#illegal salvage

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"HOME BREW IN SHOP COSTS WOMAN $25," Toronto Star. October 3, 1932. Page 2. --- Didn't Know "Home" Had to Have Separate Entrance Under L.C.A. --- A fine of $25 and costs was imposed in county police court to-day on Mrs. M. Mackay, Weston, on a charge of consuming liquor. Chief of Police Holley testified that in the dwelling premises at the rear of accused's shop he found home brew beer. The accused possessed a license to brew.

Crown Attorney Frank Moore pointed out that since the dwelling portion of the building was connected with the store. Mr. Mackay was "technically guilty" of "having." The charge was reduced to "consuming." when the accused informed the court that she was ignorant of the clause of the Liquor Control Act which stipulates that a residence in which homeb rew is made must have a separate entrance.

Ill-Treated Horses Thomas Shepherd, former, of North Gwillimbury, was fined $5 and costs on a charge of ill-treating three horses.

A portion of 300 pounds of brass fittings, alleged to have been stolen from the Canadian Bridge Company and the C.N.R., was exhibited in court when Lewis Malie was charged with theft. An official of one of the companies estimated the brass to be valued at from $1,000 to $1,500.

Morrington Goodwin swore Malle called him on the telephone and the two moved the brass in bags from Leaside yards to a junk-dealer's shop. A charge of theft against Goodwin was dismissed.

Malie pleaded guilty to two charges and was found guilty on the third charge. He was remanded a week for sentence.

Argued Over Cow Found guilty of aggravated assault on Nick Nossy, Mike Woodchuck was remanded a week for sentence. Nossy appeared in court with bandages about his head.

Woodchuck, through an interpreter, said he visited a home near Nossy's late in the afternoon and offered a $5 bill in payment for liquid refreshment. There was an argument concerning the pasturing of a, cow, it was brought out. Heated remarks were made, and when the argument was renewed outside a brawl осcurred. Woodchucq struck Nossy "with something," K. Boyiack swore.

After hearing evidence translated for more than an hour the bench registered a conviction.

[much-brighter-ink]

[ID: tumblr tag reading “#the SAT” /end ID]

you ever take a uquiz and realize halfway through that you don’t respect the author and their opinion is useless to you

[wausaupilot]

Police search suspected illegal salvage yard in Merrill, multiple charges expected

In addition to a stolen vehicle and stolen vehicle parts, police said investigators seized more than 50 grams of methamphetamine, about 8 grams of cocaine and more than 140 grams of marijuana. Police say they also found evidence of tampering with and remo

Wausau Pilot & Review The owner of a suspected illegal salvage yard was arrested Thursday after a search of his property resulted in a significant drug seizure, according to a Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department news release. Anthony G. Ellenbecker is expected to face charges after the search, the result of multiple investigations. Ellenbecker’s town of Merrill property was searched early…

[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[plagueddead]

Technoverse - A guide for interaction roleplay and insert wise.

This was EXTREMELY requested

This blog exceeds to help newcomers to my AU environment. This blog will be updated over time if I see fit to change how this works interacts with itself. This blogs images will be updated over time if I find more suitable matches.

Photos have been found through Pinterest and art station. I will try and credit the source if I can.

This is an AU inspired by Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. This is a free to join au. Major canon characters are prohibited from being claimed. Villains are up to discussion.

This is a isn't the backstory post of the turtles but the world they live in.

THIS AU CONTAINS TOPICS OF RACISM, ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES AND ACTIONS, AND VIOLENCE. Though I've done my best to try and make it as friendly as possible. This AU is a 16+ story due to these warnings.

Current AU time

25 years after the ROTTMNT movie.

AU Theme

Cyberpunk dystopia

Fantasy

Dark fantasy

Major city settings within AU

New York, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul, London

City Summary

After the integration of Yokai as independent civilians and free citizens world wide, and with the collaboration of their technology as well as krang salvage, a new system of buildings and interlinks have been created to accommodate citizens. Buildings stacked overhead that pierce the clouds, the old world was left to turn into slums and poor living areas on ground zero. Due to permanent clouds caused by pollution and overhead cities, these major empires are in a permanent state of darkness. Neon signs often light these cities to create a spectacular aroura of lights and designs. Though with a permanent overcast comes with a cost, as rain clouds mix with polluted smog to create a toxic like rain that causes many illnesses. It's common among every citizen to keep an oxygen mask at all times in case of rain.

City main inspiration and reference: Altered Carbon

Major cities as listed above are unique as floating SSC (Solar System Cosmopolis) Cities cover most of the dense populated area. These floating cities serve as purpose as secured homing for politicians, celebrities, and mostly the rich. Though they are also engineered mega labs founded by Barron Draxum and Donatello Hamato. They serve to bring back and study extinct species, cultivate cures for major diseases, and help improve on already futuristic technology. They spin very slowly and resemble that of a solar system. Hense the nickname.

These cities are held afloat by a self sustainable gravity generator that uses the gravity of a man made miniature star; created by Donatello Hamato (age 20).

Main inspiration from CMD Studios recent project!!!

Hidden cities

These main cities are focused world points for another reason. They rest above other hidden cities in which they have their own theme and setting.

New Yorks hidden city belongs to Big Mama, a spider Yokai who deals in illegal gambling and the distribution of illegal mystic items. NY Hidden city remains as a hub for traveling species of Yokai from all around the world.

Hong Kongs hidden city belongs to [REDACTED TBA]- A Dragon Yokai who deals in illegal sales of mystic items and krang salvage from the old battle.

This hidden city is less developed than the others, as most accomodation plans have been denied to preserve its pristine buildings and history. This hidden city resembles deep mountain caverns with buildings built into the sides. Common mystical creatures from Chinese mythology live within this city and rarely travel. Humans are not allowed.

Main inspiration by David Noren!

London's hidden city belongs to [REDACTED TBA] A plant like fairy Yokai who often helps with creating forged ID's to help Yokai find a better place to live. She also is known to sell potions that aren't approved by the hidden cities overlords and FDA.

This hidden city has developed slowly over time, but due to quick overgrowth of plants and trees. Most buildings have been built into large glowing trees that hang over the city in beautiful rainbow colors. The ground is a great hub for growing fruits and herbs for medicines. The Yokai in this hidden city are spirits from English folklore. They have spread over different cities over time.

Main inspiration found on Thin blue line on Pinterest!

Seouls hidden city belongs to [REDACTED] a Polar Bear Yokai who deals in illegal weapon distribution and species trafficking.

This hidden city is up to date and mostly in an indoor environment due to this hidden city being within a freezing temperature climate. More artic themed Yokai live within, but this hidden city is popular as a summar retreat by humans and other Yokai looking to stay cool for the summer. But this hidden city isn't as welcoming to humans as the others.

Main inspiration by Annabale Siconolfi!

Tokyos hidden city belongs to Yeosobai. A jellyfish Yokai who deals with handles most black markets and distribution of illegal substances.

This hidden city is completely underwater. Surrounded on a deep voided ocean under Japan, pod cities have been added to accommodate air breathing citizens, though most buildings were air tight even before. This hidden city is also a large hub for tourists due to its underwater appeal. This city distributes most seafood around the county. Known for its large amount of attractions and adult clubs, it's also a very crime ridden city.

This is also where Current Donatello resides.

Main inspiration creator unknown

Human and Yokai stances

With the sudden booming population of mutants and Yokai integrating into human society, of course tensions and protests by humans were bound to happen. A world they were so used to was building into something unknown before their very eyes after all. And so, tensions between species rose.

Humans with a deep dislike towards other species either hide their hate, or become extremists. Often getting tag as cultists as over years hate crimes toward Yokai and mutants became a world wide situation. Yokai were often kidnapped from their homes to be found barley recognizable by their attackers. Yokai would retaliate, and after much tension, civil wars broke out. Protests for safer living for both species were in demand, and so most governments integrated an artificial intelligence police force that contained mostly droids to prevent race picking. Most countries have adapted this form of law enforcement.

Cultists are still a major problem though their numbers have thinned.

The term Mutant has become a word to target Yokai and mutants in a hateful way, and this word soon became outdated. All non humans are now under the identification of Yokai. This includes mixed races between the two.

It's common for Yokai and humans relationships! Often by now the first generations of Yokai and humans hybrid children are born!

There are even schools for these rare breeds as they are still being studied as a new species.

