#corinne burns

[demonspeeding666]

Ladies and gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains (1982)

[plutoniuminjection47]

instead of coping with trauma like a normal person I will simply say I know how [insert character] felt and then move on

[iamtheweirdomister]

Ladies and Gentleman, the Fabulous Stains: teenage Diane Lane and Laura Dern rock punk

This long-buried gem from 1982 about a teen-girl punk band subverts the great rock’n’roll swindle of the Sex Pistols

Jenny Valentish Mon 18 Jan 2021 11.30 EST

When Johnny Rotten crouched on the edge of the stage in San Francisco in 1978, at the demise of the Sex Pistols’ US tour, and asked, “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?” it would inspire a key moment in a film four years later.

In Ladies and Gentleman, the Fabulous Stains, Billy (Ray Winstone) fronts the Looters – a London punk band, all “poxy” this and “bollocks” that – rounded out by real-life Sex Pistols Paul Cook and Steve Jones, as well as Paul Simonon from the Clash. Billy addresses the fanatical teenage girl audience awaiting the set of headline act the Fabulous Stains, and snarls: “You’ve been ripped off.”

Rotten’s comment had been in reference to manager Malcolm McLaren booking the disastrous tour in cities unlikely to embrace the Pistols, whereas Billy’s broadside is motivated by resentment that his booking agent has turned what had been the Looters’ support band, the Fabulous Stains, into a cynical marketing concept.

(Stains trailer here: https://youtu.be/06kCwPpyjCk)

“You’re adverts. You’re a commercial,” he spits at the audience of “skunks”, named after the two-tone hair of the Fabulous Stains. This sea of teenage girls is dressed in the official Stains merch of transparent red blouses, completed by red winged eye makeup, and underwear and fishnets with no skirts.

It’s not the only parallel to the Pistols in this long-lost cult film, now available to rent or buy on YouTube. Jones and Cook, who wrote many songs on the soundtrack, formed the Professionals after the Pistols broke up. One of that band’s singles, Join the Professionals, winds up being the Fabulous Stains’ break-out MTV hit.

Trailer for Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains.

The Fabulous Stains themselves, made up of nihilistic firecracker Corinne Burns (a 15-year-old Diane Lane); Jessica McNeil (13-year-old Laura Dern) and Tracy Burns (Marianne Kanter) are pitched somewhere between the Go-Gos and the Runaways, and frontwoman Corinne is frequently invited on to TV shows, thanks to her bleak one-liners that are guaranteed to shock suburbia. One moralistic TV news anchor is clearly modelled on Bill Grundy, whose 1976 interview with the Pistols descended into mayhem when he contemptuously goaded them into swearing.

The plot follows a tour of the US, initially headlined by rock dinosaurs the Metal Corpses (a washed-up version of KISS), followed on the bill by the Looters and the Fabulous Stains.

The Fabulous Stains are just as disparaging of Metal Corpses (“He was an old man in a young girl’s world,” they tell reporters when the guitarist overdoses backstage), but also of the Looters, who are themselves has-beens by 1982. They’re repulsed by the way their tourmates assume all women are groupies, giving rise to the slogan, “We’re the Stains and we don’t put out”. Their star soon eclipses that of the other bands, and Corinne becomes some kind of monster herself.

In fact, one wonders what the famously prickly Dowd made of the end result of Ladies and Gentleman, the Fabulous Stains. She and director/record executive Lou Adler apparently couldn’t agree on the ending, and she walked off set after being groped by a crew member. Her feminist script rubbed up awkwardly against the lingering shots of pubescent breasts bouncing behind transparent blouses.

Paramount buried the film, perhaps because of a poorly received test screening, and it languished in the vaults for decades, only being screened at the odd film festival. Those fleeting outings were enough to fire the imaginations of Courtney Love and riot grrrl bands such as Bikini Kill, but the film didn’t reach a wider audience until it was released on DVD in 2008 with a cast commentary.

There are some great visual moments, such as the audience of teenage Stains clones flipping off the Looters en masse, and the dilapidated tour bus rumbling through shit towns (driven by real-life reggae artist Barry Ford as the tour manager) painted red, gold and green, with “The Looters” spray-painted over “The Metal Corpses”. And the smart-mouthed script isn’t as contrived as you might anticipate, despite having to jump a number of sharks in order to catapult the Stains to MTV stardom.

The ultimate burn comes from Corinne Burns, of course.

“You are so jealous of me,” she tells Billy, who’s kicked down her dressing room door to tell her she knows nothing about the industry. “I’m everything you ever wanted to be.”

“A cunt,” he spits.

“Exactly.”

 Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains is available to stream on YouTube

[barbaragenova]

So I'm having the classic day (x) into Big New Project when it can get easier to doom rather than to keep momentum, on the other hand: fuck doom and *fuck the zero*. I did every Barbara thing all by myself. I can do the next one.

[recycledmoviecostumes]

Martha Burns’ crocheted capelet has an interesting history in the world of television. It made its first on-screen appearance in 2009 when Burns wore it as Mrs. Burgess in the Murdoch Mysteries episode entitled Convalescence. Several years later, the capelet reappeared in a completely different show – Anne with an E – worn by Corinne Koslo as Rachel Lynde. It’s fascinating to see how a single piece of clothing can transcend one show and find a new home in another, creating a subtle connection between two separate fictional worlds. The capelet itself is a beautiful piece with intricate details and a cozy, comforting feel that makes it perfect for the colder months. 

Costume Credit: Amelia Douglas

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram

[newmusickarl]

Mercury Music Prize 2024: Ranking The Contenders

My favourite time of year has arrived – the season of the Mercury Music Prize. Back in July, the twelve albums nominated for the 2024 prize were revealed and, as ever, served up a highly diverse and eclectic list of some of the best British and Irish music released over the last 12 months. Each of these nominated records is now vying for the prestigious title of Album of the Year, the overriding criteria for which has greatly deviated throughout the award’s history.

In terms of the competition, last year felt like a big watershed moment. With myself and many others previously writing off the jazz nomination as soon as the annual shortlist is announced, Ezra Collective’s pleasantly surprising victory set a new precedence for the prize – any album can win. Not only that, but this year’s Mercury Prize shortlist presents arguably the most open contest for some years, making it almost impossible to predict. But hey – let’s try and predict it anyway!

As I do each year, I’ve now listened to all 12 albums and tried to rank them based on what I think are their chances of winning. To be clear, this is not a “Worst-to-Best” countdown – this ranking is based solely on how likely I think they are to win the overall prize.

To determine this, I’ve considered:

The impact and artistic achievement attained by the album

The popularity of the artist

The level of critical acclaim the album has received

How similar albums have fared over the years

All clear? Good!

Without further ado, here’s my final thoughts and analysis on this year’s nominees.

12. Lives Outgrown by Beth Gibbons

The debut solo album from the Portishead frontwoman is an absorbing work, a heavy listen that can be tricky to love at first but will eventually win you over. It’s certainly won the critics over too, becoming one of the most positively reviewed albums of the year thus far.

So why bottom of the list? Well for me, Beth has several factors working against her. Firstly, she’s a well-established artist who wouldn’t gain much from earning Mercury Prize recognition this late into her career. Secondly, and most importantly, she’s a former Mercury Prize winner, having lifted the trophy with Portishead’s Dummy back in 1995.

There’s only ever been one two-time winner in the prize’s history (PJ Harvey for those wondering) and at this juncture in her career, I personally don’t see Beth becoming the second person to achieve this feat – particularly given the strength of some of the debutants on this year’s shortlist.

11. Bad With Names by Corto.alto

Having already been so familiar with a lot of the records on this year’s shortlist, this debut from Glaswegian multi-instrumentalist Liam Shortall has been my favourite discovery through this year's prize. Recorded in his bedroom, it’s a mesmerising collision of jazz and electronic music that is genuinely unique and pulls you back in for repeated listens.

However, why it is so far down on my list is mainly due to Ezra Collective winning the prize last year. Whilst this album from Corto.alto isn’t solely a jazz project, of all the records on the list it is the one that falls the most into that genre. While Ezra Collective historically bucked the trend last year of jazz records never prevailing and winning the overall prize, another longstanding trend is that Mercury Prize wins rarely come from the same genre in back-to-back years. So, with a jazz record taking home the trophy last year, it makes me think the judges will go in a different direction in 2024.

10. On Purpose, With Purpose by Ghetts

The fourth studio album from the acclaimed, MOBO-award winning rapper, On Purpose, With Purpose is an ambitious project that showcases Ghetts' prowess for strong storytelling and cutting social commentary. It also features a stacked list of collaborators, including Mercury Prize alumni Kano and Sampha.

Now Ghetts is one of the few artists on this year’s shortlist who has been nominated for the Mercury Prize previously, having been shortlisted for the 2021 prize with Conflict of Interest. While recent history would suggest this could work in his favour (Little Simz and Michael Kiwanuka both won on their second and third times of trying), I feel this is a weaker effort compared to Conflict of Interest. Not only that but it seems fans and critics agree, with this album one of the lowest scoring on review aggregate site albumoftheyear.org. With this being the case, this is one I am filing under unlikely to win.

9. Early Twenties by Cat Burns

Talk about sneaking in there – this debut album from British singer-songwriter Cat Burns was released on the 12th of July this year, the final day for eligible entries into the 2024 prize. Obviously the judges would have listened to it before that date though, and they were clearly taken in by the record’s uplifting pop melodies and soul-baring lyricism.

Now, there actually isn’t too much working against Cat Burns when it comes to winning the overall prize. It is a debut album which always fair well and she’s also had good success in recent years with critic-led awards, having come fourth in the BBC Sound of 2023 and earning three Brit Award nominations just last year.

However, with the late release date you do wonder if the album would have had chance to make an impact on the judging panel in the same way as some of the other records on this list. Additionally, the album hasn’t had too long to make an impact culturally on the wider music world either, which leads me to think this is another album that is unlikely to prevail.

8. Who Am I by BERWYN

Like Ghetts, British rapper, producer and songwriter BERWYN is another artist who has been on the shortlist before, having also been nominated in 2021 for his impressively raw mixtape, Demotape/Vega. Now back with what is being billed as his debut studio album, WHO AM I is a powerful force that is as lyrically spellbinding as it is emotionally impactful.

However unlike Ghetts, BERWYN for me actually has a lot pulling for him. Again it’s another debut, he’s a previous nominee and rap records have typically done well in recent years (see wins from Little Simz, Dave and Skepta). So why is it only 8th on the list I hear you ask? Well, I think it simply boils down to there being some stronger records on this list that you can argue are more deserving. Whilst a BERWYN win (or a BER-WIN if you want to be cheesy) is certainly possible, my gut tells me its also improbable given the strength of the field.

7. Black Rainbows by Corinne Bailey Rae

A record that made my own year-end list back in December finishing an impressive 16th, Black Rainbows is one of the most acclaimed albums on this year’s shortlist. Inspired by an exhibition on Black history by artist Theaster Gates at the Stony Island Arts Bank in Chicago, the album is a mesmerising collage of eclectic sounds that range from soul and R&B to frantic garage rock and sprawling electronica.

Corinne is also a previous nominee, having had her sophomore record The Sea shortlisted for the 2010 prize. Given the love and acclaim Black Rainbows has received too, it wouldn’t be too surprising to see Corinne announced as the winner on the night.

However given the other nominees, my gut instinct says the judges may favour a newer artist, with Corinne almost in the same category as Beth Gibbons as already being too well established at this point. Whilst a Mercury win would certainly be deserving, my instincts are telling me this likely won’t be Corinne’s year.

