marks. i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is afraid of getting fat, so she skips meals or replaces them with water?

Missed Meals

Summary: Vash notices a change in his companion's behavior. Worried, he decides to confront her.

Authors Note: I'm glad you liked my other post! I hope you like this one as well (though I'm a little nervous because I got stuck writing this and I'm afraid it came out bad). Also, just want to add, I've struggled with eating disorders before (not from self-image but more like Vash's "I don't deserve to eat") so I understand. Everyone is beautiful in their own right and deserves to eat!!! Love all of you guys!!

Warnings: Self-hate, eating disorder.

It started off small; giving her bread to Milly instead of finishing it off, ordering a lighter meal instead of the usual hardy one she adored, and sometimes she simply said, “I’m not that hungry”. But actions like hers always lead to a slippery slope, one that tends to wrap its dirt-crusted nails around its victim and drag them into an early grave. She had never been someone who ate enough to feed an entire village, but not even she could survive on sips of water and the guilty crumbs she rarely allowed herself to consume. After a while though, it became natural, second nature to head off to bed while the sun still hung in the sky, claiming that exhaustion outweighed her hunger—which, she supposed, wasn’t all a lie.

The best lie, she had been told once, is the one that includes the truth.

Now, she recalled that advice as she sat at a table in the back of this dingy town bar. What should she say? What could she say? Recently she had been using up all her excuses left and right, the hunger in her belly growing and the pain in her heart becoming ever more sharp. The group had decided to stop by a local bar before heading to the hotel for the night, nearly everyone complaining about the rough day that had been forced to suffer through. And, to them, a drink was something they were eager to welcome. She, if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with her stomach pains, probably would’ve ordered a whiskey to clear her head of every annoying little thought.

She opted for water though. The least she could do was drink water; she owed it to herself, and so she honored that obligation. Throat parched, mouth achy; the water tasted amazing.

The bar erupted in a shout as someone tripped, roaring laughter drowning out the domestic conversation of her table. Too loud. Vaguely she heard someone mention dinner—she cringed. She did promise herself that she’d finally eat a crumb or a bite tonight (after nearly passing out yesterday she became all too aware of her weakness). She wasn’t dumb, she knew she’d have to eat eventually, that she’d wither away—but one more night, one more meal skipped, it couldn’t do any more harm, right? Besides, from what she had seen on the menu, the foods were all greasy, full of fat and carbs, and wouldn’t help her figure at all.

I just want to look pretty, she reasoned, skipping a meal tonight will help that. God forbid she ate too much and all her progress disappeared: letting that baby fat back under her chin, the muffin-top around her waist, or even the extra flesh on her belly? She’d rather die than let her body look like that again, much less look worse. It terrified her to her core. She needed to look good, and that meant, to her at least, that she must be skinny, thin, and agreeable. Starvation is a small price to pay for beauty.

A waiter slowly started to make their way across the room, eyes set on her table.

I need to go.

She stood up, giving a small smile, “I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

“You’re leaving already Miss?” Milly asked, “it’s still early enough for one drink! C’mon!” She raised her glass and grinned, “look! Mr. Wolfwood and Mr. Vash are already enjoying themselves!”

Drunken giggles erupted across the table.

“Oh Milly,” Meryl sighed, “let the girl get her rest. God knows we all need it.” She waved her hand with the flick of her wrist, “if it wasn’t for the trouble you’re all bound to cause, I would’ve already left myself.”

“Hey!” Wolfwood barked out, “we’ve never caused trouble a day in our lives. . . well, can’t say much for Needle-noggin’ here.”

“It’s not my fault!” Vash cried, “trouble finds me! I always run away from it!” He sobbed into the table, “can’t a man catch a break?!”

Wolfwood laughed and patted him on the back, “it’s all God’s plan, my friend.”

“Well he sure does have a stupid plan!”

With a smile and silent wave, she slipped out from the table and weaved through the bar, the happy expression quickly falling off her face. I’m tired, she thought to herself, ignoring the biting air of the night. A dull ache in the pit of her belly made her stop for a moment, really tired. . .

She barely remembers getting back to the hotel, much less how she managed to get dressed and settled in bed before that wretched knocking woke her up. With a skip of her heart and a rapid smack of her arms to get the blankets off her cold body, she jumped out of bed and reached for the gun she had tossed on the floor. One smooth movement and she delicately wrapped her fingers around the metal. She didn’t even think about the possibility of her friends needing help, or perhaps just room service making their rounds; the only thing on her mind was the fact that she wasn’t prepared to die that night.

“Who’s there?” she grumbled out, ducking to hide beside the door, back to the wall. She rubbed lazy circles into the metal, finger twitching every so slightly over the trigger. She had never been the greatest shot, nor the most eager to kill, but she would do what had to be done if it came down to it.

