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chronically-ghosted · 6 months

Text

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

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foreverrogers · 2 years

Note

Would a “nod of acknowledgment” be liking posts? As someone who has a personal blog, I tried to show my appreciation to fanfic writers by liking most of the posts. Because I have a personal blog, I have friends and family who (unfortunately) are very judgy when it comes to what I post, even going as far as telling and showing the rest of my family my blog. For instance, I reblogged a Sirius Black x reader fanfic once thinking that they wouldn’t see it, but they did. They ended up showing my parents, my grandparents, and my aunts. Despite being a full grown woman, they judged me and gave me a lecture on why reading such things was “unacceptable and strange”. So really, the only way I have and will be able to show appreciation to writers through liking. I really do want to show support because I know writing is difficult and I was hoping that liking was a way to show my admiration and gratitude. Wouldn’t that count as something?

hi! i just wanted to start by saying sorry that your friends and family are judgemental towards fic. enjoying fic is a hobby just like any other and the stigma around it is unfortunately very strong amongst those outside of the community.

i've never been great at talking about stuff like this but i can try!

i definitely understand that some people can't reblog! personally, and i know for a lot of writers, likes kind of melt together and don't really tell us anything about how our work is being received. it really is more about the feedback and the engagement with readers over the notes - likes don't show us which parts readers liked or give us anything to reflect on for future works. this doesn't mean i don't appreciate each and every person who takes the time out of their day to read my stuff, it's just nice to have tangible acknowledgement, as nyx was talking about in that post, that you were here and that you liked it! an author who gets a million sales and no reviews still doesn't know what people think about their book, you know?

to your question, again i absolutely understand that some people can't reblog. things like comments and sending us asks don't show up on your main profile and can make the day of a writer!! i know i'm speaking for more writers than myself when i say every comment or ask telling me what somebody liked about a fic makes me feel just as warm and fuzzy as reblogs.

#hayes chats #i hope this helped but if you'd like to keep talking about it feel free to send me another ask #<3

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baekhvuns · 7 months

Note

Ok good news my mum said it fine to take a drop year like finally dude 😭😭 but the bad news is the job i told you about....i couldn't get it...cuz the aunt tht told me out didn't tell us how urgent it was like they needed an answer then and there if it was a yes or no, but of course emy parents took a lot of time to decide and when they called her she was like "oh now the slot is unavailable" 😭

Anyways whenever I'll get a job I will, but ykw I'm worried about now, a function is taking place in my house and well...I'm happy cuz I get to dress up BUT IK MY RELATIVES ARE GOING TO EAT ME UP WITH QUESTIONS AND IF I TELL THEM IM TAKING A YEAR OFF IMMA HV TO DEAL WITH THOSE JUDGY LOOKS 😭😭 I get what mum meant...but, I'll Def won't pay mind to it, but at this point, I'm preparing for that stupid test and honestly...I'm see no opportunities for like graphic designing and stuff as of now...or any other course I'd like to opt for but...I won't give up, I'll look for them and in the meantime I'm focusing on my language learning...yeah, but for some reason I've been really happy...idk but yeah 😭

AND WE'RE GOING TO THE WEDDING ON 14 JANUARY YAYYYY!!! CELEBRATIONS!! And before tht too I'm wearing suit to the function I told you about and it's not a new one it's my grandmothers...I'm HAPPY 😭

Ok so i HAD to talk abt this to you, so I've been tutoring my cousin, she's in 9th grade and yeah we've been having fun, but sometimes she...SHE HAS A SUPERIORITY COMPLEX OK? And well ok it shouldn't bother me but the way she says it ticks me off like the other day we were talking about this whole ethnic and traditional clothes thing and she legit said "well, you know traditional clothing doesn't suit you, you can't manage it" or something like "when you speak Punjabi you look really funny, even my mum said you don't know how to speak it"

...like? HOW CN YOU POSSIBLY TELL ME THAT MY CULTURE DOESN'T SUIT ME??? WTH??

Anyways, NAURRR you're so right PPL my age debuting is like 😭 LIKE WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING IN MY LIFE? WHY ARE WE STILL HERE? JUST TO SUFFER?

Omg yes, that actress is like a softer version of hema Malini THE EYELINER I WAS DED 😭 u r so right, the Indian fan base is so FRUSTRATING bcz they collectively make up a Karen fanbase really I'm not even kidding, like an actress gains weight they all go crazy, or they say oh she's had plastic surgery and stuff...It's so annoying honestly man

As a person who has no experience with lehnga I think I get what you're tryna say, the poofy lehengas the ones you gotta pick up and then move. Omg i just remembered something, the other day me and my mum were just talking about something and somehow we somehow started talking about relationships and my mum, my typical brown mum, was like "you better not have a bf, focus on your studies, when the time is right, you'll find someone, and blah blah" and i looked at her straight and the yes and I said "do you honestly believe i have the confidence TO FIND MYSELF A BF?" And she started laughing like 😭😭 I was like what? And she said you're right 😭😭😭

hello!!

OKAY WE GOT ONE GOOD NEWS??? and 🧍🏻‍♀️

COME ON 😭😭😭 U GUYS SHOULDVE SAID YES ON SPOT DEAL W THE CONSEQUENCES LATER AT LEAST THE $$$ 😭😭 hopefully another one opens for u 🤲🏻

see for graphic designing, u can always start a etsy business where u sell prints (made in canva) and or templates, some of my friends do that as well as i so it does generate and make u practice ur skills! ofc focus on ur test, hope u pass w good grades 💓💓

WE WIN EITHER WAY???? we need pics (will priv the ask if u do send!) and details and everything

“how can u tell me my culture doesn’t suit me??” LMFAOOO PLS THIS EXACTLY FVWJDHWKHDKW like what’s the competition in speaking punjabi like 😭😭😭😭 see my mom raised me like “if they don’t like what u wear and point at it they’re just jealous they don’t do it better” SO U GET MY POINT JCJCJ

NO SRS???? LIKE WERE WAS I IN THAT GENE POOL WHERE U ALL GOT SELECTED AND THEN BECAME FAMOUS LIKE

her eyeliner and looks were god tier, truly what an era of women and beauty 😩 omfg im so tired of the “she’s pregnant” bc she’s wearing LOSE CLOTHES OR HWS HER HAND ON HER STOMACH LIKE????? aunties ????? shaming aish for weight gain and then u click their pfp it’s “shalini nath, jai ma durga💖” ????? FAM????

i wore it once never again, the poof in it like gets stuck in between ur legs so there’s like poof stuck in ur thighs and u have to walk like a penguin truly the most frustrating night of my life and it was at a reception too 😭

LMFAOOOO NO CAUSE HRJWHDKW SAME LIKE THEY RLY THINK SAYING THAT WILL DO SOMETHING TO WHEN IT NEVER DOES like im amazed u have this thought that i have a lot of bf’s but miss girl that iz le not true <3

#✉️ : ask #[ rosesapphiremysticalrose ]

0 notes

mel-the-fangirl · 3 years

Text

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

---------------------------------------

You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you, let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little.

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough.

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock.

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year.

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour?

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

-------------------------

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times.

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking.

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #nomis #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fic #Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the man from uncle #napoleon solo #cavillry #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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jerry-for-the-win · 3 years

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Sakusa Headcannons!

(Because I’m bored and avoiding school work)

Sakusa grew up in a wealthy family with an overbearing mother and a father who couldn’t care less about him. He has older (by a lot) brother and sister who his father vet obviously likes more.

He spent most of his childhood at komori’s house and considers himself more of his aunts son than his fathers. (He even gets his aunt mother’s day gifts)

He doesn’t get the point of putting labels on his sexuality or gender, he goes by he/him and if people are pushy about what his sexuality is he’ll say gay but he’s not really attached to those labels.

He really likes keychains because that’s what his sibling would bring him when they came home so now he has a huge key ring of keychains from all over. His fans notice this and now his keychain collection is huge but he remembers where each one came from.

Since his mother was overbearing when he was growing up she was obsessed with him not getting sick and that’s where his aversion to germs comes from.

Him and Komori gossip all the time, everyone trusts komori since he seems so sweet but he tells Sakusa everything and Sakusa is super judgy.

He’ll always do deez nuts jokes to Atsumu and Atsumu falls for it everytime

He had a musical theater phase

His love langue when it comes to receiving love is touch (since komoris side of the family was very touchy it became his favorite was of reviving love) but when giving love he prefers gift giving. He always buys little trinkets for people if they remind him of them.

