#anyway. more dynamics! gimme gimme!

[witchwretch]

“if i can’t have love i want power” no because this is the galdur women curse and i want to talk about how this was and is margaret’s downfall and libby will fall prey to that intoxication but ultimately they have love like their mother never could and at the end of the day margaret despises her daughter for that most of all

[icyfox17]

NEW BLORBO ALERT

Your honour I've seen two (2) episodes and im in love with him

[melverie]

This may be inspired by spn

Lucifer far away from Michael and being like

"Father, Michael punched me, and I did not fight back, however, I see that its unjust"

And father just shouting at Michael for "hurting his baby brother" while Michael being like i was no where near him

Gabriel, showing up 15 minutes late with Angelbucks or whatever and just feeling like sparking some drama: It's true, I was there 😔

Your ask just made me think of Lucifer & Michael's relationship in the show Lucifer tho and I hope that--if we ever get to see their dynamic play out in the game--it'll be similar to the one in the show (with the only change being that they actually like each other, of course)

[umemiyan]

𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗫 𝗙!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / unprotected piv / noncon creampie, breeding + mentions of pregnancy / dom/sub dynamics / petnames (good girl, baby, sweetheart) / biting

“c’mon, be a good girl and let me cum inside this pretty pussy.”

he tries to persuade you as though he hadn't earlier promised that he would pull out, that he wouldn't attempt to sway you from your position of not being willing to take the risk and let him finish inside.

you vigorously shake your head and hum in disagreement at his proposal. toji's a dirty fucking liar but you somehow still find it in yourself to love him, to allow him to slide into you completely raw, knees almost up to your chest as he fucks you into the mattress because he has two different types of holds on you.

“aww, why not, sweetheart? you don’t want me to fill up that sweet little belly?" he punctuates every sentence with a heavy thrust, voice a malicious tease in your ear paired with an equally selfish grin. but then he moves to hold your gaze with a commanding intensity. "gimme fuckin’ words, baby. i need words.”

you gulp and gasp for air, his hips stopping long enough to allow you a moment to breathe. “i don’t want a baby.”

toji offers an amused scoff at your response. “yeah? s'that right?" he's convinced that a part of you is lying and that you wouldn't even think of letting him fuck you raw if something about the risk didn't appeal to you. "too afraid to be a mommy for my babies?"

those words ignite a flame of anxiety within you, but curiously enough also make you clench around him as he picks up the pace a little, holding back a growl as his fantasies wrack his brain.

"s’too bad," he says, tone growing more serious, "i think you’d be pretty good at it, even if you act like a brat yourself half the time.”

it almost doesn't sound like he's joking anymore, but how could he not be? there's no way toji could truly want a child—he can't even afford one, but all the possibilities make your thoughts go muddy and incomprehensible. you simply turn your head to the side to avoid looking at him straight on, flustered and overstimulated from previous orgasms, but he uses a strong hand to grab your cheeks and steer you back in the right direction.

“what the hell did i just say about using your words, huh? you better fuckin’ speak up or i’m breeding this tight little cunt right now." it almost seems as though he's offering you a choice with his hips speeding up and wrecking your insides like this. he's in control, but he's desperate, sweat beading along his forehead as he chuckles breathlessly. "hell, i might do it anyways with you suckin’ me in so good.”

gasping, your eyes go wide. “no, no, no!” you meekly protest, but it's too late—he pins your wrists to the bed and angles his hips to more accurately hit your deepest points, cock driving into you with even more purpose now.

“shit…” he curses and feels himself start to lose his composure, quickly slamming into you a few more times before halting balls deep and twitching his release out inside you. the hot, fresh surges of cum warm your womb as he stays rooted in place, determined to force his seed as deep as it can possibly go. in his mind, that’ll only make it easier for it to take and bring his current vision to fruition: you round and full with a baby that’s undoubtedly his. this is the image that flashes through his mind and makes his cock pulse with an orgasm that’s nearly paralyzing, teeth biting into the flesh of your neck like you're the pretty animal he's just claimed and mated.

once the storm has settled, his hot tongue licks over the mark in your skin to soothe it followed by a kiss and one more slow roll of his hips for good measure. "that's a good girl," the large pad of his thumb brushes the tears from your lashes as if he isn't the one who caused them. his hand is a little rough but still affectionate as it grips your face again and forces you into a possessive kiss.

toji pulls out of you with a wet squelch and a shit-eating grin. "gotta fight back a little better next time if you don't want me to get you pregnant."

[pedropascallme]

Thank You, Mr Miller

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!Reader

Summary: "'So, what, I let you treat me like a whore and now you’re hiring a new babysitter?' You goaded him. Initially you thought this was the wrong thing to do—his brow raised in surprise at your words, and you’d considered the possibility that maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind, that it wasn’t what he wanted. But he grabbed you by the wrist, stroking your skin gently with his thumb."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is 20-22 age range, Joel is mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), kinda brattammer!Joel? fingering, oral (f recieving), p in v sex, degradation, praise, little bit of cum play, Joel is talky when he's horny, no outbreak, if I missed anything else please let me know!

AN: Here it is...the moment you have all been waiting for...the long awaited part 2 of Yes, Mr Miller!! I hope you all enjoy <3

You woke up with your blankets pooled around your ankles. The heat from the fabric wrapped around you made your feet feel heavy under the sun shining in through your window.

You felt simultaneously drunk and deliciously sober; the daze and amazement at the events of last night washed away to reveal the underlying satisfaction of having finally gotten what you’d yearned for so deeply for so long.

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand, it finally registered to you how late you’d slept in; your parents had left for the day, for work and their respective errands, leaving you to sleep the day away despite more pressing matters. Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Still seeing you today?

Joel’s name lit up the screen and you felt yourself kick your feet, hearing the text in his voice, southern drawl and all. The thrill you’d experienced the night before hadn’t subsided, and the thought of being alone with him again, so intimate and passionate, made you bite your lip as you typed out your response.

