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theperfectawful · 5 months

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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.

#blind item #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x reader #putting this out into the world and definitely also shitting bricks

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dearharriet · 7 months

Text

So It Goes; Sirius B. 🐇

summary: being sirius black’s illusionist might not require being cut in half, but he finds other ways to challenge you.

word count: ~2K

warnings: pg-13 sexual content, fem!r, illusionist!r, magician!sirius, possessive!sirius, original character (for the plot), blindfold (non-sexual), groping, foreplay

note: i named the oc in this after leon kennedy because i had just watched that video of ethel cain talking abt him so it was the freshest name in my mind. also psa i am not a swiftie i just listen to her music :0

The audience is the third member of every scene. That’s any performer’s rule of thumb. What the watcher feels, where they’ve been, who they are—all of it precedes any preparation you do for a performance, no matter how important it feels.

You like to attribute the feeling to destruction. The crowd takes hard work and taints it with their emotions, taunting you. It’s unbearable.

When you shared that notion with Sirius—loitering backstage before a show—he snickered about it for days on end.

Sirius, in true chaotic fashion, loves the unpredictability of an audience. He’s always been partial to voyeurs—in and out of professional settings—and he likes to be surprised.

What’s worse is that he likes to surprise you.

“Ladies and Gents,” Sirius projects out into the darkness. The double-tiered theater is one of the bigger venues you’ve performed at, seating just shy of three hundred people.

Sirius is perfectly at ease, strolling leisurely across the stage in a tuxedo, the silver image of a charming magician.

“For our next feat, my illusionist and I will need a volunteer.”

Your head snaps toward Sirius—stage smile falling ever so slightly. He’s already looking your way, smug and colored with mischief. He’s improvising.

Reinstating your smile to its full magnitude, you turn it back to the dark theater, watching hands shoot up from every seat. In your peripheral, Sirius retreats upstage, signaling for you to make your selection.

You play up a show of indecisiveness, tapping a manicured nail to your chin. “Hmm. Well, we need someone strong. We wouldn’t want to send anybody to the hospital tonight.”

A few hands drop then, slimming your options down a bit. Good. Eyeing the rows of people, you suddenly find an opportunity to get Sirius back.

“I think I like our friend here in the front,” you drawl, batting your lashes and pointing delicately. “In the suit.”

The man in question raises his brows, looking to his left and right. He’s young and decently handsome, nothing like Sirius, but just good-looking enough to poke the bear. His hand hadn’t been raised, but if Sirius won’t play by the rules then neither will you.

You hum sensually, beckoning him up with a curled finger, which he follows. You’ve been told you have a presence like a viper onstage, like you’re constantly poised for a fatal strike, and you consider that this might motivate people to obey you.

As the well-dressed man steps gingerly off of the top step, you meet him with a hand around his tie, coaxing him further under the intense lights; Sirius does this often when he calls pretty girls onstage, maneuvering them around by the smalls of their backs just to piss you off. Some nights the crowd laughs at their flushed cheeks, other nights they swoon. The group tonight is dead silent, pinned under a mountain of anticipation.

You envy them, considering you know no more about what will happen next than they do. They get to be silent, but for you, the show must go on.

Arriving center stage, you meet Sirius with an unhappy sidelong glance. Your victim sways awkwardly where you’ve parked him.

“Don’t worry, handsome.” You pat his lapel. “Sirius will tell you what we need from you.”

The man laughs nervously, provoking a scatter of teasing giggles from the audience.

You and Sirius trade sides then, circling behind the man like hungry wolves. As he passes you, Sirius slips a silky belt of fabric into your hand, a challenging eyebrow raised.

“Right, sir. What’s your name?”

“Er, Leon,” says the volunteer, his voice shy.

“Leon, everybody!” Sirius booms, throwing his and Leon’s arms open for applause. The crowd whistles their approval. Leon’s face blooms red like the flower in Sirius’ coat pocket, and worse when you step into his space with the blindfold.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius settles the crowd. “My darling assistant has something for you, Leon.”

Quirking a brow, you take your supposed queue, lifting the cloth to his eye level.

“Don’t be scared,” you murmur, just loud enough so that only the three of you on stage can hear. Leon releases a tense breath, holding your gaze.

Watching from beside you, Sirius’ lips pull into a petty smirk.

“Darling, don’t tease him. Let him put the blindfold on you.”