He’s a dog person and when he stops playing volley ball he gets an old greyhound

Him and Hinata get along super well because Hinata is used to Kageyama’s bitchiness and Sakusa is used to Komori being a dumbass.

He likes koala hugs where he just wraps all his limbs around someone.

He has pretty privilege and knows it lmaooo

He had really bad acne in high school

He really likes dark chocolate

Ok that’s all I got for now but I love him, if you have anymore headcannons let me know!

#sakusa kiyoomi #Sakusa #haikyuu komori #komori #haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyuu headcanons #sakusa headcanons #I love this man

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gamerwoo · 4 years

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Seventeen headcanons: Seventeen as Disney Characters’ Kids

a/n: you can thank my cousin forcing me to listen to the descendants soundtrack for this. may or may not do oneshots for these at some point so uh,,,,,,we’ll see

Seungcheol, son of Kovu and Kiara

a lot like his parents

is a little infamous because some people still see his dad as “evil” anyway

does whatever he thinks is right even if it’s not traditional

heir to be king and he takes that seriously

honestly he is lowkey trying to prove himself to everyone

hangs out with wonwoo a lot and usually goes to him for advice

also best friends with soonyoung since they’re kind of in the same boat

doesn’t want to be sheltered by his parents even though he has mixed reactions from the public

even if his entire kingdom doesn’t like him, he wants to be a good prince and future king

Jeonghan, son of The Cheshire Cat

sly and sneaky and mischievous lil shit

you don’t think he’s there but he’s there

he hears and sees everything

his favorite thing to do other than nothing is eavesdrop

he’ll be hanging out with his friends and as soon as someone is like “let’s go do this” he disappears without saying anything

often found lounging about with his tail swaying and flicking

typically up to no good but his seemingly sweet face always fools people

but those who know him know he’s typically anything but sweet

whenever he appears, you always see his smirk first

Joshua, son of David & Nani

surfer dude

i mean, come on, look who raised him

hangs out with seokmin a lot

he’ll sit on his surfboard out in the ocean and seok will swim up and rest his arms on the board and they’ll just talk or swim and stuff

he is a little ‘odd’ but his aunt is lilo and he was raised around aliens so can you blame him

but he really just wants to be normal because people have been judging him for his entire life

sometimes he’s a lil judgy just to make himself feel less weird

*insert that gif of him making that face in the going svt episode that everyone uses as a meme now*

but like he also keeps experiment 002 as a ‘pet’ after mrs. hasagawa couldn’t take care of her ‘cats’ anymore

so he still is a lowkey strange boi

Junhui, son of Thomas O’Malley

smooth as heck

a little goofy but that’s his charm

he comes from one of thomas’s many one-night-stands, so he lived on the street and was only raised by his dad for a long time

when he was brought in to live with duchess and her kids, she treated him like one of her own, and he got along well with her kids

would throw hands for his sister without question

still a flirt like his dad though

but he drinks his respect women juice i promise

usually playing around with his brothers or sometimes going off to help hansol

even though his family is loaded now, he still acts like he’s an alley cat lmao

kinda stays away from jeonghan because he finds him scary

can be found hanging around with soonyoung though

Soonyoung, son of Shere Khan

he wants to be a tiger so badly so

despite his dad being kind of yknow an asshole

soonyoung is a huge sweetheart

some people may think it’s an act or whatever but it’s just how he is

and his dad is trying so hard to get him to be less kind but the boy can’t help his fat heart okay

he hangs out with seungcheol a lot because the two can relate on being misunderstood

soonyoung is basically kovu

came from a shitty family but is just here for a good time

but if you fuck with him he can and will rip your throat out

hangs out with jun quite a bit because he makes him feel more upbeat and kind of grounded i guess???

because he doesn’t want his status or his father’s words getting to his head

honestly highkey worried he’ll become like his dad

Wonwoo, son of Milo Thatch & Kida

literally the perfect mix of his parents

the curiosity and shyness/awkwardness of his dad

mixed with the beauty and grace of his mom

he’s the prince of atlantis since kida became queen after the king died, and everyone absolutely adores him

has girls lining up to marry him but because he’s awkward like milo, he’s not really that interested in getting married anytime soon

hangs out with seungcheol and tries to give him helpful advice

pretty much always reading and learning about other cultures and kingdoms

has never been outside of atlantis and he’s highkey curious about what’s out there

but he’d never sneak out behind his parents’ back because he’s a good boi

Jihoon, son of Elsa

he’s a lot like his mom (from the first frozen i havent even seen the second one ok)

he also has powers like her which he doesn’t use often

even as a child, he preferred learning how to use and control it rather than just use it for fun

but now when he has to go out for royal things, he will sometimes make a little ice rink for the kids or create little flurries and dancing snowmen just to see the children laugh

and if you look at him, you can see the hint of a smile

spends most of his time in his room reading or sleeping because that’s just how he chooses to spend his time

tbh he doesn’t want to be a prince he just wants to do what he wants

but elsa is a single mom and he’s her only heir so he doesn’t want to let her down or stress her out

but if he could just,,,,,,not be a prince, he would love that

Seokmin, son of Ariel and Eric

everyone always sayin this boy looks like prince eric anyway so

he’s a mermaid like his mom so he can spend time in the water and on land

often goes ‘surfing’ with joshua but it’s basically josh surfing while seokmin swims in the waves and watches

sometimes he goes to visit wonwoo in atlantis but not often because it’s kind of hard to get to

spends 50% of his time singing whatever song is stuck in his head or just making up his own

he really is more like his mom personality-wise lmao

and of course more like his dad when it comes to looks

likes being on land and in water equally you can’t make him choose one

his best friend (other than josh) is a dolphin that goes on adventures with him and stuff, and an octopus that clings to him like a backpack

Mingyu, son of Eugene and Rapunzel

big clumsy but kind idiot

also does that weird smolder thing like his dad

honestly he’s kind of the perfect mix of his parents

very kind and curious

but he’s not nearly as trusting as his mom

he may be kinda dumb sometimes (he got the braincells from his dad ok) but he makes an excellent prince

he loves his kingdom and his kingdom loves him

he’s got so many suitresses but he put his training to be king first

however he highkey in love with the girl who sells flowers and planters at the market

Minghao, son of Cruella De Vil

like his mom, he’s very into fashion

unlike his mom, he prefers to find cruelty free ways of achieving fashion

he actually left home when he was 16 and has nothing to do with her

he’s become an anonymous fashion designer because he knows nobody would give him the time of day if they knew who his mother is

as a designer, he goes by the8

he designs all of seungkwan’s clothes too

he usually just stays inside and works on his clothing because people are mean to him when he goes outside

Seungkwan, son of Charlotte La Bouf

just wants to be a prince so heckin bad !!!!

likes to dress up in nice clothes and go out a lot

only wears things designed by minghao though

he’s boujee okay

honestly would give up his prince dream to help minghao make a new name for himself

he wants to be a prince more than anything but his friends and those he loves come first

but seriously can a princess just marry this poor boy already

Hansol, son of Robin Hood & Maid Marian

hands down the sweetest boy ever

he’s pretty well off so he typically just gives away his own things

but he will steal from the rich if he has to lmao

pretty much friends with everyone because he’s just so likeable

the only people who don’t like him are rich assholes lmao

may or may not have been arrested a few times but it was for good reasons i swear

sometimes has chan tag along on his adventures to steal from the rich

Chan, son of Mulan & Li Shang

he’s not a prince but damn he looks like one

the strongest warrior in his kingdom

his family is also very highly ranked so while he’s not a prince he’s still an important dude in the kingdom

girls swoon over him and men want to be him

can we blame any of them

if he’s not training/practicing, he’s off with hansol

often donates to the poor but also loves to eat the rich lmao

has also wound up in jail a few times but his parents are fine with it because it’s for a good cause

but if he’s not practicing or with hansol, he’s just fucking up assholes

those are basically his hobbies lmao

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ceruleanmusings · 3 years

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mickames ship notes

I just need to put this somewhere so I can stop turning it over in my head. This is me thinking out loud so it does end up long but I also want a place to put this so I can reference it whenever I write more for them in the future. (Keep in mind this is just the version of James I see; others might have a different view on him and that’s okay!)

At a glance, James and Mickey shouldn’t work. They’re complete opposites, he enjoys the spotlight, thrives when getting attention, is vain and self-centered and doesn’t hesitate to put his wants and needs first. She prefers the background, doesn’t like too much attention, and thinks about others and their needs more than her own. But that’s what makes them work as well, they fill each other’s gaps.