6. When Will We Land? by Barry Can’t Swim

An album I’m personally a massive fan of and would love to see win tomorrow night. When Will We Land, the debut from Scottish musician and producer Joshua Mainnie AKA Barry Can’t Swim, is a vibrant and joyous experience like no other. Filled with a globe-trotting mix of sonic influences and textures, it is an incredible debut that has cemented Barry Can’t Swim as a household name in the electronic music world over the last year.

Now much like jazz albums, electronic records are good at getting nominated, but rarely do they win. In fact, you have to go all the way back to James Blake’s win in 2013 for Overgrown to find the last triumph from the popular genre. So not only is an electronic record long overdue a win, Barry’s debut has had such an impact in the space, not just for him but for the genre on the whole, it would be a well-received victory.

That said, as much as I would love Barry to walk away the overall prize winner, I think his chances are sadly fewer than some of the others on this year’s shortlist.

5. Silence Is Loud by Nia Archives

We’re into the real contenders now and this debut from record producer, DJ and singer-songwriter Nia Archives is certainly in with a chance. Heralded for its groundbreaking fusion of Jungle and Britpop with sincere lyricism at the heart, it’s an album that is truly unlike any other released in 2024.

With Nia such a trailblazer and pioneer for this Jungle revival that British music is now seeing, not just bringing the genre back to the fore but moving it forward as well, you have to wonder if Nia will get the nod in the same way Skepta won in 2016 for Konnichiwa. While that was arguably not the best record on the shortlist that year, it seemed like the judges were keen to recognise Skepta’s impact on the British rap and grime scene, helping to really bring it to a worldwide audience. I could easily see this reasoning repeated and with Nia’s record a debut too, it’s definitely one of the frontrunners in this very open contest.

Again, the only thing working against a Silence Is Loud win is the impact and quality of the others on the shortlist.

4. Brat by Charli XCX

An album that needs no introduction at this point. Let’s face it, has there been a British record in the last five years – or even decade - that has had as big of a cultural impact, in such a short space of time too, than Charli XCX’s Brat?

Although only released in June, the album has already cemented itself as one of the defining albums of 2024, and indeed the 2020s. From the iconic green artwork that has inspired festival fashion to instantly iconic lyrics entering the internet zeitgeist, to even politicians using the album’s lore in their political campaigns - the last few months have truly been a “brat summer”.

As we look ahead to tomorrow, Brat is currently the bookie’s favourite to take home the prize. In any other year, I would discount Charli simply for being too commercially successful and the judges tending to favour lesser-known artists when it comes to granting the overall prize. While I still ultimately think that will be the case, there is also a part of me that thinks the judges may see the impact of Brat and think it would be crazy to not award it the title of Album of the Year. In addition to this, Brat has received extreme acclaim too from critics, so it would be an incredibly popular win.

Back in 2006, Arctic Monkeys had the fastest-selling debut album ever at that time and as a result, would go on to win the Mercury Prize that year. Commercially successful albums winning when they’ve achieved cultural significance isn’t unheard of throughout the history of the Mercury Prize, so don’t be surprised if Charli walks away with it tomorrow - despite being one of the biggest popstars on the planet right now.

3. Prelude To Ecstasy by The Last Dinner Party

Speaking of fast-selling debuts, upon it’s release back in February, Prelude To Ecstasy became the UK's biggest first week-selling debut album in nine years. Considering the buzz surrounding it, this came as no surprise as there are few bands as vehemently discussed as The Last Dinner Party. Yet in many ways they still feel slightly underappreciated, often criticised for the wrong reasons. When you focus on the musicianship of the record itself, there are few debut albums as anthemic, as dazzling and as accomplished as Prelude To Ecstasy.

Much like Brat, The Last Dinner Party’s debut feels like one of the defining records of the last 12 months and although also commercially successful, you could see the critic darlings crowned the overall winners for that reason. They are also less established than Charli, so may feel like a compromise as they are still technically a “new” artist. However, you also feel the judges may recognise awarding the London quintet the overall prize may sadly have an adverse effect, leaving them prone to more criticism and intense scrutiny from their naysayers.

This again makes me think the judges will ultimately go in a different direction, but personally I think this record deserves all the praise and awards in the world. Without a doubt, one of the year’s finest albums.

2. This Could Be Texas by English Teacher

Into the top two then and now we have arrived at the two albums I think have the best chance of winning the overall prize tomorrow. One is a choice of head, the other is a choice of heart. 

If I’m going with my head, everything points me in the direction of this debut album from rock quartet, English Teacher. Hugely acclaimed, particularly by the British music press, it’s an album that has captivated due to it’s soaring originality, poetic lyrics and broad eclecticism. In fact, when you look at the genres that typically make up the Mercury Prize shortlist each year – rock, jazz, electronic, pop, soul, R&B, folk, punk and post-punk – This Could Be Texas has a little bit of all of that.

This for me is a record tailor-made to win the Mercury Prize. It is a debut album, from a band that is still up-and-coming, that would benefit massively from the greater exposure, and an album which will surely tick a lot of boxes for the diverse music tastes on the judging panel.

It’s also interesting to note that there is a strong Leeds/Bradford contingent on this year’s shortlist, with a quarter of the artists nominated heralding from the area – which makes me think the winner is likely to come from one of those three albums. So, if you’re a betting person and are still trying to decide where to put your money, my head says English Teacher’s debut is the album to back.

1. Crazymad, For Me by CMAT

But that is what my head says, my heart says something different. While a good part of me thinks English Teacher is the one to prevail tomorrow, the one I am really rooting for is Crazymad For Me by Irish singer-songwriter, Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson – AKA, CMAT.

Having finished as my 12th favourite Album of 2023, it’s a record that I still find myself frequently returning to almost a year later. In fact, if I was to redo that list today, it would be in the Top 5. This is because with each new spin it feels more and more like a modern classic, with songs like California, Rent, Where Are Your Kids Tonight and, of course, Stay For Something, all timeless in nature.

It’s not just me with a great affection for this record either. It’s another album that has seen huge love and acclaim over the last year, even getting nominated for the Irish Choice Prize back in March. Which brings me onto another important point regarding CMAT’s album within wider Mercury Prize folklore, and that is the fact that an Irish artist is still yet to win the overall prize. That’s right, despite plenty of nominations throughout the 30+ years it has been granted, an Irish artist is still yet to take home the coveted Album of the Year title.

So, with a jazz record finally winning in 2023 and bucking the long-standing trend, surely it is time for an Irish artist to be recognised as the overall winner. At a time as well where Irish music is thriving – just look at recent albums from the likes of Fontaines D.C., Kneecap, Sprints, NewDad and The Murder Capital, to name just a few – it feels like the right time. With CMAT’s incredibly infectious and warm personality, as well as her clear love for music, performing and mastering her songcraft, I couldn’t think of a more deserving person and artist to make this little piece of history.

That’s my thoughts anyway ahead of the annual ceremony tomorrow night; I guess we’ll soon find out as always just how close – or not close – I was with my predictions. Best of luck to all the artists and as ever, I look forward to watching!

Watch the 2024 Mercury Prize be presented on BBC Four tomorrow night from 8pm.

[girlbob-boypants]

I gotta stop reading stuff the devs say tbh. It just makes me even more concerned that this game isn't going to know what it wants to do.

[diazly]

will have to pause making gifs and whatnot bc my dad just got an email from mediacom even tho i take precautions and whatnot idk im just nervy so anyway sorry folks

[loetise]

important dynamics.  ˎˊ˗             aka, my own version of the ‘affiliation’ trend. these are muses and dynamics that are important to allie and help to shape who she is as a person. kind of also an appreciation post for my friends for putting up with me, some of these have been in the making for more than a year and all of them feature extensive plotting. please do not feel left out if our dynamic is more recent and not here, all of my dynamics are extremely important to me, these are the ones that i’ve had for a long time and/or plotted a bunch with. you do not need to follow these blogs to get a better grasp of allie’s story, but i might mention them in threads if it is appropriate. these dynamics are pretty much ‘canon’ for allie, with the exception of romantic relationships that exist in their own verse and would conflict with others. these dynamics are specifically for her main verse and the city based variant, i have more planned in a separate post for her other verses, which has a lot of muses not featured in this one.

main verse.

audrey rose, @celestiel.    audrey is allie’s best friend since high school, they grew up together, cheered together on the cheerleading team, and continued being close even after high school and after allie had left for six months. audrey was the person she was closest with in high school, and one of the only people that truly cared about her. audrey pushes allie to be more confident and value her self worth, as well as give her constant support. 

kieran night, @heroanti.    kier is pretty much allie’s soulmate. they are very much an ‘endgame’ kind of ship, they love each other endlessly. they live together in her cottage and just the company helps allie immensely, but more than that, kier helps her grow. there is hardly a moment when they are apart, and space is given when needed, but allie knows that she’s never truly alone and the thought is comforting to her. she is less anxious, though she still has her moments, and is much more healthy, she takes care of herself better and engages in less risky behavior.

akllasqa mamáni, @khronoes.    toxic codependent girlfriends, though allie’s largely aware of the toxicity. she loves aklla, though aklla has a tendency to treat her like an unwanted pet, or a lab rat on occasion because she knows allie will agree to pretty much anything she says. allie eventually gets pushed away by aklla enough and leaves without saying goodbye, pretty much disappearing.

udyati rao, @dvarapala.    allie’s baff (best alien friend forever!), udyati and allie are fairly similar in a lot of ways, though udyati is a little bit tougher and has been through things that made her that way. allie and udyati also go on a lot of adventures together due to udyati’s access to doors to other universes, and the ability to create them. most of their adventures are simple things, just spending time together or doing ‘normal girl’ stuff, but they support each other through everything and make each other feel loved.

olivia jensen, @celestiel.    another one of allie’s best friends, though a distinctly different vibe from udyati or audrey. liv was more distrust when they first met, definitely more of an ‘opposites attract’ scenario, but liv eventually warmed up to allie and now she is a lot more open with herself and her feelings. liv and allie are adventure buddies, but in a different way. they tend to get into mischief together. sometimes the illegal kind.

willow w., @unpossession.    close and cherished friend! willow and allie have similar hearts, but willow is more introverted and shy, and they have a close bond because of their similarities. however, during their friendship, allie began to fall for her, and willow didn’t fall for her as intensely as allie did. after willow goes through a traumatic event, she disappears for a long period of time which worries allie so much she feels like she’s falling apart. when willow returns, allie gets incredibly clingy and hardly leaves her alone, which doesn’t help with allie’s feelings.

jason brenner stilinski-hammond, @rotturn.    allie considers jason like a little brother, and makes herself a safe person for him to be around because his powers can’t harm her like they can a human. he has made many attempt to push her away and she refused to let him, and now they are both doing much better, though jason feels guilt for how he treated her in the past.

corinne delacroix, @rosewiltd.    corinne and allie both have a strong love for flowers, though allie a little more intense, which is originally what brought them together as friends, but now they share a bond that is close enough to be sisterly due to how they understand each other. allie frequently shows corinne how to care for flowers, and corinne reads her stories.

serena carlisle, @wihlted.    soft girlfriends! allie and serena are close because of that softness and their hearts, though their backgrounds are as different as can be. allie frequently visits serena’s ballet lessons, as well, because she loves to watch her in her element. allie has also whisked serena away to the woods for long amounts of time on multiple occasions, rendering her missing from the rest of the world.