Yeah. Gimme an hour.

~~~

The path to the Miller household felt longer today. Maybe it was the bubbling combination of nerves and excitement that you felt low in your stomach, but you kicked at the stones on the path, picking lint off of your skirt and trying not to let your hair fall victim to the humidity.

You hesitated before knocking on the door, unsure of whether or not you should change such a miniscule habit under even these circumstances.

You knocked anyway.

Joel answered, wearing a t-shirt that hugged his arms and abdomen, allowing you to admire his wide frame and the small scars near his elbows.

“Think we’re a little past knockin,’ darlin.’” He smiled down at you, and you flashed a shy smile that didn’t fool him for a second.

“Just wanted to be polite.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Joel licked his lips, “c’mon in.”

You followed him through the living room before stopping him at the foot of the stairs.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“With Tommy. Been buggin’ me to see him—knows he’ll do whatever she wants him to.” He scoffed.

“You do whatever she wants you to.” You grinned at his hypocrisy.

“Within reason.” Joel smirked.

“So, what, I let you treat me like a whore and now you’re hiring a new babysitter?” You goaded him, swatting at his chest. Initially you thought this was the wrong thing to do—his brow raised in surprise at your words, and you’d considered the possibility that maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind, that it wasn’t what he wanted. But he grabbed you by the wrist, stroking your skin gently with his thumb.

“F’I recall correctly, you loved bein’ treated like a whore.” Joel brought your hand to his lips, kissing each individual finger before letting it drop at your side.

“W—I might have…” You felt shy again, peeking up at him from under your eyelashes to watch the way his eyes darkened. “I think you liked it more.” You smiled, smug, but still carefully monitoring his reactions. Joel closed the space between you; your eyes came up just below his chin, and when he leaned down you could feel his breath on your face, his nose a hair’s width from your own.  

“I think you’re mighty confident for someone I had beggin’ for more less than twenty-four hours ago.” His arms wrapped around your waist, but he didn’t move to kiss you, letting his words hang in the air.

“Mr. Miller…” You whispered, unable to make more than a peep with strong arms at your side and fierce eyes boring into you. Your hands came up to steady yourself on his forearms.

“Go on, darlin’,” he remained the same stoic, hard to read man you had come to admire, but you could see the anticipation building in him; with his lips parted slightly you could see his tongue trace over his teeth, wanting, waiting. “Beg.”

“Want you…” You tilted your chin up, hoping he would finally give you a taste of what you craved, “need you. Please.”

Joel finally gave in, pressing his mouth to yours in a heated exchange of spit and teeth; you could taste the smell of the cologne he wore and the mint of his toothpaste, and something that was so purely Joel. Your arms came to perch on his shoulders, lifting yourself up enough to match the fervor with which he was kissing you, letting your tongue dance across his lips and in turn letting his own lick into your mouth. In the light of day, there was something so much more profound about exploring each other—it felt less secretive, less taboo, and much more affectionate than the moments you had shared in the car last night. You moaned into his mouth, letting him capture and savor the sounds you made for him.

“Good girl,” Joel hesitantly broke away from you, your heavy breath matching his, “jump up for me, sweetheart.” You felt large hands grab the meat of your thighs, and you squealed as he hoisted you up to rest your legs around his waist, “Doin’ this right. Takin’ you to bed.”

You hummed, kissing his neck while he maneuvered up the stairs, feeling a small swat on your thigh when the love bites you gave him nearly made him miss a step.

You didn’t realize that you had made it into the bedroom, too busy sucking at the exposed skin he had foolishly granted you access to. It wasn’t until he dropped you onto the mattress that you realized he had stopped moving.

“Try’na kill me?” He huffed, “kissin’ me like that while I’m walkin’ up those crooked ass stairs?”

You scooted up the bed towards the headboard. “Shouldn’t’ve picked me up if you didn’t want my kisses, Mr. Miller.” You shrugged, enjoying the way his nostrils flared when you teased him. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down the mattress, and you yelped at the sudden movement. Joel spread your legs and leaned over you.

“When did you become such a fuckin’ brat?” He pulled up your shirt, exposing your bare, braless chest. He let out a dry laugh, “Knew you were getting’ fucked today, didn’t even dress yourself properly.” The words were muttered, mostly for his ears as appreciation for the easy access you were granting him. He dipped his head down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his hand grabbing at the other one.

“Oh—! Yes, yes…” You felt his teeth brush against the pebbled flesh before his tongue swept over it in a soothing circular motion. The hand on your other breast pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before releasing it to engulf your entire breast and squeeze.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Joel moaned into your flesh, sucking hard on your nipple and making your back arch into him, the feeling of his mouth on your chest had pleasure pooling in your lower stomach. “Dreamed about these pretty fuckin’ tits.” He resumed his movements, switching sides to pay more attention to the breast he’d been squeezing.

“Yours,” you combed your fingers through his hair, “all yours.” You moaned when he began to suck bruises onto the plush skin of your breasts, pulling at his hair gently in appreciation.

“That’s right, honey,” he came up to kiss your neck, “who do you belong to?” His hand came down to the hem of your skirt, flicking it up to allow his fingers to trail over your ruined, dainty cotton underwear. “Who’s this pretty li’l pussy belong to?”

“You—fuck—you! Please, you Mr. Miller. Please, please, please.” Your cries became repetitive when you felt his fingers press carefully against your clit, his calloused skin drinking in the moisture that seeped through your thin panties.

“I know, sweetheart.” He fell to his knees in front of you, pushing your skirt up your hips and out of his way to let him worship you properly; his hands toyed with the waistband of your underwear, and you grabbed limply at his wrist to spur him on. He all but ripped the fabric off of you, letting it dangle loosely around your ankle before you kicked it off and across the room, bringing your legs to his shoulders. Joel brought his face to your core, inhaling deeply, savoring your scent.

He brought two fingers up to pull you open wider for him to see. “So pretty, darlin’,” his fingers left your lips, trailing up and down your inner thigh before you felt the whisper of a touch on your entrance. “So easy to get you wet, princess. Eager li’l whore.” You squirmed, sighing softly at his words and trying to get what you needed.

Clearly eager in his own right, Joel’s tongue came down to lap up the juices pooling over your slit; you felt the muscle trail up to your clit and your legs folded and tightened around his neck, thighs squeezing his head in reaction to the sudden friction. Joel chuckled, arms wrapping around your legs to pry you open and allow himself space to bury his face into your cunt. You felt him suck on your clit, mouth closed around it, while his tongue came down to swipe over it. The back and forth combined with the pressure his lips sucked over you made your head swim, and you reached down to grip at his curls. He released you, spreading his tongue over your hole once more to explore the flavors you gave him. You felt him push into you, and you whimpered at the small but pleasant intrusion. The scruff of his beard rubbed into your thighs while he fucked you with his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your clit as he tasted you.

“More…” You whined, one hand buried in Joel’s hair while the other pawed at your breast.

“Greedy li’l thing,” Joel kissed your clit softly before turning to place open-mouthed kisses on your thighs. “Tell me what you need, darlin’. More what?” His words were gentle despite the underlying need that laced them.

“You—anything...just want more.” Your words sounded out from your blissed-out haze, and Joel relished the opportunity to see you this way.

“Gonna be good for me? Keep your legs spread if I give you my fingers?” You nodded furiously, making a pathetic show of your obedience by widening your stance around his shoulders. Joel grinned, placing two fingers in your mouth. “Suck.” You coated them, and when he pulled them out a thin strand of saliva kept your mouth connected to them. Joel dipped his hand down to your cunt with the other still holding your thigh to the side, pushing both fingers into you and scissoring them slowly before drawing them in and out. Gasps escaped your throat when he curved them, his mouth returning to your clit while he stroked your most sensitive spot.

“Please, please, please—” You couldn’t think straight, so intently focused on the way his tongue felt against you, the rhythm of his fingers matching your steadily increasing heartbeat.

“Please what, darlin’?” Joel taunted you, speeding up the pace at which his fingers pumped in and out of your heat, “You wanna cum for me? Be a good girl like you were last night?”

Moans fell freely from your mouth, warmth building in your abdomen and spreading to the tips of your fingers. “Please, Mr. Miller…” You begged, fisting his hair in a subconscious attempt to lessen the overwhelming pleasure despite how badly you wanted it to continue.

Joel growled against you, his fingers curling more fervently. “Go on, then. Cum.”

You didn’t have to be told twice; your legs flexed then went limp around his neck, back arching into his hand and mouth, riding out the high he had gifted you.

“Fuckin’ pretty when you cum,” Joel praised, slipping his fingers out of you and moving down from your clit to lick the juices dripping from your entrance. “Taste so good, honey.”

Your skirt rested on your stomach, shirt still pulled over your chest, and you felt so utterly content with the feeling of having Joel whisper sweet nothings to you from between your thighs. You feathered your fingers through his hair, silently urging him to come up, letting out a small whimper when he licked small stripes over your clit before coming up to face you.

“Sweet girl,” Joel pecked kisses on your face, “not actin’ so tough now that you got the attention you needed.”

You giggled quietly, pulling him down for a kiss and scratching shapes over his back, still full of want even after he’d made you cum on his tongue. Your hips bucked up lightly against him.

 “Pretty li’l whore needs more?” Joel groaned, pushing his growing erection into your thigh, and you whined. “Use your fuckin’ words.”

Your palms fell flat on his back, and you pulled him in tight against you, tilting your head to whisper your wishes in his ear. “Want your cock, Mr. Miller.”

It was like watching a man possessed; Joel stood, leering over you as he pulled off his shirt, undoing his fly in one swift motion. He pulled you towards him, letting you sit up so that he could strip you of your own clothing. You shimmied out of your skirt before lifting your arms up to let him take your shirt off. He threw it to the side, and your hands drifted over the bulge in his jeans. You looked up at him, batting your lashes.

“Christ, you’ll kill me.” Joel took hold of your hands, throwing them behind you and encouraging you to lie back down. His hands kneaded your thighs, pulling them open again so that he could situate himself between them. You watched him free his cock from the confines of the denim, your lips parting and mouth watering.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about Joel’s cock before; it was the subject of all your fantasies. But now, watching him stroke himself above you, you felt unbridled desperation take hold of you. His hand wrapped around the base of his thick length, tip flushed red and veins running down the sides—you had never wanted anything more in your life.

You wiggled your hips, the pitiful noises you made doing nothing to encourage him to fuck you, only making him laugh over you.

“Told you to use your words,” Joel leaned over you, hand wrapping around your cheeks to certify that your focus was on him, “or do you just like bein’ difficult?”

You hummed at the way he spoke, thick accent coating the filth he said in sweet molasses. You blinked at him in faux innocence, “Can I have your cock?”

“Where are your manners, girl?”

“Please, Mr. Miller,” you spoke slowly, purposefully giving your voice a sultry edge, “can I have your cock?”

Joel straightened, taking his cock and running it through your folds, letting you coat him in your cum. “That’s what you want, sweetheart?” You felt him press his tip to your entrance, “Need this young cunt nice and full of my cock?”

Your restraint faltered, now purely focused on getting what you needed, and you couldn’t help the whimpers you let out, or the way your once teasing words turned into sobs of “please, please, please!”

Joel pushed his length into you, letting you acclimate to the feeling inch by inch; his brow furrowed, eyes closed, and your mouth fell open at the way he speared you so perfectly. “Goddamn, so fuckin’ tight f’me,” Joel groaned, bottoming out. His dominance faded slightly when he brushed the hair out of your face, “Feel good?”

“So full…” You breathed out, your hand falling flat against Joel’s lower stomach.

“S’what you wanted, ain’t it?” Joel bent himself forward, pressing his cock into you further, and you moaned out. “Wanted to get filled nice ‘nd deep?” There was that authority.

You nodded, nose brushing against his. “Fuck me—please fuck me.” You mewled, now accustomed to the stretch and longing to feel him wreck you. “Want you to break me, Mr. Miller.”

Joel let out an ungodly growl, immediately beginning to thrust in and out of you. “Fuckin’ slut—this what you needed? Big fuckin’ cock stretching this pussy out?” He lifted your legs over his shoulders, the angle lifting your bottom half off the bed and giving him more space to pound into you. “Pretty young thing doesn’t know what to do with this kind of attention, huh?”

His taunts had a shred of truth to them; your tongue lolled out from your mouth, spit drifting down over your cheek, and your eyes, though hooded, couldn’t hide how they rolled back with every deep push of his cock. You whined, trying to string together a sentence as best you could, but all you could manage was a continuous chant of “yes, yes, yes.”

“So pretty when you’re getting’ fucked,” Joel rambled, unable to keep his thoughts to himself when your pussy squeezed him tight, “you like this, princess? Like lettin’ a man twice your age use your cunt like this?”

You moaned, arching your back in wordless approval. Joel wasn’t satisfied with this, pulling out and smacking his cock against your clit.

“Asked you a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You cried out for him. “Yes! Yes, I fucking love it—please, I’m sorry, keep going!”

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” Joel reached around you, gently maneuvering you onto your stomach. “Put your knees up for me, baby.” You obliged, tucking your knees under yourself and keeping your back arched for him. He slid back into you, the head of his cock nestled perfectly against your g-spot in this position. You felt hands pull the hair off your neck, and Joel came closer to whisper in your ear, “Can I fuck you like this, darlin’?”

You hummed an affirmative, “Yes, please,” and pushed yourself back against him, letting the curve of your ass rest against his hips. Joel grabbed at the skin of your hips, squeezing at the soft flesh and watching the way your ass bounced against him.

“Fuck—yeah, like that, honey, that’s right. Fuck yourself on my cock.” You sped up, eager to impress Joel with your servility and delighting in the way you could feel every inch and vein of his thick cock with every movement you made. You rested your head on the mattress, arms spread out above you, and you could hear Joel’s deep moans of approval and praise.

“So perfect for me, s’so good.” His head fell back and his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. He began to guide your hips at a faster pace; big hands holding your waist, pulling you flush against him. He watched with dark eyes the way you squirmed on him during an especially deep thrust, the way your fingers grasped at whatever they could find and your moans got higher in pitch when he fucked into your sweet spot.