It is illegal for most countries to have discrimination between species. No Yokai only or human only living spaces, restaurants, or shops.

Though within most slums there is a secret rule to separate the species as mostly disgrunted humans and Yokai live here.

And now we're here!

I want my character to join the au, but I don't know what's allowed!

This part of the blog aims to help you adapt your character into this new universe.

What should my character wear?!

It's really up to you! Most humans and Yokai wear mostly cyberpunk themed clothing! Often I find Pinterest as a source of inspiration. I think your character would fit better if it comes from a certain part of the world. Armor and glowing clothes are welcome and encouraged! Get creative!

I want my character to have cool robotic limbs and mods in their body! Is this allowed?

Yep! And encouraged! This is a futuristic setting! So modifications to the body aren't uncommon!

Can my characters have cool unique weapons?

Of course! And I'd love to see them!! 🔥🔥🔥

Do I have to ask before joining this AU?

Nope! But I'd love to see/read your creation! Or see that you're inspired to join!

Does my character have to be human?

Nope! Any species welcome!

Can my character already know personally main characters?

That's up for discussion. Current time Donatello isn't open to being known nor talkative to strangers. I'd like it if you didnt. He's playing dead unlike the rest of his brothers. Leo's up for discussion but with Mikey and Raph, they are more social and I can see them having multiple friends. Leo's treated more as a police officer and doesn't have a lot of friends due to his work.

Can my character work for the main boss Yokai of the hidden city.

Yes! I'd like you to stay close to what they do in terms of how they run things!

Can I claim ships with these characters?

NO.

Claiming ships with only your characters and main cast is prohibited. That's why Y/N is created as a medium for all 18+ participants that want to ship their characters with main cast. Ships are fun and welcome! But you cannot claim it as a you only ship.

Thank you for reading what I have for now! More to be added!

[fromadistantstar]

A flimsy little pamphlet lies forgotten on a concrete floor, its cover missing. The title page is all block-print- the regulations for obtaining additional copies feature almost as prominently as the title. Big, black letters: MANUAL FOR SALVAGE AND DISPOSAL OF WITCHMADE DOLLS. Beneath, of course- FOR USE OF PERSONNEL ONLY, and further a neat little logo proclaiming it a product of the Imperial Scout Corps War Conduct Oversight Committee. The occasional gust of wind flutters its pages, revealing their contents. "In light of certain indiscretions on the part of members of the Imperial Scout Corps," the first page begins. The rest is illegibly ink-stained.

[umbralreaver]

This Ritalin stuff sure is a doozy! I just spent all day imagining a Magic the Gathering set that returns to Kamigawa five or so years post-invasion.

Ahem...

KAMIGAWA: PHYREXIA'S WAKE

With the destruction of Boseiju into a lake of glistening oil and Phyrexian wreckage, life in Kamigawa has been hard. The kami once common have largely diminished and retreated to the merge gates. Much of the city of Towashi is still scarred both structurally and spiritually by the invasion. The strength of the Imperial Court is weakened and the more opportunistic factions such as the Futurists have taken power.

Norn is dead. Phyrexia is gone. Its legacy remains.

The oil, still spilling from the husk of the great tree of life, no longer holds that malevolent potency it was feared for. But that does not mean it is worthless. Whether by some quirk of the plane or directly due to its infection of Boseiju, the oil of Kamigawa still has one very active property:

It can meld flesh and machine.

Survivors of the war who were grievously wounded, especially those living amidst the most devastated ruins at the base of Boseiju, found they could mend their wounds with Phyrexian salvage and dose themselves with oil to will the machinery to join with them as if it were there own flesh. it could unite them with native Kamigawan technology as well, but such things were not easily had by the poor and rejected. The dross of invasion, however, was easy to acquire.

Soon others, the ignorant or intrepid, sought out the oil's miraculous properties to mend themselves or even just enact alterations, to become other than what they were and achieve long-impossible desires. An underground culture of mending, alteration and transfiguration sprang up amongst the broken roots of She Who Shelters All.

Even in death, she sheltered them still.

It was not long before the officials of the Imperial Court took action and sealed off access to the site of the tree. Collection and use of the oil was outlawed. Fear of a 'Third Phyrexia' bloomed in the population and the Imperials harnessed that emotion in the formation of a new anti-technology sentiment.

The Futurists did not take that idly. They found an opportunity in the Imperials being stretched thin, offering to use their superior capabilities to locate, secure and quarantine all artifacts and materials of Phyrexia. They promised nobody would be infected under their watch. Such things did still have to be studied and learned from, of course.

Meanwhile, the trickles of oil in the gutters of the undercity carried the glimmers of the great tree's vital essence to the most unlikely recipients.

The Phyrexians awoke from their torpor. Not many at first, and in such mangled and ruined states that it took them some time to regather themselves in the darkness beneath. They were different now, their minds unshackled from the will of the ancient dead god Yawgmoth and the pretender Elesh Norn. Even unbound from evil, this world would surely hate them for what they were. They had to find new ways to survive.

Kamigawa is changing. There wis no going back.

THE MAJOR FACTIONS OF KAMIGAWA: PHYREXIA'S WAKE

THE KAMIGAWA PRESERVATION AUTHORITY

( Primary White, Secondary Blue and Green )

Led by the Imperial Court, the Preservation Authority is a mandate to protect the citizens of Kamigawa from any remaining Phyrexian influence. Their goal is to secure peace in the city and ensure justice is brought against all who dabble in the illegal and corrupt. Fear is a strong component of the Preserver mentality, a fear of the new and the different and the unknown. Amongst their officials, many still wish they could cut down the Futurists and return Kamigawa to the good old days.

This will, of course, mean getting rid of all that have embraced the 'unnatural'.

THE BOSEIJU DISTRICT CONTAINMENT COMMISSION

( Primary Blue, Secondary White and Black )

The Saiba Futurists, in collaboration with other technologists and artificers, gained the right to establish the BDCC and to collect and lock away any trace of Phyrexian presence. After Otawara was crashed into the surface of the planet during the invasion, they have dug a new headquarters with countless layers of laboratories and vaults. Outwardly, the goal of the Commission is to sequester away every scrap of Phyrexia away in those vaults never to be seen again. Covertly, many of them desire the alien technology for study to fuel their own advancement and profits.

They are nominally working for the Preservers, at least until they are powerful enough to shuck off the need for their approval.

THE REMNANT ARMY OF PHYREXIA

( Primary Black, Secondary Blue and Red )

The oil of broken Boseiju found its way through the crevices and cracks in the city, pooling in the lowest places where the trash and refuse gathered. Amongst that detritus, the blasted and ruined husks of the warriors of the invasion. The oil woke them to free will, but for some that ancient loyalty runs deeper than mere phyresis. They are true believers. With otherworldly hatred they plot in the dark, gathering more wrecks and relics to revive and swell their numbers. Their goal is to undermine the city until they can take the site of Boseiju with violent force, and from there forge a Third Phyrexia.

No strangers to subterfuge, some Remnants collude with the Commission, trading artifacts and secret knowledge for the Commission's aid.

THE AUGMENTED

( Primary Red, Secondary Green and Black )

The oil no longer has an intelligence guiding it. It forever awaits a signal, and the great tree gave it that tiniest of sparks: A command of life. Nothing more. With that faint motivation reenabling some of the oil's functions, the Augmented use it to join themselves to whatever technology they can find in the ruins left by the invasion. Many of them are war veterans, missing limbs or wounded in ways that makes life difficult. With oil-based augmentation, they can find dignity again. Joining them is the growing transmog community, those that find expression and freedom in changing their forms, using the miracle of the oil to shape themselves as they desire. Above all, the Augmented wish for respect, to protect each other, and to live free.

Sometimes, even sadly often, that means violence against those that would oppress or exploit them.

THE FREE COMPLEATED

(Primary Green, Secondary White and Red )

Not all of the reawakened Phyrexians kept their loyalty to a failed invasion. Alive again and able to think their own thoughts, the Free Compleated want nothing to do with the loyalists. They are outcasts, hated for what they represent even though they had no choice. They were prisoners in bodies not their own. Now, they carry the last wish of Boseiju and just want to live. The Free Compleated struggle to survive in the same darkness as their cruel kin, competing over Phyrexian wrecks to revive with oil, wishing always to meet with a new friend and not an enemy.

The Free Compleated are veterans of a war they never asked to fight, indelibly marked as monsters and yet they still seek hope.