nicholas cohen, @celestiel.   nick and allie had been friends when one of her close friends, jade, had dated him, though jade and her had always had a bit of a rocky friendship. after jade and nick broke up, nick and allie had gotten closer. closer to the point of betraying jade and falling for nick. her promised her songs about her, to take her with him and his band and allie fell for it. anytime they were together, she felt amazing. but when they’re apart, allie feels immense guilt for what she has done with nick without jade knowing.

cosmo stilinski, @khozmoh.    another opposites attract scenario, cosmo and allie met after he moved out of beacon hills, and were originally just sort of party buddies, going clubbing together and such. and while it took a while for him to warm up to her and trust her, he eventually did and they began dating. allie and cosmo both struggle with nightmares and are able to help each other with them by being a safe space. allie helps cosmo with his supernatural sight as well, making the horrors he sees go away for a little while when she’s around.

lucas north, @spynorth.    allie originally approaches lucas to help her find his mother, but he takes her under his wing, sort of, after he sees her naivety and approach on life in comparison to him being very much the opposite. eventually, they stop looking for her mother primarily and allie considers him a dear friend, though she doesn’t know much about him beyond him being a spy and nice to her, sort of like an older brother. lucas thinks he’s her secret service.

ruby of crims, @redheart​​.    another one of allie’s toxic codependent girlfriends, except this time there’s a little bit more of a mutual dependency, at least for spending time together. allie and ruby spent a lot of time at ruby’s mothers clubs, and allie began to follow ruby around like a lost puppy. ruby entertained allie and played with her feelings for a while because she liked the attention. however, after she met her boyfriend mat hatter, she left allie behind.

city.

josiah bryant, @celestiel.    josiah and allie have worked at the same flower shop since they were tweens, and when allie’s mother left, he stayed by her side and supported her that day as well as everyday after that. they had been close friends even before they started dating because of all of the things they have in common, and their connection only deepened when they revealed their feelings for each other. their relationship is very soft and sweet and they are very affectionate with each other, as well as a little bit silly.

lois lane, @loisjoanne.    lois adopts allie around the age of 14 after allie ventures into the city of metropolis and they meet and get close immediately. while allie has boarding school back at home, her and lois called regularly, and allie visited as much as she could when she didn’t have school. once allie graduated, she was able to spend much more time with her, and moves to the city near where lois lives.

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne will be one of the devs answering questions at the next dev Discord Q&A in a few days [source]

Corinne: "fashion is the real endgame ✨" [source]

Malcolm: "I got to Bioware and they were like, hey, do you wanna work with Trick on the content for this badass beefy firebreathing Qunari treasure hunter and it was like the clouds frickin parted and choirs of angels sang out. Honestly the stuff we made for Taash is probably my favourite thing I've made in my 16+ years of making video games." [source, two]. / Trick: "You have made Taash's stuff SO GREAT, dude." [source] / Malcolm: "Taash deserves nothing less. You created an amazing character and a fantastic story, and I really appreciate getting to contribute to it :D" [source]

User: "will there be a fair amount of crafting for us gear noodlers?" / Trick: "I have done a fair amount of tinkering to get exactly the build I want, yes! I think we'll show specifics later." [source]

John: "one of the funnier quirks of game dev is you will never remember missions by their real names but instead by the name you called them by for several years of development. it will never be 'In Your Heart Shall Burn' for me, it'll always be Setback. dai mission names according to me: Prologue. Redcliffe. Seeker Fortress. Setback. Halamshiral. Temple of Mythal. Finale" [source, two] / Trick: "Plus "Adamant", which had the shipping name of "Here Lies the Abyss", I think? (It was my mission. I picked that name. And yet, my memory? Nah.)" [source] / John: "you know the funny thing is I LITERALLY wrote this post because I was thinking about Adamant and that is the one mission I forgot to put in the list" [source]

John: "the only one i can ever remember is 'Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts' and it's because it seems to be the only DAI mission that people constantly reference by name online" [source]

John: "even in DATV i do not recall 95% of the mission titles with the only exception being the one time i was (imo) clever" [source]

[source]

[source]

[supercap2319]

I was wonder if you could do an x male reader for Peter Hale. Where it’s Young Peter and Peter just realized male reader is his mate after catching his scent. And he just trips on his own face in the middle of the high school halls because that where Peter first caught their scent

Peter learned about mates from such a young age. His older sister, Talia, would tell him stories of what it would be like to have and mate, and when Peter would find his, he would know. He thought that Corinne might be his true mate. She was cute enough, but maybe it was more hormonal than true love.

He pushed his way through the hallways of Beacon Hills. Nothing bad or exciting ever happened here. Peter's family was the only pack in town. Of course, there were the Argents, specifically, Chris Argent, in almost every single one of Peter's classes. Peter knew that he would turn out to be just like the rest of his family. Hunters. Hunters of Peter's kind. Of werewolves.

Maybe Peter would go visit his sister after school and his two year old nephew, Derek. Catch a movie or go for a run in the woods. Whatever Peter's original plans were going to be were put to a stop as he inhaled something sweet and sharp. Almost like a cinnamon scent. Peter felt his inner wolf howl with delight as his eyes flashed gold for a second, and his claws and canines came out. What the hell was going on? Why was he shifting in the middle of the hallway....

Then Peter saw him: Y/N L/N.

Y/N was on the basketball team with Noah Stilinski. He was a golden boy. He was kind to all, and he was fucking burning Peter's nose with his scent. The smell of cinnamon was all over him, and Peter realized that this mortal boy was his mate. A male was his mate? Who would have guessed it?

Peter was so caught up in Y/N's smell that he accidentally tripped over his own two feet and came crashing to the floor in the middle of the hallway. Books, pens, papers, and Peter's Walkman of Nirvana went all across the floor. The sounds of laughter and ridicule were heavy on Peter's ears as the entire hallway saw his little slip up and started laughing and pointing at him.

The young werewolf would have gladly tore through everyone in school, especially, Argent, but the calming scent of his mate filled his nose, and Peter watched as Y/N kneeled down beside him and helped him pick up his stuff. "Shit, man. You okay?" Y/N asked once Peter was on his feet again.

Peter's head was still dizzy from his mate's scent, and it took everything Peter had not to take him right then and there in the hallway. He swallowed. "Yeah. Thanks, man. Guess I slipped on the floor wax." It was a lame excuse, but Y/N didn't seem to be interested in Peter's lies. He was looking at a cassette Peter's Walkman had dropped. "Dude, you like Pearl Jam and Metallica too? I love these guys."

Peter looked at him and smirked. "Me too. Maybe we should hang out sometime and listen to them?"

"Definitely." Y/N smiled.

The bell rang as Y/N looked at Peter. "Better get to class. Hope you're okay, Peter."

"Thanks for the help, Y/N." Peter smiled as the young man flashed him a smile and left as Peter finally found his mate.

[bullet-prooflove]

Can I request 46. "I will leave you broken and in ruins" with Kaycee Dutton?

Tagging: @kmc1989

So this got so wild... I make no apologies

After Monica, Kayce is numb. The deterioration of his marriage has left him broken, his heart in ruins. He throws himself into the work his father wants him to do because he doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore, to rebel.

When Travis comes to town, it’s a welcome distraction from the monotony he’s fallen into. He usually brings a couple of horses and the ranches compete in a few games for cash and beer, it’s all low key, a bit of fun that usually extends well into the night.

It’s been a few years since he last saw Travis, not since before Tate was born. When he climbs out of the truck along with his team, he doesn’t expect to see a woman. Up until now Travis’s team has consisted entirely of men, it’s good to see the rodeo king tossing away his daddy’s ideals, he's been doing that alot Kayce hears since he met Gina.

The moment you step out into the cool Montana morning Kayce knows he’s in trouble. A surge of heat rushes through his body and it’s like the first rays of spring caressing the barren earth after a long cold winter.

It’s gets worse when he sees you ride, he’s always been attracted to strong, capable women and you certainly know how to handle a horse, he watches the motion of your hips, the tightening of your thighs, the way you arch your back. Every movement is controlled, powerful, decisive  and he can’t help but wonder if you fuck like that too.

It's at the bonfire that things come to head. There’s drinking, laughter, music and he finds himself sitting on the grass watching the sensual sway of your body as you dance alone to the music emitting from Travis’s truck.

Your eyes flicker up and meet his, the light from the flames casting a warming glow across your skin and he imagines drawing that white vest top up your body, his lips chasing over your bareness, following the trail it leaves. He doesn’t realise he’s on his feet, not until his arm loops around your waist, drawing you to him. He uses his free hand to guide your arms around his neck, biting back a moan as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just a little. You move together, the beat of the music pounding through his bloodstream as you roll your hips against his, grinding against his hard cock and he knows in that moment he has to have you.

You barely make it back to the foreman’s house, it’s roaming hands and filthy kisses as you fight to take off your clothes. Kayce loses his shirt somewhere on the driveway, your jeans end up on the porch. It’s never been like this for him, so raw, so passionate, so desperate. He ends up fucking you on the rug in the lounge because he just can’t wait any longer.

It gets rough, the slapping of skin echoing through the air, your nails raking across his back as you tug his hair so hard, he loses his fucking mind. When you come your teeth sink into his shoulder and that bite of pain, it sends him hurtling through the stratosphere, his release spilling into you.

It’s a couple of hours later he wakes up to rug burn and the image of you dressing in the light of the dawn as it filters through the windows.

“I don’t even know your name.” He says, his voice rough as he props his head up on his arm, watching you.

“Corinne.” You say, flashing him a smile as you pull your jeans up over that pretty little ass of yours. “My name’s Corienne.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mothzarellaman]

"This is Acceptance, not Forgiveness"

A web weave based off of Moon and Pebbles' dynamic

Credits: Rain World // "The Worm King's Lullaby" by Richard Siken // "Why Are You Haunted?" by Joan Tierney // "The Kingdom of Ordinary Time; After The Movie" by Marie Howe // "Antigone" // ??? from Wikipedia // "Wolf in White Van" by John Darnielle // "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë // "Cicada Days" by Will Wood // "Elektra" // "The Lovers" - Sneha Solanki // "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" by Florence + The Machine // @/corinne on TikTok // Ernest Hemingway // "Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude" by Ross Gay // @pmpwbrrs // Unknown // Unknown // Artificial Intelligence by Wikipedia // @/a_r0429 on TikTok // @/FrenchToastLesbian on Tumblr // Rain World // ??? (Couldn't find) // "Sad Dreams" by Sky Ferreira // ??? (It's reposted everywhere, why??) // @/blaineunderstudy on TikTok // "Kyoto" by Phoebe Bridgers // "Pillow Thoughts" by Courtney Peppernell // "The Burning" by Venetta Octavia // Rain World

[winterrrnight]

before the coffee gets cold: #4 with rafe

congrats on 100 followers baby!!!💓💓💓

thank you so much lovely anon!! I hope you like this and it is what you wished it would be <3

put your records on

PAIRING: soft!rafe cameron x gn!reader

SUMMARY: you and rafe have a little dance party at your place, which leads to something big.

WARNINGS: kissing & fluff + lmk if I missed something!

EDITH SPEAKS: my god I'm so lonely I need this in my life please 😭

PROMPT REQUESTED: "Did you just kiss me?"

100 followers celebration || navigation

Rafe watches you from his position on the edge of your bed, as you walk to your little cabinet of all your favorite vinyls.

"What are you in the mood for?" You ask, crouched in front of the cabinet as you look carefully at all the records you've collected.

"Anything," he says, falling on his back on the bed. He looks at your ceiling as he hears you select a record and carefully place it on the record player.