“Feels so fucking good, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled into the bedsheets, voice uneven with the way your body bounced with every push of his hips, “you feel so good.”

“Needy girl, you feel good?” Joel cooed, “you gonna cum for me again? Let me feel you soak my cock?” He sped up his movements, his fingers moving down your body to apply pressure to your sensitive clit. Your toes curled, eyes watering at the overwhelming enjoyment that coursed through you; you lost any remaining control you had, legs uncurling beneath you, mouth producing whimpered gibberish. Joel held your now straight legs, using them as leverage to force himself deeper into your cunt. “My good girl, there you go. Cum for me, darlin’, lemme feel you squeeze me nice ‘nd tight. Show me again how fuckin’ pretty you look when you cum for Mr. Miller.”

You felt your legs tremble, eyes shut tight and pathetic, wanton moans escaping you. His fingers continued to massage your clit and with one last thrust of his cock you felt yourself let go completely. You screamed out cries of his name, whole body shaking around him as he continued to fuck you through the intensity of your climax.  

“Fuck—fuck, so good—perfect fuckin’ girl.” Joel groaned, leaning forward to press his chest into your back, each thrust sloppier than the last as he approached his own release. “Where do you want my cum, sweetheart—tell me what you want.” He was practically begging, so close to his high, awaiting your command.

“Cum in me,” you spoke barely above a whisper, “please cum in me, Mr. Miller—need it, please.” Your legs still trembled from the aftershock of your orgasm, the light, airy feeling clouding your mind, coming down to earth only to provide necessary details; “On the pill.”

Joel kissed your neck from his perch behind you, thrusts messy and cock throbbing. “Yeah? Gonna let me cum inside you, princess? Fill this pussy up, fuckin’ mark you?” He got faster, sloppier still, and you whined in encouragement. He pushed himself deep into you, and you felt his cock stir when he let out a low groan of your name, coating your walls with his spend, rocking his hips against you to keep his load deep.

He slumped over you, breathing hard. You reached a hand up to pull gently on his hair. “Heavy.” He smiled through his gulps of air, slipping his cock out of you with a hiss, rolling off of you and pulling you against his side. Your hand cupped his cheek while his own hand roamed the side of your body.

“Was that—do you feel good, darlin’? Wasn’t too rough, was I?” His other hand came up to stroke your hair, eyes searching you for signs of hurt or regret.

“Perfect,” you kissed his chest, “felt perfect.” You felt his cum dripping out of you, thighs coated with the sticky moisture.

“Yeah?” Joel smirked, nosing the top of your head. He removed his hand from your hair, dipping down between your legs and pushing a finger into you to feel the slick mess you'd both made. “Then what do you say?” His hand came up to your face.

You cuddled closer to him, letting the heat and sweat from his body sink into yours before wrapping your lips around his offered finger and tasting the milky combination of your cum and his. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

[supernovafics]

making a mixtape for boyfriend!eddie

wc: 730

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i don’t know if i should trust this since you titled it “awesome mix volume one.””

“shh, don’t make fun, or you’ll never get a volume two.” 

eddie nodded and smiled at you before overdramatically making a show of “zipping his lips shut,” which only made you laugh and roll your eyes.

over the past few months of you two dating, you fell into an almost weekly pattern where eddie would play new albums for you and always make you mixtapes as ways to introduce you to his favorite bands and artists; which made sense because he loved music. and maybe you didn’t like every single song he showed you, but you loved the happy smile he’d get on his face as he played you something that you hadn’t heard of and talked about a specific instrumental part or lyric of the song.  

you were a little different, you had other things that you’d drone on and on about— things that if it was anyone else eddie wouldn’t have necessarily found interesting, but just hearing you talk about it made it interesting to him. he could listen to you talk about your favorite book or some old movie you watched for forever. 

these little differences between you two were probably one of your favorite parts about your dynamic. 

things slightly changed last week— eddie wanted you to make him a mixtape. it was a request that slightly surprised you, but you of course did it anyway. 

“okay, so there’s not, like, one genre or whatever on this, it’s kinda a little bit of everything. just some songs i’ve liked for a while and more recently, and some remind me of you and us. i think i did, like, twelve songs. i can’t fully remember now–”

eddie stopped you mid-ramble with a kiss on the cheek. “just play it, sweetheart.”

you grabbed the tape from him and got up from his bed, placing it in the tape deck of his stereo and pressing play before settling back and sitting across from him. 

seconds later, the opening beats of sos by abba started playing and eddie smiled amusingly at you. “abba?”

“no questions or judgements until the end,” you told him seriously; well, as serious as you could with your boyfriend smiling at you. “just enjoy the music, munson.”

he nodded, a smile still on his face, as one of his hands started absentmindedly stroking your knee. you were wearing his hellfire t-shirt and a dark pair of his boxers; you always liked being in his clothes when you were spending the night at his place, and seeing you wear anything of his always made him fold. he would’ve been on you in an instant, kissing your lips and then finding that certain spot on your neck that always made you giggle, like he did most nights, if you two weren’t already doing this. 

when the song went from abba to sweet dreams by eurythmics, eddie wanted to say something teasing but he didn’t because he knew that he would only receive a playful scolding or eye roll from you in response.

he ended up liking the queen and tears for fears songs you put on the tape, but what he enjoyed the most was admiring you, watching as you bopped your head along to the beat or mumbled some of the lyrics. in all honesty, he barely paid attention to most of the songs playing, it was too hard. you looked too adorable and that was all he really wanted to focus on. 

he wanted to commit this entire moment to memory. 

the last song that played was another one by abba, gimme! gimme! gimme!, which felt like a full circle kind of moment, and you didn’t make any move to grab the tape once it stopped. 

“so, should i start working on volume two?” you asked playfully as you scooched closer to your boyfriend, letting your knees bump his and reaching out to grab one of his hands. 

he only leaned in and kissed you in response. it was slow and sweet and he practically pulled you into his lap in the process.

you smiled at him when you pulled back a bit to catch your breath. his hand was still cupping your cheek and your lips ghosted over his as you spoke. “i’ll just take that as a yes.” 

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool. 

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds. 

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is  your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly. 

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously. 

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface. 

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera. 

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party. 

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around. 

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat. 

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass. 

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass. 

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left. 

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention. 

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone. 

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight. 

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed. 

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes. 

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again. 

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment. 

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning. 

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you. 

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off. 

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off.  The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own. 

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

For the fanfic bingo, what if Fabriz 'grabbed the wrong bag' but they didn't grab each other's bags, Fabian grabbed the wrong bag and now has to figure out where his bag that has a sleeping riz in it went

Ugh, Anon your mind! Gimme a sec...

Alright! I'm back with a fic that I really didn't expect to be as long as it is... I really have a problem. Anyway! Think of this as the spiritual successor to "Frightful Snow & Delightful Fire"! Because it's basically the same premise but this time it's hot instead of cold!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

Words: 8,881

The raucous noise of a tense battle rang out within the padded walls of the Aguefort gymnasium. Sounds of foam blades and bullets striking torsos and limbs. Squeaks from sneakers skidding against the shiny floorboards. Shouts from the audience of students, hyping up one side or the other.

Fabian sat amongst the rowdy crowd of teens next to a cheering Gorgug. His sweaty form lounged against the cool, hard metal of the sparring gym’s bleachers. Still somewhat panting from his match against a slippery aasimar monk. Priscilla Maynard, head cheerleader. She gave him a run for his money, ending their bout of fights in a draw. Two wins a piece.

Usually, he wouldn’t be fighting her during school hours. Most days, all of the martial classes were trained separately. But every so often, during last period, the martial teachers liked to combine their classes for the sake of keeping the students on their toes. It’s not like he’d be only duelling with other Fighters out in the wide world of Spyre. So, he couldn’t complain about this little switch-up. Especially since it meant that he got to watch his boyfriend kickass without having to be in any danger himself.

Riz Gukgak was certainly a sight to see on the battlefield. Blink and you’ll miss him. It was only with years of experience that he could track Riz’s relative position in the makeshift dynamic environment made up of foam shapes and raised platforms. He tumbled through the legs of his paladin opponent. Used his sword of shadows to get out of being cornered. His newfound arcane Mage Hand to trip them. Darted underneath a staircase to hide and gain Sneak Attack when he popped out to shoot his opponent with his Nerf arquebus. Landing shot after shot. Hit after hit.

Quite a sight indeed.

Umberlee below, Fabian loved him.

By the time his match was called in his favour, Riz’s tiny chest heaved and he looked a bit dead on his feet. But he still smiled as his rogue teacher, Ms. Shadow, lifted his arm in victory. His gaze found Fabian’s within seconds of searching the bleachers. Finding him clapping and cheering for his win, perhaps, too loudly. And if Fabian had a big enough ego (and he did!), he’d note that Riz’s smile got a bit wider when they locked eyes.

Porter’s deep, rocky voice interrupted their little moment with the announcement, “Thistlespring! You’re up next!”

Riz shot up in the air a foot, his tail standing on end, more than a little startled by the hulking Earth Genasi’s sudden appearance. Fabian could see it in his eyes as he silently cursed Porter’s innate earthen stealthiness as he hung the Nerf arquebus with the rest of the faux weapons. All before he scurried from the sparring mat. Making his way back up to his seat next to Fabian.

“Wish me luck?” Gorgug asked as he got up from his seat beside Fabian, offering his fist for a bump.

Never one to leave his boy hanging, Fabian quickly balled his fist and accepted the bump with a wink. “You know it.”

Riz accepted the fist bump that was offered to him as well, as he and Gorgug passed each other on their way up and down. It wasn’t too long before he bounded up the rows of bleachers, closing the distance. Using the last bit of his energy, he pushed off of the last step to jump, not into the seat next to Fabian, but directly into his arms.

And despite him being absolutely drenched in sweat, Fabian held him close. Settling Riz in his lap, he pressed a kiss on the top of his greenblack undercut and murmured, “Excellent work, darling.”

“Aww, thanks. You weren’t half bad yourself,” Riz said, rubbing his nose against the underside of his jaw and lacing their hands together in his lap. “Pretty sure Maynard only stunned you once.”

“Ugh, monks.” Fabian spat out as he scowled at the memory.

Riz chuckled as he poked Fabian in his dimpled cheek and said, “I’m invoking boyfriend privileges, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Class is done in, like, ten minutes. I’m gonna crash in your backpack. That okay?” He asked as if he didn’t know that Fabian could never tell him no. Not when Riz looked up at him with his big, amber eyes.

“Sounds good to me, The Ball. Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” He and Riz hissed in unison as they watched Gorgug land a critical hit on his opponent. Yes, it may have been with a foam greataxe, but Fabian wasn’t convinced he’d like to be on the business end of it. “Want me to drop you off at your office or home?”

“Neither,” Riz answered faintly, still caught up in that crit before he went into more detail. “Mom wants the apartment all to herself and Gorthalax tonight. And as a soon-to-be adult, I can appreciate her honesty and bluntness and I will honour her request. But also, BLEGH! SO GROSS!” Fabian let out a guffaw as Riz descended into exaggerated disgust, pantomiming gagging and clawing his eyes out. A couple of the students around them shot them annoyed looks, but Fabian paid them no mind. Eventually, Riz let his disgust at sex fade away, letting his head fall back against Fabian’s chest. “So, yeah. I’m going to be taking a Sleep spell gummy and really passing out. Like, for seven hours straight.”

Fabian hummed in thought. “I’d be remiss not to mention that that’s normally how long one sleeps for.”

“Sounds fake,” Riz said after he spent a couple of beats with his face screwed up in faux introspection. “Sleepover?”

Clutching his imaginary pearls, Fabian scoffed and turned his nose up at Riz. “Sure! Call me a liar and then ask for me to open my heart and my home to you!” His offended act lasted two more seconds before he softened and answered his question. “Of course, Mama won’t mind.”

“Alright, I’m going to beat the rush,” Riz said, getting up to crouch on Fabian’s lap and rub their cheeks together before scurrying off to the locker room.

Batting his eyelashes and twiddling his fingers after him, Fabian put on his silliest sexy voice and said, “See you in your dreams.”

“Blegh,” Riz said, wrinkling his nose. “Hate it when you do that.”

Fabian didn’t even try to hide how much he loved annoying Riz.

The class wrapped up about ten minutes later, following Gorgug’s winning match. Heading back to the locker room with the rest of the humongous throng of students, the two Bad Boys crowded into the now-tight space. Fielding accidental shoves and elbows to the stomach on the route back to their things. After an arduous journey, they arrived at their bags and quickly got to work on getting out of there as fast as possible.

After checking on Riz and finding his adorable sleeping form in his backpack, Fabian would’ve been out of there in a minute flat. Would’ve, if didn’t need to dig through his locker for the homework he’d carelessly shoved in there. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but Riz had been on him lately about caring about his academic success. Those big, amber puppy-dog eyes staring up at him in disappointment were his kryptonite. So, yes he needed to find this homework. And he needed to find it soon or else he’d be driven mad by the thundering chatter all around him.