James teaches her that, sometimes, it’s best to put yourself first and to go after what you want and need; there’s nothing wrong with making yourself a priority. She can take up space and demand respect and she won’t burst into flames for it. Mickey teaches him that, sometimes, you learn more about those you care about and the world by sitting back, observing, and letting others take the spotlight every once in a while; that being more empathetic and less self absorbed also serves you in a fulfilling way.

They meet at the Palm Woods (if I were to stick this anywhere in canon, it’d be near the tail end of season 2 I think. BTQuads would replace BTGirl Group. This is after retconning and fixing some things in BTQ considering I wrote that 11 years ago; if I rewrote it now I’d do it a little differently. Or maybe it would be somewhere near the beginning of the season as it’s own “episode”. I’m still figuring this out.) He flirts and she resists which comes across as him being a nuisance and her being a doormat; she doesn’t indulge but she doesn’t stop it either (hello?? a cute guy flirting and noticing her? she wasn’t going to let that go right away, even if she is being selfish about it and leading him on to a degree). And since he doesn’t have a stop sign in his face, he keeps toeing the line. Yeah, there are other girls he could be trying to win their favor, and he could do so easily, but there’s something about her not falling for it that makes him try harder.

She’s not perfect. She starts off with a very biased/judgy way of thinking of him: he’s nothing more than a pretty face, a good voice, and a skirt chaser. So the moments he is a nice, sweet, and thoughtful guy she brushes off like it’s a fluke. It takes her friends pointing out to her she’s kind of being a bitch to see how she acts towards him, first taking more offense to the accusation than the what they’re actually saying. She is justified, however, because the only time he talks to her, really, is when he’s hitting on her. She allows it to continue because she has a hard time saying no and, honestly from the beginning, she thinks it’s a joke. Because why would someone so out of her league be into her? Plus, it’s not like it will last. But it does. Eventually she reaches her wits end and tears him a new one, basically stating that he knows nothing about her and he needs to knock it off.

It works and he backs off. At first he changes out of spite. (You say I know nothing about you? Fine! I’ll learn everything I can and show you that I do! So there!) He sits back and he watches her rituals and habits and he listens, learning about her likes and dislikes. He even keeps a list of them; much like his James’ Things to Do B-4 20 List. Only this one is filled with her hobbies and interests and disinterest and the smallest thing he could think of that involves her opinion. Through keeping the list he really does end up learning more about her and having more things to talk to her about where they, eventually (and with Carlos as a tether), become friends and he sees her as a person and not a prize to be won.

It also helps with their paths crossing a lot due to being part of his backing band and going along with the schemes he and his friends get themselves involved in on a daily basis. Her loving hockey always wins her points in his book (though she prefers to watch rather than play.) They can hang out and chill and talk to each other without expecting something out of it. (And he flirts sometimes, he can’t just turn it off, but that doesn’t make his comments about liking her hair or her looking gorgeous in a dress any less honest.) At that point it’s just James being James and who was she to make him change? He takes her as she is, quiet, hesitant, shy, over-thinker and all, she can take him for all his faults too.

It’s that line of thought which brings them to the point where they eventually feel safe with one another to open up and be vulnerable about their insecurities, which end up being similar in sentiment: they both want someone to put them first. James doesn’t have the best relationships with his parents, his mom was absent emotionally and his dad splits his time chasing after his washed up rockstar dreams and keeping his younger wife happy. They didn’t give him attention so he decided to give it to himself; he pumps himself up, dresses well, overstates his talents (though he can back it up), and makes himself a priority, No one else did so why not himself? But he’s tired and, for once, he wouldn’t mind someone else putting in the effort. Being a quadruplet, Mickey is used to sharing: space, attention, gifts, classes, a birthday, anything and everything. She comes as a set. And while she shies away from unwanted attention, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want things to be about her sometimes. She doesn’t know how to ask for it, instead curling in on herself, falling in line, and boosting others and their wants and needs and dreams thinking, one day, someone will do the same for her. There’s an odd sort of loneliness she feels being a quad and not knowing how to have an outside identity, wanting that attention but not feeling it’s right to want it. So she sits back and goes with the flow; it’s all she’s ever known.

It’s when Mickey sees James as the nice, driven, focused, sweet, funny, loyal, talented, understanding, and accepting guy he is her feelings for him change. She has a hard time grappling with them, not sure if she likes him or the undivided attention he gives her. Also, she has a habit of sabotaging good things for herself (a fact her sisters and aunt Kelly point out a lot). James is out of her league, why would she want to let him in if he’s only going to end up realizing the same thing and move onto the next thing? (On the other end, James thinks she’s out of his league; she’s smart, caring, funny, creative, supportive, selfless, thoughtful, and a badass on the bass.) She blinds herself to the fact that, ever since he met her, he’s never moved on.

Not even when he chased after Lucy. Lucy was a distraction to him not wanting to confront something he doesn’t know how to handle: actual feelings. Lucy always turned him down; he expected it, he knew the outcome, it was easy and safe. He couldn’t get hurt by a friend he wasn’t entirely invested in (I want to be clear here they are friends, unlike the show I have reasons as to why Lucy is friends with them and is involved more than just to be a love interest. My wording is directed that he’s not entirely invested in chasing after her, it being a front and him slipping into what he knows more than anything). He could get hurt by Mickey. She’s his best friend (well one of them, Carlos would hate to be bumped from his best bud ranking) and, if things went wrong, their friendship could get ruined too. He couldn’t risk that.

So they’re wishy-washy, coming closer and backing away at the last minute, admiring one another from afar, pretending their gazes aren’t being held a little too long or their smiles shine a little brighter in one another’s company. James is on uneven ground for the first time in his life; he always knows the right thing to say, never gets nervous, and can hold his own but Mickey can bowl him over. And while it sends him spiraling he also dips his toe into the uncharted waters. Eventually he gets fed up with her going back and forth and lays it all on the line, letting his feelings out, very plainly, and puts the ball in her court. Maybe she actually likes him, maybe she doesn’t. But she does and it takes her a little longer to accept she does, that she’s allowed to have someone who ticks off all her boxes, that she’s allowed to be happy. So she sends a plant to share her feelings instead; words come easier to her on paper than spoken aloud. And he’s shocked at first; while he hoped she felt the same way a larger part of him had convinced himself he was chasing after a lost cause. But they’re finally on the same page and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

In fact, he tries a little too hard to be the perfect boyfriend. Overeager as he his, he pulls out her chairs only for her to fall flat to the ground when he does so too hard, he spills drinks he bought on her, he tries to make her cookies only for them to be rock-solid hockey pucks that nearly break her teeth (he probably should have learned baking soda can’t be substituted with actual soda), he tries to hold open the door for her only to hit her in the face, he tries to buy her flowers only to wind up being allergic to them. It’s his first real relationship (the three days with Selana don’t count), he has to be the best at it. He’s always the best. To save herself form more bodily harm, Mickey ends up snapping him out of it and they both realize they’re scared of what it means to be with someone else and be in a relationship (it’s her first relationship too) and be committed so they agree that it would be easier to be scared together.

As eager as James is, he lets Mickey take the lead. So she’s the one to kiss him first, she’s the one to initiate holding hands and hugging and cuddling, she’s usually the first to lean into him if she needs grounding or reassurance; forehead touching and nuzzling are her go-tos. If it were up to him he’d pack on the PDA any chance he could get; she’d rather keep the bigger displays behind closed doors.

They view their separate loves, music and cooking, similarly: the end result, the way music or food brings people together and makes memories that last and touches people, as a driving force in putting their all into their craft. Even if being a rockstar wasn’t her dream and even if he doesn’t cook, they understand that feeling of supplying for others and being an escape.

Their relationship isn’t free from its bumps. James is more open with his words and intentions so he communicates well but Mickey is more guarded on that front; she tends to put forth her effort into her actions and showing how she cares so he is taken care of. Sometimes he takes advantage of it but he learns fast to tell her how much he appreciate her while she learns to verbally communicate her feelings better. Sometimes she doesn’t mind he’s self-absorbed, he can talk about himself all he wants while she can sit back and listen. But there are other moments she wants to pull her hair out because it wouldn’t kill him to ask her how she’s doing. Sometimes he wants her to be more firm, to be confident and make a choice rather than let others take the lead for her; other times he basks in her relying on him to navigate certain situations.