“Vash.”

She blinked, sleep-clogged mind getting dunked into a vat of mean, old reality. Her situation hit her upside the head and she resisted the urge to put her face between her knees and groan about how dumb she is. Instead of wallowing in her stupidity (which, if you really think about it, wasn’t the worst reaction she could’ve had), she sighed, “oh.” A spike of relief shot through her like a summer’s breeze on a warm day. Shoulders relaxing and muscles begging to be sent back to bed. . . only, she wasn’t tired anymore. I’m not sleeping tonight, am I? Her heart still beat like a drum, thumping in her chest like no tomorrow, and her body—taunt and tense, ready for a moment's attack; that’s how she’s survived this long, by being prepared for every situation no matter the outcome.

“Can uh. . . can I come in?” Squeaked out Vash.

She cursed and opened the door, wooden creaking echoing throughout the hotel hallway, letting her occupied hand hang by her side, “yeah, sorry. What’s the matter?”

Vash stood in his usual clothes—red coat, ridiculous pants, and bulky boots; his gloves though, she noticed, he wasn’t wearing gloves. He gave her a small smile, “sorry did I scare ya?”

The smile made her less mad about the ordeal, kind and small. He never smiled too widely or genuinely, just enough to show that he cared, that he knew what happiness looked like—though she knew that he thought he’d never be able to obtain happiness, a faraway dream is how he described it to be. Oh, how if given the chance, she would give him all the joy he would ever want.

She shoved that thought aside.

“A little,” she raised the gun and gestured with it for Vash to come inside. “Why are you up so late?”

He slid into the room silently, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed, “couldn’t sleep.” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

That was a lie. She could tell. “Want to talk?” She locked the door and once again tossed her gun next to her bed, hoping it wouldn’t go off from the rough handling. “Or jus’ need someone here?”

“Just talking, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, “a’right. How was your day?”

He smiled, “good. You?”

“Peachy.”

The conversation died off.

Neither of them really knew what to say—unspoken words disease the heart and kill the soul, making the tongue bloated and thick. She, not knowing how to comfort her friend as her mind wandered from her own problems to the world’s in general, and he wasn’t sure how to get his point across.

Silence.

Vash cleared his throat, finally collecting his words, “are you. . . okay?” The question hung in the air sourly, sucking any sense of comfort out and churning it into an uninhabitable room of misery. He flinched, as if the mood of the room was hurting him physically. “You’ve been acting a little different lately.”

She leaned against the door, hoping the action would give her the confidence to either run away or admit her inner-thoughts.“Hmm? Fine, you?” She turned her gaze away. Could she run? No, he’d catch her in less than three seconds and her trying to slip out of the room would be an admission of her guilt. But she really didn’t want to talk about herself. She’s doing okay, isn’t she? Just a little tired, anxious, and sad. . . but she’ll get over it. Besides, it’s not like she’s dead yet.

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Oh how painfully awkward this all was.

The bed squeaked as he moved to get into a more comfortable position, “I have some leftovers in my room, from dinner, if you want any.” He tapped his leg with his fingers, head angled slightly to watch her expression.

He knows.

Those eyes, no matter how much of a kind smile or goofy aura he carefully crafted to show everyone, his eyes gave away every part of his secret-self. The part of him that was scarily intelligent, observant, and abnormally calculating—a man smart enough to play dumb and a man strong enough to be kind. That part of him is what interested her so, the gravity that pulled her attention to him everytime he entered a room.

He knows.

With a defeated sigh she rubbed her shoulder and walked over to the bed, shoving herself behind him to lay back down. If she had to bare her soul to him, the least he could allow her to do was to be vulnerable while being comfortable. He moved slightly to allow her more room, facing away from her as if her very gaze would burn him. “I’m not hungry,” she gave one last effort to cover her lie, to toss her truth out the window in the hopes that it would be buried in the sand.

“You said that yesterday too.” He stared across the room, back rigid.

The sands never work in your favor.

“Huh,” she faced the wall, “guess I did.” The blankets were scratchy, old, and ratty, but she pulled them up to her chin nonetheless. She was tired now. All her adrenaline had poured out of her mouth, dripping onto the creaky wooden floor, seeping into the ground beneath.

“And the day before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she had finally been caught in her web of little half-truths. “Haven’t had the stomach to eat anything lately.” Perhaps she could escape this somehow—even though she knew it was futile, part of her accepting the fact that he wouldn’t let this go—, make him run away and stop caring, God that caring! It annoyed her to ends she had never seen before, yet she loved it so. If only he didn’t care, she clenched her fist into the blanket, then this wouldn’t have happened. And it’s not like she’s dying! Nor is she killing herself or drawing blood, she’s only skipping a meal every once in a while.