With the sound level being what it was, Fabian could hardly hear himself think. Not with this cacophony of a hundred voices having a hundred conversations rattling around his head. Like the one occurring directly to his right.

Blaze Evermore, a jockish Fire Genasi linebacker on the Owlbears, was boasting about how his older brother was taking him to the City of Brass for the weekend. Got ‘em tickets to this underground pit fighting ring and everything. Interesting! It’d be far more interesting if Blaze’s bros weren’t jostling him around and pushing him into Fabian’s open locker door. Smacking his head with it via the proxy of Blaze’s bulky frame. All in good fun, yes. But Fabian was going to get a concussion if they didn’t—Found it!

With one good tug, he yanked a crumpled paper folder out from the bottom of his locker. Thrusting it into the air in triumph. Only to be reminded he was still surrounded by a bunch of boisterous guys when Blaze sent him and Gorgug crashing to the floor with an unintended hip-check.

“Whew, sorry, Cap!” Blaze said apologetically as he offered Fabian a heavy, calloused hand. Fabian grabbed it, happily taking the help up back to his feet. A little rocked in the head, but as a Bloodrush player, he was used to it. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”

“That’s alright, Evermore. No harm done, except to my spleen. You okay, Gorgug?” Fabian asked, trying to shake the fall off as he watched Blaze help Gorgug up off of the ground as well before he bent down. Handing Fabian the closest fallen backpack to his feet. It didn’t even cross his mind to double-check that it was his because his mind was paying much more attention to not forgetting to grab The Ball’s briefcase. Why wouldn’t it be his? Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and taking the briefcase in hand, he gave Blaze a nod. “Have fun this weekend.”

Blaze smiled wide, revealing a missing canine tooth. “I will!”

“Gorgug, see you later.”

“See ya!”

Aguefort must have some type of soundproofing surrounding the locker rooms because as Fabian made it out of there, all was quiet. Almost deafeningly so. Not a peep came from the room behind him. The only sounds to hear were the idle hum of the academy settling for the day and his own breaths.

Whew.

Alright.

Time to head home.

The next hour passed rather uneventfully. Hangman only grumbled and huffed a little bit about Riz’s presence on the ride home. Receiving a couple of pats on his school for showing a level of restraint toward his boyfriend. He kissed his mothers on both of their cheeks as he passed through the kitchen on his way up to his room. Once inside, Fabian rested his Riz-filled backpack in the middle of his bed and the briefcase of holding next to it before he went about having a shower. He desperately needed to scrub after-sparring stink off of himself.

Clouds of steam followed in his wake as Fabian stepped out of his en suite bathroom and finished up working the last of his leave-in conditioner into his coils. With his comfy pair of silk pyjamas on, he was ready to spend the rest of the evening waiting for Riz to awaken from his spell-induced slumber. Which reminded him, he should take Riz out of his backpack now.

He hadn’t bothered when he first got home. Knowing that the space within his backpack held a certain appeal to Riz’s primal, Goblin brain. Warm, cramped, very cave-like, and thus, safe. This Fabian understood. Riz had assured him this many times, that he liked falling asleep in his backpack more than in his own bed. But Fabian couldn’t in good conscious keep in him in there for any longer.

Sliding across the wooden floor with his socks, he leapt onto his Chaos King-sized bed and crawled to the middle where he left his backpack. More than ready for some cuddling time with his favourite guy, Fabian’s heart stopped when he zipped it open and saw what was inside.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing.

A wave of grease and rubber accompanied the sight of school folders, crumpled-up papers, a cute lunchbox riddled with Sig Fig stickers... Oh, and a bag full of tinkerer’s tools. Fabian groaned. Slapping a hand across his forehead. When Blaze and his bros had bumped into him, he must’ve gotten mixed up and taken Gorgug’s backpack instead.

Nice going, Seacaster.

Zipping Gorgug’s bag back up and taking it with him, Fabian made his way off his bed to pick up his crystal. Holding it between his ear and shoulder as he strode over to his closet to throw on a jacket overtop his pyjamas. He’d only be out for a couple of minutes, he figured. No need to change for the ten minutes it would take The Hangman to get to the Thistlespring tree.

The first thing that he heard was the sound of sparks flying and a clank before Gorgug’s cheery voice came over the call. “Hey, Fabian! I’m kinda in the middle of welding something for my mom. What’s up?”

“Very sorry for interrupting, Gorgug. But it seems to be that we’ve swapped backpacks.”

“Oh? Yeah, I guess it was lighter than usual,” Another clanging sound erupted on the other end of the line. “Do you need it back now?”

“Yes, The Ball is sleeping in it.” Fabian could hear the wince in Gorgug’s voice, which in turn, made him pull a face. He knew how much learning the ways of artificing from his parents was important to Gorgug and how he silently hated being pulled away from it. But he really needed Riz back.

“Gotcha. Hold on,” Gorgug said before he leaned away from his crystal, his voice growing distant, to call out. “Mom, can you go get my backpack? It’s actually Fabian’s,” Suddenly his voice returned to its original volume as he asked, “Need me to bring him over?”

As he slipped his leather bomber jacket on, Fabian quickly said, “No, no, no! Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Awesome. Huh?” Gorgug was pulled away from his crystal again and once it returned, his confused tone made Fabian’s stomach turn. “Uh, Fabian? My mom’s saying that Riz isn’t in there.”

“What are you talking about?” Fabian asked, his voice hollow as he stood stock still in the shadow of his closet. His heart beginning to race.

“She says—what’s that, Mom?” Another long moment of quiet as Wilma spoke to Gorgug not close enough to the crystal’s receiver for him to hear. Leaving him in suspense until Gorgug returned and said, “She says that it doesn’t seem like your bag anyway. There’s not much in it except for—oh, an Owlbears jersey with Evermore on the back. I think this is Blaze’s bag.”

“Which might mean that he has mine. Shit. Thanks, Gorgug. I have to go.”

“Yeah, of course. Good luck finding Riz! Bye!”

Didn’t Blaze say he was going to the City of Brass for the weekend? The same City of Brass in the Elemental Plane of Fire?… The one where if you head down the wrong winding street, you could be enslaved for it? That City of Brass?

Shit, shit, shit.

Fabian hung up as soon as he could and then went straight for his Fantasy Whatsapp app. He and Blaze had never really talked outside of practices, games, and passing each other in the halls, but they both were in the Owlbear group chat. Surely, if he just went through all of the participants in the chat he could find Blaze’s number. After a minute of scrolling and trying to leg bounce his anxieties away, he let an ‘Ah hah!’ as he found Blaze’s profile pic and his number underneath it.

Tapping the little crystal button next to Blaze’s number, he didn’t even get to agonize over the dial tone before a tinny artificial voice said, “We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialled. The person you are trying to reach has gone interplanar and the call cannot connect at this time. Please try your call again. Beep.”

Fuck.

Fabian stood in silence next to his open closet. A sense of emptiness and confusion filled his chest. Crystal still pressed up against his ear. The call disconnect tone, low and droning, beeped incessantly. Urging him to make a choice and end the call already. What was he going to do? What was he going to do? His grip on his crystal tightened as his face hardened in resolution and he realized there was only one thing to do.

He’s going to get his boyfriend back.

But first, he definitely had to change out of his pyjamas.

Riz stirred from his deep slumber for only a moment. Long enough to yawn and stretch and reposition himself amongst the nest he made out of Fabian’s things. These Sleep gummies were good. So good. They somehow managed to temporarily mute his ever-running-a-mile-a-minute brain long enough for the want of sleep to overtake his racing thoughts.

Smothering any wonder of why everything got so hot all of a sudden. Or why he could hear muffled shouts, cheers, and jeers all around him when he was in Fabian’s room. Those didn’t matter.

Not when he could instead burrow into and wrap himself in Fabian’s letterman jacket that smelled just like him. Sea salt, cedar, and cinnamon. Riz took a deep breath of them, ignoring any of the other strange, exotic smells that seeped in from the outside world. The last thing he thought of before he slipped back under was Fabian holding him tight. Feeling safer than ever in his arms and wanting only to stay in them forever.

Filled with a renewed purpose and determination, he texted Gorgug. Informing that he’d swing by his place to drop his bag and pick up Blaze’s before he started gearing up for an impromptu solo mission.

Frandrangour rested in its holster just above where he wrapped his battlesheet around his hips. Tying it off so some of the sheet still hung from the knot. He may not be a pirate like his Papa, but he’d sooner die than give up their aesthetic.

And for his clothes, he’d remembered enough from his Planar Geography class that temperatures in the City of Brass tended to be pretty hot. Staying between a breezy fifty degrees Celsius and wanting to rip your own skin off. So, he opted for the loosest white tank top with the lowest cut sides he could find in his closet and a pair of deep turquoise and orange harem pants. The Plane of Fire wasn’t going to catch him slipping. Climate or fashion-wise.

Ready as he was ever going to be, he did a quick Fantasy Google search for the closest portal to the Plane of Fire as he raced down to the Manor’s garage. More specifically looking for one that would get him as close to the City of Brass as possible. And by the time he was settling onto The Hangman’s leather seat, he’d found one near a place didn’t expect.

The Elmville Firehouse.

At first, it seemed a bit counterintuitive to him, you know? Surely whoever decided where to place the Fire Department there knew there was a portal to the place where Fire was born, right? But, after a moment’s thought, it kind of weirdly made sense. Who else would you want to fight any invading fire elemental than the people with gallons of water and a huge hose to spray it? Also, seeing as it sounded similar enough to what he remembered Blaze talking about, he decided to take the risk.

After doing a backpack swap with Gorgug, who thankfully didn’t ask too many questions about where he was going to find Blaze, Fabian was off to the Firehouse. Urging The Hangman ever faster as they sped through the streets of Elmville. Not that his trusty steed needed much encouragement to hit his top speed.

Skidding to a stop in front of the huge, brick building, he asked only for The Hangman to wait at home for him. Getting a reluctant okay, he rushed inside the station to ask exactly where the portal was. The firefighters were nice enough. They’d looked a bit skeptical at first as he explained that he needed to save his boyfriend from waking up scared and confused in the City of Brass. But showing them his Aguefort school ID and having Fandrangour on his hip helped them believe that they weren’t sending him to his fiery death.

“Gettin’ all kinds of adventurers today,” A half-orchish man named Kark said in a gravelly grumble as he led Fabian around to the back of the firehouse. Stopping in front of a back shed with an arcane padlock, he began flipping through a ring of runed keys that he had on his belt.

“Really?” Fabian asked.

“Yeah, two Fire Genasi boys went through about an hour and a half ago.” Kark answered absent-mindedly, humming a tune Fabian didn’t recognize under his breath until—“Hah! Here it is.”—He took hold of a key that looked almost identical to the rest, in Fabian’s opinion. But he said it was it, then it was it. Kark slotted the key into the padlock’s hole, a small arcane hum vibrating out once he unlocked it, and then he opened the door. A blast of heat hit their faces as the portal to the City of Brass was revealed. A whirling vortex of pure magic, tinted orange, red, and gold, hung like a tear in the fabric of space before them. Kark took a step back, grimacing at it as he asked, “You sure about this, kid?”

Fabian chuckled and smiled up at Kark, a brick house of a man who regularly ran into burning buildings, yet was still weary of what lay ahead of them. “I am. I’m an adventurer. It’s what we do.”

With one last wink at Kark and a deep breath, Fabian walked through the swirling, roiling portal.

Coming out of essentially a crack in a red stone wall, the heat hit him first. As solid and unyielding as the wall he’d just stepped out of. Instantly the immense heat sent beads of sweat down his forehead and left him a bit agitated and antsy to leave this Plane as soon as possible.

It was so distracting that he almost got run over by a merchant’s hurrying wagon. Fortunately, he rolled well on his Dexterity saving throw to jump out of the way at the last second. His back pressed up against the red stone, Fabian pushed his irritation with the city’s climate and tried to gain his bearings.

The street he just stepped into was choked with people. Hustling and bustling with throngs of folks of all kinds on foot and in wagons (or pulling them? Umberlee below.). All making their way back and forth. Either deeper into the city or toward a giant golden gate set in the black obsidian wall that encircled the entire metropolis. The tall buildings that surrounded him were carved with intricate designs. Topped off with spiralling towers. Colourful banners of red, orange yellow hung out of windows and from brassy poles with what looked like the emblem of a noble house.

What little breeze there was brought with the smell of a plethora of spices Fabian had never encountered before. He could practically taste them on his tongue with how strong they were. Shouts of a language he knew but a dialect he didn’t also were carried on the wind. Though his father keeping that tornado on as a crew member had done wonders for his knowledge of Primordial, the differences between Auran and Ignan were significant. Enough that he was worried that he might misinterpret something if he tried his hand at Ignan. Best to stick to Common then.

Pushing himself off of the wall, Fabian began to search the surrounding streets for anyone who might’ve noticed the Evermore brothers heading in a certain direction. As busy as this place was, it didn’t seem like there were a lot of people that stayed put longer than a couple of minutes. Nobody except for a beautiful Fire Genasi woman wearing hardly anything at all posted up in front of the entrance of “First Flames”. A building that just screamed ‘House of Pleasure’ not unlike the Gold Gardens back on Leviathan.

Long, fiery hair, decorated with gold and brass charms and hairpins, fell around the greeter’s sweet, round face. Waving at passersby, asking if they wanted a cool drink and some hot company.

“Hello, handsome. Name’s Cinder,” She said to Fabian once he landed in her sights. Her voice was nice and sultry as she waved him closer. “You look like you’re searching for someone.”

“I am actually,” Fabian answered with a queasy smile as he cautiously approached but tried to keep a respectful distance away. “But I don’t think he’ll be in there.”

Cinder practically cooed at him, probably mistaking his discomfort for general shyness. Her slim, ruby fingers wrapped around his to urge him closer to her and the bedecked double-door entrance. Resting a forearm on his shoulder, she made a sweeping motion with the other toward First Flames and said, “Oh, sweetie, that’s not a problem. We have this charming lad named Smoulder and he would be more than happy to make your day.”

Following her motion, he could see inside of First Flames and it didn’t look unappealing. Lush and plush and filled with beautiful, scantily clad people strutting around and draping themselves over customers. Fabian couldn’t help but skin up his nose at it. Maybe he would’ve enjoyed this place before, but now, all he wanted was Riz.

“That is a lovely offer but I’m not interested in… companionship today. I’m afraid I’m taken.” Fabian said as politely as he could and stepped out from under Cinder’s arm.