They date for a while, part ways, and then get back together in the future after learning more about themselves and what they want in a partner. In the end, opposites attract hit them hard and, like opposing poles on a magnet, will always bring them back to each other. (Plus, as James points out, Mickey Diamond has a nice rockstar ring to it. Pun intended.)

#mickames #mickey x james #again this is mostly for me but if anyone has any thoughts i wouldn't mind talking about them #glad i can finally dump this from my brain #i may write all this into a fic one day. it'd be a slow burn for sure #big time rush oc #james diamond #mickey mason

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tessmontyart · 3 years

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2020 year in review

It’s funny, last year I never actually got around to doing one of these. I didn’t think it was overly interesting. Oh 2019, how I miss you so 😭Such an innocent time ....

I’ll do a quick recap, cause hey no-one but me reads these anyway. 2019 was a glorious time. I went to Italy for the first time, went on an awesome Hunter Valley trip with my friends, had a 100th birthday celebration for my pop, I got to see the show I worked on air on TV, we saw the Lano and Woodley apartment in Melbourne .... Good times!

I didn’t give a rats about being unemployed and took matters into my own hands by making loads of new merch and selling at the most conventions I’ve ever been to. I tabled at Sydney Supanova, Adelaide Avcon, Sydney SMASH, Coffs Nexus Con, Sydney Oz Comic Con and Brisbane Supanova! I did so much travelling and events, it became my full time job. It was exhausting, but it was loads of fun, it paid the bills nicely, and it was wonderful to meet followers and mutuals in person.

My partner was very invested in counting up the numbers of what was selling and what wasn’t, and taking note of what was inconvenient with my setup and how to make it better. He even made a powerpoint presentation on what I could focus on for 2020, what kind of merch I could focus on and adding more conventions to my list. We were both excited about the idea of trying out Armageddon in New Zealand, which would have been my first overseas convention!

Cue 2020.

It started off uneasy. There were still bushfires everywhere and smoke hanging around, but I was optimistic they would die soon and the rest of the year would be fine. I booked a bunch of conventions early as usual. Got a whole bunch of new things made and ordered for the first convention of the year, Melbourne Supanova in early April. Some Acrylic charms didn’t make it in time because of COVID, but I thought that’s ok I still have a whole years worth of conventions to sell them at!

COVID-19 was just a spooky mysterious thing that was happening overseas at that point. I think there might have been 1 case in Australia, so all the toilet paper and hand sanitizer was sold out, but we were still able to do our usual travelling for the event. Little did I know, Melbourne Supanova was the first and last event I could do in 2020.

COVID hit Australia hard, Melbourne especially. There were lockdowns, quarantines, planes were grounded, airmail was halted, the cases kept multiplying, rules kept changing and changing and it was all so new and such a headache. Seeing every single convention I had booked cancel one after the other was hard to process. This was my main source of income in 2019 and now it’s up and vanished. Everyone were losing their jobs too, so the idea of getting a new job was completely out the window.

I tried to cheer myself up by drawing ‘Toilet Paper Chan’, my new magical girl character who has the ability to summon toilet paper in a time of need 😅

I made it into a Draw This In Your Style challenge, seeing as everyone was bored out of their minds in quarantine I hoped it was something people could pass the time and have fun making.

(here’s a handful of my favourites) I had a few entries which were all very adorable, but I admit not as many people joined as I expected. I don’t blame them though, this whole pandemic was very soul sucking and demotivating, especially hearing the constant stream of bad news when it all started.

I also made some lineart of a cute Easter girl, encouraging people to colour her in if they are bored in quarantine.

That was really fun, and I planned to do more, perhaps whole colouring books for a small price to download.

Then, out of nowhere, my friend from the last animation studio I worked at in 2018 contacted me. “Hey Tess, are you looking for work?”

“Um .... yes?”

Work? In 2020? What?

It turns out the animation industry is one of the only industries that are doing fine in the pandemic. Literally the only change is that animators have to work from home instead of at a studio. If you have the animation software and an internet connection you have everything you need.

So my good friend had recently scored this job for a studio which outsources all their animation for their animated TV series. The role is just fixing up any animation errors inhouse to minimize the amount of back-and-fourth between studios. It doesn’t sound like much but it became too big a job for just one dude to handle, so he contacted me and 2 of my other animation friends to help out. We had a ball!

It was loads of fun, and the contract lasted the whole year!

It wasn’t just fixing up errors either, I got to animate walking/ running / jumping / flying cycles for the overseas animators to use, which was great practice for me, and we even had a whole episode to ourselves to animate from scratch which I really enjoyed.

And then ... the year just flew by, because I was busy working the whole time. It was really quite surreal!

There were a few highlights, such as being a bridesmaid for my best friend’s wedding and organising her hens party, which is one of those once-in-a-lifetime things.

(Hens Party - it was yellow themed (her favourite colour) and High Tea.. it was adorable!)

(The bridesmaids and the bride on the Wedding Day)

Unfortunately there were some lowlights too ... This was the last year I got to see my aunt.

She was the craziest, funniest aunt, and still far too young to go. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be the same without her.

As always, drawing is the only way I cope with anything. My family chose a plain wooden casket, encouraging everybody to write a message or draw something on it, before it would be sent to the crematorium. I drew Spotty, her awesome horse I remember from my childhood, surrounded by her favourite flowers. Monty draw Mingus, her awesome ferret we also remember from our childhood.

That wasn’t the only bad news either. Pat’s Grandpa passed away later in the year, and a handful of my friends had relatives who either passed away or were diagnosed with cancer or some other horrible life threatening disease. A musician who collaborated with favourite artist collaborated passed as well, and even though I didn’t know him personally, it was still horribly devastating. Not to mention all my friends/relatives pets who didn’t make it through 2020. There was just so much loss this year, and I’m still grieving my cousin and my friend’s mum who both passed last year, it’s getting harder and harder to cope. It’s gotten to the point where I’m paranoid about who the next person will be because I haven’t finished grieving the last ...

All I can say is I hope 2021 is a little kinder when it comes to my loved ones. The small light at the end of the tunnel is; any suicidal thoughts I used to have frequently have all completely vanished, because I’ve been faced with the reality of it all. You really don’t realise how many people love you, people you don’t even know.

...

That was very dark, but it’s definitely something I needed to get off my chest.

Lets go back to a much lighter note.

More highlights:

🌻Animal Crossing New Horizons came out this year! I used to play Wild World back in the day so it was wonderfully nostalgic, and me and Pat have made the cutest little town with all our favourite villagers. It’s a nice way to escape from it all ^_^

(Monty’s island when we started)

🌻Speaking of games, the brand new Crash Bandicoot came out this year too! It was actually jaw droppingly amazing seeing all the awesome new ideas and mechanics they came up with while still keeping it classicly Crash. I loved it and I’m so excited to see if they give Spyro the same treatment!

🌻2020 brought about new and interesting ways to still enjoy Live entertainment. Lano and Woodley did a Zoom show which was absolutely hilarious, and Lights did an amazing online Dead End show which had me so pumped!

🌻Pat and I continued our anniversary High Tea tradition, this time trying it out at the Hydro Majestic hotel in the Blue Mountains!

🌻Speaking of Pat, his sister got married this year too, despite the pandemic. Congratulations!

🌻Pat randomly bought a Miku figure for himself, out of the blue, completely unravelling years of unnecessary ‘shame’ I’ve inherited caused by a pushy mother and a crappy ex. I used to love figure collecting but was convinced by certain judgy people that it was stupid and I needed to sell them all. I kept my very favourites in a cupboard ‘just incase they increase in value’. But now I can finally display them all again knowing Pat loves them just as much as I do!

We also added a ton more to the collection to make up for lost time (and because there’s SO MANY CUTE MIKUS NOWADAYS)

It’s a bit messy because we recently got new ones and need to make more space for them. The shelf with the Vocaloid nendoroids were my original ones hidden away in the cupboard, the rest we got this year ^_^ They make me so happy!

🌻Speaking of Pat unlocking things I’ve always wanted to do in the past: I am now planning to revive my old OCs Yui and Lotto! They were just characters of mine back in the day, but since I’m not good writing I never really came up with a story for them. But with Pat’s writer wisdom and my kawaii art style, I’m now planning a webcomic featuring the two cuties ^_^ It’s still in the very early planning stages but I’m super excited, and forever grateful for Pat, for believing in me ;w;

🌻This year I drew 31 more Owl City songs in copic markers, to go towards my ongoing project to draw every song! I’m actually getting quite close to my goal now which is exciting!