A note:

This work imagines a post-invasion world where the consequences are not so easily swept under the rug or handwaved with a brief interlude. A few things are core to the understanding of this idea. Here, being 'compleated' is a tragedy (if unwilling), the greatest tragedy being that it overrides a subject's mind with the lingering evil of Yawgmoth. When that override is removed, what remains? This time, there is no easy zappo and you're back to good old flesh and blood.

Furthermore, the oil itself is no longer evil. Nothing of its old malice remains. Indeed, to reinforce this point its directive is replaced by a last sliver of the will the great spirit tree. Boseiju, who shelters all, welcomes even those lost Phyrexians. The Augmented, too, despite the fearmongering, are not 'meddling in dark and forbidden arts'. Through the oil Boseiju's last wish passes to them as well, so they may live.

The oil can no longer cause phyresis. That power was lost with Phyrexia. All that remains is the power to give life to technology, whether it be the cold husks of invaders or new machinery melded to the stumps of amputees.

If I were to write a story based on this, it's pretty obvious at this point that it would be an allegory for the plight of war veterans, the disabled, transgender people and other marginalised groups under a society that either wants to either destroy them or twist them to its own malign purposes.

I wrote all this in something of a buzz. I'm new to these meds. Seems good though! That said, it's likely (perhaps even certain) that I've overlooked things I should really consider when planning this out (if I end up doing more).

Feel free to let me know!

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

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

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

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

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

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

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

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were fired six weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

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

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

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

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

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

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

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

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

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

Your face burned with humiliation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

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

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

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

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

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

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

Oh, bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 10- The Offer

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: When I was outlining chapters like four months ago, I thought each one would be 2k words, but I'm struggling to get them over 1100. SOS

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.), Dual POV

Valeria's fist collides with the wall. The skin on her knuckles splits, and she lets out an aggravated breath. Stiff with rage and filled with indignation. The lab has been destroyed, nothing was salvageable. Which means no more product will be produced for a while. She places her face in her hands and rubs at her temple. Clutching at her hair until it hurts. Replacing everything is going to cost a fortune. All because of you. Maybe hiring you was a mistake. Meeting you was a mistake. No. That's too harsh, she thinks. She's been caught and arrested, nearly killed more times than she can count, betrayed, what is this but a small setback? Life has thrown as many obstacles as it could at her and like the cockroach that she is, she's survived all of it and came out stronger.

The image of her men dragging your limp, bleeding body from the flames is seared into her brain. You looked so still. Valeria thought you were dead, if only for a few moments. She thought she lost you before she ever got to have you. The grief she felt cut her to her core and that scared her more than anything. Valeria shakes her head and ignores the dull sting on her hand. She needs to start replacing all the equipment and materials lost to your stupidity. As Valeria pulls out her phone, intending to call up some contacts, it rings.

"What?" She answers. Her irritation bleeding into her voice.

"... Valeria." A man says. One of the people she sent to Pajaro Azul. "That meth? It's here, too."

Valeria simply grunts in response.

"But we can't locate the source. Everyone we speak to is just the dealer for the dealer." He continues. "The Pajaro Azul Cartel is starting to get testy about us being here. We nearly got into a shootout yesterday. They want us gone. I don't think it originated from here" He trails off, waiting for her to reply.

Valeria collects her scrambled thoughts.

"Stand your ground." she decides stubbornly, not caring that she's putting their lives in danger. Danger is what you sign up for when you join a cartel. "Don't come home until you find something that makes you know instead of think."

"But Patrona-" 

Valeria hangs up before he can finish. She sighs warily. All thirty-seven years of her life sit on her shoulders heavily. Applying bruising pressure to her collarbones. She needs to speak to you. Valeria said some harsh things to you, which she isn't sorry for. However, she is still... fond of you and knows that what she said has upset you. Valeria stalks over to her desk, grabbing the small vase of flowers she had purchased for you earlier. Soft, pale pink petals hang over short light green stalks. The botanist she visited had many other options. some with different flower arrangements. Valeria liked the single type arrangement best. It's uniform. She had considered roses but figured it would be too cliche.

You're asleep in bed. Lying on your back. The sight makes her uncomfortable. The same stillness that made her think you were dead. Valeria gently grabs your shoulder.

"Hey." She says, giving you a light shake. Your brows furrow with displeasure and you open your eyes groggily.

"What?" You mutter thickly, voice deepened from sleep. What an attractive sound. Valeria files it away for later use.

"I'm just checking up on you." Valeria murmurs. Setting down the flowers on the bedside table. Your eyes shift away from hers. Her hand twitches. Wanting to lay it atop yours. She sits herself down on the bed slowly. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine." You reply.

"Just fine?" Valeria frowns. "Your leg is injured, you have first degree burns, and stitches."

"I know."

Valeria sighs. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you." Even if she isn't sorry, she can at least pretend to be. "I was just angry and worried. you're not useless. Not even close."

Your frown deepens. "...Okay."

"I don't want you moving around though." She clears her throat. Patting your knee. 

"Why not?" You ask, sitting up and clearly not happy about Valeria's decision.

"You can't even walk on you own." She reminds you.

You shake your head in protest, sweat lightly glistening on your hairline.

"You're not going to keep me here for my entire healing process, are you?" 

Valeria picks up on the discomfort in your voice. "Well, I can't let you go home like this. You live alone, correct?" She already knows the answer, of course. A small apartment near downtown. Single bedroom and empty of all life when you aren't occupying the space.

"Yeah, but I can still take care of myself."

"You can't walk." She repeats herself. An idea pops into her head. An image of you in the spare bedroom in her own home. Just a few doors down from her room. Isolated and reliant her. Valeria really likes that image. She's also going to file that away for later use. "You can come stay with me."

She watches you closely. Your hands grip the edge of the thin, scratchy blanket that hasn't been washed since it was bought.

"That's... kind, but I don't think it's necessary." You reply carefully.

"I insist." Valeria says, leaning towards you without breaking eye contact. She knows you don't want to, but she also knows you can't do much to protest. There's a dubious satisfaction to be found in that fact. In the control she has over you. "Chemists are expensive and hard to come by, I want to make sure you're back to full health without any hiccups."

"That's really not... necessary, I'd hate to intrude."

"it's no problem, really."

"I'm sure you'd like to keep your privacy."

"Plenty of privacy at my place."

You look away, jaw tight.

Valeria cocks her head at you. She isn't pleased that you seem so... unwilling. she understands hesitance but it's like you can't think of anything worse than staying with her. She's not used to this feeling of rejection. But then again, she doesn't ever present people with the opportunity to do so. Like when she could feel her ex-girlfriend pulling away. Just the smallest gut feeling. Valeria shut herself off from her and left her first. Valeria will always have the last word, always.

"Sure, thank you, Valeria." You begrudgingly relent. 

"Good." Valeria smiles faintly. "Just make a list a list of some belongings you may need or want, and I'll send someone to your apartment." That person will be Valeria, of course. She's probably just as uncomfortable as you are at the idea of some stranger pawing through your belongings. Good thing Valeria isn't a stranger. Besides, she's never been inside your home and she's curious to see what your dwellings look like. 

[namakaeggs]

feelings/ pt 1

eren x reader, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, drunk confession

you knew eren before you knew him. his mom and your mom were the best of friends in highschool, and a friendship was fated from the start. from family barbecues to birthdays, you two were always together. “inseparable” is what carla describes us. eren always scoffed when mom would say we would get married one day. my eyes would brighten at the mention.

eren was always the outsider growing up, the rebel. he grew his hair to his shoulders, didn’t get along with the popular crowd, got an illegal tattoo at 16, and religiously wore band tees. as we got older, i noticed him more and more. we were around each other so often, so close. when his voice got deeper and his arms became toned, i couldn’t help fighting my feelings. to him, we were friends. to me, he was more. i knew he never saw me the way because he slept around. he smoked and wasn’t afraid to break a few laws. hes the personification of the boys your mom will tell you to watch out for, because their mystery is so alluring that you won’t be able to resist, and that in the end, they will break your heart. mom would never see eren in another light though. nothing other than her best friends adorable, sweet child.

as i’m about to fall asleep, my phone buzzes on my bedside table and reach for it quickly.

R u awake

it’s 2 in the morning and i know what he’s been doing.

what’s up eren?

i wait anxiously.