Taken aback for a moment, Cinder then let out a sigh. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head and laughed. “Of course you are. Anything I can help you with before you leave us for good?”

Hmm, well, she was one of the only people he’d seen so far who could’ve stayed put long enough to notice the Evermore brothers pass by…

Worth a shot.

“Is there a chance you saw two Fire Genasi guys who looked out of place walk through here about an hour and a half ago?”

It took Cinder a moment, her stained lips pursed and fine brows furrowed in thought before her face and hair brightened in remembrance. “Indeed I did! They asked for directions to The Pyre.” Fabian’s confusion must’ve shown on his face because she quickly added, “It’s a pit fighting ring. Down in the Rookery.”

“Right. And that would be…?” Fabian said. Drawing out the syllables of every word and arching a questioning brow until Cinder burst out into full-hearted laughter. Through her giggles and titters, she managed to tell him the route he needed to take to get there as quickly as possible. Though she did warn him to stay on his guard. This city wasn’t a forgiving one. Yeah, he knew a thing or two about cities like that. With one last thanks to Cinder again for her help, Fabian set off deeper into the city to find The Pyre.

Easier said than done, of course.

The City of Brass didn’t seem to have an urban planning committee that cared about easy navigation and wayfinding for newcomers. Tight and crowded streets would bend and twist and (he swore on his life) would curve back around. He’d end up in a different district than the one he was in seconds ago with little warning. And it’s not like the locals were exactly hospitable. He almost got his head chopped off for asking for directions, on two separate occasions. And he barely managed to escape the wrath and chains of a noble-looking Efreeti he accidentally bumped into.

Luckily after two hours of searching, he turned a corner and stumbled upon the place Cinder had described for him. It won’t look like much, she’d said and she wasn’t wrong. Situated in the crook of two side streets, a beefy Efreeti man guarded what was essentially a hole in the wall covered by a flimsy-looking dark wood door. No signs or any distinguishing features to be seen. Yet, all the same, a couple of well-dressed Tieflings strode up to the bouncer and discreetly handed him their tickets. And after a moment of inspecting the little pieces of cut brass, he let them in.

That’s another problem. He doesn’t have a ticket.

Crouched behind an alleyway with a view of the Pyre’s entrance, he’d searched through Blaze’s backpack. Looking for any sign of a similar cut piece of brass that he assumed was engraved in some way, but he came up with nothing. For a moment, he weighed the possibility of it maybe being a pay-at-the-door situation. But that train of thought was swiftly derailed as he watched the bouncer toss a man out into the busy street for even asking.

Shit.

Fully sat on the ground now, Fabian let his head loll back and hit the hard stone wall behind him. The oppressive weight of the heat of this place bore down on him. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and wiped the dripping sweat out of his face. There had to be something he could do. He’d come this far. And Riz was somewhere in that place. So close yet somehow miles and miles away.

Okay, okay. He can’t get in without a ticket… and if Blaze’s smug boasting in the locker room was any indication, they were pretty hard to get. So he couldn’t go around asking where to acquire them. Not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. But that would mean he needed to get in without a ticket. How could he get in there without a ticket? Ugh, if Riz were in his position, he’d make a stupidly high investigation check for a backdoor. But Fabian had a sinking feeling if he were to try the same, he’d end up walking around the same block for hours on end. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

As Fabian sat in agonizing contemplation, the Pyre’s door opened up enough for whoever was on the other side to speak to the bouncer. A high, nasally voice asked, “Is he here yet?”

To which the bouncer only grunted and shook his head.

“That idiot. He’s supposed to be in the ring in ten minutes.” The voice said, his tone dripping in barely concealed aggravation. “If he does come tell him to get his ass into the pit ASAP. Got me?”

Another grunt, but this time with a nod instead before the Pyre’s door shut once more. Leaving the side street quiet and Fabian’s mind with an idea. He was asking the wrong question. It’s not how could he get in there without a ticket. It’s who could get in there without a ticket. Though he left the subclass behind when he became a Battle Master, it looked like the Pyre was about to get a new champion.

Jumping to his feet, he adjusted his father’s eyepatch, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. He marched up to the towering bouncer with the same confidence he had on his first day of school. Staring up at his eight-foot-tall form, Fabian smiled and said, “I heard this ring needed a challenger on short notice. And I just so happen to be aching for a good fight.”

Flame-filled eyes, hard and blazing, looked him up and down. The bouncer’s strong nose wrinkled in a glare at him. His gaze lifted from Fabian to behind him as he probably searched for whoever was supposed to be there. Must’ve come up empty. Since, in the end, he rolled his eyes and let out a huff of smoke from his nose as he opened the door for Fabian. And with a voice deep and rumbly like smouldering coals, the bouncer called out into the dark and hazy doorway, “Naflia. He’s here.”

“Finally!” Came the high-pitched nasally voice again. Soon accompanied by a relieved, swarthy face wreathed in a mane of fire and a short, stout frame clothed in fine brass garments. This Azer woman’s face turned surly, though, once she got a good look at Fabian. “Where the fuck have you—Jubi who the fuck is this?”

Settling a wrist Frandrangour’s pummel and a hand on his chest, Fabian went to introduce himself, “I’m—”

But Naflia cut him off, tired and gruff as she said, “Actually I don’t care. Can you fight?”

“Yes, I—”

“Perfect come with me.” She said and without another look, Naflia took him by the hand and dragged him into the building.

Leading down into a tight, spiralling stone staircase lit only by torches. Their hurried steps echoed off the walls as they went. Until they reached the bottom and came to a sitting area for guests. It was lit by blue flamed lanterns and filled with seat cushions and low-lying tables filled with goblets, plates, and candles. But Fabian didn’t have time to admire any of the furniture or the guests.

No, Naflia, surprisingly as strong as she is, yanked on his arm to get him moving again. Away from the plush niceties reserved for paying customers and into an employees-only backroom. One that led to a stone chamber filled with benches and rough, rugged fighters. All of them had harsh scars and mean mugs, scowling at him as he passed by. Fabian’s pretty sure he saw one of them laid out flat, covered in bruises and blood, hopefully just unconscious.

“What kind of establishment do you run here, Miss?” Fabian asked frantically as he brought him into a dead-end tunnel and placed him on a square platform.

Stepping back, Nafila grinned and gave him a shrug. “It’s pit fighting, kid. What did you expect? Flowers and roses?”

“A healer on deck,” Fabian answered with a grimace.

“Bah! You’ll be fine. Just don’t die. It’s bad for morale.” She said with a wide wave of her hands. Just as a tiny mote of fire flew in from around a corner, flying into her ear with purpose. Naflia squinted and tilted her head as if being quietly spoken to before she looked back up at him with a grin. “Alright, kid. You’re on in a minute.”

“A minute! Don’t I have to sign something? A waiver perhaps?” He frantically asked with a crack in his voice. Oh, he so didn’t think this plan through. He thought that he’d have enough time to scope the place out before having to fight. But apparently, Naflia didn’t care to get him acquainted with anything. Probably more fun for her. “Don’t you want my name, at least, before you throw me to the wolves?”

“No wolves. Just some punk Firenewt with anger issues. What’s your name?”

“Fabian Seacaster.”

Naflia arched a fiery brow at him. “Huh. If you say so.” She said as she reached behind her to a large brass lever in the wall and yanked it downwards. “Was just going to call you Wh’tila.”

“What does that mean?”

“Pretty boy.”

Hmm.

He didn’t hate that. Not at all.

“That works.” He said as the platform beneath his feet started to shift and rumble as it began to lift him into the air. The sound of huge gears cranking and turning filled his ears as the ceiling above him parted. Slowly but surely, he was raised into a circular arena. With stone walls that raised maybe a hundred feet over his head and were lined by metal railings. Lit by torches hung in elaborate sconces. And just beyond the railing were rows and rows of stands filled to the brim with people screaming their heads off.

The last thing he heard before the roaring audience drowned her out, was Nafila as she said, “Best of luck, Wh’tila. Remember, put on a good show but. Don’t. Die.”

Soon enough, she was gone from his sight as the platform froze in its final lifted position. Letting out a mechanical hiss as it did so. He faintly heard a similar noise about fifty feet away. Pulling his gaze away from the crowd all around him, he looked out across the arena filled with fire pits and racks of weapons to find his opponent.

Orange skin mottled with veins of gold and deep crimson reptilian eyes, the Firenewt opposite Fabian stood ready and raring to go. His fists were wrapped in gauze and he had a huge slashing scar that ran across his chest. There was this strange calmness that came off of him in waves that unsettled Fabian a bit. A sinking feeling grew in his gut that he was about to get his shit rocked by a monk for the second time today.

As he tried to remember the tips Ms. Jones had given him about fighting monks this afternoon, Naflia’s disembodied voice filled the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen! I assure you our next two fighters are about to give you the show of your lives.” At the sound of her voice and the feeling that it was truly go-time now, Fabian began to untie and unwrap his battle sheet from his waist. “The Swift Inferno, a returning champ faces off with fresh-blood fighter, Wh’tila! It’s sure to be a fight for the ages folks. Which one of these young men will come out on top? We’re about to find out in three, two, one.” As she counted down, Naflia’s last words to him rang in his head like a tolling bell. “BEGIN!”

Don’t Die.

Now, Fabian didn’t have any monk friends, so he didn’t feel bad about voicing his opinion of their range of movement.

It was fucking stupid.

Stupid and bullshit and should count as cheating.

To say that The Swift Inferno lived up to his name would be an understatement. And if you said it in front of Fabian he’d shoot you a death glare that rivaled a Sea Hag’s. Because that cute little comment didn’t help him dodge the bastard’s flurry of blows or escape his steps of the wind! Swift’s attacks just didn’t stop coming. So much so that Fabian couldn’t find an opening to strike. He just kept pushing him back and back until he hit the arena’s wall, which worked out in his favour.

As he evaded another one of Swift’s punches, both he and Fabian realized in the same second that he’d accidentally over-extended his arm. Sending it slamming into the rough, uneven stone just beside Fabian’s head. And in the moment before Swift could wince and pull his fist back, Fabian grabbed it. Keeping it where it was and leaving the entire lower half of Swift’s elongated, salamander-esque body open for him to pierce with Fandrangour.

Pulling his blade out of Swift’s abdomen with a flourish, he shoved the Firenewt away from him to give himself some room to work. Swift stumbled back, clutching his now bleeding side. Blood covered his hand wraps. Staining them red. Looking back up at him, Swift snarled.

Fabian smirked as he took a more offensive and showy stance. He arched an eyebrow and asked, “Shall we?”

Swift spat at his feet and sneered out, “Fuckin’ priss.”

“I believe it’s pronounced Wha-till-ah. But what do I know? En guarde!”

Their fight raged on. Fabian, on an upswing, managed to land a few more hits on Swfit. While Swfit tried his best to stun him as often as he could. He only succeeded once, but man oh man was that hard to come back from. Especially since one of Swift’s roundabout kicks sent Fabian crashing to the ground about half a foot away from an open fire pit.

As Swift leapt on him and pressed his face closer to the burning coals, he heard a voice call out from above. “What are you doing here, Cap?!”

Chancing a glance away from his opponent, Fabian followed the voice up into the crowd to see Blaze. Practically falling out of the stands as he leaned over the guardrail to wave at him. Yes! Yes! Blaze was here. He just needed not to die and he could get Riz back!

From within Swift’s hold on him and between the flurry of fists, Fabian yelled as loud as he could, hoping that Blaze could hear him. “Switched! Bags! The Ball! In! Mine! Ugh, one second!”

Reaching down into himself, to the pool of energy in his center that he always pulled from, he pulled from it once more. A tiny current of wind swept up from the ground and swirled around him as he gained his Second Wind. Curling up both of his feet to aim for Swift’s stomach and, using his newfound stamina, booted Swift off from on top of him. Fabian knew he’d be back on his feet soon enough, but he didn’t mind. The effects of the spell he was about to cast would look better if he was standing up anyway.

Nafila did tell him to put on a show.

“Had enough?” He asked as he watched as Swift staggered to his feet, swaying. But he was still standing. Not for long, though.

“You wish.”

Swift descended upon him once again. With flaming fists of fury, spending all of the ki he had left trying to pummel Fabian into the ground, he did his best to withstand his attacks. Taking blow after blow until his moment came. A split second when Swift left his chest open.

“Looks like my lucky day then,” Fabian smiled wide and cocked his fist back, wreathed in a helix of wind, as a low rumble of a distant stormcloud hummed. He directed it straight into the middle of Swift’s chest as he shouted, “Have a nice flight!“, in Auran. Casting Thunderwave.

BOOM!

A tide of pure stormy rage surged out from where Fabian’s fist connected with Swift’s flesh and swept him off of his feet. Sending him flying back ten feet as a thunderous boom filled The Pyre. So powerful and cacophonous that once the ringing in his ears stopped, he thought he’d deafened himself because the whole arena went silent. His pants were so loud in his ears. Chest heaving, he looked out into the stunned crowd before searching for The Swift Inferno. Finding him flung against the curved stone wall, unconscious.

Hold on… Hold on!

Fabian spun around to where he found Blaze in the crowd to lock eyes with him just to double check what he thought was happening was happening. Blaze, with his square jaw and freckled, ruddy face, beamed down at him as he threw his arms into the air. Letting out a whoop, “Let’s go, Cap! HOOT! GROWL!”, and started a chain reaction of cheers and chants as the rest of the crowd erupted.

Instinctively, Fabian whispered underneath his ragged breath, “Hoot growl.”

He’d won.

Holy shit, he’d won!

Oh, how he wished Riz was awake to see this.

The sound of a thunderstorm directly over his head was enough to rip Riz out of the inky void of sleep and back into the real world.

At first, he thought he imagined the sound of thunder crashing. Since, in the first seconds following it, everything around him went quiet. But then a jockish voice above him started yelling a familiar chant and soon an entire audience was joining him in cheering. Leaving Riz to quickly cover his sensitive ears and wonder just what the fuck was going on.

The Owlbears didn’t have a game today, did they? There’s simply no way. He’d marked them all down in his calendar app on his crystal so that he’d miss getting to watch Fabian in his element as Captain of the Bloodrush team.

Mind still groggy from the Sleep gummies, Riz tried to wrap his head around where he was when an abnormally loud voice spoke over the din. “Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have a winner! Give it up for Wh’tilla!”

A winner?

Wh’tilla?

Who the fuck was Wh’tilla and why did they not sound like a high school Bloodrush team he’s ever heard of?

Okay, that’s it!