“I don’t. . .,” Vash trailed off locking his fingers together, “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re starving yourself.” He sat the words quickly, sharply, and promptly, as if he was afraid of them and needed to throw them out of his mouth as soon as possible.

All lies come to an end.

“I know.”

But wouldn’t it be nice if they could live forever?

He bit his lip. “Why?”

“You’re prying,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

The conversation died off.

She didn’t mean to sound so rough and uncaring—the opposite of that gentleman—but a fear had struck her heart and she couldn’t stop it. The only way to feel okay, to be okay, was if Vash stopped caring, stopped worrying, and walked out of the room without a second glance (no matter how much that would hurt). Only he had the power to alleviate this anxious pain but she knew she would never allow her to wallow in misery alone.

What did Wolfwood say? She thought to herself, misery enjoys company?

The air turned from sour to stiff, oppressing; like a hand had come to clasp her throat, fingers digging into flesh and muscles spasming as they tried to escape the hold, only it was fruitless.

“Sometimes,” Vash’s voice cut through the air, peeling the layers of devilish emotions back. Slowly he shuffled down to lay next to her, on his back, hands laced over his chest. “I feel like I don’t deserve to eat. . . how can I allow myself to eat when I know how the people I failed, the people I let die, will never be able to enjoy things like that again? And, really, I think part of me hopes I’ll die from starvation, so I can take an easy way out.” He paused and let out a shuddering sigh.

She didn’t move.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, and you don’t have to tell me, but I understand in part. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to care? And why did she want to accept it so damn bad? If he had never noticed, if he had never looked at her with those eyes, if he had never met her—then she’d be living in her little palace of warped perception like a Queen of nothing but barren hearts. A ruler of her own land, a lawmaker who bows to no one; only this man had come into her secluded little kingdom, raided the halls of the castle, and whisked her away to feel the sun. It hurt her. To know how delicious the outside tasted, yet know how her soul felt safer within her prison.

“Do you think,” the words died in her tongue, nervousness making her numb. To hell with it, he already figured it out. Might as well bite the bullet.“ That I look pretty?” she whispered.

Silence.

Oh, that was a mistake, wasn’t it? The silence hurt in her ways that she didn’t even know could hurt.

Vash choked on his own spit and coughed, “w-what?”

Suddenly she wished the silence was still there.

Of course he’d have a reaction like that! She’s ugly, big, and broken. Why did she think it’s run out any different? “Nevermind.” She buried her face into the blanket, biting back a rumble of sobs in her throat; eyes stinging gently.

“No! No! You—you just caught me off guard! I think you’re beautiful, really.” He turned over frantically, hand awkwardly hovering over her shoulder as he talked into her neck.

“You wouldn’t think the same way if I was bigger,” she curled into herself, “if I was fatter.” She aggressively wiped her tears away, “and skipping a couple meals isn’t too bad if it’s for a good reason, you know?” She wasn’t sure if she was believing herself at this point.

He was silent.

“No matter what,” he twiddled his thumbs, ears turning red, “I think you’d still be beautiful. If you were taller, shorter, thinner, bigger, only had one leg or, um, like lost both eyes or something—” he heard her lowly whisper an audible “what?”, “I’d still think you’d look amazing. And, if anyone says otherwise, they don’t deserve you.” He hesitantly set a hand on her shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, “no matter what, I still cherish you.”

Her voice cracked, “thank you Vash.” His words didn’t convince her entirely, but still, they were nice to hear.

He hummed. “I know my words aren’t going to fix everything, but we can start here, if you want?”

She let out a bubbling sigh, trying desperately to keep her tears away in order not to embarrass herself further. “I'm scared.”

“That’s okay, I get scared all the time. I’ll be right here for you, the whole way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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am-i-obsessed---maybe · 1 year ago

Text

Disordered (Shadow Of A Bluejay Ch.9)

Whoooo, angst (light angst but angst) in general it's a shorter chapter because it's mostly reformatted from Shadow Of A Bluebird seeing as it covered much of the same ground.

My current plan is three more chapters (including the finale) and a few more mini chapters to cover the remaining episodes and milestones we need to hit to be ready for the finale one of which is gonna be Blue's first time meeting their fellow sidekicks!

Wordcount: 1.2k

Series masterpost

Mount Justice October 23, 17:30 EDT

It’d been a week since Batman put you and the team through a train for failure mission. A week to sit on everything that occurred in the increasingly horrifying experience where no matter what you did the situation kept getting worse. You refused to speak after the exercise. You didn’t leave the cave. You simply trained, and trained and trained while rerunning what had happened in the exercise in your mind.