He says it like it’s obvious, as if there’s a clear protocol for the trick that he’s pulling from thin air. The audience is easily fooled by his cool confidence, but your cheeks still flush in embarrassment under your stage makeup.

Leon deflates—counting his blessings, you’re sure. Being unexpectedly blinded in a dark room full of people isn’t exactly calming. Reluctantly, you pile the dark fabric into his palm and turn around, accepting your twisted fate.

“Make sure it’s nice and tight, Leo,” Sirius orders as your eyes are covered. “We can’t have her cheating.”

You huff at that. There’s an entire choreographed illusion being discarded purely for Sirius’ amusement—if anyone’s cheating, it’s him.

Once the blindfold is securely fastened over your eyes, Sirius sets out to assemble the rest of the trick, which includes leading Leon upstage.

“We’ll leave our illusionist up here for a moment,” announces Sirius before he goes. “She’s pretty enough to keep you all entertained.”

Something about his words lights a match in your belly, made all the worse by your impaired vision. Without a means of looking back at the snickering audience, you’re little more than a statue to be gaped at.

Luckily, Sirius is a jealous man, so he doesn’t leave you squirming under their watchful eyes for long. As he takes your waist in a theatrical lead, he whispers silkily into your ear.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, eh?” A shiver creeps down your spine, and you almost trip in your heels. Sirius’ hot breath oozes over you, the hair on the back of your neck picking up. “Let’s hope your aim is as good without your eyes.”

As you ponder whatever that might mean, Sirius disappears, and then returns moments later. Whatever he brings back has the crowd gasping, scandalized or awestruck. It’s all you can do to hope it’s not a live animal.

“Folks,” he begins, and by the sound of it he’s center stage again, keeping the show rolling. “Our next act needs no introduction.”

Sirius comes to you, pressing something cool and heavy into your hands. It only takes you a few seconds to identify it as a bow, and you can’t tamp down your resulting outburst.

“Are you mental?” you hiss at Sirius as he folds an arrow into your free hand. He laughs, mocking your panic. Big hands grip your waist, manhandling you into a proper position, and you're nearly beyond performing, ready to shout at the delighted audience that this is really very scary and they should go home immediately.

Sirius leans in, pressing his chest close to your back, his upstage hand kneading secretly at your hip.

“Leon, are you ready over there?”

Far away, you hear Leon choke nervously. “Er, as I’ll ever be.”

The crowd chitters.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” The smile is audible in Sirius’ voice. He’s getting a kick out of this.

“Of taking an arrow to the head? Yeah.”

Sirius grips your waist tight, feeling over the fabric of your costume bodice, but his voice is opposingly saccharine.

“My girl’s got great aim. She’d never hit you anywhere fatal.”

As the crowd guffaws at Sirius’ dark humor, you bite your lip, figuring there’s no more preamble to delay the inevitable. You notch the arrow into the bowstring and draw.

Barely breathing, you don’t realize that Sirius has left your side until his words register from somewhere else, between you and Leon. You try to listen to what he’s saying, but it’s near impossible to hear over the blood pulsing in your ears.

An arrow-in-the-apple trick isn’t beyond your and Sirius’ skill level, but it is a skill. One that you only know how to do with Sirius, and you’re frantically trying to correct your posture to the height difference Leon has.

“Can I get a countdown from the audience?”

The audience counts ten aching seconds in unison, dread pooling in your gut as they inch closer to one.

By the time they reach the final number you’re shaking, but you loose the arrow without a second thought. It whizzes by your clothed eyes, and a second later thumps into something hollow.

You can hardly breathe, hardly think, putting all your energy into keeping a grip on the hefty bow in your hands.

In the theater, an eruption of cheers commences, and you untie the blindfold as artfully as you can with shaking fingers. The stage lights hit your eyes harshly, leaving the audience a cacophonous void, but you’re more invested in the fate of Leon.

Squinting at the other side of the stage, you don’t find Leon at all, but Sirius standing perfectly still under an arrow-pierced apple. It barely cleared his head.

As your eyes adjust, you find Leon safe and sound in his front row seat, smiling guiltily up at you.

“I could have killed him.”

The dressing room vanity digs into your ass as Sirius presses you up against it, licking down your neck.

“So?” he replies flippantly, fingering the top of your stockings.

“So?” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yeah, so what? Who cares?”

You grind your teeth to halt your immediate response. He’s baiting you, tricking you into some kind of admission that could feed his jealous instincts.