The soft instrumentals of the slow song you chose start to fill in your room as you let out a satisfied sigh. If nothing can calm you down when you're feeling anxious about something, you know this song can.

You walk towards your bed and take Rafe's hand in yours. "Come on!" You say, trying to pull him up but he doesn't budge.

"Noooo!" He whines, and your grip on his hand becomes stronger, but he's so much stronger than you will ever be so you aren't able to pull him up even now.

"Dance with me, please," you pout, letting go of his hand. He looks at you for a few seconds, before getting up from the bed.

"Fine," he sighs, as you beam at him. He stands up right in front of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as yours are around his neck. He starts to move you both to the slow - yet serene melody of the song. Your eyes close as you lean in your head against his chest. He pulls you in closer, his arms around you wrapped so tight.

Rafe continues to sway the two of you to the song. You hear him softly hum to the lyrics of the song, his voice bringing you an instant peace. You feel his chest hum against your ear, and the small melodic vibrations help you relax.

You lift your head up to look in his eyes, and you lean your chin on his chest, not breaking your gaze. He looks at you with his soft, blue eyes, which never fail to remind you of the cornflower petals.

Rafe starts to lean in closer to you, and you feel your heartbeat pick up pace. But instead of moving back, you don't budge, and before you know it, his lips are pressing against yours.

So soft, so heavenly.

They stay on there for just a second, as you feel his plush lips against yours. Their sweetness sticks to you and you feel empty just as he pulls back. You look at him with wide eyes, not able to process what just happened.

"Did you just kiss me?" You whisper, both of you now standing completely still, but the music still keeps on flowing from your player. Rafe looks like he's at a loss of words, and he slowly starts to back away from you, his arms leaving their place around you.

"I'm- I'm so sorry I... I shouldn't have-" He stutters, avoiding eye contact with you as the heat rises to his cheeks, making them burn red. You are shocked at the sudden change in the mood between you two, as Rafe is trying to find words to explain himself, and has started to make his way out the door.

"I'm such an idiot I'm so so sorry I shouldn't have done that..." He says, his eyes still not meeting yours as he quickly gets his jacket from your bed.

"Rafe," you say, but he doesn't listen. His ramble continues on, on how he should've asked you before he did it, how you probably hate him now and never want to see his face again, how he messed up everything you have and now nothing can go back to being what it was.

"Rafe, look at me!" You say, louder, and he instantly shuts up and his eyes immediately look towards you. With wide eyes and a heavy breath, he watches you make your way to him. You move your hand up to gently touch his face, and start to caress his cheek with your thumb. His facial expression relaxes and his breathing slows down.

You say nothing, and only close the gap between you two by pressing your lips on his. You pull back for a second, but instantly go back in, pulling him closer to you as your lips move against his, your eyes fluttered shut at their sweet, sweet taste.

You gently pull back and look up at him through your hooded eyes. "Stay here?" You mumble, your eyes now on his lips as you crave them on yours back again.

He nods as his response, and leans in to kiss you again.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @ragingsammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @vianwrites

[cristalconnors]

ALBUMS OF THE YEAR, 2023

Best Songs of 2023 can be found here.

Honorable Mentions (alphabetical): Black Rainbows, Corinne Bailey Rae // Heaven is a Junkyard, Youth Lagoon // Love in Exile, Arooj Aftab, Vijay Iyer, Shahzad Ismaily // New Blue Sun, André 3000 // Radical Romantics, Fever Ray // Rat Saw God, Wednesday // SAVED!!!, Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter // Scaring the Hoes, JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown // This Stupid World, Yo La Tengo // trip9love…???, Tirzah // With a Hammer, Yaeji // WOW, Kate NV

20. *1, RẮN CẠP ĐUÔI

19. GIRL WITH FISH, FEEBLE LITTLE HORSE

18. THE LAND IS INHOSPITABLE AND SO ARE WE, MITSKI

17. ATLAS, LAUREL HALO

16. BURNING DESIRE, MIKE

15. CENSUS DESIGNATED, JANE REMOVER

14. WHY DOES THE EARTH GIVE US PEOPLE TO LOVE?, KARA JACKSON

13. DESIRE, I WANT TO TURN INTO YOU, CAROLINE POLACHEK

12. OH ME OH MY, LONNIE HOLLEY

11. DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE’S A TUNNEL UNDER OCEAN BLVD, LANA DEL REY

10. SUNTUB, ML BUCH

9. PICTURE OF BUNNY RABBIT, ARTHUR RUSSELL

8. SPACE HEAVY, KING KRULE

7. RAVEN, KELELA

6. PRAISE A LORD WHO CHEWS BUT WHICH DOES NOT CONSUME; (OR SIMPLY, HOT BETWEEN WORLDS), YVES TUMOR

5. MY BACK WAS A BRIDGE FOR YOU TO CROSS, ANOHNI AND THE JOHNSONS

4. MAPS, BILLY WOODS & KENNY SEGAL

3. JAVELIN, SUFJAN STEVENS

2. FOUNTAIN BABY, AMAARAE

1. SOFTSCARS, YEULE

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Malibu Rating: Mature

Chapter Summary: You check in to rehab and run into a familiar face.

Word Count: 11.1k

Content/Warnings: Descriptions of drug use/overdose, detoxing/coming down, talk of sex, Hollywood misogyny, angsty angst.

Notes: Hello! Thank you guys again for the warm reception to Chapter 1, it was very encouraging. If you're not familiar with what a blind item is, it is a gossip column with any major identifying details about the subject removed. Every now and then this story will be broken up by excerpts of blind items and other gossip columns about Dieter and our reader. Enjoy! Sorry it's so long!

You felt like you slept for an hour and a half. If that. Your head was pounding when you woke up, the muscles behind your eyes searing red hot when they opened. You snapped them closed again right away, the room blindingly white, bathed in the early morning sun.

To your left, you could hear a soft beeping and the murmur of muffled voices. Your mouth felt as dry as a bone as you propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking your eyes open and squinting to look around the room. Instantly, recognition flooded in. 

With a jolt, you sat upright, the pace of the beeps increasing as you grabbed at the tube attached to your arm in confusion. Your eyes darted around the hospital room, looking for any indication of where you were or how you got there. The hum of a news show on tv drew your attention to the upper corner of the room. 

“She’s now upped the ante from alcohol to alcohol and cocaine and accelerated, uh, frequency of incidents. Alleged– Allegedly, uh, alcohol and cocaine. This isn’t her first drug related incident and the judges in Los Angeles won’t look favorably on a DUI like this. This is not the atmosphere, after Paris, after Lindsay’s, uh, debacle, to be playing with these judges. They have a strict no-nonsense policy for these little starlets and she’s going to be looking at 30 to 60 days, at least, minimum in jail, and three to six months in a drug rehab.”

On the screen, footage of you and Natalie running frantically into the intersection after your car played on a loop. You, snarling at the camera. You, spinning around. You, hauling ass towards Sunset and Fairfax. This was a dream. This wasn’t happening.

You felt it first in your jaw, a blood-draining feeling, spreading and burning hot across your face. Your heart was pounding, panic surging through your nervous system and tightening in your chest.

“Hello?!” Your voice cracked as you called out, unsure who you were even looking for. Your fluorescent dress and your shoes from the night before were in a plastic bag on the chair across from your bed. The voices in the hallway quieted for a moment and then started up again, the conversation quickly wrapping up.

The door opened and a woman in scrubs entered, greeting you with a smile that felt fucking inappropriate, all things considered.

“Well, good morning!” The nurse loudly greeted you, rolling a stool in from the doorway.

“Why am I here?” You answered harshly. “Sorry, I… Hello. How did I get here? Is anyone here with me?”

“You’re at Cedars,” She answered, her tone still a little too casual for your liking. “And you’re lucky. If that young lady hadn’t brought you in when she did, you could’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

You’d kill that bitch Natalie. She freaked out and called 911, no wonder it was already on the news. Corinne must be somewhere having an aneurysm. A wave of nausea washed over you and you swallowed hard, desperately trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You should’ve just left without her.

A reporter on TV used your name and you looked back up, the nurse following your gaze and chuckling. On the screen, you were a spectacle, struggling to climb back into your car, limbs and glittery heels flailing out the door as you clumsily clamored into the driver’s seat.

“Look at that. Boy, imagine ending up on the news on a night like that,” she remarked, her hand on her hip as she watched. “The whole world seeing it...”

You shot her a glare as she turned off the TV, recognition dawning on her face when she looked back at you, chuckling once more.

“Ha! Well, I suppose you don’t have to imagine it, do you?”

This was unbelievable. This was a joke. It had to be. You were being Punk’d. Incredulously, you began looking around the room for hidden cameras.

“Well, now that you’re up,” She says, sitting down on the stool she brought in and rolling towards your bedside. “Can you recount your night for me? Where’d all the fun begin?”

Your brow furrowed, your attention suddenly snapping back to the nurse. You squinted as you looked at her standing with the window behind her - this room was way too bright.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, pinching the skin between your eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Give me the highlights.” She said. She was peeling off and replacing a piece of tape keeping a tube fixed to your arm.

After a long pause, you recounted the evening to her as you tried to remember it. Don Antonios. God, you were there forever, your table was completely packed with people you barely knew. It was always like that in LA - an exponential group of people attached themselves to you and everyone just shrugged when you asked who someone was.

One of the guys who showed up kept insisting you try all these different flavors of some vodka company he worked with. Cherry, Grape, Caramel. The nauseating memory of a shot of Blue Raspberry chased by a shot of Peppermint bubbled up in your throat and you choked down a dry swallow.

“Caramel vodka and tacos?” She prodded. “What sommelier came up with that pairing?”

Jesus, what is this lady, a comedian? You glared at her to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“Had you taken anything at that point?”

“What?”

“Any pills, marijuana, cocaine…”

You mustered your best offended expression.

“I don’t know. No. I just take the stuff I’m prescribed.” You answered defensively. This was none of her business. Were you seriously here all alone?

“How much had you been you drinking?”

“Not much. Only a little.”

She hummed, not satisfied. “Was that everything?”

You let the question hang. “Yes.”

You really didn’t remember. You remembered texting Andy. You remembered him never fucking answering. There were shots at Don Antonios. That girl gave you some Xanax, which did nothing. You didn’t even drink that much at Lush, just some champagne and tequila and…

Oh, shit. And Dieter Bravo. What the hell had he given you? You knew it was something, but the night was a blur after you got up from his booth. You went to the bathroom with him and… oh, my god, wait, did you have sex with him? Please say you didn’t fuck Dieter Bravo in the bathroom at Lush. Corinne might literally, actually kill you if anyone finds out that happened.

The nurse cleared her throat and you blinked and looked up, feeling her scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t remember. That was it. I don’t do drugs.”

“At all?” She was so condescending with her stupid clipboard.

“No, not at all,” - bitch, you continued in your head. Impatience now replaced the panic in your voice. “Hey, listen, is anyone here with me now? Like, is there someone in a waiting room somewhere? I really don’t feel like talking to you about this.”

She stopped writing, making a big deal of clipping her pen and putting down the clipboard and looking at you with her lips pursed, her lingering stare irritating you even further. You hated when people did that - nothing closed you off faster than someone trying to make a big show of how serious they are about getting information out of you.

“Did you deliberately try to kill yourself last night?”

What the fuck? Was this bitch serious?

“Excuse me?”

“We ran tests and pumped out the contents of your stomach last night. We found a combination of opioids and amphetamines in your system. That, in addition to the alcohol, is a very dangerous combination.”