🌻This year I went to a Drive-In movie theatre for the first time to see the new Bill and Tedd movie, it was glorious and now I wanted to try more drive-ins. Going out to see a movie on a big screen *without* being able to hear smart-asses or screaming babies? Yes please!!

🌻How could I forget, this was the year my idol noticed me!! Lights shared and retweeted my Deadend fanart! Life = made.

What to to look forward to in 2021:

This is the first New Year where I actually have an idea of how 2021 will go! I managed to secure another animation job at a new studio starting January, ending January 2022 😊So thats the financial security for this year sorted! :P

As for general goals for 2021;

I’m hoping to have a decent plan, concept art, chapter ideas and hopefully even a script done for my new webcomic! I also wanted to make some cute simple animations of the characters just because c:

I’d also like to just do more of my own animation in general ... I animate every day for work but I never get to do my own animated projects. It will be hard with a full time job, so maybe this can be a 2022 goal ... but hopefully I can do at least one little animation of my own!

I suppose another goal is to make a social media accounts for my animation, too. Even if I don’t fulfil my goal, I still would like a page to showcase everything I’ve done so far.

And if all else fails .... Another goal is to draw more Miku. It’s crazy that I love her this much and haven’t drawn any fanart!

I think I’ll leave it there because I’m babbling now. 😅

I’ve done so many of these now o_o

[2018] [2017] [2016] [2015] [2014] [2013] [2012]

#2020 #year review #cw: death #cw: pet death #cw: suicide

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writingsoftheunderworld · 4 years

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AU - yes! Time Travel -no?

C. 2 here ; C. 1 here; AO3 here. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Bonnie Bennett had begun her day with a slow calming chant of Don’t let him get to you, her thought firmly centred around one Damon Salvatore, a true thorn in her side since he’d first arrived in town not too long ago. She’d woken up slowly, light filtering through her blinds and shrouding the whole room in a husky shade of caramel, the lingering scent of citrus from the candles burnt the night before giving the room an all to homely feeling. She could hear her dad bustling downstairs, most likely getting some coffee for the road. It was fairly early still, but she had free-period the first half of the day and she was skipping the rest - life ending crises a good enough reason even if Mrs Jason still claimed that unless you were actually dead you had to show up for math class. She laid in bed a few more minutes, listening to her dad get dressed and slip out the door. She wondered for not the first time whether it would be better off if she tried to tell him all about this witch vampire mess again, but Grams had wanted him out of it, and he had wanted out of it after her mom left, so for the thousandth time she put it out of her mind.

She showered, changed and climbed down to get the little mug of coffee her dad always left out for her, dropping more sugar into it than a candy store had on its selves. Elena had once joked that if she didn’t end up making it big she would always work as an oompa-loompa for Willy Wonka for how much sugar she dumped into her coffee each day. Bonnie was still not sure if Elena thought that was just a good joke or if she just hadn’t understood the Chocolate Factory as a child. Caroline just liked to pat her on the shoulder with a wistful look on her face, like she wished she had Bonnie’s devil-may-care attitude about it - which ironically seemed to have not been the case even now as a vampire who ate more than a Quarterback.

The noise of Jeremy knocking on the door startled her out of her thoughts enough to almost spill the coffee on her shirt. Almost being the key word thankfully, so she dropped the mug into the sink and swung her bag over her head and headed for the garage. They were meant to meet Damon on the edge of the former Salvatore Estate, just off of the main road, by the woods, from where he’d then show her where the former Salem witches had been burned some centuries ago and where the Founders had burned Emily as well. Klaus was a threat hanging over their head constantly at this point.

On their way Jeremy began telling her about Isobel’s impromptu visit earlier this morning and how poor Aunt Jenna had locked herself in her room following it. Bonnie felt sorry for the woman, she definitely didn’t deserve to be lied to like that, but Bonnie also felt that telling her the whole truth would’ve been equally unfair. The least Alaric could’ve done was say that his wife was missing rather than dead, but that was none of her business at the end of the day. They talked some more as they waited, they’d arrived a bit early after all, and Bonnie realised once again just how different Jeremy now was, and how nice it was to see him so invested in her. She wasn’t sure yet if she actually liked him like that, but she definitely could imagine how sweet and thoughtful he’d be as a boyfriend. And she needed someone frankly. Seeing Elena with her two Salvatore’s bending over backwards to rescue her from any and every inconvenience and now Caroline complaining about having been kissed by both Matt and Tyler made her frustrated. Less so for the fighting over her situation, that sounded exhausting, but rather for the constant work she had to put into herself to even be noticed. Maybe she should move for college, she had a feeling Virginia might be part of the problem here as well, though she did find it hilarious how both Matt and Tyler had initially dated her before either moved on to Elena or Caroline. Then it just made her sad. Was it something about her that pushed them away?

She remembered with sudden clarity asking that to her Grams and the hour long lecture following her words, of how she was a strong woman, how boys wouldn’t be able to handle someone like her until later, how she should still enjoy herself and not be tied down to a boyfriend from middle school onward because then you saw what could happen - exhibit a through z Elena’s many rants about Matt. She’d listened but not believed her Grams. She still wasn’t sure if she believed her Grams but she did know she wanted someone for her own now, hell, she needed someone with all the stress and violence her life had suddenly turned to. And Jeremy was safe, and cute, and had puppy dog eyes for her and vived for her attention. Was part of her thinking she was settling? Maybe. Did she care? Not really. And speaking of not caring, where the hell was Damon at? He was already late by 15 minutes. Don’t let him get to you. Her inner voice chimed again.

“Jere, how about we just head to the Boarding House? Clearly someone is looking to be set on fire.” Jeremy laughed and nodded. He clearly thought Bonnie was joking, but oh boy couldn’t he be more wrong. Bonnie was 1000% setting Damon on fire if he didn’t come up with a good enough excuse.

_._._._._._._

Rose waited and watched. Jeremy Gilbert was off to the side, looking completely eager and completely in over his head as Bonnie and Damon were arguing about the best course of action following her short introduction into what she knew. And if they thought that was all she could tell them, then obviously they were still underestimating her which frankly was a bit condescending seeing as she was at least 2 years older than the Bonnie currently glaring at Damon. But she’d guessed that would be the reaction she was going to get when she made her choice to be as dramatic as possible. Mom used to say she got it from dad, but seeing the two younger versions of them interacting now she could safely say she got it from both. God knows those eye rolls and ridiculous insults were exaggerated as hell. How did these two people become her slow dancing in the kitchen on a random Thursday evening parents?

“Excuse me?” she tried, weakly, but still she gave it a shot. Jeremy looked over to her then at the still arguing duo then back at her with a look that seemed to say this is just an ordinary Monday for them. “EX-cuse ME!” she tried again, this time much louder but nothing. She sighed. Lost cause.

“If you would’ve let me pick you up like I said initially, you wouldn’t be here wanting to blow my head up now Judgy!”

“If you’d know how to use a phone like a normal person, I wouldn’t have waited needlessly for you for hours Damon!”

“Oh please, it was barely 5 minutes.” he scoffed and Jeremy piped up with a it was fifteen technically that Damon just elected to ignore it seemed. Sometime he did remind Rose of her dad.

“It doesn’t matter! We’re dealing with Klaus! A 5 seconds text shouldn’t be something I need to tell you to do!” Aaannd sometimes she reminded Rose of her mom. Great, now she had anxiety again. And lord knows her mom won’t just raise her voice to yell at her for ending up here like this Bonnie was doing, no no, her mom would have a level voice that somehow would hurt far more. She needed a distraction. She also needed to figure out what was about to happen around this time. Like she remember her dad mentioning that Alaric had gotten possessed at some point and that he and mom had danced at a school 60s event - which she had to ask who actually came up with that stuff, because while Lizzie definitely loved a nice theme party, she still went with like a hava night, or a rock theme or an Austrian ball or something more generic but more fun, not a decades dance. Digressing though, Rose knew these facts, but she didn’t know anything immediate. She needed more information. More inside information.

“Guys, could you take a break and answer a few questions for me first?” she tried one more time. To no avail. So hard times ask for hard measures or something like that and stubborn younger versions of her parents call for her parents usual solve to stubborn daughter fighting with her friends voice so she did her best to channel her mom’s level tone and her dad’s intimidating presence and for someone not actually related to them she though she did a good job seeing as Bonnie and Damon turned in unison to glare at her before being reminded of where they were and what was going on here. She was actually pretty proud of herself for that feat.