Im sorru it’s so latew but can u pick me up from Jean’s please?

i immediately get up and throw on a zip up hoodie. i grab my keys and hurry out of my window. god, the things i do for this boy.

the first time i felt something for him was 6th grade. for a while, he had been trying to slum it with the popular boys, reiner, jean, flock, and zeke, in our class. it didn’t work. he was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit, but he tried and i watched. i watched him try biking every day after-school with them when i knew he preferred to go skating with me. i watched him try to salvage his failing math grade from constantly attempting to meet the demands of these boys, their constant hangouts that eren didn’t really look forward too, telling me how unfunny he thought their jokes were. i watched eren and the popular boys talk to the popular girls. seeing eren laughing with historian reiss made me fume. who was she to even speak to him? she doesn’t know him like that? she doesn’t know him like i do!

it was all jealousy. historia was beautiful, popular, and i knew eren thought so too, because i would see them drinking slurpees at the quick zip every friday after school. i fumed even more. there were rumors that they had even kissed. stupid me thought and dreamed that maybe he secretly wanted me, and maybe he secretly wanted me to be his first kiss. hearing the rumor crushed me. i was heartbroken, but i could never be mad at eren over some dream that would never come true.

but suddenly eren withdrew. historia and him never hung out on fridays and the popular boys treated eren like he were a plague. jean still spoke to him though, even with their bitter rivalry that he would never tell me stemmed from what. me and him were already attached at the hip by that point, but he stuck by me like glue from then on. i didn’t question it. i didn’t care too because that he wanted to spend time with me, me.

we spent the rest of our middle school and high-school years together. always turning around to make sure the other one was behind. always picking the same classes to take so that we’d be together. always going back to my place after school, sitting on my bed to talk about everything the world has to offer over and over again. i would always help him with math, and he would always defend me against the popular guys that pursued me, warning me that he knew their motives. that they didn’t want me for the right reasons. i understood and i kept away. but they didn’t.

junior year, after our AP physics class, the ringleader of the group, zeke, cornered me in the stairwell and confessed how long he had been wanting me. how much he needed me, and that i should come over sometime with his friends. and from that, i already had an idea that this was what eren was talking about. i tried to get out, but he wouldn’t let me. eren pushed him to the wall and fought him. jean and armin had to pull eren off of him. eren got suspended because he broke zekes nose, and he had to get surgery to fix the damage.

during erens suspension, we spoke.

“i don’t like how the guys are,” he starts, fixing the pink pillow under his head,” they get me so fucking mad.” he’s been staying at my house ever since he got suspended. his parents are mad.

i look up from the book i was reading. “it was only zeke who really pushed it? why are you so pissed about the whole group?”

erens eyebrows furrow. “y/n, they’re guys. i’m a guy, and you’re not. i know how guys like them are!” he suddenly looks uncomfortable. “it’s disgusting.” he mutters, “and i don’t like that zeke wanted you to come over.”

“but still?” i argue, “just because you have something against zeke doesn’t mean you should hate the whole group with a passion. i know they’re obnoxious, but don’t let them get to you.”

“of course i have something against zeke and his friends! he forced you into the corner and told you how bad he wanted to fuck you!”

i cringe at the honesty. “i meant that you’ve hated him since middle school. like.. obsessively hate.”

eren lets out a laugh at the idiocracy. “first of all, i am not obsessed with zeke fritz.” he takes a deep breath like he’s preparing for the finale of a grand speech. “and second of all, he’s always pissed me off.”

“even when you hung out with him and his friends?” i tease.

eren grows silent. “i don’t want to talk about it.” and i dropped the conversation.

i pull into the round-about where jean lives. i’ve had to pick eren up a few times from here, but lately, the only reason he’s been here is to get drunk at jeans college parties. jeans parents are loaded, lawyers who travel for work, which leaves him at home with way too much freedom.

the music is vibrating the ground from here. i wonder when the police are gonna show up to shut down this party for the noise disturbance. i need to find eren, soon. i open the front door and see people leaning on the walls with drinks, talking, joking, some making out. i look away and try to find eren. i don’t see him anywhere.

after scanning the entire first floor, eren jeager is no where to be found. i head towards the stairs and start walking up, hoping to find him upstairs.

where are you? i text.

as i’m walking down the hallway, i hear a familiar voice.

“In here!”

i walk toward the sound of his voice, the last door of the hallway that has the name “jean” written in bright blue letters. i open the door and see the unexpected.

well, not fully unexpected. i see eren, his almost- shoulder length hair pulled back into a bun and his body adorning grey sweatpants and a navy hoodie, who i was expecting to see, laying down on jeans bed, smiling at the ceiling like a weirdo. yep, he’s one drink away from blacking out. but what i didn’t expect to see was historia reiss, sitting at the end of the bed, picking at her split ends and chewing her gum with her mouth open. my stomach turns at the scene, but i force down my feelings.

“hey!” i say. historia turns to me with a look of disappointment on her face and eren lifts his head and laughs drunkly when he sees me.

“uh,” i suddenly become uncomfortable under historias arrogant stare, “sorry i didn’t knock, i’m here to get eren.”

she looks at eren and then looks at me, saying, “okay..” condescendingly and walks into jeans bathroom. she wasn’t wearing any shoes. erens not wearing any either.

“heyyyy,” eren slurs as i walk over to him. “i didn’t know you partied!” he jokes before bursting out laughing

“you texted me. how much did you have to drink?”

he looks dumbfounded at the simple question “what?”

“i said, how much did you have to drink?” i repeat. i can barely hear my own voice over the booming music.

“uhhhhh-,” he replies after a few seconds, “i don’t know.”

“okay, cmon. get up eren. we’re going.”

“yes ma’am.” he says, giving a military salute. surprisingly, he can stand just fine despite how drunk he seems. i make sure he has everything

and we leave jeans house. we walk over to my parked car and i put eren in the backseat incase he pukes all over my dashboard again. i don’t want a repeat of the last time i picked him up.

“there’s a plastic bag in the right pocket if you need to puke, eren, just letting you know.” i mention as i pull out of the round-a- bout.

“okay, mom, thanks” he scoffs.

i pull unto the main road, stopping at the red light.

“so,” i start,” historia, huh?” my voice filling the silence.

“huh, what’re you talking about?” he says in a genuine, drunk confusion. “did something happen”

“i just didn’t know you guys were really friends.” i reply. and i murmur, “obviously more than that though.”

you’re eyes are fixed on the road, but erens eyes are dead fixed on you after that snide comment that he definitely heard.

“yeah,” he rolls his eyes, sarcasm and the presence of alcohol in his tone, “we had so much fun, y/n. you don’t even know.”

i look at him through the dash cam window and he’s staring at me with a smirk and an indepipherable look in his eyes, testing me. i grip the stealing wheel and drive faster. i know he’s joking, but i can’t tell if he’s hinting at the truth or just telling a lie to get a reaction out of me.i just want this conversation i started to be over with.

“uh, so, how’s jean?” i change the conversation.

“what, you like him or something?”

“what! no!” i deny. “i never said that, eren?”

eren leans back into the seat, head resting on the head rest as he looks up. “whatever.”

unlike eren, there’s no alcohol in my system, but i’m feeling bold today. “what do you mean whatever, eren? you think i like jean?”

“uhhh, haven’t you always?” he states like it’s the obvious. “i saw the way he looked at you in art class.”

“just because he looked at me once or twice doesn’t mean i want him to fuck me or something.”

erens eyes narrow and his brows furrow, lifting his head in interest. “what the fuck did you just say?”

“what the fuck are you saying?” i fight back. “i ask you how jean is and you act like i’m begging on my knees for him. god damn.”

now he’s fully attentive, elbows on his knees and leaning in as if he’ll learn more by his upright posture. “i don’t like the idea of you liking jean,” he states, the slurring of his words still audible , “aaand i don’t like the idea of jean liking you.”

my heart races. “why?”

“maybe it’s the same reason you don’t like seeing me with historia.” and suddenly, he sounds sober.

my heart stops. he heard the comment i made under my breath.

“eren, i don’t care who you see.” the lie is evident in my tone, but eren is so drunk that i don’t bother to hide it. “you can hook up with historia for all i care. have fun with mouth herpes.”

“see, this is what i don’t like,” he slurs out, “did it really not bother you when you saw me and historia in the same bed?”

“why would it bother me? we’re just friends.”

“is that what you want to believe?”