“No, I did not try to kill myself.” You spat, your voice much louder. “I was out with friends and I messed up. Someone gave me something and I had a reaction. I don’t know. I’m not suicidal. That’s insane.”

You had to get out of here. You needed to figure out who the hell dropped you off at the hospital and then went home. You shuffled in the hospital bed, weakly trying to remove whatever tubes were attached to your body.

There were two quick knocks at the door, followed by Corinne hurrying into the tiny hospital room, concern pulling at her Botox-frozen forehead.

“Oh, god, honey,” she said, sitting at the edge of your bed. “Thank god you’re alright.”

Oh, this was too much. It was just a night out. You may have blacked out but it wasn’t the end of the world, Natalie must have just freaked out and brought you here. Why was everyone acting like you almost died?

You rolled your eyes, frustrated with all the fuss and the concerned act Corinne was putting on for the hospital staff. Your voice softened and heightened in pitch. "I'm fine, Corinne. I just want to go home. Please tell them to let me go."

Corinne paused, grabbing your hand and looking into your eyes.

“Honey…” she started, cupping your hand with both of hers. She looked over at the nurse, who was still staring at you with that stupid, serious expression.

“Could you give us a moment, please?” Corinne asked. The nurse obliged, seemingly just now realizing that she wasn’t part of this conversation. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

Once she was gone, Corinne’s face fell immediately, her tone shifting to something much angrier.

“Are you out of your mind?” she began, whispering harshly. “Do you remember a single thing about last night?”

“Oh, my god, what?! What does everyone want to know about last night?! I went out with Natalie. We danced. I drank a little and I guess I blacked out. It’s that stupid antidepressant they put me on.”

“You don’t remember driving home?”

“I didn’t drive, Natalie drove”

“Oh,” Corinne scoffed, her patience with you clearly nonexistent. “Oh, you drove. You drove your car through three red lights and straight into a BMW.”

She was fully whisper-yelling now, recounting the evening for you. The runaway car, the speeding, the swerving, the driving with your eyes closed. Your stomach sank, Corinne successful in jogging your memory. 

She explained how you passed out on your bathroom floor and Natalie couldn’t wake you up, how she went to wake up Rhea and Rhea had to drive you to the hospital at four in the morning. You waited for her to bring up your hooking up with a notorious movie star at least ten years your senior in the bathroom, but, somehow, it didn't come up. 

Her Blackberry was vibrating near-constantly, and she quickly glanced down to silence it before looking back at you. The Botox in her forehead was dissolving in real-time, a crescent-shaped wrinkle emerging between her eyebrows.

“Thank God Rhea called me and told me what was happening or you might be in jail right now instead of here.”

Your face sunk, horror washing over you remembered what you’d just heard on TV.

“Corrine, they’re not going to arrest me, right?”

She sighed, the look on her face not inspiring reassurance in you.

“I’ve been on the phone with the chief of the LAPD since 5 trying to work this out for you.” Corinne explained. “You apparently totaled that car, although I’m not sure how a car with no driver is even capable of that. The owner has already gone to the press saying they’re going to press charges.”

She craned her head to the side to confirm that the door to your room was shut, then her voice sank even lower as she leaned in closer to you and whispered. “The police searched your car and found a gram of cocaine in the cupholder.”

Oh my god, Dieter’s cocaine.

“That wasn’t mine!” You blurted out. The cliche felt pathetic on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it wasn’t! I don’t even do coke anymore! They can test me!”

Now, why the fuck would you say that?

“It was in your car. Your car that you drove, that you sent careening into an intersection. It doesn’t matter whose it was, honey.”

You covered your face with your hands, your headache intensifying. This wasn’t fucking happening.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You felt like you were going to cry. “I messed up, Corinne, I’m sorry. Tell them to let me go home and work and I’ll be fine. I’ll focus on the reboot and I won’t go out.”

She didn’t speak right away, and you couldn’t get a read on whether she was furious with you or scared shitless.

“You’re not going back to work,” She finally explained. “Production has told me that they can’t take the risk on you. This is already out. We can’t even say for sure yet that we’ve avoided jail time here.”

The room was spinning. Your stomach felt like a brick. You rolled your eyes - a reflex you immediately regretted - and blinked over and over as fearful tears rolled down your cheeks.

“It’ll be fine, Corinne, we can talk to them. We can renegotiate,” you offered, your voice breaking despite your attempt to remain stoic. “I can be good.”

“The studio won’t take the risk. I’m sorry, honey.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and shameful, blurring the room around you. This would be the second production you’d been fired from this year. 

It felt like a testament to your failure. You, weak and out of control, sobbing in bed like a pathetic child.

The world would love you like this. Defeated, ashamed, exhausted. A cautionary tale, a trainwreck. You could already hear the chorus of “I told you so”’s, of “stupid girl”’s. Any hope you had of establishing yourself as a serious actress was crumbling right there in front of you - no, you were tearing it apart with your bare hands.

A disheveled Dieter Bravo checked himself into rehab Tuesday morning, looking solemn and despondent following a life-threatening overdose over the weekend.  The veteran actor reclined in the passenger seat of his vehicle on the drive to Malibu, sporting dark sunglasses and his signature messy mop of curls. LAPD responded to a call from his housekeeper on Saturday morning. The actor was found unresponsive in his Hollywood home, and was quickly attended to by emergency services. “I respectfully ask that the media allow me to receive care and heal in private during this difficult time,” the Cliff Beasts star said in a statement released by his representative. Bravo, who won an Academy Award for his performance in 2004’s Fragile Bonds, has recently been plagued by personal and professional struggles, including a failing marriage to actress Heidi Alcott and an arrest for a violent altercation earlier this year. This will be his third stay in a rehab facility since 2005.  Hours before the overdose, the actor was rumored to have been forcibly removed from Hollywood’s Lush nightclub, allegedly ejected by the club’s owner for canoodling and using drugs with another young actress in a staff restroom. Dieter will spend 90 days at Promises Malibu, a swanky rehab facility where daily activities include yoga, meditation, horseback riding and acupuncture.

The next week was exactly as bad as you’d feared it’d be.

You were arrested in the hospital, which you didn’t even realize was possible. That same, horrible nurse took your blood pressure again and again as two police officers read you your rights. Hospital staff lingered in the hallway outside of your room, just far away enough for them to think you wouldn’t notice, their murmurs were complemented by the cops’ walkie talkies, staticky voices discussing what to do with you.

Corinne wasn’t allowed to come with you for processing. You traded your hospital gown for the dress you’d worn the night before along with a hoodie Corinne gave you, slipping your stupid, clunky heels back on to follow the cops into the parking garage. Corinne used the contents of the makeup bag she’d brought with her, wiping mascara smudges from your cheeks and tapping powder under your eyes to try and make you look somewhat presentable for your mugshot. She walked with you to the police van, all the while assuring you that she’d arrange representation, that this would all be over as soon as it possibly could be.

Faces and cameras pressed to the windows of the car and didn’t let up for the entire drive to the station. You squeezed your eyes shut at red lights, letting the tears run down your face and sinking as far as you could into the back seat.

Fluttering camera clicks and flashing lights surrounded you on all sides as you were led up the stairs of the police station. You were processed, fingerprinted and booked. People gawked at you from holding cells. A security guard asked for an autograph for his daughter. Your bail had been posted by the time you’d taken your mugshot.

You were allowed to go home and detox while you awaited next steps, but, as Chateau staff had politely requested you not return for the time being, Corinne insisted that you stay with her. You spent the next week in Corinne’s guest bedroom, sleeping through headaches and shakes and waking up to change the channel when your name came up on late-night talk shows.

The come-down from amphetamines was not for the weak. You cried and cried for days. Any time you were conscious, you were sobbing. You’d had a taste of this before, long weekends leading up to busy weeks with minimal opportunity to refill prescriptions, but nothing like this. Never this uncomfortable. Never this helpless.

After a couple days, Natalie called. She told you she was sorry. She wouldn’t say for what. Tears tore from your eyes, burning hot and angry down your cheeks. When you hung up she didn’t call back.

You tried to talk to Corinne, but all that came out was a tearful slew of apologies for what you’d dragged her into. You soaked in her giant bathtub, running the water scalding hot and trying to focus on anything but the fear tearing at your mind. 

Her home was perfect - a shiny, ultramodern thing tucked in the hills of Beachwood Canyon. Her guest bedroom looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Your place in it was chaotic, your belongings haphazardly packed up by Chateau staff and now piled in a corner of the otherwise extremely chic bedroom. Club dresses, hair straighteners, bedazzled clutches. You, in her bed, sobbing until your face was puffy, dripping tears and snot onto her 800 thread count sheets. You and the wreckage you carried with you were out of place in a home like this.

When your body wouldn’t let you sleep anymore and your tears slowed down, you stared at the ceiling, clammy and anxious. You peeked out the windows, watching conspicuous vans circle Corinne’s home, big camera lenses perched and waiting for a glimpse of you. You tried to sleep. You rifled through your things, organizing and reorganizing clothes and accessories. You were going nuts.

Rhea spent a lot of time with you - when your schedule was wiped clean, hers was, too. She sat next to you in bed while you watched her play her Nintendo DS for hours.

“You’re all they’ve been talking about on The View for three days,” she told you one morning as she made her Animal Crossing character catch fish over and over. “Joy Behar is veeeerrrry concerned about you.”

“Is she?” You asked. “That’s so nice.”

“Mmhm,” Rhea replied. She cast her line, reeling it in too soon and spooking the fish. “Damn.”

Silence hung between you for a moment as she made her character walk up and down the beach.

“Can you give me something, Rhea, please?” You looked up at her, pleading softly. "No," she answered immediately. “Please, Rhea. I can’t sleep. I’m going insane. I think even just an extra antidepressant would work.”

She put the device down in her lap and gave you a look that told you you should know better. It had always been a not-so-secret secret that Rhea was the one who brought you drugs when you couldn’t get them yourself. She was still in college when you hired her and seemed to know how to get her hands on whatever you wanted.

Corinne was never supportive of your drug use, per se, but she was aware of how your engine ran, and you were certain that she knew Rhea supplied them to you. Under her extremely watchful eye since you’d been discharged from the hospital, you figured Rhea’d been instructed to cut that shit out, but it was worth a try. Plus, she was kind of your friend.

“I’m allowed to give you melatonin,” She answered. “And it wouldn’t, by the way.”

You sighed, defeated. “I was prescribed Xanax before.”

“You were prescribed a lot of things before.” 

She wasn’t wrong. You picked at the skin around your thumb nail, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin.

“You know, people die this way.”

She scoffed, looking back at her game.

You weren’t dying. You were just excruciatingly bored. More bored than you’d been in years. Maybe in your entire life. The hours were unbearable, but soon they turned to days, then a week. You weren’t in a good mood, but you could at least say you’d gone from negative to zero. 

The ache didn’t go away, but you got used to it being there. You wanted drugs - hard ones. You fantasized about them when Corinne would wake you up at 6am to go on neighborhood walks with her. As you laced up the running shoes she let you borrow, you reminisced on doing angel dust at warehouse parties in Miami and about the time some rock star from the 80s showed up at your 20th birthday party and showed you and your friends how to freebase heroin. You’d spent the morning after that throwing up and had vowed to never touch it again, but even that morning sounded preferable to wearing lycra leggings and enduring the big, goofy smiles Corinne’s neighbors gave you as they jogged by.