“So as I was trying to say, can you give me run-down of what’s been happening here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who knew everything?” Damon commented snidely and Rose almost high-fived Bonnie when both her and Rose said in unison.

“Oh, you know what sorry means?” Bonnie off to the side.

“Oh, so you agree I was right?” Rose with a grin.

Damon seemed to take a moment to grit his teeth and bite back his words before shaking his head, giving a smirk and walking right past Rose to pour himself a glass of bourbon and spread out onto the couch in seeming nonchalance. Rose would almost commend his acting here, if he didn’t also irritate her with it. Who knew dad used to be such a child… well, more so than in her universe...time?

“Damon, she didn’t say she knows everything and don’t be a dick. She’s the only one willing to help us here.” Bonnie on the other hand, Rose was beginning to appreciate more and more. Maybe she was more Mom’s pet in the past than Dad’s pet as she was used to.

“Thank you, Bonnie. And no, I don’t know everything I just know a lot, but I still need to have the full picture and all the players to tell which is the best plan of attack here. As I said, you can’t kill Klaus, but you also don’t want him to become a hybrid right? That means we need to take every variable in consideration.” she argued and saw both Bonnie and Damon share a look before seemingly agreeing with her point of view. And boy was the Klaus of her universe going to laugh himself stupid when/if she made it back and told him his lessons in planning schemes - her dad’s turn of phrase not hers of Klaus’ - had been what had helped her most here. Oh irony, you cruel, opportunistic bitch.

“Bonnie was meant to take on over 100 dead witches’ energy today, it’s why we were waiting for Damon, he knew where they’d died.” came the first important nugget of information from the most - or least? - expected person, Jeremy Gilbert himself. Rose smiled at him in gratitude, glad at least one person was listening.

“Ok, that’s still going to be useful so maybe you should do that anyway and meanwhile I’ll see what Katherine's hiding?” Rose suggested and she didn’t even need to think before knowing that Damon was going to disagree with her - her dad still made that face whenever she and her friends planned something he thought was too dangerous or risky. Bonnie however seemed more receptive.

“No way! Do you even know what that bitch is capable of?” as she said, predictable.

“Damon, I think she might be right. You know Katherine is planning something, no way is she helping from the goodness of her heart and she won’t say anything to any of us.” Ah, how she loved her mom’s pragmatism at times - except when she was 14 and wanted a pony, then she much rather preferred her dad’s personal brand of impulsiveness that not only got her the pony she’s wanted since 5 but also made a stable off a little way further from the house.

“And she is still keeping Katherine knocked out.” Jeremy was quickly becoming Rose’s favourite person, no joke. He was full of wonderful insight and 100% helping her barely formed ideas come to fruition. She smiled proudly and nodded to the still unconscious vampire on the floor. She elected to ignore outright looking at the woman for now, too weirded out by the 1 to 1 replica of Elena to feel comfortable with it. Doppelgangers were too much for her. It was like evil clones, her dad had explained when he tried to make her understand how the whole doppelganger thing even worked - something about the universe or some chick named Tessa or another, she hadn’t been paying too close attention by that point. Their lives were very convoluted in her opinion.

Damon seemed to consider this possibility then, taking another large sip of bourbon and looking directly at Rose as he did so, before slamming the glass onto the end table by the foot of the couch and jumping to his feet.

“Alright, fine, then Bon-Bon, you me and little Gilbert need to head off. Rosie-Posie, you get the Queen of Hell. Good luck to you, you’re going to need it. The bitch hasn’t told the truth a day in her life.”

Rose nodded, smiled and waved them off as they all got out and left to do what they’d planned to do. She couldn’t wait for that honestly, it would at least get Bonnie’s magic up closer to the levels Rose knew from her mom. But the Rosie-Posie was going to kill her the longer she stayed here. It was going to make her slip and call Damon dad and it would all implode into itself, because if she was weak to one thing, it was being her dad’s Rosie-Posie and while she was fully aware this wasn’t actually her dad, her heart didn’t care. All was left now was for her mom to brush her hair out of her eyes and she might just snap. She’d missed her parents far before she got herself stranded in a different universe - despite it having been barely a few hours - since she hadn’t been home in at least 2 months. Sure she’d seen them nearly every night, more mom than dad since dad tried to pretend he still was immune to missing his girls, but it wasn’t the same as hearing her dad from a few feet away, well within hug reach or feel her mom’s warm hand through her hair. Fuck, and now she was crying. This day couldn’t be going worse. Her eyes strayed to Katherine and she groaned. Oh, it could definitely get worse. It could get so much worse.

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leupagus · 4 years

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since you’ve been watching Father Brown, can I ask what your opinions on the Team are? Including Flambeau if you’d like, though I think I might already know what those feelings are

Okay this anon is a bro and I salute you.

So I’ve only read a couple of the short stories and I’m getting the impression that other than Flambeau and Brown, the rest of the characters on the show are, as the cook kids say, OCs. And my opinions are that I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM.

I absolutely adore Sid, because he’s just so — matter-of-fact about his various misdeeds and makes absolutely no apologies. It’s fascinating to me that Father Brown is good friends with two men who, like him, don’t really think that the rules apply to them, whereas the women in his life are very much aware of the rules even if they break them (often, in Bunty’s case). I also love that they love each other so much, breaking their backs to help and defend each other; it’s clearly based on a long, long history (I want a million stories about Brown and baby Sid). The way they wrote him off the show was a little weird (apparently because the actor went on to play DRACO MALFOY in the Cursed Child, which I fucking love) and his return episode didn’t really… make a lot of sense? But after that whenever he shows up he’s once again a fucking delight and I’d marry him in a heartbeat.

Mrs. McCarthy is kind of my favorite in a weird way, because she’s the stereotypical judgy gossip who on occasion is the actual antagonist of the episode — but the show makes it clear that she’s a genuinely good person who wants to help people, even while judging them. I can’t think of a single episode where she refused to help someone who needed it, and yes she can hold a grudge and be a petty asshole but like, who amongst us really. I also want her strawberry scones so badly JUST GIVE THEM TO ME THROUGH THE TV, LADY.

Lady Felicia and Bunty are really fun, because Bunty’s character was clearly meant to like, replace Lady Felicia as “highborn lady friend” but they couldn’t be more different in terms of temperament. I ended up watching the Bunty episodes first and it’s really striking how, after watching Bunty infiltrate a burlesque theater and shoot people and generally be a overprivileged badass, you get Lady Felicia who is required to scream every time she finds a body (which happens… a lot. You’d think she’d get used to it). That’s not to say she’s ornamental — but she’s a woman who was raised to be ornamental, if that makes sense, and so you see that reflected in a lot of her choices. I wonder how much of that has to do with her marrying someone wealthy and titled (which I don’t think her family was?) whereas you have Bunty who’s been rich and spoiled her whole life, and is thus self-assured in a way her aunt was never able to be. Anyway, they’re great.

As for Father Brown — I just love everything about him, but I think my favorite character trait is something that I find horrifying in real life, which is his sincere and constant evangelizing. Almost every episode where he confronts a bad guy, he genuinely tries to either get them to confess and repent or, if they’re not Catholic, tries to convert them; there’s one episode where someone is literally dying and he’s trying to get them to accept Jesus (although considering the injuries there’s not really much… else… he could’ve been doing, like dude was gonna die PRETTY QUICK). In real life I would be absolutely repulsed by anyone doing that, but in the show? WHAT A FASCINATING CHARACTER, like someone who genuinely, perhaps even fanatically, believes in God and the redemptive power of Jesus and all the rest of it. I don’t know of a single other character on TV who’s got such faith — at least, that’s portrayed in a good light. It’s amazing.

Flambeau I just wanna bone

#look I could write a treatise on how flambeau's desperately cheerful nihilism is HOT #but like #'I just wanna bone' basically covers it #Anonymous #how now father brown

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hilarieburtonmorgan · 4 years

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MORNINGS WITH HILARIE BURTON MORGAN AT MISCHIEF FARM

In the series ‘Mornings With’, we begin a new day with inspiring talent in film, television and media, in an equally inspiring place in New York. ROSE & IVY founding editor, Alison Engstrom sits down and chats about morning routines, exciting projects and what inspires them and drives them to be their very best. Given the current climate, we had to switch gears slightly, but we are beyond delighted to meet Hilarie Burton Morgan at her farm in Upstate New York.