Simulation Alien Mothership October 16th

Artemis was dead. Kaldur was dead. Connor was dead. Dinah was dead. Ollie was dead. Roy was probably either dead or dying and you felt anger that you haven’t felt in a very long time. You were full of rage, rage that bubbled under your skin as your friends and everyone who tried to help them died before your eyes and it bubbled until you reached the boiling point.

Once you, Robin, Kid Flash, Miss Martian and Martian Manhunter were almost out of the mothership. Almost saved the world you snapped. Not at your allies but at the aliens that surrounded you. The strange bug like creatures surrounded your and you let your anger take control and you stormed the Aliens, screaming a battle cry.

“How dare you?! You killed Artemis! You killed Dinah! You killed Ollie! You killed everyone, and I’m going to make your deaths painful!” You sneered, you jumped into action. Muscle memory took control and almost every blow you landed hit hard. Energy consumed your veins and you began zapping or electrocuting the aliens, it was unclear to you. It didn’t matter though and your rage filled alien murder spree continued. Robin forced the Martians to escape and joined your fight only for you to be zapped by an alien he was fighting.

That’s when you woke up. You looked around, you listened to the explanation and all you could do was look down at your slightly shaking hands in guilt.

You stayed away from the rest of the team after that, refusing to talk to anyone. The only person you talked to was Dinah and only to tell her you were fine and didn’t wanna talk about it.

Mount Justice October 23rd

Kaldur had gone in to see Dinah, Connor and Artemis already spoke to her and M'gann felt too bad to look any of you in the eyes. all had left the room, leaving only you, Robin and Wally sitting in the lounge.

The TV was black and silent and the three of you just sat there.

The three of you had all "died" together in the simulation. Wally was your best friend and Robin was his and leaving you three alone well...

"Blue, your floating again" Wally said. He sat on the couch opposite you.

"Sorry, my mind was drifting" You said, falling back onto the couch with a lack of grace the two had never seen before.

"This is awful" Robin said.

"Do you ever think, maybe we shouldn't be doing this?" You asked.

"What do you mean?" Wally asked.

"I know we're the good guys but maybe we're too dangerous to be so freely fighting, I mean, you saw how quickly all of us became soldiers in there" You said.

"Is this because of that weird laser thing you did on the mothership?" Wally asked.

"It's because we're dangerous! Because if we're not careful, if we don't control ourselves we could so easily hurt so many people" You said.

"I mean, Wally you could theoretically break the sound barrier, and Robin and I could kill someone with just our bare hands" Yo looked down at your hands.

"Is it really safe for the people around to us to be around us?" You asked.

"Of course it is" Robin said.

"Yeah, we'd never do anything to hurt anyone" Wally added.

"But it would be so easy for us" You said.

"Is this because of your um... meltdown in the simulation?" Robin aske.

"No, just forget it" You said, getting up and walking out.

Mount Justice October 23, 20:03 EDT

You sat in front of her in a green chair and took off your glasses.

“I’m glad you chose to come talk to me Y/N” She said and you laughed dryly.

“As if I could ever escape it” You joked but Dinah stayed silent, waiting for you to speak. She knew you. She knows you. She knows that those dry, sarcastic jokes are a sign you’re going to open up.

“It was weird at first. I didn’t feel bad after seeing you and Ollie disintegrate but when Artemis died, or when we thought she did this feeling in my chest just appeared. Like a promise or an oath I had to uphold.” You explained and Dinah nodded. “And what was that promise?” She asked, you answered, though still didn’t look up from your hands.

“To get revenge. To painfully tear apart those who killed her… And you and Ollie.” You answered truthfully and finally looked up at her. “And I did. I killed them, so many of them.” Your voice started to shake and you looked back at your hands.

“Did you try to hurt them when you killed them?” She asked and you nodded.

“I wanted to— I did enjoy seeing them squirm as I did it. And seeing them all explode, it just felt…” A single sob escaped you. “It just felt right.” You confessed and you looked down at your rapidly shaking hands. “I promised— I said I’d never do it again. I’d never take a life like that again, but I felt good as I did it.” Warm tears began to flow down your face but you didn’t try to wipe them. You simply stared at your hands, trying to stop the shaking by tightly gripping your knees and Dinah simply sat. Waiting for you to feel good enough to continue.

"You're not at fault Y/N" Dinah said.

"Aren't I though? Four years of progress and yet all it took for me to snap was some stress" You said.

"It wasn't just stress. M'gann's mental state infected you. You thought you lost everything. In a situation like that regressing is natural" She said.

"It's not just that, between the mission in Bialiya, my mission with Roy and this, it feels like, like it's all coming back to haunt me." You told Dinah, though that wasn't the whole truth. You didn't tell Dinah about your meeting with Lady Lilith. You didn't tell anyone that.