You woke up early one morning to the sound of Corinne’s excited, unusually high voice outside your door. In her usual fashion, she knocked quickly, opening the door without waiting for an answer. She held a finger up to you as she wrapped up her call.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay,” she looked at you, lifting her finger up slightly higher in response to your questioning expression. “Oh, I can’t tell you how great this is. We’re so excited. Uh huh. Okay. Thanks. Okay. Bye, now.”

“What’s happening?” You asked as she hung up.

“This is a best case scenario,” She answered. “This is fantastic.”

You sat up straight in bed. “Is the show back on?!”

Corinne’s smile faltered as she settled on the bed. “Oh, honey, no.”

You deflated slightly. “Then what?”

“You’re not going to jail.”

“Yaaaay,” you cheered weakly.

“That’s a miracle, by the way.”

“Yay! I mean it.” You tried again, a little more convincingly this time.

Her phone buzzed, and she quickly glanced at the name on the screen and silenced the ring. She sighed again, her demeanor turning serious.

“You’re going to rehab.” She continued. “You’re going to the best facility, it’s the Four Seasons of rehab centers, it’s going to–”

“Excuse me?” you interjected, disbelief in your voice. There was that feeling again, the same one you got at the hospital. Tingly jaw, burning hot cheeks.

“Rehab,” she repeated. “You’ve been given the option to complete 90 days in rehab and avoid all jail time. Most people do not get that choice. You should be thanking me right now.”

She paused, presumably expecting you to stand up and start doing cartwheels. The lid of your coffin was in place - it had been for days now - so you should have expected the nails. 

“Where?” You asked after a moment.

“Promises - it’s in Malibu. You’ll do yoga and meet with lifestyle coaches who can help us figure out what you need to get everything back on track. It’s going to be great, honey. It’s where Lindsay went!”

You groaned, throwing yourself backwards onto your pillow.

Which fading starlet is trading red carpets and VIP sections for rehab? This former child star recently checked into a luxurious Malibu facility, not for a rejuvenating spa weekend, but as part of a plea deal to dodge jail time. At least she's in good company! Perhaps she and a fellow famous patient at the swanky rehab facility will find solace in ‘growing together’ during their time in recovery. Hopefully, this stint helps her avoid following in the footsteps of fellow socialites.

Promises was impressive. You could give Corinne that. You told her as much when she dropped you off at intake. 

“You’re going to be okay,” she told you, giving you a tight hug in the entryway. “I’ll call you soon.”

It was a huge, sprawling property with a big Spanish-revival monstrosity smack-dab in the middle of it. You’re sure she was thoroughly impressed by the tennis courts and meditation studios and panoramic ocean views.

Intake was less glamorous. You were instructed to remove your clothes and put on a paper gown, and then to open your suitcase and put it on this big, metal table at the back of an office. The woman checking you in gave you a full pat-down, making you bend over and cough to check for contraband before giving you an outfit to change back into. It occurred to you that you should have been humiliated by this whole ordeal, but at this point, you were so beyond that. Humiliation was for the version of you from a week ago. This was just your life now. She then proceeded to take a TSA-level look at all of your belongings.

“We’re a strictly cell phone-free facility,” she explained, removing your Sidekick from your purse. “If you’re caught with a cell phone in your room, we’ll do a full search of your property - if you’re caught again, you’ll be discharged. Phone calls can be made at the booths in the hallway.”

You nodded, not having the willpower to argue with their stupid policies at the moment. You crossed your legs and tried to warm yourself by rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

“Can’t bring these in,” she said as she took three bras out of your suitcase. “Underwire. You’ll get them back when you leave.”

Sure. Whatever.

“You’ll have to hand these over, too,” she held up a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke-free facility.”

“Wait,” you started, interrupted by another staff member entering the office.

“Well, well!” He said, his voice booming in the tiny room, glimmer-white smile beaming at you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Todd.” He paused, taking a long moment to stare deeply, creepily, into your eyes. “I’m so happy you’re here to grow with us.”

You limply shook his hand. 

“Hi.”

“Hi. I know it’s been quite a journey getting here. I’m sure you’re ready to relax,” he replied, his giant smile not faltering for a second. He broke his unblinking gaze and looked over at the woman zipping up your suitcase. “If you’re finished, I’d like to show our movie star to her room.”

“Oh, another movie star,” she said dryly as she zipped up your suitcase and put her hands up, finished.

“Yes, yes,” Todd said, still smiling like a maniac. He looked like he had more teeth than a normal person, and for a moment you tried to count them before he turned back to face you. You flinched slightly at the intensity of his expression. “Shall we?”

The entire facility was co-ed - a detail that Todd told you repeatedly, each time with a slightly more discernible degree of warning in his voice, like he was a parent instructing you not to throw any parties when they left for the weekend. He walked you across the property, pointing out various amenities to you on the way to your room.

The gym, the pool, the zen garden, the library. The various meeting rooms - men’s meetings, women's meetings, family meetings. The kitchen, the internet cafe. The saltwater pool. It was like a resort, except that there wasn’t any alcohol, and there were copies of The 12 Steps & 12 Traditions all over the place.

“You’ll attend workshops here,” he said, gesturing to the deck on the far end of the swimming pool. “Journaling, vision boarding, knitting. Anything you want. We’re even doing an acting workshop this month - maybe you could help us with that. We have some fantastic facilitators - just fantastic.”

“Juuust fantastic…” you repeated. 

You followed him back inside, walking through a long corridor towards your room.

“Ah, this’ll be our noon men’s meeting,” he explained as you approached an open door to your left. He took a look at the oversized silver watch on his wrist. “They should just be getting started now.”

Peeking into the room, you observed the setup - a classroom-like setting with a whiteboard, low, tan carpeting, and a circle of wicker chairs. Men milled about, chatting as they waited for the meeting to begin.

Just as you started to turn your head away from the door, you caught a glimpse that made you snap back immediately. In a fraction of a second, even though they were hidden halfway behind dark wayfarers, you instantly recognized the deep, brown eyes that locked with your own. You slowed down slightly to confirm your suspicion, but quickly looked away when he craned his neck to follow you.

No way.

There was no way.

You sped up, now walking in step with Todd.

"Hey, Todd?" you interjected, cutting off his explanation of the gym or the pickleball court or whatever it was. "Did the lady at intake mention another actor being here?"

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “Lucky us!”

Your eyes darted to the ground, then back and forth as you tried to process what was happening.

“Who is it?”

“Sorry,” he answered, his smile faltering into something more serious for the first time since you’d met him. “I can’t share that with you. But we’re a friendly bunch here - I’m sure you’ll run into each other soon enough. Here we are!”

You’d arrived at your room, the last door at the end of the corridor.

“I’ll give you some time to settle in, but please don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything you need,” he said, smiling and staring unblinkingly. His spray-tan was extra orange around the corners of his mouth. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

You broke his intense eye-contact to look back down the hallway towards the meeting room. An arm extended from the doorway, pulling the door shut as the meeting began. You bit the skin on your bottom lip, looking back at your door.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, quickly shuffling into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you.

It probably wasn’t Dieter. I mean, most likely, it wasn’t him, right?

It wasn’t like he was the only wannabe-bohemian, homeless-looking, disheveled-just-so actor in this town, let alone the only one who’d end up in rehab.

It probably wasn’t him.

And even if it was him, what were the odds he remembered you, anyway? A guy like him slept with so many people, it had to just be a huge blur for him. You probably weren’t even the only one fucked that night.

It wasn’t him. You laughed to yourself as you unpacked, feeling silly for getting so worried.

You shoved your clothes into the dresser that stood across from your bed. Your room was nice, and only reaffirmed your feeling that this was more resort than rehab. The bed was huge, an actual bed with crisp white sheets and big pillows. When you sat in it, you had a beautiful view of the pacific ocean from your window. You also got it to yourself, one of the only single bedrooms in the entire facility. You’d have to remember to thank Corinne for that. 

On top of the dresser was a schedule detailing the week’s activities:

10/03/07 - WEDNESDAY

6AM - SUNRISE HORSEBACK RIDE - EAST HILL

6AM - SUNRISE YOGA - SALTWATER POOL DECK

7AM - OPEN GYM

8:30AM - WOMEN’S MEETING - ROOM A

9AM - SPEAKER SERIES - WE DO RECOVER! - ROOM C … But what if it was him?

Rehab was not like detox at Corinne’s. Here, you were expected to be up early, to follow a strict schedule of meetings and activities, to act like a functional adult. It felt kind of like summer camp, if at summer camp you were constantly under surveillance and forced to confront your deepest insecurities instead of making friendship bracelets.

You thought that you'd have a late start on your first morning at Promises. You figured you’d sleep in, go get breakfast at the cafe, then maybe hit up the 11am meditation session. Instead, you were woken up at 7 sharp by a cheerful staff member gently knocking on your door, reminding you that you were to be in the cafeteria no later than 8, and that a nurse would be in shortly to take your vitals.

After groggily going through the motions of having your blood pressure taken and your heart rate checked, you threw on an outfit and headed down the hall to get breakfast.

You were excited. That was one thing about being sober - you actually had an appetite for the first time in forever, and you were constantly hungry. As you made your way towards the cafeteria, you began to fantasize about omelets and bagels and pancakes and…

“Morning!” A voice called out to you as you padded down the hallway. Emerging from the room next to yours was a woman who looked to be slightly older than you. She had a cute, cropped pixie cut and was wearing a stack of bangles all the way up her arms.

“Morning,” you replied, smiling at her.

She introduced herself as Sadie. She’d been at Promises for a month already, so she practically owned the place. You had a lot in common - including what brought you here.

“God, I’m obsessed with Adderall,” she said, stabbing her fork into the fruit salad on her plate. She popped a piece of cantaloupe in her mouth and kept talking. “There’s just nothing better for getting shit done. Did you know it’s literally meth? Methamphetamine! And they give it to kids.” “Really?” You asked. Honestly, this was how you knew you didn’t belong here. You didn’t know anything about drugs. You liked adderall, too, but these people were drug addicts.

She nodded.

“God, no wonder.”

“I was a writer. Am a writer,” She continued on. “In the real world.”

“Right,” you laughed. “I’m an actor in the real world.”

“I’ve seen you in things,” she nodded. “The 80s show with, uh… Bob Saget?”

“That’s Full House. I was on Growing Together.”

“That’s it!” She snapped her fingers and pointed at you. “Hey, so do you know Dieter?”

Your cheeks went hot, stopping mid-chew when she mentioned his name. You were having so much fun with Sadie that you’d almost forgotten all about yesterday.

“Dieter Bravo?” You asked, mouth full of food.

“Yeah, him. He’s been here for, like, a week now,” she confirmed. “You know him?”

“He’s here?”

She nodded, giving you a funny look.

“No, not really.” You answered. Which was true.

She hummed in response, moving on quickly to tell you more about the magazine she wrote for, but you fully stopped listening. Oh, shit, it was him. You scanned the faces gathered around the tables throughout the room, looking for him, suddenly paranoid that he’d be watching you from somewhere. You weren’t all on the same schedule here, right?

You couldn’t avoid him. Todd said there were something like 30 residents here right now. There was no shot. You tried to tune back into what Sadie was saying - something about Hearst, something about a blog - and immediately dropped her again. 

You could avoid him. You could stick to womens meetings. God, why was seeing him making you this anxious? This was so unlike you.

The idea of running into anyone you encountered in the state you were in that evening was humiliating. Maybe that was it. How were you supposed to get a fresh start if there was a reminder of the worst night of your life creeping around the halls here? It was unsettling. Corinne and Rhea were practically family, so that didn’t matter, but the idea of even seeing Natalie at this point made your stomach turn. You needed one of those things from Men In Black to zap everyone who was at Lush that night and make them forget that they’d even seen you.