“is that what i shouldn’t believe, eren?”

eren sighs and leans back again. “you remember when i hung out with zeke, flock, reiner, and jean like way back?”

“yeah.”

“that entire time. all they talked about is who would get you first. who would be the first to- fuck. fuck!” he slurs “i never wanted to tell you that!”

my mouth is to the floor. “seriously? that is so- why woudlnt you tell me?”

he looks out the window, “because i was scared that if i told you they liked you, you’d like the attention and shit, and then you wouldn’t be mine.”

my heart is beating out of my chest. “my god, you’re so drunk. eren, you’re speaking nonesense.”

“i’ve been in love with you since the 6th grade.”

“eren, stop.” tears brim my eyes. in the morning, when he’s sober and remembers this, he’ll regret his drunken lies and i’ll have to pretend like this drunk, fake confession didn’t mean the world to me.

“i left the digusting group for that. i hated that me and those annoying dogs had something in common, wanting you.”

“you never wanted me, eren!” i snap, “ you would fake a gag every time our moms shipped us together! and what about historia, huh? don’t act like you two haven’t been sleeping together since highschool. oh, and what about mikasa? you and her-”

“i don’t care about them! all i want is you y/n! i thought you already knew how bad i had it for you” he cuts me off.

“fucking lies.”

he grows quiet for a while.

“i pretended they were you everytime,” he admits,” they didn’t turn me on. i had to pretend they were you, ” he leans in, “and honestly? i still do.”

his words send butteflies rushing to your stomach, but you know better. “eren. you’re drunk”

he pulls his hair out of his messy bun and puts his hood on. “drunken. words. are sober. thoughts!” he enunciates before laughing.

we pull into his house driveway.

“i’m sorry for teasing you about me and historia tonight.” he apologies, and i smell beer from his breath. “im really sorry.”

“i thought drunk words were sober thoughts?” you retaliate with hurt in your tone. you didn’t want to argue, but you didn’t want to not stand your ground.

“i just- wanted to make you jealous. im sorry, y/n” he hugs me, arms wrapping around me tightly as he fits his head into the crook of my neck and sniffs. “god, you smell so good..”

“eren.” you warn.

“your perfume. it drives me insane.” he whines and starts peppering kisses down your neck.

you blush and your heart stops before you push him off of you. he stumbles back, having to regain his balance due to the alchohal in his system. he’s drunk, he’s drunk and he’s so fucking drunk.

the look in his eyes are nothing short of hurt. “y/n..”

“we’ll talk in the morning” you breath out. “go sleep this off.”

“i’ve already tried,” he replies as he walks up the stairs to his room, “why do you think i get so drunk all the damn time. seeing historias face sober every weekend makes me remember that she isn’t you.” he gets to the top step and disappears behind the wall.

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 5: The Drink Is on Me

about, rules & navigation | previous round | in some of the routes reader consumes alcohol

The dates are now all proceeding in a promising direction. How the gentlemen will handle the trial of time though? Will they be able to hold your interest with the same intensity towards the end of the dates?

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

The party headed under the deck earlier than you expected. Insisting on dressing elegantly shattered Hiromi under the merciless sun; even after he took the light jacket off, he kept sweating profusely and you worried he might get a heat stroke.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really fond of summer weather," he said when you proposed moving to a (hopefully colder) different spot, but his voice was full of relief rather than genuine apology.

"Don't sweat it, I could use some shade too."

There's still time for enjoying the sea and the sun, after all, and you would rather savor the strength for the island exploration. Besides, you can't really complain: the under-deck space is even more comfortable and has an exceptionally intimate atmosphere. The lights and music are toned down, everything is soaked in the blue of the sea behind the colossal glass—and most importantly, except for the person behind the bar you're all alone.

Hiromi orders you light cocktails and you choose yourselves a cozy sofa right by the glazed part (according to him, closer to the island you will be passing by a reef—a sight you don't want to miss). You're finally sitting close, your knees almost touching and your shoulders bumping against each other whenever one of you tries to take a turn or lean towards the table. It's a rather tight space but comfortably tight, in a way that melts the remaining, tense ice.

"Do you take all your dates for cruises or is it just a coincidence?" You don't want to poke at a fresh wound, but the topic presses itself into the conversation. And you would rather have it behind it now, when the mood can be easily salvaged.

"Yes and no," he shrugs but keeps that friendly smile, gentle but pushing the corners of his lips enough to reveal his dimples. "The previous one was first and a coincidence. But this I had planned from the very beginning."

"I fell into a trap?" You remember the placement of the ticket on that photo. You suspected it was bait—but a whole meticulous strategy? You wouldn't peg him as someone who puts this kind of logic into dating.

He slightly narrows eyes, giving his smile a sly touch, as he leans against the back of the sofa, one arm casually thrown over it, "Yes and no, again. I wouldn't call it a trap. I would hate to do something illegal, it's against my profession's ethics. And I don't like to trap my dates."

You take a sip of your drink, tossing a few strategies of your own in your mind. A slight buzz of alcohol in your blood lifts your spirit and you can't pretend that the atmosphere hasn't added its dime to certain ideas perking their heads.

"So, what do you like to do with your dates?"

There's a longer break on his side as Hiromi swirls the remains of his mimosa, clearly weighing his words, "This... depends wholly on the character of the date. I'm open minded and I like to try at everything from the buffet before I settle on a certain dish. But if I were to choose here between trapping and being trapped, I would go with the latter."

Nanami Kento

Holding your breath, you untuck the offered bundle. It's a little shell, one of many you saw around, both on the beach and stalls with souvenirs—but its color is unique. It's probably painted over or otherwise embellished but you have to give it to the anonymous artist (who also threaded it with a thin leather thong): they knew how to keep the appropriate balance between their vision and the natural look.

"I found it on a local market the other day." The way Kento glances at you is somewhat shy. Head slightly lowered, he observes you over his glasses, his eyes big, almost doe. "The color reminded me of you. But please, don't feel inclined to accept it."

You decide to keep the bribe. He helps you to tie the bracelet around your wrist—but more than on the new accessory you're focused on his moves. His hands are big, warm and very gentle. He clearly pays attention to not touching you more than necessary but also doesn't shy away when you're catching an additional contact on purpose. It pushes your thoughts into an interesting direction. Would he be as gentle and overly respectful if you agreed for being touched in a less innocent place? How would he act if you initiated something bolder? How would this pleasant and soothing touch against your shoulders, middle, hips?

You're looking for a thread of communication in his eyes when his fingers brush your wrist for the last time—but he averts them and leans back to his side of the table, to the comfortable and appropriate distance.

So, it's still too early for him.

At least the mood doesn't have time to falter; soon your drinks arrive, and they swallow all of the attention. Sweet and decadent, served in hollowed-out pineapples, they please the eye and the camera. You take photos almost at the same time and the thread of communication returns with a shared smile. From word to word, you end up in his gallery, filled to the brim with food and drink pics.

"Is that your friend?" You point at the first person you spot in the roll: a wide-smiling man, posing with the biggest loaf of bread you've ever seen. "The one from the bakery?"

Maybe it's alcohol, maybe it's a perfect choice of topic, but it's like a breaking dam with the way Kento's tongue untangles. Right now, in the bar, under the slowly fading light of the sunset, you learn more about him than through all the hours you spent on texting. You learn about his previous disappointing job. About said friend dragging him out of his lonely life (lonely part not said outright but it's not hard to read between the words). About the first proper vacation he's had since highschool and how badly he refused to go just to love every single moment of his first proper leisure time now.

"Am I your first too?" Having the comment about Tinder at the back of your head, is not hard to draw this conclusion.

"No." Kento's answer is as concrete as always, no shade of embarrassment or hesitation hidden behind the words. "But first in a very long time. I haven't had any dates or casual sexual contact since college."

Ryomen Sukuna

He stayed true to his words however the promised entertainment had less to do with the exhibition and more with his...overwhelming presence.

And it's not because Sukuna is a bad guide. Quite contrary: he must have prepared himself for this with the amount of detailed information he bandies around as he walks you through the gallery. Yet again he leaves you with an impression of a very well-educated person, in addition used to working with speech. If your assumption is wrong and he simply is natural: you can only envy such talent.

No, he's excellent in his role. He's just too distracting.