“I’m not super fond of becoming Mistress Manslaughter,” you joke dryly.

Sirius scoffs into your throat, sucking harshly at a spot below your ear.

“Yeah, right. Like I’d let you do that trick with anyone but me.” He palms your tits to punctuate his statement.

You moan, holding each end of his undone bow tie like a lifeline. His sleek black hair smells ever so slightly of apple, citrusy and sweet.

“Why bring him up at all, then?” you ask. “Why bother?”

Sirius lifts his head, panting.

“Cause, babe. I love a twist ending.” He winks garishly, prompting an eye roll from you. You prepare to return his attitude, but Sirius interrupts you. “I’m through talking about—” a slovenly kiss to your jaw,“—what’s-his-face.”

“Leon.”

Sirius bumps you up onto the vanity surface, pushing his hands up your skirt. His mouth and neck are covered in your red lipstick, his eyes dilated.

“How about you stop saying his name, and start saying mine?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you gently push at Sirius’ shoulders. His breath catches—so subtly you almost miss it, but nevertheless—as he kneels willingly before you.

“How about you give me a reason, and I’ll think about it,” you retort.

Achingly slow, Sirius starts to peel the fabric of your underwear off of your hips. You rest back onto the mirror, slotting a hand into his tousled hair. His mouth bites teasingly at your stockings where his fingers just were, but you know they’ll stay on. He likes them too much to remove them.

As your underwear hits the floor, Sirius slides you to the edge of the table, pinning you under his heated gaze.

“I think I can give you more than one.”

thank you for reading! 🏹

masterlist

#sirius black #marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius orion black #magician!sirius #so it goes #songfic #sirius black songfic

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 3 months

Text

In My Arms

First posted: September 22, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake

Favorite bookmark: “This is so soft and sweet I'm cryinf"

Second favorite bookmark: "This one makes me feel very fragile. Christ."

Tier: In my top 10 across all metrics

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

This started as a birthday gift for @audreycritter and was, I will admit, extremely targeted, as it was inspired by a song I knew she knew and was also baby-related. My gifts are blessings and also weapons.

As I mention in the notes, the title comes from this song.

Find the time traveler. Fix the timeline. Go home. Maybe not an easy set of to-dos, but a simple set nonetheless. A complete set. Nowhere was there listed an option to join a gathering of Gotham’s elite.

In my usual way, I only give a vague handwave to the inciting incident for this fic in the fic itself. There's a time traveler. They're up to something nefarious. Bruce has to go stop the plot, whatever it is. Don't know, don't care.

It's not important. All I needed was a strawman of a reason to send Bruce back in time and—and this is important—to note that what he needed to do was resolved before the fic even started. No matter the temptation, Bruce is not going to peel off an uncompleted mission.

Technically, it was a fundraiser. Technically, he was invited. Un-technically, he was breaking every rule he had ever created just by stepping foot in the building. ... Technically—he was back to this again—Bruce reasoned that he wasn’t in the party but several corridors away.

I am emperor of technicalities when needed. A meticulous understanding of and undermining of a set of rules is so helpful when wriggling one's way to a goal. Of course Bruce would be the same way. And I do love that this is the one time where he uses his cunning for selfish means.

A girl no older than sixteen stood in the center of the nursery. She paced back and forth, bouncing slightly on her toes as she went. The child in her arms was not mollified, and even from his position in the doorway, Bruce could read the mounting stress on the girl’s face.

Crying babies are such a stressful thing if you're not one of those people with the magic touch. I am not. This is why I prefer preschoolers. Also, speech is so helpful. And potty training.

I am not a baby person, if you cannot tell.

Bruce Thomas, you idiot.

If you're not full-naming yourself, are you even really in trouble? I genuinely think Bruce spends as much of his time exasperated as himself as everyone else does.

Bruce had very little of his children from before they had come into his life.

I enjoyed in the paragraphs that followed this sentence trying to puzzle out what he would have had, or not had, and why.

Hi, came the whisper from deep beneath his ribs. I know you. Tim didn’t stop screaming. If anything, he grew louder now that he had a new, direct target for his frustrations. “I hear you,” Bruce assured him as he began to pace the room. “It’s alright, sweetheart, I hear you.”

I like not making the younger versions of characters a weird shrunken-down version of themselves but still making correlations and playing to a theme. Tim, as he grows, needs to know that he's heard, and Bruce needs to be able to tell him so. Screaming with aggressive eye contact is also very baby and not Tim specific but feels well-correlated with who he grows up to be in regards to Bruce.