“Sadie,” you interrupted. “Sorry. Do you see him around a lot? Dieter?” She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. He’s all over the place, if that’s what you mean. I think he’s been here before. He's like the mayor.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your seat. Of course this is no big deal to someone like him. It probably didn’t even get reported on.

“And you said he’s been here for a week?”

“Mmhm,” she nodded.

That meant he’d checked in here right after that night at Lush. He seemed fine that night, though - he was at least with it enough to hook up with you. He wasn’t even really partying - you remembered him sitting alone in that chair when you noticed him. He looked bored. Why would he even need to come here?

All morning, you looked for him in the corner of your eye. You peeked around during your yoga class, scanning the room through your legs during downward dog.

Your first full day was consumed with resident onboarding tasks, which, fortunately, gave you a lot of opportunities to hide. You tried your best to forget about him during your first one-on-one meeting with your counselor.

Jane, your counselor, was nice enough. She at least seemed more normal than Todd - she smiled less, anyway - so it was reassuring to know that not everyone here was straight out of The Twilight Zone. You went through your story with her - how you got started, what happened that led you here. Blah, blah, blah.

“Growing up in Hollywood, that must have been challenging. Were your parents supportive?”

“I guess so. My mom was really into the whole acting thing,” you told her. “Maybe too into it.”

“Tell me more,” she encouraged.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. She liked that I was good at it. It was all we really talked about.”

She nodded, clearly expecting you to tell her more. Suddenly, you really didn’t want to talk about your mom.

“I don’t know. The usual stage mom stuff. That’s all.” You paused, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. "It's not like it matters now anyway." She nodded again, jotting something down. "It's okay if you're not ready to talk about it. We can focus on what's happening in the present and how we can support you moving forward."

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mumbled.

Fortunately, she let it go, taking a few more notes.

“When did you know you were an addict?” Your eyebrows shot up, shock rippling through you at the audacity of her question. A drug addict?

“I am not a drug addict. That’s insane. I’m twenty-two years old.”

She eyed you skeptically, which only made you angrier.

“You can’t just call people that,” you continued.

“It’s not my intention to offend you,” she replied calmly. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It's important for us to address the behaviors and patterns that led you here.”

You crossed your arms in front of you defensively, looking out the window at the ocean. Several moments dragged by, Jane patiently waiting for you to break your stubborn silence. 

“You could start by not calling me names,” you finally said.

“I apologize,” she said. She talked like a robot. You were wrong, everyone here was a freak.

Despite your best efforts, tears were beginning to roll down your cheeks. Your eyes darted up at the clock for the hundredth time since this meeting began.

“That’s time.”

Dieter recognized you right away, too.

It didn’t take long for confirmation - word about you checking in traveled very quickly. Suddenly, he was no longer the most famous person in rehab. Shame.

The story was that you’d had a bad night after you’d crossed paths at Lush - something that only made him feel worse about his role in the whole thing. He had a lot of time on his hands to feel guilty these days, and he spent most of it reflecting on that evening.

He was sure you didn’t remember him. At least, he hoped you didn’t. 

That night had been a low point for him. The realization struck on Wednesday afternoon, shortly after his intake process, when that post-overdose glow had finally worn off and he slowly readjusted to reality. With each passing day, the picture of what he’d done only grew clearer.

He had no business pursuing you that night. He may have been pretty far gone himself, but the image in his memory of him attempting to shake you awake so he could try to fuck you was something that made him feel a kind of shame he hadn’t felt in years.

He remembered waiting for you for a while after you’d both been kicked out of the bathroom, lingering around your table trying to figure out where you went. It wasn’t long, though, before Clint was urging him to leave. Apparently the owner of the club was not happy with the commotion he’d caused and wanted him out. Not that it was a major disappointment - he’d been ready to go since he’d arrived.

Following the lead of Clint and the two models from his table, Dieter climbed into the backseat of the SUV parked outside and promptly pulled a tab of acid from his pocket, slipping it onto his tongue when no one was looking. During the drive home, he remembered the black-haired model climbing onto his lap, her whispers in his ear barely registering through the haze he was in. He wasn't in the mood for any of it. He peeled her off of him once they arrived in his driveway, climbing out of the car and saying goodnight without any invitation to keep the party going.

He was restless. The coke, the alcohol, the acid - none of it made any difference. He shuffled around the house - the enormous, Spanish-style place he’d bought when he was still a bachelor. Or, the last time he was a bachelor, he supposed. It felt so empty, so staged, like it was perpetually about to be put on the market. The feeling that he didn’t belong here anymore gnawed at him. Maybe it was time to go back to New York for a while.

He decided to go to bed, at that point completely uninterested in trying to get anything else out of the evening. Sifting through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, he mixed up a cocktail of Valium and Percocet and climbed into his empty bed, his curtains wide open to watch the city lights swim as he waited for the curtain to fall. 

The next thing he remembered was waking up with a gasp that rattled his entire chest, coming to life to see his bedroom full of paramedics. There was a crust on his cheek and pillow and he was drenched in sweat. His housekeeper stood in the corner, clearly shaken, clutching her hands to her chest.

And now, here he was, back in rehab. It marked his second stint at Promises, returning to confront the shitshow that his life had become through the routine of Pilates classes, group therapy sessions and journaling. Kumbaya.

His agent wasn’t happy with him. This little holiday of his interrupted production of Cliff Beasts 4, the project he was currently working on. He was set to begin shooting in a week - that date now pushed back indefinitely. 

Dollar amounts were something that was discussed in meetings he didn’t care to go to, but he figured this interruption cost some producer somewhere a pretty penny. Good. Fuck those guys. It wasn’t that he wanted to make a habit out of nearly killing himself, but he’d be lying if he said the idea of making one of those suits sweat didn’t bring a smile to his face.

So, here he was. His afternoon yoga class was ending. He decided to skip out during shavasana, looking to avoid any post-vinyasa mingling. He returned his mat and block to the table by the door and headed inside. Pushing the door open with a huff through his teeth, he headed straight towards his room, needing a shower before taking on the rest of his day. When he heard the door at the end of the hall thrown open, he looked up to see you storming out, tears running down your cheeks. Shit.

You both stopped when you noticed one another, frozen in an unexpected moment of mutual recognition. You definitely remembered him, he quickly realized. Dieter’s gaze lingered on you, caught off guard by your emotional state. Why were you crying? He hesitated, unsure of what to say or do, while you stood across the hall and debated whether to say something or retreat to the safety of your room.

Finally, Dieter managed a tentative nod in your direction, attempting to break the ice. You blinked rapidly, hastily wiping tears from your eyes. Before he could utter a word, though, you abruptly turned and hurried away, disappearing around the corner without another glance back.

He sighed, continuing down the hallway towards his room. The message from God or the universe or whatever all-powerful being was orchestrating this mess was clear - he hadn’t just fucked up his own life this time. He’d managed to drag you down with him.

“I’m glad it’s working out, honey,” Corinne said, her voice coming in staticky through the receiver.

“It is…” you tentatively agreed before putting on your best sales-pitch voice. “I think I’m going to do well. I might not even need to stay three whole months.”

“Nice try.” Worth a shot.

“Have you talked to the producers at all?” You asked, tapping a pen on the desk.

“I’m going to meet with Kevin on Friday,” she said, uncertainty in her voice. “Let’s not get our hopes up about Growing Together, honey, but if this doesn’t work out I do think another series down the line might be a good path out of this. I think the–” “I just don’t understand how they think they’re going to make it without me,” you interrupted, your voice growing louder and attracting the attention of a group of residents at a nearby table. Embarrassed, you turned your head away from them, scooting in closer to the desk. “It doesn’t make any sense. How are they going to write off their daughter?” You continued, voice lowering. 

“They don’t like the optics of the reboot drawing any negative attention. It’s not what they had in mind,” she explained. “We’ll discuss it.”

“I mean, Jesus, it’s not like I’m the first actor in the history of the world to get a DUI,” you continued, your tone hushed. “I’m not even the first actor on Growing Together with a DUI! What about Peter?”

Peter Moinihan played your uncle Bobby on the show. The man had a reputation that put yours to shame before you were even born. He was constantly partying and constantly hungover, which was a running joke among the cast and crew that you didn’t understand until you were much older. 

During the show’s run, he went from hiding his weed-smoking from you, to sneaking you weed, to smoking with you, to, by the final season, asking you where to buy it. Last you heard, he was a cast member on The Surreal Life. Despite all of that, there seemingly wasn’t any question about whether or not he’d be returning for the reboot. So why were they making such a big deal about having you back?

“Believe me, I’ll be bringing that up. You know I’ll fight for you, honey,” Corinne said. “So you fight for you too, alright?”

“Okaaay,” you agreed, rolling your eyes.

“I know you just rolled your eyes. Are you sick of all the Hallmark-ism’s yet?” She asked with a smile in her voice.

“I think if I can’t get any more work, I’ll have a promising career in motivational posters…” you laughed. 

After a pause, Corinne’s tone got all serious and sincere. “Are you okay, honey?” You thought about it. No, I’m not. I’m unemployed, I’m a national punchline, and I have to spend the next three months airing my most vulnerable secrets with a guy I had an awkward one-night-stand with a week ago. I’m stuck in this place with a bunch of drug addicts and therapists from Stepford. I want to snort a line of cocaine the size of my middle finger. I want to drink a bottle of Grey Goose alone in my bed. No, I’m not fucking okay.

“I’m fine,” you answered. “Really.”

“Good.” She said.

With a promise to be good, you hung up the phone. Your face fell quickly, though, the absence of Corinne’s voice reminding you where you were and how much longer you had left in this place.

Optimistically, after a couple of days of successfully avoiding him, you found yourself believing that the people in charge here might’ve actually had the sense to keep you and Dieter apart. Surely, having to celebrities in an AA meeting together would be too much of a distraction - they had to keep you apart somehow.

You were wrong. When you and Sadie walked into your Sunday afternoon meeting, there he was. He sat in a chair at one end of the room, in a thick, hole-y wool sweater, nursing a paper cup of coffee and wearing those stupid dark sunglasses indoors like always. God, everything about him was so typical Hollywood bro-hemian. He probably lived in Venice.

Still, when your eyes fell to his lips, you flashed on a memory of how good they felt peppering kisses along your neck, how his hands felt on your thighs. The way the flashing lights accentuated his hooded gaze as it drank you in when you were in his lap. You snapped yourself out of it, shaking your head and focusing on pouring yourself a cup of coffee before sitting down as far away from him as you possibly could, directly across the room.

Truthfully, you zoned out for the first half of the meeting. The loosely defined topic of the afternoon - fear - was, frankly, not something you were interested in diving into at the moment. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, agitated. Inevitably, your mind wandered back to your career, to the reboot you didn’t even care to be associated with a week ago. How could they even consider making it without you? You had poured years of your life into playing Courtney, your entire childhood. The show was practically synonymous with you and your character. It was ridiculous. What, were they just going to say Courtney died or something? They wouldn’t replace you, would they?

“I feel like my family is disappointed… not so much in the behavior, in me being an alcoholic, but… in the way I’ve hidden, the way I’ve had to hide everything from them,” a man to your left shared. You managed a sympathetic nod.

If they wrote you off, it wasn’t like you’d just disappear. People would know why you weren’t there, and if they didn’t know, they’d look for the reason why. Their wholesome little reboot was tarnished whether they liked it or not, so they might as well have you back.