He keeps close, right on the edge of being a little inappropriate for this stage of a date and your "situationship" and being in public. But he doesn't cross it, just teases and tests your reactions. It's leaning close and over to speak closer to your ear, voice lowered down with courtesy, it's touch brushing against your shoulders, middle, the small of your back, it's the soft vibration behind his words that resonates with the right strings of your body. You wouldn't categorize it as straight up sexual flirting—but he's definitely building a steady ground for it, to strike as soon as you open yourself to it.

You would love to, if only out of curiosity, how far he can go in an art gallery of all places. But it's just more fun to be the prey who requires a meticulous hunt. It might be a weird strategy after the shameless exchange in the chat and very bold pictures you shared but you're both so into it. It would be such a pity to lose all of this thrill for the sake of any easy and fast route.

Sukuna greatly appreciates your attempt to pass as hard to get, seemingly not paying attention to your weak knees and silent gasps you let out when he finds—and remembers—a good spot to touch. He tightens the screws slowly but with precision, bringing you up right to the boiling point but not letting you burst. He's tending to you as if he was a chocolatier tending to his signature exquisite dessert. One that he plans to devour in private.

By the time you're finished with the exhibition and heading for lunch you're not sure if you're hungry for food or something...different.

Following his recommendation, you settle on simple and classic pasta and wine. Light and tasty—perfect to sate the needs for now but leave enough space for another meal later. He doesn't say it outright but it's clear he's predicting the day together will last longer than a meeting for art and lunch.

"Will I finally learn the secret?" You muse over your glass. The wine is not enough to mess your thoughts, but it does loosen your tongue after the teasing tortures you went through.

"The secret?" Sukuna leans against the back of his chair, content with the meal and your presence. He eyes you with a curiosity of a predator assessing if the prey is worth the attack. "There's plenty and a few darker ones. I don't mind sharing, I'll allow one question for now, though."

You meant his profession but now your attention takes a sharp turn. You ask for a darker one.

"Whether it counts as dark depends on your approach to BDSM—" The corners of his lips budge but he doesn't smile openly. "—but I used to be in the community. As a dominant."

Kusakabe Atsuya

Somehow, you end up at his place.

The desserts were exquisite, and the ice cream parlor was an endearing place to be, but it got significantly colder once the storm passed and goosebumps spilled all over Atsuya's arms, indicating he desperately needed a change of fresh and dry clothes. He kept wiggling out of your suggestions and insisted to withstand everything till the end of date, but you set up your mind. You didn't want to get him sick (and possibly ruin the rest of your plans for him).

After a chain of backs and forths, he sheepishly invited you over and led you to his car. 

He lives nearby, in the area blending between the suburbs of the town and the countryside, in a big, older house with a huge garden. You're looking around curiously; the place is tidy but undeniably inhabited with the natural disarray breaking here and there, toys thrown all over the corridor and the living room where you're eventually seated, and family photos on the walls and almost every flat surface of the furniture.

"I know what it looks like." Atsuya sighs once he spots you staring straight at the composition over the fireplace. All photos displayed there are of a woman and a child, in a hard to assess age somewhere at the early stage of elementary school. "That's my sister. And my nephew."

Indeed, when you take a closer look, you can spot a strong family resemblance between her and your date. If Atsuya was a woman and smiled as much as she does in every single picture taken, they could convincingly pass as twins. Some of the resemblance passed on the little boy too as he took lots after his mother.

You can't help but wonder how many times Atsuya must have been taken as his father. The divorced dad energy and desperation to not look like one finally finds their explanation.

Atsuya serves you coffee from the machine and cookies, then excuses himself to get changed. You use your extra alone time to run an investigation over the place, nothing too nosy, just a quick scan at things offered on display to any visitor. Some of your pressing questions find their answers—and a few new ones appear, especially in regard to cups and medals in a display cabinet and photos of him with various kids in uniforms you can't pinpoint to any particular sport but associate with Japanese martial arts.

"Ah, those?" You ask him as soon as he's back and he leans over your shoulder to see better what you're pointing at. "I'm a kendo instructor. And those are the fledglings I gathered over the years."

He smiles fondly at the picture you paid special attention to: him posing with a cheerful teenage girl with characteristic, blue-dyed hair.

"You're such a family man without even having one." You tease, curious about his reaction.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He grumbles, running fingers through the hair at the back of his head. "I keep picking up kids but with my luck in dating I don't think I'll ever see one that's truly mine."

"Hey, it can't be that bad, right?"

He gives you a look that's somewhere between tired, embarrassed and 'is it really a topic for a Tinder date?', "Let's say I haven't had a partner for a while now. But I'm not running rusty."

Choso

With adrenaline and excitement running through your veins after the concert you easily overpower poor shy Choso. He seems to be thankful you took the initiative; he's focused on listening, nodding and answering sporadic questions as his body and speech gradually relaxes. His confidence from the scene doesn't return though. He doesn't act like a spooked doe after a while but the submissive and introverted vibe to him doesn't ease even after he's refreshed himself and reapplied the makeup. He clearly is one of those artists who put a strict distinction between the scene and normal life. Even if keeping the scene persona would be beneficial for him.

Choso doesn't make a big mystery out of the fact he's not the most popular guy around. He's aware of his shyness and rather busy life, even admits his profile was made by one of his brothers. He wouldn't find courage on his own—and wouldn't even know what to put in it to make himself presentable.

"I don't know how to talk to others," he says more quietly than usual, his words slurred by the mouth of the bottle he keeps close to his lips. "I either make an idiot out of myself or I scare them off."

Yet, he maintains conversation with you. The shared enthusiasm about the concert is a huge help but he also perks his ears up when you show interest in his family. Your head spins a little when he starts throwing names and photos (he has more of them than money in his wallet), but he doesn't falter when given the initiative and manages to keep your interest. It's endearing how he cares about his big family and how protective he is of them, especially of the youngest of the gang, the one dreaming of college and involuntary (and unknowingly) making Choso work his heart and soul out to earn money for it. There's no doubt he would give away everything to make their lives better. Truly the role model for the oldest son of the family...

"What about you, though?" You nudge once he finally leaves you some space to speak.

He takes a longer break to think over his words, staring into the distance with a look painfully in between longing and emptiness, "They keep telling me this too, you know? Especially Kechizu and Yuji. That I should stop babying them and think about my own life instead."

There's another episode of silence but before you take the reins back, he decides on another addition, "Maybe I scare others off because I am too overprotective of people I care about. It's just a guess, I have never gone any further than the beginning of attachment. Once it starts, they disappear."

You don't know what to say. You would pull him into a comforting hug if not for the concern and respect for his reserved nature. You have no idea how he would react to a spontaneous cut of the distance—and the last thing you want now is to make him feel worse.

"You haven't dated anyone before?" You risk instead.

"I haven't even met anyone from Tinder face to face." He admits and smiles at you. "You're the first. Thank you for this opportunity."

Geto Suguru

How is this man a self-defense instructor instead of a voice actor or a preacher—you have no idea. Unless his trick to break his opponents is talking to them softly before he proceeds slamming them on the ground, that you could believe without hesitation. Suguru's voice is made of wind chimes, rustle of old paper and humming of calm waves. He speaks and you're entranced, thirsty for more even before he finishes a sentence. No wonder you let him take over the conversation. You wouldn't even mind, if he didn't take breaks for your turns.

When you eventually point out the contrast between his profession and presence, he laughs (oh, what a beautiful laughter he has...), "I haven't said that I've never worked in a different field. I do gigs rather than staying at one place. Currently it's only self-defense but I did audio dramas, radio, acting, fitness, bondage classes—"

You almost choke on your coffee, "Pardon?"

His smile now reminds you of the face of a curious cat. Maybe it's only your imagination but you could swear his pupils have dilated a little as he leans forwards, cutting the distance between the two of you—for only a few inches but enough to have you squirming in your seat, "I had my little step into kink. Not as a work, with the little exception of those classes, but it used to be a significant part of my life at that time."

You can't say you're surprised, given the effortlessly dominant aura he's had to him all this time, but you're still a little disconcerted. You haven't expected such a confession during a casual date with a goal of assessing each other before the matters take a more direct route. And in such a calm cafe on top of that! Your intuition has convinced you there's going to be at least one more date, in a more... intimate place.

But maybe you're overthinking. Maybe he mentioned bondage and kink without any particular horny intentions for now. Maybe it's just his voice that made it sound so...sultry.