In this day and age, curling up with a good book that transports, uplifts and makes you want to be a better human is vital. In our newest edition of Mornings With, I am incredibly excited to chat with Hilarie Burton Morgan about her debut book, The Rural Diaries: Love, Livestock, and Big Life Lessons Down on Mischief Farm. In this heartfelt and honest work, which is part memoir and part DIY with other life antidotes—hot pepper flakes to keep squirrels out of the garden (genius!), the Burton pickle recipe and how to make dandelion wine—she wants to inspire readers to take a risk. She speaks eloquently about what she had to endure in her early days as an actress, her search for meaning, building a life on a farm, relationship obstacles, grief, fertility struggles, losing herself and then ultimately finding herself. I also talked to her about her morning routines, how she lives her life with intention and the importance of creating a community.

Would you say are you a morning person?

I have always been the kind of person who wakes up in the morning in a good mood. I like potential and mornings are full of potential—I have been that way since I was little. I am absolutely a morning person, however, I don’t get dressed until the afternoon because I cherish the morning. I can get a lot of things done in a bathrobe, so I make my mornings last as long as possible

What’s the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning?

I have to get my kids going so the first thing I do is I get my son up and make him breakfast, then pack his lunch and then I’ll go and get my daughter up and get her dressed. Then we do school drop off. I am most productive in my morning hours; it’s when I am making my lists and doing the things that require higher brain function, like answering emails, because then I can go into manual labor mode at the end of the day, hunker down and get my work done.

I know that coffee is important to you because you have a section about it in the book—a girl after my own heart! How do you prepare it?

I go through a yearly cycle where halfway through the summer, my sweet tooth kicks in and it’s when I use a lot of creamer, I like putting hazelnut creamer into my coffee that is my guilty pleasure. I also love a good gas station coffee, where it’s like the French vanilla latte— it’s just sugar with some brown food coloring. Then the other six months, I drink it black and as temperatures are starting to warm up, I don’t want all of the dairy and I just like it thin, angry and very, very strong. At Samuel’s Sweet Shop we serve Partner’s Coffee and we also have a deal with Brooklyn Roasting Company—they created a coffee for us that we are going to be selling on the Mischief Farm website.

“I have always been the kind of person who wakes up in the morning in a good mood. I like potential and mornings are full of potential.”

Do you have a motivating morning mantra or meditation practice that helps to frame your day?

I don’t have a meditation practice; making lists I think is very important for me, it’s something that I have always done. My dad has this phrase that he has had forever, which I talk about in the book. It is: the want to, creates the how-to. If you want something bad enough, you will creatively think of every way you can get it and how to do it. If you aren’t able to figure out how to do it, and you are like meh, maybe you didn’t really want it in the first place. So going into each day thinking about what I want to do and how am I going to get it is one mantra. And another mantra is, I used to do a lot of student government growing up and one convention had this huge banner with a motto that said: if not you, then who? It’s one of those universal truths that everyone should probably say, I mean, if you don’t jump on it, who else is going to do it? That’s a call to arms.

Before we talk about your book, how are you and your family doing during this time? Per your Instagram, you have been busy at work sewing masks for frontline workers.

I don’t feel great—I feel like there's much more that we can be doing. The problem I think specifically with being a mom right now is that we are working, we are mothering, we are housekeeping and trying to do all of these things while trying to be an active member of our community; we aren’t succeeding necessarily at any of them. We are getting by with a lot of these things, but we have to be okay with just getting by right now. There are no wins right now or we have to reevaluate what wins are right now, we have to be very gentle with ourselves and not be judgy. I got mad at myself this morning because I hadn't made masks in four days and I felt like I was letting people down. It’s hard because it’s all I want to focus on—I could churn out like 200 if I could just sit down alone and do it but I have people sending me messages about how to do it or asking me to connect makers with facilities that need things and so a lot of that coordination eats up a lot of time and at the end of the day, I look at my pile of masks and it's not as big as I want it to be. Because it is all unknown, there is no clear directive on what our next best thing is. Right now my daughter is obsessed with Frozen II and it’s been on repeat in our house. There is a song in it The Next Right Thing and I feel like Disney purposefully did this to me (laughs) because it is in my head right now. Do the next right thing, maybe it’s the dishes, the laundry, or making a mask.

Congratulations on your first book The Rural Diaries! It’s wonderful—you speak so eloquently about love, loss, growth, grief, happiness, ups and downs in a relationship, losing yourself and finding yourself, with so many other real and raw emotions that are very relatable. What was the process like and did you always want the book to be so honest?

I honestly set out to write a book about the farm and to encourage people to take risks. As I sat down to write it, I was pregnant with my daughter, I started it two months before she was born and then wrote it until last May. It took me a long time, especially the editing process of making sure that everything made sense and was accurate. I was very precious with it. That said, I didn't set out to write something that was so oversharing but I think that in order to encourage people to take big risks, I needed to admit the things that I had done wrong and to admit my vulnerabilities, my insecurities, because I am a deeply insecure person, and that’s not a bad thing, it just means that I care. So I felt like a fraud writing oh, this is my farm and aren’t my flowers pretty, kind of book. So much effort went into cultivating this lifestyle and it felt cheap not to acknowledge it.

“ I don’t want to be a person who mindlessly does things. I don’t want to coast because I think it’s a disservice to people who I have lost. If I am not taking advantage of every single day, it’s an affront to the loss. ”

As I was reading it, you could feel your blood, sweat and tears and all of the work that went into making a home and also your DIY spirit. I love that the bigger picture, as you said is to take a risk. If you stay in your comfort zone your whole life you will look back in 20 years and be disappointed that you didn’t even try. Would you say that it was the biggest leaf of faith you’ve taken?

I would say it was the biggest gamble because I am not near my old support network, there was no family or friends here. It was me and my son in a cabin. Jeffrey (Dean Morgan, Hilarie’s husband) was coming back and forth from work and we were trying to figure out how we were going to create a life up here. You put your energy into your priorities right and a lot of people make work their priority. What we are discovering in this current situation is that maybe what’s going on in your home could be a bigger priority. Let’s make healthy circles, work might be an outer circle and home is an inner circle. Now we have this amazing support network because we made connecting with the people in our town a priority. It’s paying off specifically right now because we are so interconnected and we can take care of each other in a lot of different ways.

What I loved so much about the book is that it feels like your heart, mind and soul lined up when you found where you belonged in Rhinebeck, New York. It was like a moment of grace.

I remember being a little girl and we weren’t allowed to go to other people's houses or have friends over. I was one of a lot of kids—I have three younger brothers—and it was like, play with each other! I’d hide out in my room all day and just daydream. I was a huge daydreamer and a big reader; in my mind, I had this idea of what my adulthood would be. It involved caftans, a lot of beads, books, crazy hair and this pastoral lifestyle. There was this character in the movie Tammy and the Bachelor—it’s this Debbie Reynolds movie and there was this old spinster aunt who was super eccentric and wanted to paint cats and I was like that sounds great. So living a lifestyle that was a little bit outside the norm was always something that was appealing. And when I came to Rhinebeck it was like walking into the backlot of a Hollywood movie studio, it was beautiful. Everyone knew each other and it felt like a club that you wanted to join, like when you get into high school and you say, I want to be a part of that club. I wanted to be a part of it, so I made it a priority to get to know people and offer up help. When there is a charity event, it's like, what can I do? It feels nice to have the family that you choose for yourself.

What was it about the acting world that lured you in? Would you say you were a natural performer?

I had been doing theater since I was eight. I asked to be put in classes when I was four or five—I was very articulate about wanting to be a performer as a child. My parents, God bless them, gave me every opportunity they could afford. I did all of the local and regional theater in Virginia. They would get off work and spend all night taking me to rehearsals. They would drive me up to New York once a month so I could audition. We would rent a car, it was a big deal. I did a lot of professional theater as a kid so that was always there. My decision to go to college in New York was solely based on wanting to be where the opportunities existed. I just applied to every school in Manhattan and went to the one that gave me the most money. I love the city because there is so much kismet in it, when Manhattan feels like a small town, it’s magical. I’ll run into people from like 20 years ago who I worked with at MTV.

“I honestly set out to write a book about the farm to encourage people to take risks.”

In the book, you talk about how you were very disappointed when you left One Tree Hill. later in the book, you revealed what you had to endure on set.