Riz practically ripped his way out of Fabian’s backpack. Claws digging and scratching into the sturdy canvas until he could find a hole in the zipper and claw his way out. Instantly, as he popped his head out, he almost wished he didn’t. Because all at once he realized that he was in a place that was unbearably loud, chokingly hot, and definitely nowhere near Elmville. Sitting in a crowd of hundreds of rowdy people of all kinds, with a quick look around he concluded that he was in an underground arena of some kind. Most likely illegal, but never mind that. None of it explained why he wasn’t in Fabian’s room right now.

“Oh! That’s why Cap’s here!”

Huh. That sounds more useful to him.

Whipping his head around to look at the person who was holding Fabian’s bag on his lap, Riz looked up at the young, Fire Genasi’s face. It was familiar, that was for certain. Someone he’d never talked to but saw often enough for them not to be a complete stranger. He must be on the Bloodrush team. The strong jaw and bulky shoulders were a dead giveaway. His name? Oh, by the Gods, it was Flames or something. No, Blaze! Blaze Evermore! Fabian had called him a line-back-thingy when he’d tried to explain Bloodrush to him once. Yes, okay. But why did he have Fabian’s backpack?

“Hey, Blaze. Uh, what’s up? Man.” Riz said more awkwardly than he would’ve liked. He just didn’t know how to talk to Fabian’s Bloodrush teammates. Were they and Riz friends-in-law? Would they treat him differently if Fabian wasn’t in the room with them when they hung out? So many questions and no time to answer them.

Thankfully, Blaze just shrugged and nodded his head in the direction of the arena’s pit. “Nothin’ much. Just watchin’ Fabian kick ass.”

“Huh?” Riz turned to inspect the pit again and what he saw made him gasp.

Fabian stood with a black eye, blood running from his nose, and his arms spread wide in triumph as he soaked up the audience’s cheers. Giving them dramatic, ballerina-esque bows with a big smile on his face. But that wasn’t the part that got Riz’s heart racing.

No, that was reserved for something that no one else seemed to notice, not even Fabian. Behind him, about ten feet back, what seemed to be his defeated opponent, a heavily injured Firenewt stirred. Achingly slowly, he got up. Raising himself onto his arms, Riz saw the seething look he was shooting Fabian. Daggers into the back of his unsuspecting head. And almost imperceptibly, smoke began to pour out of his slitted nostrils as his jowl began to expand. A fact from his studies of inner planar creatures shot into Riz’s head.

Firenewts can spit fire.

They can spit fire at anyone within ten feet of it.

Riz was moving before his thoughts could get any further. Though they did. How could they not?

Could Fabian have enough hit points to withstand a blast of fire to his back? Maybe. But with how punchdrunk he looked, Riz wouldn’t bet money on it let alone Fabian’s life.

With all of his eight strength, he pushed his way through the crowd.

Sure, what damage it would do to him probably wouldn’t kill him, either. However, Riz doubted that anyone would get into the ring before that Firenewt rained down blows on Fabian’s unconscious form. By the time they pulled him off of Fabian, he’d be dead.

Despite the shouts for him to stop, Riz bounded up the metal railing and leaped off of it. Shocked gasps rang out behind him, but paid them no mind. He only smirked as, once he began to fall, spectral angel wings appeared on his back.

He’d thought that wearing this vest would be overkill for this afternoon’s sparring class, but, like always, his father was right. It always pays to be prepared. He was happy about all those gasps though. They were an excellent way to pull Fabian’s attention away from gloating and towards him.

“Riz!” Fabian shouted, his voice somehow loud enough to hear over all of the noise. The single step Fabian made toward him as his smile turned all soft and fond once his eye locked onto him wasn’t going to be enough to avoid the fire.

Maneuvering on his temporary wings, Riz tried to make himself fall faster while still keeping course towards Fabian. All the while he unfurled a multi-coloured braided length of rope, entwined with the help of all the Bad Kids last summer, from his belt. He’d yet to ever cast Rope Trick properly before, but if there was ever a time to do it, it’d be now.

In the split second before the Firenewt opened his mouth, Riz tossed the rope up into the air. He felt it catch on an extradimensional space and dove to grab Fabian’s awaiting hand. Then as Fabian's larger hand wrapped around his, he yanked as hard as he could on the rope to pull them up. Riz's muscles screamed at him as he held on to all of Fabian’s weight as they were both snatched up and into the hideaway he created.

“The Ball, what the—” Before Fabian could whip himself up into a bluster, Riz took his face into his hands as gently as he could and pointed it downwards. Letting him see through the window down into the pit as the Firenewt belched fire exactly where he was standing. Fabian’s eye went wide. “—Oh.” Meeting Riz’s know-it-all gaze, Fabian blushed before he put a hand on his chest and another against his forehead and said, “My hero.”

“Damn, right,” Riz said with a nod, ignoring how hot his cheeks felt. “What are we even doing here? Since when do you pit fight?”

Fabian groaned. Letting himself flop back into a sprawl on the floor of the Rope Trick as he explained himself. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to be here. Blaze, Gorgug, and I swapped bags accidentally. I got Gorgug’s, Gorgug got Blaze’s, and Blaze got-”

“Yours.” Riz interrupted, his mind still whirling a mile a minute. Peering down at the pit below, another question popped to the forefront of his head. “Where are we?”

“The City of Brass,” Fabian answered, barely lifting his head to do so.

“What?” Riz reared back before pressing his face to the glass of the Rope Trick’s window to the outside world. Only now, with this bird’s eye view did he notice the abundance of Fire Genasi, Azers, and other fireborn or touched creatures in attendance. No wonder it was so fucking hot! That’s the capital of the Plane of Fire for you. Wait. If he was brought here accidentally by Blaze that must mean—oh. Riz looked up from his snooping to crawl over to Fabian’s prone form. Peering over his head, Fabian’s lone silver eye opening as he did, Riz softly asked, “Did you go interplanar just to come find me?”

Fabian shrugged with an amount of adoration on his face that made Riz feel like he was about to throw up.

“I’d go to the ends of the multiverse to find you.” He said, simply. Almost nonchalantly. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Oh, Riz just couldn’t take it. Slapping his hands against his face, he fell back as well and curled into a ball. Fabian’s soft chuckles didn’t help. Especially not when he also pulled Riz over to him and wrapped him up in his arms. “What? Too mushy for you?” Riz could only nod, too overwhelmed with such big feelings. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Of course, he would.

In a heartbeat.

He’d venture across the multiverse and back twice if that’s what it took to find him.

The two of them stayed just like that for a few long moments. Content to stay in this embrace for maybe the rest of eternity… Well, that’s a bit much. This spell wouldn’t even have an eternity. Maybe another fifty minutes. Tops.

If it weren’t for the stray glance Riz made downwards, they probably would’ve. But now that he felt like he could speak again, he couldn’t help but comment on the Firenewt below them. And how he was frantically punching the air around where he’d swept Fabian up from. “Huh, looks like your opponent is a bit confused.”

“I’m sure he is.” A beat. “Think I can drop down on him and knock him out?”

“Fabian.”

“What? I wanna win.”

Riz rolled his eyes, not immune to Fabian’s puppy dog pout, and said, “On my cue.” Fabian let out a whoop and kissed Riz’s cheek before he scrambled to get into place. “Drop down in three, two, one, now!”

In a fall, complete with twists and summersaults, Fabian soared out of the extradimensional space with flourish and theatrics. Landing on top of the poor Firenewt in an obnoxiously dramatic pose. Riz couldn’t hear anything from within the hideaway, but he knew the crowd must’ve been going nuts. He didn’t want to, but Riz couldn’t stop a fond smile from playing on his lips as he said, “That’s my guy.”

By the Gods, did Riz love him.

Whew!! There you go! I hope you liked it, Anon! Another one ticked off the bingo board!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

[charmikarma]

hallo it's me. (crookedgrifter) I'm back and I want your davejade / davejadekat thoughts. gimme

my thoughts huh ... i sure am a rambler so you're gonna get a whole essay on this

i guess in thinking abt davejadekat it always starts with jade. which is well enough because davekat has been talked to death at this point, hasn't it? i don't think i could tell you anything new or interesting about that dynamic at this point.

ANYWAY. jade. i kind of get into this in my polar express fic which ik you've read, but she is SO lonely. what the fuck are you supposed to do for ~10 years alone on an island with just a dog?? a dog who could take you somewhere else, somewhere with people, but he won't. and maybe jade knows why because of her dreams on prospit, but also maybe not! either way i think she puts a lot of faith in her dreams. it's kind of the only hope she has for the future.

i think she also has some hope in dave, this really cool dude she has this awkward internet middle school crush on. and dave is super cool to her too! i think it's implied he furry roleplays with her even?? cutest shit ever. i think this is the thing that has made me always love davejade ... they are just. so sweet to each other. dave clearly cares SO much about her.

the other thing about jade is... she's kinda fucked over repeatedly by the narrative, isn't she? she's the last beta kid introduced, so she has a lot less time to develop. the closest she really gets to developing is being really pissed off at karkat after her dreamself dies (i'll talk about this in a sec). her arc basically ends at cascade. her character arc ends in the dead middle of the comic, in a flash animation that contains exactly 0 character development. hussie says so himself in the author's notes. (don't even get me started on the author's notes jesus christ.) everything that happens on the boat is pretty much irrelevant, because it gets retconned out. instead she spends 3 years completely fucking alone, and we like... barely unpack this in canon.

so her life story up until this point is basically: raised by grandpa till ~3-5ish > living on her own till 13 > meeting dave briefly in the game > DAVE FUCKING DIES IN FRONT OF HER, WITH HER OWN BULLETS > she meets john briefly > JOHN AND DAVESPRITE FUCKING DIE > she spends 3 years alone with no solace except "yeah they had to die but you'll see them again in the new session" from alt!calliope and i guess a bunch of sprites and consorts and chess dudes. she says it herself: as nice as it is to have these folks around, they're not able to relate to her. they're not fellow thirteen year old kids. she may not be technically alone, but she is essentially alone, and she just 1. died twice in one day and 2. witnessed the deaths of several of her friends.

more on being fucked over by the narrative - jade actually has a kind of interesting dynamic with karkat in the middle of a5a2! what happens with this dynamic later on? fucking nothing!!!! like seriously i am so interested in this whole. self-hatred parallel that gets drawn between them and then how jade puts her foot down and is like you are fucking nuts. no more yelling at yourself. and it goes nowhere!! this dynamic exists for like, maybe 1% of the comic. it's really fucking sad honestly. even at the very end of homestuck, she has to be sidelined for being too powerful, thereby excluding her from all the endgame convos. like we cannot win with her

ok anyway, here's where i get into the stuff i think is really interesting. at the end of homestuck, alt!calliope tells jade that she's suffered enough, and that it's time for her to live her life how she wants to. we don't see how this plays out in homestuck proper, BUT...... the epilogues. sighs heavily.

i may be an epilogues lover but even i have to admit that jade's portrayal is.... a mess. i don't think it's wildly out of character, exactly, but it definitely toes the line... and it's definitely extremely fucking uncomfortable. it does, however, give me some insight into how i think about jade now, because while the minutiae don't really feel in character, i do think the broad strokes of what they were going for make sense.

jade took alt!calliope's words and said, fuck it. i will take charge! i won't wait anymore! i am going to have what i want. and she does get a lot of that! she gets to hang out with her friends, hang out with her brother, meet a ton of people, have a bunch of sex (presumably when she's older), and so on. but see... doing a lot of things doesn't really fill the emptiness she feels. she has so much love to give and not enough outlet for it. she needs all the love in the world and has nobody to give it to her. and she still has this big fat ten-year-old crush on dave strider that never went anywhere. but the approach she takes to life now is just... so incompatible with what dave needs. same for karkat. they both need a LOT of patience to come out of their shells, and jade is living life in the fast lane. the more she pushes, the more withdrawn they become. it is a disaster.

i want to fix it so fucking bad.

jade needs a lot of character development for all this to work, but the dynamic is absolutely there. some of their convos in early meat are so fucking funny dude, they are such good friends. it is absolutely not for lack of caring on either dave or karkat's part that things don't work out in the epilogues. it's this disconnect between what jade thinks is helpful and what dave and karkat need. i really want jade to find the balance between living at breakneck speed and waiting ten years for something to happen. i want her to feel loved for once in her damn life. and i want dave and karkat to stop being such depressing shut-ins. please guys you could balance each other out if you would just figure out how to communicate

anyway. there's your essay. it's mostly about jade. hope that's ok. i love jade harley so much my ultimate goal is to see her happy and mark my words i will figure out how

[jasperthehatchet]

I dont usually write posts about critical role but this episode did things to me and I have to talk about it right now right now right now don't mind me just yelling into the ether for a minute

the last half hour of ep77 just made me love Ashton (really everyone) so much more. They're being an INCONSIDERATE DICKSHIT and a HYPOCRITE with a MARTYR COMPLEX who makes HORRIBLE DECISIONS yesss gimme the complicated relationship dynamics and the morally gray moments AND THE ANGST. There's gonna be some good ass roleplay moments from this I feel it in my bones and it's gonna be DELICIOUS. Hey ashton greymoore my beloved shithead what is wrong with you <3

And it was such a sweet thing to look at Ashley Johnson/fearne and say "I see you don't want the shard and I want you to keep your characters agency I will take it" but then they were a fuckhead about it!!! Literally did a nice thing in the most fucked up way possible that it circled around to being terrible. I love that!!! Say what you will about this episode but by god is it entertaining. I ship callowmoore even more now that they have shit to work through. I love complicated relationships in fiction I am living!!!!

(i genuinely didn't like the very real tension at the table and had to skip it on Thursday night but! Im excited anyways!!! I'm having the time of my life)

Anyway <3 i love this show thanks for reading

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Bro. Broooo. Bro. Gimme top!janis x Switch!reader with dom/sub dynamics, with Janis calling reader her pet + Secretly making out at a halloween party that Aaron threw. Bonus points if they flrt in public but never make out in punlic so there are rumours abt them pls plspls pls i need i i am OBSESSED with janis as a top pls

Closet Hookups

|| Janis Imi'ike x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; drunk reader and Janis, make out session, use of the word "pet", swearing, slightly in the future

|| Summary; there were rumours about Janis and reader being a thing, after getting caught at a Halloween party those rumours are confirmed.

Requests open!

Started; September 13th

Finished; September 14th