"You got quite shy." Suguru tilts head to the side, his gaze piercing you inside out. "You've been braver online. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

You shake your head over your salad. No, you're not uncomfortable. Nor shy, "Is it bothering you?"

"Not at all. It has a certain charm to it." His smile sends shivers down your spine and has your hand trembling together with the fork you're holding. "I like shy people. Or when they are acting shy. Breaking those confident into shyness is such a fun thing to do, too."

Something tells you he's done it many times before. Hell, you're sure you've just become a subject of a play of this kind, whether you like it or not.

"You said... That it used to be a significant part of your life." Despite everything you decide to follow this direction. "You lost interest?"

"Not... quite." For the first time his domination falters—but he's quick and smooth to cover it. "I had a break in dating in general due to...certain life circumstances. But now, once I'm back, I'm not opposed to returning to my favorite roots."

[voonroo]

Twisted Wonderland Mafia AU Introduction

⌐‣TWST MAFIA AU

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This could 100% be expanded on if I actually ever get back into TWST. I'm working on clearing out some old works deep in the depths of my Google Docs and Notes app because I feel kinda bad for disappearing suddenly😋 This is actually from late 2022... Thanks to @justcallmecj for encouraging me to post this again.

The Night Raven District is a district full of criminal groups who will do anything to keep their city to themselves.

There’s the RSA District, which has, for years, been trying to reclaim property from the Night Raven District. No one knows what RSA stands for. However, it is thought to stand for the phrase Recover, Seize, Adjust, as it is the group's job to salvage stolen districts and cities from the unruly.

The Mafia Groups

Heartslabyul

A group of gamblers whose intent is to teach others self-restraint. Most often you will find anyone apart of Heartslabyul at night, or in a casino. There is always a member of Heartslabyul in the city's most popular places for a quick gamble.

A considerably notable pattern to identify one of these members is if they have the symbol of a heart, spade, diamond, or clover painted under or on the eye. The explanation for why it’s so easy to find them is that they don't hide, they aren’t doing anything illegal so they see no need to. Or at least the majority of them. It is effortless to become a part of this clique if you can withstand the harsh rules that come with it.

Savanaclaw

This pack is full of fighters. Svanaclaw does the most around the city pertaining to almost anything physical. Is someone getting a little too close to the district? They’re the first to do something about it. Most will jump at any opportunity to turn something into a challenge.

Numerous people in the group have fought for something or someone. Most likely being unsuccessful, but don’t speak of it. Or else you might be on the news the next morning, for these people aren’t known for their steady temper. To be a part of this club, you have to be physically strong and have vigorous will.

Octavinelle

Largely Octavinelle members are by the coast dealing with outsiders who don’t know any better. Those that aren’t? They oversee a lot of legal issues. Such as digging up dirt on others and using it for their own advantage. They're good with their words, many of which can get just about anyone under their thumb.

The captain of Octavinelle owns a pub near the docks. Though, he is pretty well known to be your typical everyday businessman. These people aren’t always the strongest, nonetheless, don’t get too comfortable. You never know when they’ll make you walk the plank and feed you to the sharks.

Scarabia

This party is one of the lesser-known groups. They are often found in the city shops during the day. You wouldn’t be any the wiser. Because the group is the smallest compared to the others, it’s hard to identify hardly anybody that’s part of the Scarabian folk. They’re onlookers.

It’s said they “help” the other mobs with some inside information. No one knows where they get said information, it is said that there is a particular person that can with just a few words. The leader of the Scarabia team is very in-depth with the local trades, they're able to get anything for a good price.

Pomefiore

Another community that isn’t well known. It’s difficult to get into the prestigious group of Pomefiore. You must be hand-picked by the crown of this cluster. This group is the most out and about in public. You secretly see the members every day.

Evidently, they are remarkably nice to look at and often speak with higher-ups. The director of this group is never seen without other group members especially if they’re ones that he himself, needs to whip into shape. They’re also good at covering their tracks and hunting others down.

Ignihyde

Ignihyde is the least-known group out of the big seven. These people work behind the scenes, in the backgrounds. Either covering up news stories or scrolling the dark web for more stockpiles. It is said that the supervisor of Ignihyde was the cause of a nasty computer virus, putting thousands of electronics out of service.

There is still no known fix to this virus. Or maybe there is, you just have to pay a hefty price. Only those of the best technicians or engineers are even considered to be given a role in this organization.

Diasomania

The most powerful body of the Night Raven District. You’d have to really fuck up to catch even a glimpse of someone from this group.

The boss of this body is fairly notorious. This troop has the strongest defense against just roughly anyone. If there’s ever a fight with Diasomnia in it, they will come out on top. For years this group has kept RSA at bay. No recent members have entered Diasomnia for years, the only way to get in is to have caught the eyes of a certain individual.

Word Count: 803

A/N: BSD MANGA SPOILERS I've raised from the dead like Fyodor in the latest bsd chapter

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/1/2024

come getcher BOY in HOUSTON TX limited time DEAL he will be going to the shelter where they hopefully have more resources to place FIV+ cats on FRIDAY!!! he has gotten so sleek and healthy looking after only a month of unlimited kibble he will be SUCH a nice silly companion for someone but unfortunately that someone is not me

^worried about the air purifier turning on

listening

OWW. feat BUBBLE by Halo Boy is fun bc it’s fun to yell “gimme love bites like OWW!” brain empty just songs that are fun to blast in the car. not quite a candidate for the “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)” playlist but certainly worthy of inclusion on the “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (NOT GAY)” playlist

-

reading

i have a lot of uncomplimentary thoughts about frank lloyd wright. part of them revolve around the fact that buildings are really not meant to last forever, especially experimental buildings made with experimental materials. i am furious, however, that a cryptocurrency grifter couple bought his only skyscraper for $10 to "save it from bankruptcy" from a tiny nonprofit, seem to be hacking it up to sell the furnishings in pieces, and have put the building up for commercial sale on a site mostly used for fast food franchises and strip malls. the building, like many frank lloyd wright buildings, is in pretty rough shape. i've seen some walkthroughs and video tours and there's a ton of water damage and then extra water damage from oklahoma winter ice. i do not know if the building as a whole is reasonably salvageable without tens of millions put into it and a new foundation put in place to take care of it.

Liz Waytkus, the executive director of Docomomo US, an organization that works to preserve modern architecture, said it strongly opposes any sale of the Wright materials. “They’re trafficked goods,” Waytkus said. “The same that you would say of pottery or vases from Egypt or Mesopotamia that were obtained through illegal ways, these pieces from Frank Lloyd Wright should be thought of in the same exact way.”

i think the above quote is a little dramatic. what the crypto couple are doing is more in bad taste than anything, bc they do own the building. in my heart of hearts, i do think pieces and fixtures designed specifically for a site should stay with the site as long as reasonably possible. they're not going to look or function quite the same anywhere else. this is the unfortunate reality of getting a superstar architect to design The Whole Site and not just the building, you're kind of (in good taste and not legally) obligated to continue to preserve The Whole Site and not just the building.

another in the "not technically illegal but in bad taste" file, for both sides imo but i do think the misbehavior is greater on one side. idk if matt is like Unwell, or if he has tech founder brain and it's simply been more visible lately. oh my god i looked up how old he was (40) and he is local to me. ive probably seen him patio dining somewhere or walked past him at the rodeo and simply haven't noticed

But in a dispute that’s meant to clarify what is and isn’t WordPress, Mullenweg risks blurring the lines even more. WordPress.org and WordPress.com both have a point — but it looks an awful lot like they’re working together to make it.

-

watching

kind of a light week? i don’t have anything particularly interesting to say about any of these.

i did not plan this bc i was kidnapped last minute by my bestie to see Howl’s Moving Castle in theaters, which was a very fun movie to see on the big screen. i have not seen a movie in theaters since Birds of Prey in early 2020, kind of scary to be inside a theater again! wish covid had not so thoroughly broken my health and confidence and i also wish covid was Over over instead of a constantly rolling crisis!!