"Is it really coming back to haunt you or are you scared it will? Your past will always be there Y/N but you have friends, close friends who care about you. Maybe it's time you told them at least some of it" Dinah said.

"No!" You yelled.

"Absolutely not. They'll hate me" You said.

"Y/N, we classified your file to keep you and everyone around you safe but it's been four years and they haven't come after you. perhaps it's time we think about declassifying some of it?" Dinah suggested.

"No. Not yet." You said and reluctantly Dinah nodded.

"Whatever you decide. You set the pace." she said.

The next week was rough, Canary let you off school and you spent a lot of time in the cave and with Roy. Ollie wasn’t joking when he said that even Roy was worried and he came by to help you try and return to normal while you coped. You were incredibly grateful for the distractions and to spend more time with him. It had been four months since he went solo and in that time you didn’t get the chance to hang out like you used to before. Unfortunately not everything was going great.

#reader insert #dc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yj x gender neutral reader #yj x reader #young justice x reader #metahuman reader #dick grayson #wally west #kid flash #aqualad #robin #dinah lance #black canary

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boywifesammy · 1 year ago

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s5e11 sam, interrupted is THE EPISODE. it’s a fucking cinematic pipe bomb. watching it is like chewing on glass and swallowing propane. it is wonderful, it is amazing, it is EXCRUCIATING and i love it. allow me to explain.

(under the cut because i ended up rambling lol)

like, yes… it is extremely ableist. it is extremely offensive. it is an overdone harmful caricature of psych wards and horrific to watch but that is EXACTLY what makes it so good. i’ve never seen spn as a horror show but man this episode?? the psychological distress of it, the unease, the dereality??? it has me frothing at the mouth.

as someone who has tics and PTSD i have first hand experience being labelled as Crazy so that’s the lens i’m coming at this from. this episode is most definitely not a reliable source for mental health info but the way they portrayed martin’s character kinda got me. him stuttering over certain words, his general paranoia, how they clearly address that he went through a deeply traumatic event but that he’s still useful as a hunter even though he can’t do the things he used to before. i don’t think the writers intended for this episode to be viewed the way i did but man i am shaking it around in my cranium like a snow globe.

just the first few minutes of it is insane. dean acknowledging that sam was high on demon blood and that the apocalypse wasn’t his fault. seeing the absolute absurdity of the show in perspective with real life. dean admitting to his psych doctor that he's an insomniac, alcoholic, and incapable of holding long-terms relationships with his usual blase nonchalance, then immediately clamming up when she hits him with the "let's talk about your father." ??!!! i know dean is The daddy issues character but i love when they call him out like that.

and how can i Not point out the blatant assault and objectification… wendy forcefully making out with both sam AND dean. them both getting probed by the fucking monster of the week not even 10 minutes into the episode. SAM BEING TIED DOWN. i cannot explain to you how much i love seeing him restrained. the moment i saw sam tied down and angry i literally vibrated out of my skin that boy must be helpless and restrained more often it is beautiful.

on a sort of related note: high sam. yes. just yes. the little nose boop. him telling dean I Love You. getting all emotional about how much he cares about his brother. the themes of his autonomy being stripped. him being drugged up against his will when he’s a recovering drug addict????? INSANE.

also one thing that really stood out to me was dean being diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic personality disorder and religious delusions. which, yes, is inaccurate, but seems more like a misinterpretation of his PTSD symptoms. dean isn’t schizophrenic but he IS paranoid and he’s trained himself so thoroughly to weaponize his feelings that even to HIMSELF he seems narcissistic, when he’s really just scared and desperate. he externalizes his self-hatred as this overfed bravado but it’s because if he was honest about how he felt about himself the guy would simply fall apart.

expanding on that note… sam&dean meta on how they react to trauma & grief. dean immediately clams up and becomes anxious and terrified. he shrouds himself in so much false confidence but he genuinely hates himself so fucking much. so much that he just sits with his pain because he thinks he deserves it, while sam wants to externalize. he’s angry and that scares him because of what’s in his blood but the truth is that he has every right to be angry. he wants to be gentle but he has so much repressed rage that it bursts out of him and leaves him terrified in the aftermath. dean on the other hand wants to be angry but he’s so scared and critical of himself that he shuts down.

and the ending. my god the ending. dean telling sam to wrap it up and stuff it down. it’s excruciating to watch because dean’s advice is fucking shit but it’s also heart-breaking because it puts into perspective just how much these boys have on their conscience.

they PHYSICALLY cannot deal with their trauma. it is so awful and overwhelming that they could not function if they remembered it, so they forget about it. they push it down. they hide it away, and it’s so fucking refreshing to have an episode that acknowledges that they do that because THAT IS A TRAUMA RESPONSE. it is quite literally a SURVIVAL tactic. people who are severely traumatized will wipe their memory of traumatic events because they cannot function with it in the peripheral. this is a clear manifestation of sam and dean’s PTSD and how when they’re faced with these problems, their emotions take over and they completely lose themselves, whether that’s due to fear or rage.