~~~

The bell ring, signalling the end of your classes for the day. With a heavy sigh you made your way down the halls and to your locker. Which was next to your girlfriend's. Janis.

You twisted around the numbers on your lock until it reached your combination and pulled it open, taking out the stuff you needed. Instrument, art supplies and a rolled up work in progress science project. Leave it to grade 10 to give you a stupid amount of projects.

Just as you were about to close your locker; you felt an arm wrap around your midriff and shuddered, instinctively tensing only to hear Janis' voice whisper against your ear. "Just me, babe."

You relaxed and looked back at her, kissing her cheek," maybe a bit of a warning, yeah?"

She laughed and gave you a playful nudge," did I scare ya?"

"No you d-"

"Boo!" Janis said suddenly, which made you flinch and she laughed again. Giving you a quick kiss," Yes I did." You rolled your eyes, unamused by her antics.

"Anyway, ya coming to the Halloween party? Aaron and Cady are throwing one tonight." She asked as she followed you down the hall towards the buses.

"Asking me to be your plus one, Imi'ike?" You teased, she only grinned and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Maybe I am, depends on if you say yes."

"Then, yes."

"Tits." Janis smiled at you, making you roll your eyes as she gave your cheek a kiss before waving goodbye. You waved back and boarded your bus.

When you got home from school, you took out your costume. Making sure you had all your accessories before putting it on. You had decided to go as a slutty Vampire, which made you feel a little more exposed than what you were used to but you felt good.

Half way through doing your makeup you received a text from Janis, so you grabbed your phone and opened it.

Babygirl; heyy! need a ride in? i can pick you up at seven

You smiled at her offer and texted back, knowing Janis had only just recently gotten her full license.

You; as much as i love you, idk if i trust your driving skills yet

Babygirl; 😦 ive never been more offended

You; lmaoo im sorry baby, besides i can walk. cady's literally like ten houses down from me

Babygirl; fine 😔

You laughed a little at her dramatic reactions and set your phone down, finishing up the rest of your look and doing a once over to make sure everything was picture perfect. Then you had a mini photoshoot in front of your body mirror because of course. Gotta get those gram pics.

Soon enough, it was seven. So you headed on down to Cady's house, getting there around the same time as Janis and Damian. You noticed that Damian seemed to be a little spooked as you walked over.

"We survived. Oh my God, sweet grass." He said as he laid down across the grass, you raised an eyebrow and Janis rolled her eyes.

"He's being fucking dramatic. Ignore him." Janis stated, Damian gasped and looked her.

"Nuh huh, girl your driving nearly killed us. I don't know how they passed you on that test." Damian replied, sitting up.

You burst out laughing, covering your hand with your mouth," Man I'm glad I didn't go with y'all."

"Oh, whatever." Janis huffed and headed inside, the two of you following after.

The three of you met up with Cady, Aaron and the others (being the plastics). All of you became friends over the summer after last years insanity. Everyone, including yourselves, were surprised by that.

"Oh my Gosh, you guys made it!!" Cady ran over and gave Janis a hug, you gave an awkward smile and wave.

"We nearly didn't because of someone." Damian looked and pointed at Janis, who gave his arm a light slap.

"Cut it out, Damian."

Cady and Aaron laughed at that.

"Is she that bad?" Aaron asked.

"Worse." Damian nodded.

"Oh my god, I'm not listening to this. You, come." Janis grabbed you by your arm and dragged you to the kitchen, you easily followed.

There she got a drink for the both of you and handed you yours before taking a drink of her own.

The night went on pretty smoothly, you and Janis getting more and more drunk with each cup. By the time you both hit your fifth drink you were stumbling over each other and giggling as Janis brought you into the closet.

"Shh,' You whispered through quiet laughs," they'll hear us."

Janis chuckled and gave you a soft kiss, pulling you closer to her as she worked to get your blazer and button up off.

She broke the kiss, the usual dominant look back in her eyes as she scanned your body with a smirk," you're the one giggling. If they catch us it will be your fault."

"Heyy," You pouted, both of you were talking in slurred speeches. The alcohol hitting the both of you hard. You a little more so than Janis.

Janis covered her hand over your mouth," Quiet, pet~" She whispered in a sultry tone. You huffed and took her hand off your mouth, placing your own hand to the back of her neck and pulling her in for a bruising kiss.

Meanwhile, everyone else was wondering where the two of you had gotten to. Before you disappeared Gretchen had been keeping an eye on you and Janis, considering how drunk the two of you were. She was the first to notice your absence.

"Hey, has anyone seen Y/N or Janis? I've been looking for them but haven't found either," Gretchen said as she regrouped with the others.

Regina raised an eyebrow and smirked," How funny would it be if they were off making out?"

"Regina." Cady rolled her eyes and pushed through the group, scanning the bunches of dancing people for any sign of you or Janis.

"I'll check upstairs, knowing Y/n and their alcohol tolerance they're probably in the bathroom and janis got dragged along" Damian said, walking off in that direction.

Cady nodded and headed off to the halls, looking around. She passed the closet and heard something get knocked over, then voices. Which sounded like yours and Janis'. She paused and took a few steps back until she was in front of the door. Maybe Regina was right...

She knocked then opened the door, finding the two of you trying to separate from your tangled mess. You had reached for your shirt and completely fallen over top a mop bucket while Janis was laughing her ass off at your clumsiness.

Cady gasped and blushed deeply. Yup, Regina was definitely right. "I'm sorry- we were just- oh God-"

Janis looked at Cady," give us a minute." She closed the door, leaving Cady stunned in the hall as Damian came over to her.

"I found them.." Cady mumbled, Damian looked at the closet and gasped.

"No," He said in a dramatized tone.

A few moments later you and Janis stumbled out, back in your outfits. Some of your buttons were messed up and Janis' hair was out of place. You both had sheepish grins on your faces as you looked at your friend group. Who had all come over by now.

"Called it," Regina said, holding her hand out to Aaron who rolled his eyes and handed her a $10. "Thank you very much." Regina smirked and pocketed the bill.

"We're dating," You announced.

Damian nodded, "You know, I figured."

"Wow, rumours were right." Gretchen said.

Karen was the most surprised out of everyone, she really had no idea whereas everyone else had at least some idea," oh my Gosh. Congrats!!!"

You and janis looked at each other with a soft look in your eyes. You were glad they finally knew, it felt wrong keeping it from them.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol. 24

Howdy folks!

I love how I said I was never waiting two weeks to do a digest again and then almost immediately did it again. Anyway if you're new here, this is every new (to me) fic I read this week (and last week) and some of my silly little thoughts about them. I have 19 fics for you this week!

As always you can find all of my previous recs here and the original spreadsheet here (now updated with warnings, author summaries, and word counts + I'm checking for broken links).

Recs below the pedro!

Multiples/MMF/MMMF

Euclidean Geometry - Frankie/Jack/Pero one shot by @leslie-lyman

I’d never have thought to put these three together and even if i had, it would have been straight up PWP no feelings. But this is STUNNING. It’s only 1.4k words but there’s such a depth to it. The different dynamics each of the boys and reader brings to the relationship, the way they care for each other AHHH and then the little flash scenes of smut 🥵🥵

The Impaler - Tim Rockford/Max Phillips one shot by @kiwisbell

This is my first Tim Rockford fic EVER and I adored it. I’m a big fan of making Max into a more serious and scary vampire and this was… so fucking hot y’all. (kinda dubcon for Tim bc he seems to be under a bit of a trance). Guys this has like every MMF position you could ever want. DVP… Spitroast… It’s so hot. And reader is so hot. And I’m melting fr.

Joel

Attraction Spell - joel one shot by @jksprincess10

I love a vampire Joel, I really really do. And I love a witchy reader just as much if not more. TW for NonCon bc Joel like… stalks reader and then gets her to basically drug herself with an attraction spell and then he also like.. Is a vampire? So there’s that. I loved this so so much. Joel is hot and scary.

Made by Hand - Joel one shot by @tinycozycomfort

Reader is married and Joel is your lover. He doesn’t really have anything to offer you at all – I mean he can’t give you something that would get you caught and he doesn’t seem to have much to give anyway. But he hand sews you a pair of cuffs made from blue ribbon AHHHHH. This fic is heartbreaking and so beautifully written. Of course the smut is hot, but the peek into Joel’s mind is really what does it for me here. He is so sad. UGHGHGHGHGH. Gimme 800 chapters of this STAT.

Garden of Earthly Delights - Joel one shot by @thesimulationswarm

What’s Gin a slut for? That’s right. Sub!Joel. Reader is a little badass in this and Joel is honestly pathetic and it’s so hot. His general air of violence and like… being a terrifying man are still present, which just makes it better that reader reduces him to a pathetic whimpering mess. Submissive Apple Washing is my favorite tag ever, also. 

Balsam - Joel series by @thesimulationswarm

This one is great if you love characters. The author really takes the time to build up the characters in the town, really situating you in the lives of the people of Jackson. There’s no smut as of yet; this is a slow burn and Nina/Doc (the OC) is really just starting to connect with Joel at this point. I cannot say enough how much I love the worldbuilding in this. I adore the characters and their intricate and detailed relationships and the inner conflicts going on with each of them. This is gorgeous and I’m so excited for the next chapter.

@theywhowriteandknowthings Murder Daddy Kinktober

Neighbor's Gardener's Brother Joel, MDKT Sex Pollen - Joel, MDKT Day 17 - Din

Ok the neighbor’s gardener’s brother Joel is hotter than it has any right to be. He’s filthy, reader is filthy. It’s beautiful. 

The sex pollen fic… man I fucking love sex pollen. And you also get tentacles and mind fuck and all the other delicious monsterfucking things that drive me up a damn wall (dub con obvi…). 

And Day 17 - a bounty who keeps running from Din because she loves to be caught by him. She’s thrilled by the chase so much she…. Oops spoilers… Just read it. It’s being turned into a full series and I cannot wait to read it! 

Din

Good Taste - Din series by @charnelhouse

Pornstar!Din – the crack fic this came from is also great, but I really enjoyed this. Din is so fucking hot and like kind of a dick, which I love very much. I only read the crackfic and the main fic, but there’s a whole list of drabbles that I’m sure I’ll dig into later. 

Ezra

Long Fall into Oblivion - Ezra one shot by @oonajaeadira

As usual, Adira wrote something I love with my whole heart – who’s surprised? Not me. Anyway Ezra is training you to be a prospector and he is absolutely lovely. Reassuring, kind, protective. Adira does non-explicit smut so well she basically invented the concept. 

Shorn - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Ezra really likes your body hair, but it is time for you to shave – I love a fucking weird ass fic and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say erotic shaving is weird. I also don’t normally love shaving scenes in fics/books because there can be an element of shaming the natural body? But this fic does the opposite. It celebrates the natural body through the lens of Ezra and is also just unreasonably fucking hot. I love that weird little man with all my heart. 

Dream Within a Dream - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Incubus!Ezra – so yes, you die, because that’s what incubuses (incubi?) do. They rock your dream world and then they consume you. But listen… Ezra is ethereal and gorgeous, the dream world is absolutely stunning, the smut is hot, and honestly I’d beg him to eat my heart out too. I can’t say enough about this fic actually. I read it this morning and I’m still reeling. 

Javier Peña

you miss me? - Javi P one shot by @amanitacowboy

You tease Javi while he’s at work and he punishes you for it when he gets home… and it is so deliciously good. Dom!Javi has me in a chokehold (or I wish he did). 

The Raid - Javi P one shot by @toxicanonymity

Some dark!Javi from toxic! Your boyfriend or whatever gets his house raided by the DEA and Javi saves you from getting uhhh used… by his coworkers. But then he takes you for himself. Based loosely on her Raider!Joel series. Obviously non/dub con. Javi is so mean and hot pls. 

Pent Up - Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Javi hurt his ankle (which Ang did as a dig at me because I did the same) and can’t drive, so he hasn’t been able to get any… release… which leads to him jacking off at his desk after hours. It’s so hot. I was like laughing at him up til he actually touches himself and then I about fell over. What I wouldn’t give to be his lil stress reliever. Javi baby I would live under your desk if you asked me to. 

Frankie

You hired a cleaning lady, Mr. Morales? - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

After the events of TF Frankie is in a bit of a depression (understandable), and his house gets more than a little messy. Santi hires a cleaning service (you) to help him out. Listen… I wish I was as bold as reader. After the sexual tension between you and Frankie gets too much to bear, you show up in a god damn sexy maid outfit to torture him into convince him to finally make a move on you. It’s so hot… reader is a sexy bad ass bitch and Frankie is adorable and so hot. 

snowball kiss - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

The discord found this definition on urban dictionary and Kel ran with it. It’s filthy in the best way. Pussy eating king Frankie learned a new trick and honestly it’s devastating me emotionally that I can’t have him

Dieter

Dress me up and call me pretty - Dieter one shot by @morallyinept

Messy Messy Messy Dieter – my favorite type of Dieter. His drug addiction and overall patheticness are in full force here. He wants to make himself look pretty so he uses your makeup. You come home and make sure he feels loved and beautiful, and also ruin his makeup. Pegging/sub dieter/etc but also… this fic is really fucking sweet. It kind of broke my heart despite also being filthy and depraved and I love that in a Dieter fic. I love how reader is like "we'll try again" like??? How dare you make me cry when I'm reading sub!dieter. Dammit. 

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My most recent work is Starving Season - a twisted little Dave York love as consumption three parter that I plan to add a fourth part to soon.

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Happy Reading!

[destinygoldenstar]

☀️Reality TV’s Stupidest Alliance☀️ - Total Drama Viewer Reacts to Disventure Camp Season 1 Episode 2 “Logged & Loaded”

What am I predicting for eliminations?

Uh… how many people are here? 14?

So I’d say… 7 mergers?

Pre-Merge boots I’m guessing… I said Alec last post cause of Fiore. And I said Lilly cause she’s good at the game so they’d want to get rid of her. So… others…?

Will, Drew (forgot him in the last post), Dan, and Grett. I can see Grett being a Pre-Merge villain and getting booted right before the merge.

And… one more… I guess Miriam. Idk why, but if I had to choose out of the ones left.