He cupped the back of Tim’s head and stroked the soft, downy strands as he continued to walk. Babies weren’t wholly unfamiliar to Bruce, but neither were they a subject in which he could claim expertise. He had missed the babyhood of all of his children, every last one of them.

Really, that's all this fic is, my campaign to Give Bruce Wayne A Baby.

As soon as he sat, the baby braced his hands against Bruce’s shoulder and pushed back, small body wobbling as he arched his back to get the distance needed to study Bruce’s face.

This was based off a specific child, but I can't for the life of me remember who I would have been interacting with at that age in 2019.

Bruce didn’t spend a lot of time mourning over what could have been—there was too much to regret and too much good to lose—but it would be untrue to say he was never wistful over the prospect of what he couldn’t have. Tim learning to walk. Tim learning to run. ABCs and shoe-tying lessons, skinned knees and bedtime stories. For all that Bruce had experienced, there was so much he had missed.

This was important to me, this bit and the paragraphs afound it. Balancing Bruce's wistfulness while still making it clear that it wouldn't have made things better or made him feel differently about Tim if he'd had the experience of raising Tim from infancy. More time wouldn't be better time just because Tim would be little and cute. It would just be more time and that in itself would be better, because it would be more time with someone Bruce loves.

Tim blinked at him. Bruce chuckled and ran a finger down the bridge of his tiny nose, then caught his breath as Tim’s tear-streaked face bloomed into a smile. Bruce wondered if it were possible to die of happiness.

LET!!!! BRUCE!!! BE!!!!!! HAPPY!!!!!!!

Also, that last line is specifically a paraphrase of Jane in Pride and Prejudice 2005 laughing with wonder, "Can you die of happiness?"

“Goodnight, love.”

I've said it before and I'll say it again—Bruce alternates between sweetheart and love because his parents used the former and Alfred used the latter.

“Golly, Bruce, don’t drown us in details,” Clark teased.

I just want to note that Clark is being deliberately hokey here and doesn't go around saying golly, except of course when he does. But it's with PURPOSE.

Bruce didn’t stop. Ordinarily, he would have spent a few more hours in the Watchtower, writing his report while the details were still fresh in his mind and spending time in the company of his team. He did like them, secretly, and he thought most of the knew it, even if he hid it well. (Clark knew, and Diana was no fool. The others were up for debate.)

As close as I'll ever get to describing JLA dynamics, probably. But the point here is Bruce! is on! a mission! He's got ta GO.

Though still and silent, the Manor was fuller than it had been in some time, and Bruce’s rounds took longer than usual. He didn’t mind.

I don't remember who specifically I plucked the fanon from that Bruce does nightly rounds on all his kids, but he absolutely does because 1) it makes sense, and 2) it's what my parents did and they weren't even anxious vigilantes. (as far as you know.)

“Goodnight, love.”

I couldn't figure out how to wrap with fic at first, but seeing in the multiple echoes did the trick.

And people still read this fic! And like it! Incredible. I didn't expect it to have the resonance that it did.

#fanfic bts brain dump #fanfic #batfic #bruce wayne #tim drake

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canonicallyobserving911 · 7 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapters 24 & 25 will be posted soon (two chapters will be posted instead of one).

Buck and Eddie got married and Buck's officially Chris' second dad!

Currently 23 chapters completed: 893.1K Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

{#1 Previous snippet linked here}

{#2 Previous snippet linked here}

____________

I'm excited to finish writing Chapters 24 & 25 because Buck and Eddie are married and the Diaz family is starting the second half of their two-week long European family adventure. For anyone who hasn't read Chapters 22 and 23, here's a brief overview. In Chapter 22, Buck and Eddie got married, Chris was their best man and Eddie successfully surprised Buck with all the things he had planned for him including a three-tier wedding cake. Their honeymoon started that night and they had an important conversation before they consummated their marriage. In Chapter 23, they left Rome the day after their wedding and proceeded to visit 5 other cities for the remainder of their time in Italy. By the end of it, they agreed to continue speaking Italian even after they return to the U.S. because while they were in San Gimignano, they made a decision that could affect the course of their family's lives forever. What was the decision? 👀

They departed Rome at the end of the chapter and they landed in London on Christmas Eve to start the second half of their family adventure. What else are they going to do while they're still in Europe? Will Buck meet his biological father? 🤷🏽‍♀️

___________

Here's a snippet of Eddie on the verge of having a panic attack because of the state he sees Buck in after he enters the room.