-

playing

i am going to preface this section with two facts: 1) i have been playing genshin impact since version 1.0, before the second major region in the game came out and 2) i have been unemployed since january and have spent more hours per day playing this game than really anyone should in the past couple months.

ive set a bunch of very silly goals for myself bc genshin impact is largely a game about making your own fun within the grindy gacha framework and i have hit two and a half of them. you can "ascend" a character six different times to up stats by a decent percentage, and i have now ascended all 64 characters the maximum 6 times. the last one was heizou bc 1) fuck a cop and 2) fuck the machine boss in the chasm for his mats. why did THREE characters need these mats. wretched.

my next goal is to get all my characters to friendship level 10. you can increase this mostly by spending the in-game renewable resource "resin". getting your characters to friendship level 10 has no in-game benefits but does give you a fun little namecard for ur profile. i have been prioritizing my five-star characters and then going through the nations' characters in order. ive been done with the mondstadt kids for a while, i just maxed out my last five-star (dehya) today. as u can see by this list sorted by friendship level, i have five liyue characters and two inazuma characters left and just buckets and oodles of sumeru and fontaine characters.

i haven't really done much with the newest natlan character, kachina, bc i do not enjoy playing as the small children characters. there are so many tall hot ladies in this game. speaking of, the next character i will be pulling for is this tall drink of water

i have also caught one of every catachable animal! this one was very irritating bc u can only buy five nets a week. finding this one specific lizard was also very irritating. none of the point in the desert the official game map assured me were spawn points were actually spawning for some reason. had to go to several underwater caves and cross my fingers

-

making

fallow week

[twilightkitkat]

You mentioned an alien AU and so I must ask you about humans are space orc's because I've also considered doing an AU of that for Deadclaws

I think it'd be really interesting to consider space/dimensional travel poolverine.

I feel like Logan and Wade would end up wanted intergalacticically. It'd be an interesting storyline if one of them was on the run from the space cops and the other got dragged along.

I could see that with Wade, it'd be because he was trying to protect his family and got caught up in some shit. Logan would be the mysterious criminal whose crimes we only find out later (mass murder and/or framed) and Wade was trying to do some illegal shit anyway so dragged him along.

Actually, a funny idea would be that they both meet in jail on some planet. Logan had been thrown in there and was the "tough prisoner" who'd beaten up the others (aliens included). Wade got thrown in there recently and saw him and decided to take his own advice and "befriend the biggest guy there." Who also happened to be his cell mate (who was unfortunately in solitary confinement when he first arrived).

Wade ends up helping Logan escape to Logan's complete and utter disbelief and they hijack a spacecraft and fly away. Wade is cackling as he nearly crashes the damn thing and Logan is clinging to his seat for dear life.

They end up on the run across planets and wind up trying to investigate the people who messed with Wade's family who end up being part of this intergalactic terrorist organization. They also end up getting stranded on odd alien planets along the way with weird survival conditions... Yuck.

Eventually, they end up acquiring A Crew which consists of Wade's movie canonical friends and Laura, who's basically their daughter. They wind up making a base on some planet away from everyone for some peace and spend their days traveling through space and taking on stray missions...

But there's a twist.

"Worst Wolverine" isn't the original Logan. He's an alien. A shapeless parasite who wandered from person to person for over 200 years and became practically immortal when he possessed a body because he strengthened their healing and regeneration. Who took over the original Logan's body after he died (or well, his brain shut down but his body was salvageable). He'd gotten the original Logan's memories and emotions after possessing him, all except for one traumatic day. The day the X-men died.

He'd taken him over after Logan had been brutally murdered by a gang of aliens who'd put an ability-restricting collar on him. He felt all of Logan's emotions and guilt and because of the fragments he thought he was the one who murdered them. So he let himself be captured and rot in jail as atonement. Until Wade came along and convinced him that life was worth living.

(Until he realized that he hadn't killed them. He'd gone berserk trying to protect them. It finally clicks in place when he confronts the organization that had taken Wade's family and they recognize him.)

[boringa55binch]

ok one last post before i go mimir but im actually going so insane bc of I Found You (i have. listened to it more than a dozen times already)

security breach AU where the ending is the one from the video, cut to a year later and Gregory goes back to the Pizzaplex with an entire game plan to get Freddy working again (ya boy did some digging using library computers, non-zero chance there was illegal hacking done to access certain Fazbear Ent. files)

he and cassie also get back in touch during that time and he tells her abt his plan, cassie's like "so you're going back to that hellhole where u said u almost died MULTIPLE times. you are not going there alone" BAM they end up going there together and maybe manage to salvage more than just Freddy

CAN YOU TELL I'M LOSING IT

[presidentofthelipglossclub]

rescue bots incorrect quotes teehee

Optimus: Please explain what upsexy is!

Blades: Could you rephrase that in like, two words maybe?

Boulder, wiping tears from his eyes: If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, it's meant to be...

Heatwave: I'm literally just going to the store.

Chase: Jail is no fun. I'll tell you that much.

Bumblebee: Oh, you've been?

Chase: Once. In Monopoly.

Heatwave: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany!

Heatwave, earlier: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

Quickshadow: Happy Throwback Thursday! Here's a throwback to when Blurr ate an entire tube of lipstick.

Blurr, whining: But why would it be cherry flavored if you can't eat it!?

Boulder: Anybody got any crayons so I can color in my Ph.D?

Optimus: Is there something you would like to say, Hightide?

Hightide: Oh there are SEVERAL things I would like to say.

Heatwave, texting Chase: Any plans for tonight?

Chase: No.

Heatwave: Loser.

Boulder: Help! I'm drowning!

Optimus: Calm down. We're only in six feet of water!

Boulder: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Blades, to Blurr: Are you peanuts? Because I want to boil you alive.

Heatwave: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Optimus: You're too young to have enemies.

Heatwave: You don't even know.

*Out grocery shopping*

Chase: *Takes a free sample twice*

Chase: Robbery and Fraud. I am a Rebel.

Salvage, texting: Hi, who's this? Blades changed all of my contacts to mythical creatures.

Blurr: What's mine?

Salvage: Dwarf.

Blurr: HE'S SO MEAN, I'M NOT THAT SHORT!

Salvage: Oh hey Blurr.

Blurr: FUCK!

Blades: I eat cheerios because they're heart healthy!

Blades: And my heart has been severely damaged. So Bumblebee if you're out there--

Blurr: I was just diagnosed with deez.

Heatwave: Good, I hope it's lethal.

Optimus: Do you cook?

Chase: I made a cake once.

Heatwave: Yeah, it was good.

Chase: Really?

Heatwave: Don't make me lie twice, Chase.

Bumblebee: ...This is one of those moments where it doesn't really matter what I have to say, isn't it?

*The rescue bots all nod unanimously*

Blades: Boulder, you look deep in thought. What's wrong?

Boulder: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it's like to lick it? Even if you've never touched it before?

Blades: I'm never asking you anything ever again.

Quickshadow: Who would you swipe right for? Blurr or Salvage?

Hightide: I would delete the app.

Heatwave: We're about to do the taser challenge. You want in?

Chase: What's the taser challenge?

Blades: We tase each other, then drink.

Chase: How do you win?

Heatwave: What are you, a lawyer? You want in or not?

Optimus: We will discuss this later.

Hightide: Fine, I won't be listening.

Boulder: What, I can't be in a bad mood? It's like people think "Oh, Boulder is such a nice person, Boulder is so happy-go-lucky! Boulder can't be in a bad mood!" Well, you know what? Boulder CAN be in a bad mood. And right now, Boulder IS be in a bad mood.

Heatwave: Thanks for not telling Optimus what happened.

Bumblebee, dumbfounded: I wouldn't even know where to begin trying to explain this.

Chase: Blades, you need to react when people cry.

Blades: I did. I rolled my eyes.

Quickshadow: If I make you breakfast in bed, a simple "thank you" is all I need.

Quickshadow: Not all this "how did you get into my house" business.

Blades, texting: Hey.

Chase: Hey?

Blades: I can't sleep. :/

Chase: I can. Goodnight.

Heatwave: Die.

Boulder: Please don't die!

Heatwave: DIE!

Boulder: PLEASE DON'T DIE!

Blades, confused: Why are they yelling at a plant?

Chase, watching while eating popcorn: They bought it together and Boulder wants Heatwave to accept it as their child.

Quickshadow: Can you keep a secret?

Hightide: Do you know anything about my life?

Quickshadow: No, I don't. Good point.

Boulder: Don't quote me on this, but I believe murder is illegal!

Chase, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll just drink my sorrows away.

Blades: Be right back, gonna hit the toilet for a quick power sob.

Heatwave: And I'd love to be sorry for that, but we all know I've done much, much worse.

i'll probably reblog this with more later. maybe those will include the humans as well (don't get your hopes up).