I think the alliance of 4 is gonna lose half its members. I see Nick getting character development. I see Fiore being an antagonist. And Ashley… she’s nice. I just like her and hope she goes far. Jake & Tom have a thing going on that the opening spoiled so they’re both merging. Then Gabby is being set up for character development as well.

I forgot Ellie. I forgot she was on the purple team… she’s gonna be the teams swing vote, isn’t she? That sucks.

This is what the dynamic between her and Gabby are alluding to? They’re both on opposite teams but they both have major setbacks and disadvantages to their game. Gabby cause no one likes her and she’s allied with Grett, and Ellie cause she’s stuck in the middle of her team and will be screwed if she doesn’t play… less than pure, I guess. But they become besties and it trumps those issues.

That’s what I’m predicting anyway.

So… let’s start this episode.

I got the SAME AD AGAIN. WTF?!

"Is that recycled paper?"

How does he write that fast? That's impressive. Gimme that skill.

"I want to talk to her but she scares me a little."

What did she do to you?

"She reminds me a little of my grandmother. How she walks, how she talks... I miss her."

"She's been sick for months and she can't have visitors."

Oh my god...

Is that why he's competing? Medical bills to help her?

Well geez, keep that up and I might actually root for you to win.

"Yeah, she was often cranky, but she was the only one that really understood me."

You on the spectrum?

"Jake... I don't know what to say, but if you need to talk to someone, I'm always here."

D'aaaaawwww 💗

That face.

He was eyeing Tom all of last episode too and I just didn't bring it up.

YOU ARE NOT SUBTLE, SIR

So we have how many characters with motives and reasons to be here now? Fiore got dumped by her parents, Nick wants to prove himself, Jake wants to help his grandma.

I'm really liking that they're giving these characters REASONS to be on the show and why they want to win.

Cause in Total Drama we don't get a lot of their backgrounds outside of the game, and only a handful explained their motives for winning. I think of Gen 1 the only one that really had a motive aside from 'I want to be rich' is Alejandro.

I like what they're doing here.

"If our team fails, you'd be the one to blame."

Pretty sure that's not how that works.

Mostly it's a social challenge. If they think you're the one at fault for the loss, just say "Whoa whoa whoa! You don't want to vote me! You want to vote that guy!"

I obviously would suck at Survival.

So... actually I like Grett's game move here. Be on good terms with the leader, and... do what I said basically.

"WHOA WHOA GUYS! You don't want to vote Tom! Let's vote that glasses guy instead! That's a much better game move! TRUST ME."

Oh these two...

They're like "Oh shit. We're the outliers here, aren't we?"

"What makes you think you'll get far? Have you seen how fast the others are getting close to each other?"

"I've noticed. That's a problem."

Oh they're actually addressing it. Cool. They're not stupid.

"You're not going to walk thirty minutes over there."

"Sure I can. I love to walk."

She just like me fr

"That fat girl made you look stupid."

Huh?

...what???

"I love your coat my the way! I own a similar one!"

Do you have a split personality?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

She was talking to herself...

And it was such a massive fourth wall break that it gave me an ad on body spray. XD

"Today's reward will be a complete fishing kit. That will make it easier to find food."

I guess... but you can also make cages or nets to catch fish. I know that's something that's possible.

There's not any wildlife they're killing, is there?

"An immunity totem has been hidden somewhere in the forest."

OH. ALREADY?!?!

We got an idol in play!

I wish Total Drama used Immunity Idols more. It's such a cool game mechanic in Survivor. (At least, in the clips I've seen of people playing them)

Yeah I know the Reboot did in Season 2. We don't talk about that.

"That totem could save me from the unfavorable position I find myself in."

Yes. Yes it would.

Actually, no, let me predict for a sec. Either him or Ellie find that idol, and they save themselves with it, causing a member from the 4 alliance to get the boot. And that's how that alliance breaks.

I mean, you're not gonna get them any other way I feel.

Awwww, look at Ashley carrying the demon child. 💗

"I heard how Grett spoke to you. You shouldn't let her talk to you like that."

Boy, I agree with you and I get you're nice. Grett is in hearing range and WILL gun for you.

My case and my point. Grett gunned you.

Cause it looks to me like otherwise, you tripped on NOTHING.

"I'm really curious what you look like without it."

...

EXCUSE ME?!?! O_O

BOY. YOU JUST MET.

"I'm a little scared to have to slide down from up here."

Oh for the love of drama-

Pull a Leshawna. THROW HIM OFF.

"Ellie, Alec, you go on that one. Nick, Ashley, and I can take the next one."

*does the math*

Hey wait so you're gonna leave him with the child after he JUST confessed to being scared?!

Listen to your alliance teammates! You're in hearing range, right?!

Why can't Lilly go with Fiore? Wouldn't that make more sense cause she's the one cutting?

OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH.

Grett's gonna steal that from Gabby, isn't she?

But either way, Gabby's immune, LET'S GO!

"By the way, have you started streaming the episodes yet?"

YOU THINK YOU'RE SOOOOOOO SMUG, HUH?!?! I SEE YOU.

"Remember to cut any scenes I'm in."

*Stares intensely at him*

...okay.

"What if we fall?!"

That's kinda the point.

IT'S A HILL.

*chokes on breath*

YOU GO KID. BITCH SLAP HIM.

A six year old is bitch slapping a grown man, this is not a drill.

"What was that?"

I mean, let's be honest... she just said facts.

Yeah the slap was wrong, but it's not as bad as it could've been. She just told the truth.

"You're costing us this challenge and everyone will know it."

Yes but he has something you don't. NUMBERS.

Well your point just went down the drain, cause that's YOUR fault.

WHY DIDN'T YOU GRAB TWO?!?!

The 'yay' card, aww that's so cute... 😄

"She does have a point, yeah? She's got the flags and Will's got no."

Okay, that's stupid.

1) You guys can SEE the top of the hill, right?! If you couldn't, that wasn't established.

2) You saw the position of the two on the log. Fiore was standing on top of him! OF COURSE HE COULDN'T GET A FLAG

3) Would you guys seriously DITCH your alliance?! It WILL cause you the entire long game and you know it! DON'T BLOW THAT

Oh and 4 as a bonus) You never even listened to your ally! You KNEW he was scared, and yet you left him with a KID

"Maybe this was all a misunderstanding."

Ashley. I get it's hard to not side with a child. Use your brain.

"I wish I could believe you, but I know a little girl would never do those things."

Oh my god, you've never seen a child for more than two seconds your entire life. Not every kid is a saint! Toddlers are bratty as shit! They do that to get it out of their system!

(From this point on, I will put a 'Keep Reading' mark on the Tribal Council segments so I don't spoil the eliminations for my followers)

Oh we actually SEE who votes who!

YES!! THANK YOU! I WANTED THIS!!!

This is like Survivor much more, cause they flip these cards over to share the names, and you can see what the numbers were.

I always imagine what the eliminations in Total Drama would look like if they did that as well.

Okay Lilly's being smart.

WAIT CAUSE ASHLEY THREW HER VOTE WILL'S GONNA LEAVE, OH GOD...

YOU DIDN'T TALK TO YOUR ALLIANCE ABOUT THIS?!?! YOU COULD'VE VOTED OUT ALEC TOGETHER, AND YOU'D BE FINE.

That's Ashley's vote

That's not Lilly's handwriting. Is that Will or Nick?

That's Lilly's.

Not Alec's writing... Fiore's?

Alec, Fiore... Ellie?

And that's it.

RIP

NICK IS THE TRAITOR. OMG

YOU ARE REALITY TV'S STUPIDIEST ALLIANCE

(Unless Will voted himself)

I mean I don't really care about his character, but that could've so easily been avoided.

Tom, what ninja stuff are you getting into??

If you guys want me to continue these reactions, be sure to let me know.

[barbieb0y]

where blue skies await us.

hellooooooooo im. kinda late to day 1 bc i was kinda busy but i dont wanna miss the first prompt(s) so. here it is. im just gonna be frank with you guys im probably gonna use this week to write selfship stuff. sorry.

for day 1 of scrunkly week, the theme is clear skies and i went with the spare time and hobbies prompt!

sooooo this does include my self-insert oc paper cut... you obviously dont have to read the doc but it would definitely provide more context for his character and his dynamic with joe. yes ofc it's joe reverse 1999 who else would it be. ANYWAYS DONT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY IM JUST BEING CRINGE ON MAIN FOR ONCE

“Cut, there is a reason why I say you’re amazing to be doing this as a hobby because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

J sighs, cursing his lack of skill and creativity. He thought it’d be fun to try and indulge in his best friend’s favorite pastime - and though “fun” is not an inaccurate word to describe what he’s having at the moment, he finds himself relating to more defeating adjectives.

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad. Gimme that.”

Hesitantly, J outstretches his hand that held an unassuming piece of paper. Paper Cut needs not skim through it… because there’s only one word written on it.

“The.”

“The.”

Okay, maybe it is that bad.

Even then, Paper Cut can’t help but giggle. He can see that J is trying very hard to match his beat and is miserably failing. But it’s the thought that counts, right? J smiles bashfully at the other’s reaction. Then, in a fit of pure genius, he decides he should imitate the master.

“Lemme see what you wrote.”

Paper Cut shrugs and hands over his prose to the apprentice.

“‘They say love is blind but, oh, who so cruelly poked the eyes of love? They say love hurts but, oh, isn’t love hurting more than it hurts? They-’ dude, Shakespeare is rolling in his grave right now.”

Paper Cut looks away, scratching the back of his neck shyly. He’s not unaccustomed to J’s compliments but the familiarity doesn’t breed immunity in this case.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

J guffaws freely at the sarcastic tone of Paper Cut’s voice that doesn’t match the embarrassed expression he wears. It is one of the many cute details about Cut that J adores - a stubbornness that rivals his own at times. In his peripheral vision, a very light red brushes across Paper Cut’s chubby cheeks.

“Maybe not, but that’s what my bike is for.”

J exclaims as he leans back, shifting his weight to his forearms, fortresses on the carpet beneath them. Paper Cut moves as well, from lying down on his back to leaning on the whole right side of his body, his arm propping up his head by the chin. Their respective masterpieces lay in the fluff of the carpet.

“Hah, sure.”

A lazy smile creeps onto Paper Cut’s face as he gazes lovingly at the other. J reciprocates and lets his eyes wander around the establishment. Paper and stationery strew about, the owner’s passion for artistry reflected crystal clear. It’s Paper Cut’s messy little residence - it’s not proper enough to be called a house.

Paper Cut interrupts J’s (though short) train of thought. It is then that the latter’s clear blue eyes turn to his companion. His small smile says it all.

But it’s definitely a home.

“Y’know, if this isn’t for you, we can just go on a ride. The two of us, as usual.”

Well, if he’s willing to indulge in his hobby.

“As usual.”

[artdcnaldson]

https://www.tumblr.com/artdcnaldson/761116585613312000/httpswwwtumblrcomartdcnaldson761114886042501

i love fucked up dynamics like this sorry not sorry. maybe i am the toxic one BUT GIMME GIMME GIMME.

like he cheats, but does he love you? yes. he is possessive, but for selfish reasons? yes.

need this man to be such a mess that he beats up anyone who he even thinks is a threat to your relationship (as if he’s not manwhore number one)

anyway he could be fixed if you, him, artX and tashi all fucked…at once…yeah…

cheater PATRICK 💜

YEAH..........

He loves you, he swears he does, but he can't get over the Art and Tashi of it all. You can't help that, you can't do anything to fix it besides try to give him all the love you can. But it's never enough :(

When you find out he's cheating of course you try to lash out and get toxic right back, but that ends with Patrick nursing a bloody nose and split knuckles and you crying as you nurse his wounds and promise it's not going to happen again.

But then he does cheat. Again. And again. And you should grow a spine and leave but he loves you, and you feel stupid but you think he'll grow out of it, that you just need to love him more.

[milksteakkk]

coughs coughs gimme ur general deh headcanons

OMG YAYYY

ok so one of my biggest headcannons that i will believe forever is that evan is mac demarcos #1 fan. he has disproportionate emotional reactions to most if not all of his music

umm uhh kleinsen time because i love them !! they would always play video games at jareds because evan couldnt affort it :,( they were religious lbp players because it was the only co op game evan was good at and jared still religiously listens to the osts for all the games but shh dont tell anyone. evan loves clive handforth

zoe is a beanie baby collector. her heart would literally shatter into a million pieces if she lost any of them she loves them so much :( <3

connor speedruns games in his spare time and hes actually pretty good. his favs to speedrun are resident evil games

alana is a board game lover she pulls up to the function w chess or monopoly and tbh thats real as fuck of her

evan and heidi are norwegian and the murphy siblings are wasian (japanese/american) also theyre twins because the 1 year age gap is so stupid and they have more of a twin dynamic anyways

by brain is frying so thats all i got rn but thank u for letting me chat shite for a bit 🙏🏽🙏🏽