The room went silent as the guy to your left finished up his share. You crossed your legs and picked at the distressing on your jeans. Across the room, Dieter cleared his throat. You snapped your head up immediately, then looked back at your pants, trying to play it off.

“Hi, my name is Dieter Bravo, and I’m an addict,” he recited.

“Hi, Dieter,” the room answered back.

“Uh, yeah, fear,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fear has kind of, uh, been in charge here for a while now, I think. I’m afraid of a lot of things. Afraid of failing, of losing what little I have left. I think I’ve spent the majority of the last, I don’t know, twenty years, just afraid – scared shitless – and operating from that place.”

You glanced up, surprised by the vulnerability. He leaned forward, his forearms settling on his thighs. As his head tilted down you could see his eyes behind his glasses, fixed on the ground in front of him.

“I know it’s me, you know, making the decisions, ultimately,” he continued, his voice unsteady. “But the filter that every thought and every decision is going through is just afraid. Before I came here, I was working on a project, a project that a lot of people are counting on, people who have been very good to me. And now I think I've fucked that up.”

You perked up. That sounded like you. For a minute, you forgot who was speaking, instead caught up in hearing your own experience validated. 

“And when I think about how I’ve messed that up now, how I’ve delayed that project indefinitely, it’s tempting to get caught up in the guilt… like, feeling guilty is, I guess, easier than admitting I was afraid. I can – uh, I’ve gotten very good at figuring out how to treat guilt, if you know what I mean.”

He tapped the side of his nose, eliciting a few knowing chuckles from around the circle. Wait – ‘delayed indefinitely’? As in, ‘resuming eventually’?

“Anyway, that production is very upset with me, and knowing that I’m holding that up puts the pressure on me to find something that works. So I now have the next three months to do something, anything, other than reacting in fear. I think–”

“You’re going back to work?” You interrupted. Heads around the room turned in unison to look at you.

“No cross-talk, please,” the meeting facilitator said.

“Yes, I am.” Dieter answered, his brows raising, eyes meeting yours and lingering there for a moment before continuing. “I think - I hope, that I’m in a position this time around to do something differently, and that maybe examining those, uh, fearful reactions will help me do that. But even saying that kind of makes me worry. In the last few years, I’ve become an tolerated eccentric at best, and a liability at worst. I almost feel like I’ll let people down if I take away the behavior they’ve grown accustomed to disapproving of.”

Unbelievable. He was going back to work. Here you were begging to be allowed back onto a stupid reunion special and he had a production waiting for him when he got out of here. A movie, too, probably - he didn’t do TV. You huffed quietly, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. Sadie tapped your knee with hers, giving you a questioning look. You shook your head and turned your attention back in front of you.

“I was sober for months when I was married - really, for a long time, longer than I’d ever been off anything. This summer we started shooting, everything was going great, then I got home and… I just imploded. I don’t know what happened. Even I wanted to stop. It was like I was on a plane that was fuckin’ nosediving and I had no idea who was in the cockpit."

You snorted. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. This was unbelievable.

Dieter, along with everyone else in the room, turned his head to look at you. He was leaning forward in his chair with his forearms on his thighs, raising his eyebrows at you inquisitively as his glasses rode down his nose.

This was interesting, he thought. It wasn’t ideal, but he liked that you were finally talking to him. His instincts told him to push.

“Something funny?” He asked.

“So, what is this, a vacation to you?” You spat. “I mean, what, you’ve been to rehab, like, 6 times now, right? You summer in Ibiza and winter in Aspen and spend a few weeks somewhere like this whenever you need a little damage control, then it’s back to work.”

Aspen? You thought he was an Aspen guy?

“It isn’t exactly that simple.”

“Guys,” the facilitator attempted, unsuccessfully.

“But you go back to work, right? Everyone on that project is just waiting for you to finish up here?” The resentment was spilling out of you.

Fuck, you were mad at him. He raised his palms outward slightly, half-shrugging.

“It doesn’t even matter to them that you’re in rehab and that everyone knows?”

“It’s a project I’ve worked on before,” he clarified. “A sequel. So I guess they’re being easy on me.”

“Unbelievable,” you scoffed again, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.”

A woman seated to your left chuckled, and you whipped your head around to glare at her.

“What?” You snapped.

“You’re one to talk, princess.” She replied coolly. “You know, most of us ‘little people’ would’ve been arrested for a DUI, not in a luxury rehab.”

You froze, jaw dropping open as you stared back at her.

"Alright, everyone, let's settle down," the facilitator interjected, trying to regain control of the room. "We're all here with the same goal, remember? ‘Restoring ourselves to sanity’?"

You slumped back in your chair, pulling your knees up to your chest, while she continued. Dieter adjusted his glasses to cover his eyes but maintained his posture, watching you for the remainder of the meeting.

The veneer of Promises had worn off quickly. You were frustrated, you were restless, but now more than anything, you were humiliated. If they didn’t have the sense to keep you and Dieter separated before, hopefully they did now.

It didn’t help that the main thing that occupied your time here was a nonactivity - not doing drugs, not drinking alcohol. That’s what you did in rehab: not drugs, not drinking. So on a night like tonight, after a day like today, during which you normally would’ve called someone up and took shots until you blacked out, all you could do was ruminate on what happened.

You snuck out the meeting early, sulked through a therapy session and then immediately headed to the gym to get on the treadmill and run for as long as you could - which admittedly, wasn’t very long. Turns out long-term drug use affects your stamina. Who knew.

You slowed down to a walk, huffing and bracing yourself on the arms of the machine.

You regretted snapping at him, but still - it wasn’t fair. It was bad enough that he was here. You felt embarrassed even being in the same room as him, knowing the condition he saw you in the last time you met. There was no way you were going to be able to reap any of the benefits of rehab because there was no fucking way you were going to share anything personal with a dude you hooked up with when you were wasted. Now he had to rub his flourishing career in your face, too?

How was it so much easier for him? What was he doing differently? Dieter was as famous as you were, you figured, if not more. He was a bona-fide movie star. Why wasn’t it a massive scandal that he was here? That it wasn’t even the first time?

You slowed to a stop, stepping off the treadmill and wiping the sweat from your face. The gym was quiet at night, which you liked. You wiped down the machine and threw on your robe, heading back towards your bedroom to shower and turn in.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, this entire facility had a 10pm curfew. You stared at your feet as you walked, counting tiles aimlessly. You had to get out of here. In your head, you devised various plans to escape. Jumping out the window and making a run for it wasn’t totally off the table, but you might need to get more creative. 

You could call Corinne in the morning and tell her about Dieter. It’d be embarrassing, but you could explain what happened at Lush, tell her that he’s a reminder of your past that’s hindering your recovery. Some bullshit like that.

It’d been almost a week, anyway. That was an eternity in a place like this. Maybe if you really sold it she’d even let you off the hook and you wouldn’t have to go to another rehab, either - you could just go back to ‘house arrest’ at her place until someone decided to hire you again. It could work.

You rounded the corner, looking up and immediately stopping short. Dieter was headed down the hallway in the opposite direction, his gray t-shirt, thick cardigan, and soft pajama pants complemented by a pair of Crocs that squeaked on the linoleum. When your eyes met his, he looked weary, like he had just been roused from sleep for the last nightly check-in, but the glimmer when he saw you was unmistakable. 

You furrowed your brow, shifting your gaze back down to the ground and shuffling past him quickly.

“Hey,” he called after you. “Wait a minute.”

He followed you, footsteps growing closer behind you as he rounded the corner, and just before he could put his hand on your shoulder, you turned around to face him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your tone sharp.

He stopped just short of where you stood. When your eyes darted at his outstretched hand he pulled it away, raising both hands up before shoving them into the pockets of his sweater.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” he began, exasperated. “You don’t have to. Really. But we’re both here for the next ninety days, and as–”

“Eighty-four,” you corrected.

“Eighty-four,” he repeated. “As long as we’re both here, I think it’s gonna make things easier if we can at least be friendly. You can hate me, that’s fine, but in the interest of making this worthwhile, and, uh, step 9, I just want to apologize to you.”

You lifted an eyebrow, your arms crossed at your chest inside the oversized terry cloth sleeves of your robe. He did?

“You do?”

“I do.”

“For what?”

“For…” He hesitated, confusion apparent in the tilt of his head. “For the last time I saw you. For taking advantage of you at Lush.”

He paused for a moment, trying to get a read on your expression.

“Oh, man, if you were too drunk to even remember meeting me, I really have to beg for your–”

“I remember,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I wasn’t that fucked up.” Three-quarters of a lie.

He nods. “Anyway, I’m sorry for taking advantage of you like that. I know better,” he pauses. “It was, uh… a dark time.”

You let it sit for a moment. He really seemed sorry - or at least he looked it. Big brown eyes finally free of dark sunglasses and looking into yours, searching for your mercy. It was strange. It hadn’t even occurred to you to be upset with him for that - you were just embarrassed. Most of the hook-ups you’d experienced as an adult had taken place under the influence to some extent, and nobody had ever apologized to you afterwards.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” You finally said. “Although, really, I guess we can just call it even.”

His eyebrow cocked upwards, the shadow of a smirk and tilt of his head silently requesting an explanation. 

“I stole a bag of your coke that night, that's what I was after when I went to your table,” you explained, amusement growing on his face at the confession. “If it makes you feel better, I got a DUI that night, and when the police searched my car they found it. That’s why I’m here. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably could have just spent the weekend in the hospital being treated for ‘exhaustion’ and been back to work Monday morning. So, I guess I took advantage of you, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s what we do,” he laughed, vaguely gesturing at the hallway before planting his hand on the wall behind you.

Only now did you realize that he had subtly cornered your body into a doorway. He smelled the same as you remembered, minus the alcohol, and the way his broad frame was caging yours felt familiar and comforting. You caught yourself staring as you let the silence hang, taking in the lines around his dark, soft eyes, and you fought the urge to drag your thumb along the patch in his beard. God, he was handsome. You might not have been completely out of your mind that night.

Encouraged by your big, beautiful eyes gazing up at him and against his better judgment, he leaned down to purr lowly in your ear.

“I was disappointed that you didn’t come find me, though,” his said, the hair on his chin barely grazing your cheek and sending goosebumps down your spine. “I should be apologizing for not finishing the job.”

On a reflex, you giggled, but then the thought caught up to you.

“Wait a minute,” you put your hands to his chest and pushed away slightly to look him in the eye. “You mean we didn’t…”

He shook his head. “No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, my god, thank god!” You exclaimed, throwing your head back, unable to contain your laughter. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relief that you hadn’t slept with this man (who you, admittedly, really wanted to sleep with) flooding through you. Tentatively, he hugged you back, wide palms going flat at the small of your back. 

“Sorry, not ‘thank god,’ no offense, just… that wasn’t exactly my finest hour,” you explained as you pulled away.

“Yeah, I heard,” he started to respond, but he’s cut off by a staff member at the end of the hallway.

“To your rooms, please,” she ordered, firmly.

He turned to acknowledge her, then back to you, following as you made your way toward your bedroom.

“So, we’re okay?” He asked as you reached your door. “Promise you’re not going to yell at me at any more meetings?”

“I promise.”

“Good. ‘Cause I think people are starting to choose sides, and I’m not sure I stand a chance against you.”

“Yeah, right, they hate me,” you said, dipping your head to laugh. The two of you stood there in your doorway for another moment, hand lingering on the door as you stood inches from one another.

“Goodnight, Dieter,” you finally said, all low and decisive.

“Goodnight.”

You peeked out at him until the door shut completely. When it did, you folded against it, clutching your hands at your chest and smiling wider than you had in weeks.