I was so disappointed that I got everything that I wanted and it was just so toxic, there really isn’t any other way to describe it. I am very good friends with the cast of that show and I am very good friends with so many crew members of that show but there was an overarching toxic thing. When it’s your first job, you assume that every other job will just be more of that, I was exhausted by that and really second guessed my life. It wasn’t until I got my next big job on White Collar, where I saw what it was supposed to be. I saw what leadership was supposed to look like, how people were supposed to be treated and how your boss can be an ally, as opposed to someone terrorizing you the whole entire time. I remember joking and telling a group of the writers some horror stories of One Tree Hill and laughing about it, saying, oh my gosh and you wouldn’t believe it and I remember them stopping me as a young women, I was 27, and saying, it’s not supposed to be like that and we are so so sorry that happened to you. I was so embarrassed that someone had to take me by the shoulders and tell me that. It set the bar very high for future jobs. When you get the right baseline, it’s all very manageable and fun. I love doing what I do but there was a period of time where I was so scared that what I had imagined this industry was didn't exist.

It definitely made me prioritize my personal life over my professional life. Because in my professional life, specifically on that job, I was told, you are so wonderful! You are the best! You are the best actress, the prettiest, the most talented. I was the one going out and doing all of the press, doing all of the interviews and engaging with all of the sponsors—I played the game hard for that show, because I thought that they loved me but when I raised my hand and said that there was some really bad stuff going on here, it was all of a sudden you are disposable, you don’t matter to us, we can replace you. So I knew that I had to create something real in my life so that that work thing couldn’t touch the core anymore. It derailed me, it was like a really bad divorce.

While renovating your home you said, “Even with all the blood, sweat and tears. I felt like I was coming back to the truest version of myself.” It’s a great metaphor of how you were also rebuilding how you felt inside.

I think that manual labor is very important for self-esteem—being an actress you are treated like you are a little idiot. If you have input of what your lines should be or how you want to wear your hair, your costume or what props you want, in good work environments there is collaboration, in toxic work environments there is eye-rolling, it's like oh, you little idiot, stay in your lane—-just hit your mark, say your lines and go home. So doing tangible work, where I could be in total control and that I controlled the end product was so good for my self-esteem and my self-worth. To this day, I still revert back to that. I just ordered five gallons of paint that got delivered yesterday because I feel so out of control in the midst of this pandemic and what I can control is the color of my living room walls. So when my children go to bed at night, I will be painting my living room.

“It’s very important that our children witnessed us dividing and conquering and playing to each other’s strengths and championing each other’s strengths.”

You talked about how your friend Scott’s death affected you and that you wanted to “Wake up intentionally. Work intentionally. Eat intentionally. And rest intentionally.” I love that. What does intention mean to you today?

I lifted that whole passage from a journal that I kept right when Scott died. When I set down to write the book, I pulled out my journals from the last 20 years and put them all out and that specific section, I wrote the week after he died. I still want to live by those words. I don’t want to be a person who mindlessly does things. I don't want to coast because I think it’s a disservice to people who I have lost. If I am not taking advantage of every single day, it’s an affront to the loss; it’s being hyperaware. I can’t live up to that every day, no one can, but if we can manage that like three to four days out of the week, that’s good.

You talk about the moment that you pivoted, after you experienced your first miscarriage, you said, “My grief was making me someone I hated.” You channeled that loss into helping others by volunteering at the Astor Services for Children and Families in Rhinebeck. I love how you said, “In working for others, we found ourselves again.”

I feel safe saying that I am a self-loathing person that stems back to some elementary school drama. Everyone carries some degree of that and everyone deals with it. When I have time to sit there and think about myself and woe is me, I can spiral just as much as the next guy, but when I am feeling that time and putting my energy to where people need it and who are desperately seeking help, affirmation or guidance or physical manual labor. It’s not that I feel better about myself but I feel a purpose out of my own self-loathing. I feel like that becomes a tool instead of a liability. You have to use the tools that you have. My self-loathing allows me to rally the troops in town, or put on a show or paint some walls.

So many women are going to relate to your journey to conceive. My heart was breaking for you as you lost your first and then second baby. Was it hard to reflect back on that part of the journey for the book or was it therapeutic?

I needed to write the book that I needed to read when it happened. The narrative with miscarriage is that women are just getting to be open to talking about it, men haven’t reached that yet. James Van Der Beek is one of the only men, who I know, who has spoken on the subject. There was no way for me to know what was going on with my husband and how he felt about my infertility or our losses because the language wasn’t there. Men aren’t allowed to mourn that way, they are expected to be strong and just help me get through it—it’s their job to make sure that I am okay. A girlfriend gave me a book called Vessels: A Love Story by Daniel Raeburn that was written from the male perspective, without Jeffrey even having to come out of his shell, or his garage where he had been hiding out, all of a sudden, I had this guide book for what he was dealing with and it very much softened my perspective. What I wanted to put into the world was for the couple who perhaps was having trouble and that celebrity narrative of oh, this brought us closer together is making them feel like a failure, the same way that it was making me feel like a failure. I wanted them to know that it is perfectly alright for you and your partner to have two different sets of needs in the midst of trauma and it doesn’t mean that you are doomed or aren't destined for each other, it just means that maybe you have to walk two separate paths for a minute. But that doesn't mean you aren’t going to meet back up. I needed people to know that was okay. There wasn’t a lot of information telling me that it was okay.

I love discussing the subject of fear with people because it can often play such a big player in someone’s life. In the book you wrote, “There is an absolute moment of freedom when you realize that the things that used to scare you have no power over you anymore.” I underlined that about three times. Is there anything that makes you feel fear today that you are working to rise above?

I have to set new goals for myself—I have said out loud I want to direct. I think it’s important to grow female talent in whatever industry. There is this expectation that you become an actress when you are 20 and you just stay an actress for forever, whereas for men, there are a lot of opportunities for them to direct, produce. create and all of that. I would like to grow in that aspect, I mean I am nervous about it because I don’t know if I’ll be any good. I feel like I have been in the business for a long time and I think I am very comfortable in this current stage because I got what I said I wanted, I got my baby and the farm is becoming a well-oiled machine, so then it becomes what types of stories do I want to tell. I want to write another book, so I am thinking about what’s the next book going to be. The fiction book is always there and I have so many short stories, but because you bring it up, the thing I am most scared of is putting fiction out there because it’s something that I have written my whole life for me and the idea of having it scrutinized is terrifying.

“...it is perfectly alright for you and your partner to have two different sets of needs in the midst of trauma and it doesn’t mean that you are doomed or aren’t destined for each other, it just means that maybe you have to walk two separate paths for a minute. ”

What was the process like of creating the book?

I spoke with a bunch of different publishers and I cannot praise Harper One enough. The second they got my book and my sample chapters, they were like, this is a feminist book. It was a boardroom full of women and they let me pick everything. They let me art direct it and pick every little piece of it because they wanted me to love it—what an amazing partnership. I didn't anticipate that I would be given that freedom. I cannot wait to write another book for them.

In addition to everything that you do, you also help run Samuel’s Sweet Shop, a joint endeavor in Rhinebeck. What’s been one of the biggest lessons you have learned about running a business?

I was very very lucky in that our business partners Andy Ostroy and his girlfriend Phoebe Jonas and then Julie Rudd and her husband Paul have all brought such different skill sets to the endeavor. Andy has had a marketing company in Manhattan for years so he understands business in a way that I don't necessarily do. Julie was a PR executive and knew what we needed to do to create the brand and I was the one who really wanted to do the manual labor part of it. I wanted to be in the shop and touch everything and make it pretty and aesthetically pleasing. It’s very important that our children witnessed us dividing and conquering and playing to each other’s strengths and championing each other’s strengths. I don’t have any illusions that I am good at everything but I have friends who fill in my gaps.

You are currently co-hosting and producing Night In With the Morgans on AMC and have a recurring role on NBC’s new show, “Council of Dads.” What factors have to come into play before you sign onto a new project?

That’s my kismet job. I had a public falling with a former employer because they weren’t as interested in telling as diverse of stories as I did. I just stopped working with them and it was a paycheck I wasn’t getting. I put out into the world that I wanted to tell more diverse stories and then a girlfriend of mine, Tara who I share the same birthday with and who I reference in the book, we were talking about what we wanted to do for our collective birthday that year and I said I wanted to go to Savannah because I had never been. Three days later, I got a phone call and they said, Hilarie, you got to get on a plane, there is this job waiting for you in Savannah, which was Council of Dads. This show is a beautiful showcase of what family, love and connectivity can be. Even though we shot it pre-pandemic, I cannot think of a better project to put out into the world right now. It feels really weird to be promoting anything right now, knowing how much hurt and anxiety people are feeling, but I feel very comfortable in pointing people in the direction of that show because I feel like it’s a big warm hug.

#hilarie burton #interview #2020

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