the horror of this episode isn’t the wraith. it isn’t the silly little monster sucking out people’s brains. it’s the thing inside you. it is the imagery of these people hanging or with slit wrists being passed off as suicidal because they’re mentally ill. it is the ugly truth of trauma and the ways it twists your memory and self-worth. it is the inherent belief that someone is worthless if they are psychotic or paranoid. it’s the way the episode puts that perspective on sam and dean, shows them what it’s like to hallucinate and drags up their own repressed memories and puts them on full display. it is TRULY horrifying and it is GRIM and NASTY because it is about the human psyche and the horrible ways it can be twisted. it’s a fucking phenomenal episode if you can read the subtext and get past the whole “scary psych ward bad” wrapping.

#oc #supernatural #spn meta #episode analysis #spn 5x11 sam interrupted #sam and autonomy #dean winchester #sam winchester #tw ptsd #tw sui talk #tw sa #tw drugs #hello :)#tagging triggers because this one is a bit of a doozy #i went a little bit crazy watching this episode could you tell #i am very sorry to dump my ramblings on your dash but HEAR ME OUT HERE—#anyways. ANYWAYS.

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good-to-drive · 5 months ago

Note

how would you say the fab four's self-esteem issues manifested differently, and thus affected the way they were perceived?

i was reading some comments saying how george didn't have an ego at all, while john was a complete narcissist, for example, and many people agreed but i don't think i do. what's your take? btw i love your insights <3

Thank you so much for this ask!! It’s such a fascinating question, which is why I took a little while to try to answer it well. (Also, thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoy my ramblings!! <3)

I considered breaking this up over four posts, but it's only about 2.5k words altogether, so y'know what it's fine...

JOHN

I think the question of John's self-perception (and how this manifested in his behaviors) hinges heavily on whether you think he may have suffered from borderline personality disorder.*

I once read a really poignant description of BPD (and many other personality disorders) as someone whose inner self is a “dark room," meaning that when they look inward they see only darkness and emptiness. There are things in the room – they absolutely have just as much inside of them as everyone else – but because they’ve never been able to see it they feel like some sort of empty, subhuman creature who could never possibly be loved.

Over time (and usually through therapy), the person can begin to “raise the lights”, so to speak, and see who they are on the inside and begin to develop a sense of self and identity and from there a sense of worth. Unfortunately, I think John didn't get the opportunity to do this work until late in his life, if ever. He spent most of his adult life contending with that perceived emptiness and the constant psychic pain that accompanies it, and I think that's what most defined his self-perception.

In terms of how this manifested in his behaviors, while the intensely idealized relationships often formed by people suffering from BPD largely function to reassure them that they aren’t completely and totally unloved, they can also be a way of soothing that feeling of unworthiness. The thinking is something like "At least one person thinks I’m worthy. And it’s this incredible, amazing, perfect person who’s too special for everybody else, but they’re not too special for me. And no one who's a part of something this special could truly be unlovable."

But, of course, those relationships also tend to be extremely volatile. And when the person switches their "special connection" to another person, everyone else who came before becomes a threat to this connection and therefore an enemy. And when you're on the wrong side of this kind of thing it feels exactly like malice or cruelty. So, in regards to how this defines the way John is seen by us/fans, I get why it's so tempting to frame him as a cruel or malicious person.

It's easier and perhaps more satisfying to attribute his volatile relationships to cruelty rather than a deep-seated schema of unworthiness, or to attribute his determination to be seen and loved to ego and then characterize that ego as reprehensible. But, with the benefit of time and distance, I think we can probably see that it was a way of trying to survive inside of a broken schema that put him constant psychic pain.

There's also a whole 'nother conversation about to what degree John did or didn't use his public image to self-soothe his feelings of emptiness, which actually brings me to the idea that John was a "complete narcissist."

I’m not sure if the comments you saw meant it in the reddit-y “narcissists are assholes so therefore all assholes are narcissists” kind of way, or if they mean that narcissists have insanely high opinions of themselves (which is true of neither narcissists nor John), or if they were actually using the word correctly.

But if they were using it to refer to the personality disorder, it's probably worth mentioning that people on the NPD spectrum also often struggle with those same intense feelings of unworthiness, emptiness, and self-hate. And John most likely did have some narcissistic tendencies that affected his behavior, but overall I honestly think he was more aligned with the BPD tendency to over-rely on idealizing a personal connection than the NPD tendency to use outside praise and approval as a replacement for internal self-worth.

*I recently became aware that some psychologists believe BPD is actually a form of CPTSD. I’m continuing to use the term BPD, but the truth is I’m not in a position to say whether people with BPD should more accurately be placed under the umbrella of CPTSD.

PAUL

I think the most important consideration when we look at Paul's self-perception is the fact that he most likely was on the NPD spectrum, and I genuinely think to some extent he relies on his public persona because he was denied the opportunity to develop a strong sense of self as a child.

(Off topic but it drives me fucking crazy that narcissist is slowly turning into a synonym for asshole and people with crippling childhood trauma and mental health issues now face even more of a stigma because whiny bitches on reddit couldn’t come up with a better word than “narcissist” when they were big mad. Argh.)

Okay, with that out of the way, I think in looking at Paul's self-perception we have to look back at his adolescence and take into account the fact that he was heavily burdened by his father's addiction and later his mother's death.

There's a quote from Paul about the day Mary died and Paul saying something to the effect of “What are we going to do without her money?”, which people erroneously interpret as Paul being cold (????) but I think obviously indicates a child who was pushed to take responsibility for his family’s financial problems (and by extension his father’s addiction and by extension their continued survival) from far too young an age and was existentially terrified that they wouldn't stay afloat.

(To be clear financial stress is just one tiny piece of being the child of an addict, but I think it's illustrative.)

Anyone growing up under that kind of pressure would be affected by it, and I think in Paul’s case it overwhelmed him with a sense of responsibility and corresponding fear that put his mind more on his family's survival than on himself. Which meant that as an adult he didn’t necessarily have a strong internal sense of identity to fall back on when he was experiencing internal doubts or outside criticism, and other people’s opinions became even more important to him than they are to most people.

In terms of how this manifested, I honestly think it turned him into one of the most media-savvy people I have ever seen. Which, yes, sometimes reads as performative. But for some people their feelings are realer when they’re seen. By making it public/visible they make it a part of how people see them and by extension a part of themselves.

This is also why I think it’s a little bullshit when people try to assign this duplicity to the way Paul intentionally/consciously overhauled his brand after the beatles – just because he wanted everyone to think he was Ultimate Wife Guy/Number One Dad it doesn’t mean he didn’t actually want to be that person. In fact, I think it meant that he did.

All that being said, it’s probably smart to remember that any image we see of Paul (and any other celebrity) isn't a reflection of who they are but rather of how they wanted to be perceived during that particular conversation. Every conversation has an audience, and sometimes for Paul that audience is a literal audience, and it's a little naive to treat the statements he makes publicly like some kind of unfiltered stream-of-consciousness peek into his mind rather than, y'know, public statements.

It’s not that anything he says is necessarily false, rather that things we enjoy hearing may be overrepresented, things we don't care about may be underrepresented, and it will all likely be portrayed in a way that's generally pleasing. In that way, Paul might sometimes function as a mirror to our own feelings about the beatles and their legacy (or our feelings about Paul and his legacy). I talk a little more about this in the replies here.

It kind of reminds of a quote from Marc Maron's podcast about Paul that I can't find the exact text of, but it was roughly "He's become a theme park where people go to relive their memories of The Beatles, and he's okay with that." Paul is a generous, savvy performer trying to perform something we will enjoy without totally selling out the sense of self/identity that he experiences vicariously through his public persona. So it’s both very sincere and very performative. They’re not incompatible.

GEORGE

There’s arguably some conflicting ideas about George’s self-perception, with the general fan assumption that he was overwhelmed with insecurity not really aligning with how the people around him often described him as having a strong internal sense of identity, individuality, or confidence. That being said, it can absolutely be both.

I think we in the beatles fandom tend to assume that George had terrible self-esteem because we tend to see him through the lens of the beatles (actually I guess we see them all through that lens, but it’s arguably the most limiting with George), and it just seems like common sense that if you were trying to be a songwriter in the shadow of the two greatest songwriters of all time you’d end up feeling pretty shitty about yourself.

Then, on the interpersonal level, there’s the fact that both of the people we often see as George's most important friendships (although I’m not at all sure they were the defining relationships of his life) were extremely focused on conveying to everyone around them that they preferred each other. Which is a very natural thing for a hyperidealized bond to do, btw – oftentimes people with BPD need everybody to know that their idealized bond is extremely special and their idealized person prefers them to everyone else.

(That's not to say Paul and John were friend-excluding jerks, btw. It's obvious they were very close with George, not to mention Ringo. It's just that it was probably soothing to them to perform the specialness of their relationship in front of others, to convey to people that their closeness is extreme and important and unlike anything they have with anyone else, or, indeed, unlike anything anyone else has ever had.)

But I honestly think this perception of George as someone overwhelmed with insecurity is yet another perspective on George that only really makes sense if you insist on exclusively seeing him in the shadow of the beatles. Put it up there with “George didn’t play well with others." It’s something that feels intuitively right… as long as you don’t really know anything about him that doesn’t directly involve Paul and John.

I'm not saying he was never insecure and never tried to talk shit about himself, but look at how many people described him as individualistic, confident, etc., from a very young age. Also, frankly, he just never seemed super concerned with controlling how he was perceived or searching for validation via his public image. I don’t think it’s a case of outgrowing John and Paul’s shadow, either, because apparently he was literally always like that.

I know people will immediately point to George's bids for connection in Get Back, how they sometimes took the form of "I'm bad at music" and then waiting for the "No, you're not!" and how this contrasts to Paul's bids for connection, which were more like "No one likes me" or "I'm bad at being in charge."

I have my own issues with GB (it's got every reality TV red flag under the sun) and even more issues with how it's perceived, but, yeah, this definitely points to George at that point in his life feeling a sense of musical insecurity. Or, at the very least, using his perceived musical inferiority as a bid for connection.

And it’s also probably worth noting that George really did describe himself as a “pretty good guitarist” who wrote songs that “weren’t that bad”. Which honestly doesn’t strike me as someone with horrible self-esteem (especially because he seemed basically fine with that tbh), maybe more just someone with a self-deprecating sense of humor who was self-aware about being “economy class” and didn’t think (or expect other people to think) that he was one of the best musicians of his time. But, yes, if we’re looking at him in contrast to someone like Paul who once described his musical oeuvre as the only true equivalent to Mozart, it’s obviously pretty different.

So I'm not saying we're all totally delusional when we say George seems insecure compared to the other beatles. Rather, I'm saying that his insecurity seems more like it existed against a larger backdrop of security in the self that probably came from a relatively stable childhood.

I’m semi-familiar with a difference in psychology between self-esteem issues that develop in response to childhood experiences and self-esteem issues that develop in response to things that happen when you’re an adult, and I know George joined the beatles well before he became an adult, but I honestly think it might come down to something like that. Maybe having a base/core of knowing yourself and feeling some degree of inherent value as a human being meant that while he certainly had a lot of experiences throughout adolescence/adulthood that could theoretically make him feel unworthy, it didn’t really get at the core of his being.

RINGO

With Ringo, I do question a little if his self-perception was actually that well developed when he was young. I talked about this a little bit elsewhere, but some of the stories about his childhood make me think he experienced some degree of emotional neglect that prevented him from learning how to identify and cope with his own emotions.

Which is a really common thing for people who grow up to self-soothe with alcohol – because you don’t know how to recognize your emotions you can’t even begin to cope with them, so you feel your only option is to numb them with alcohol.

(It can actually cut both ways, too – depending on how young you were when your parents realized they could shut you up with alcohol, you might have been prevented from learning how to recognize and cope with emotions by the fact that they were always being numbed. Given that he first got black-out drunk around age 9, I think this might be true for Ringo as well.)

I think in a weird way this is also why people tend to overlook Ringo and/or not have a particularly vivid image of him as a person who feels things or does things. We don’t always portray a very complex inner or emotional life in him, but obviously he has one, it’s just that for a long time he himself may not have known that he had one. And I sometimes think this perceived "blankness" (as opposed to emptiness) defined his self-perception, defined the way he was seen by the people around him -- as a blank space where they could pour out their own emotions, and now defines how we see him as fans.

Which is a little frustrating because he's been sober for over thirty years and I strongly suspect that he has a very developed sense of self and self-worth at this point in his life or he wouldn't have been able to get and stay sober for thirty fucking years. Also, frankly, even back in the day he was probably living in the same repeating prison that all addicts live in, but because he wasn't overtly aware of it he wasn't overtly expressing it and as a result we all sort of fail to see it even looking back.

(I'm not excusing myself from this either, btw. The other day I caught myself saying John and George were probably the most open to changing as people, and then I remembered that Ringo was an alcoholic until he was almost 50 years old and still managed to get and stay sober and realized I'm an asshat.)

Self-esteem issues and self-hate come rolled together with any drinking problem. It’s hard to get sober without facing what you’ve become and it’s impossible to face what you’ve become without hating yourself. I suspect Ringo has had a profound and painful journey with his own self-perception and sense of identity, I'm just not sure I know what it is. Which, yes, makes me the asshat.

All that being said, the blankness/simplicity we project onto Ringo does sometimes work in his favor. He's been very open about the fact that he considers his behavior towards his wives to be abusive, and he almost never gets called on it the way beatles fans call out John, and I suspect it's partly because we insist on seeing so much more complexity and importance and frankly more humanity in John's story than in Ringo's.

#ask #the beatles #george harrison #paul mccartney #john lennon #ringo starr #longer rambles

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