_________

Buck keeps reading, he’s still looking down and by the time he makes it to the end, his chest starts feeling funny again like it's felt for the past two days but it’s much stronger this time. It’s so intense, it causes him to drop the thing he’s holding in his hand. His vision blurs and he thinks he’s grabbing at his chest because his heart feels weird kind of like it did in March but he’s not sure if he’s imagining it.

He leans forward and tries to reach for the back of the couch but his vision starts to close in and to him it appears he’s standing in a haze of fog as everything in his line of sight starts to get smaller. He wants to move but he’s too far away from anything that won’t injure him and he’s scared that if he does, he’ll collapse and bump his head on either the credenza or the end of the couch but neither of them is a viable option.

While he tries to make a split-second decision, at that moment, his husband enters the room with a big smile on his face that quickly turns into one of extreme concern when he sees the state Buck’s in.

That sharp pain Eddie felt in his heart at 3:17AM returns but this time it’s so strong it causes his eyes to widen and all the air gets sucked out of his lungs. He watches as Buck continues to grab at his chest then everything starts happening in slow motion.

With his eyes locked on Buck, he notices his eyes are red rimmed, his cheeks are wet, his skin looks pale and since Eddie’s a trained paramedic, he recognizes the signs of what appears to be a bradycardia event of epic proportions and he knows he needs to act fast or else Buck’s going to hit the floor.

He moves quickly but his legs feel like weights are around his ankles. He needs to move so he can catch him because now Buck’s swaying on his feet and he sees his knees buckle in real time. He sticks his arms out like a quarterback does when he’s about to catch the football and he realizes he did it just in the nick of time because now they’re filled with the weight of his husband and he's able to stop him from hitting his head on the edge of the couch.

Eddie has a flashback to March when Buck was hanging from the aerial and he thinks he’s going to lose it. He screams through labored breaths, “MY LOVE… TALK TO ME. TELL ME WHERE IT HURTS. IS IT YOUR HEART? TALK TO ME PLEASE!”

No response.

Buck’s already unconscious so he gently lays him on the floor, gets on his knees, reaches over from the back of the couch, grabs two throw pillows and puts one underneath his head and the other underneath his ankles to elevate his feet.

After he gets him positioned, he notices Buck’s body is lifeless and it causes him to exhale a half cry and a scream. “OH MY GOD! AMORE—MIO! PLEASE… WAKE UP. WAKE UP FOR ME MY LO—VE! TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG! BUCK PLEASE DO—N’T LEAVE ME… PLEASE!”

No response.

Eddie feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin because he doesn’t know what happened and the last time he saw Buck like this he was hanging from the top of the ladder and his body was dangling in the air. He was dead for three minutes and seventeen seconds and in his mind he’s not sure how long it’s been because he didn’t start counting when he saw Buck fall because he was too busy catching him.

All his fears about Buck dying again and leaving him flood to the front of his mind like the swirling waters from a category 5 hurricane and as tears roll down his face, he feels like he’s drowning and his lungs are beginning to close and he can tell it’s the start of a panic attack.

What happened that caused Buck to have what Eddie believes to be a bradycardia event? 👀

Is it his heart or something else? 🙃

Is it possible there are long lasting effects from the lightning strike that were missed by the cardiologist? 🤷🏽‍♀️

What's going to happen next? Will Eddie have a panic attack? 👀

___________

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it. But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago. They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial. But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories. Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie. It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - While Buck, Eddie and Chris spend the first 8 days of their European family adventure in Italy, their primary reason for going will be fulfilled as well as several others they hadn’t considered or anticipated.

Chapter 23 - As the Diaz Family continues their Italian family adventure, they’ll say, “Ciao” or hello and goodbye to a lot of things almost immediately after they become an official and legal family.

Chapter 24 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 25 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-23 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapters 24 & 25 will be posted soon.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #The Diaz Family #Fanonwriter2023 on AO3 #Hiatus Reading #911 on abc #911 abc #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #ao3 fanfic #“I'm still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”#WIP Wednesday #buddie wip #Chapters 24 & 25 will be posted soon

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fedoraspooky · 2 months

Text

Tumblr Premium moar like Tumblr now lowers limits to posts, likes, and doesn't allow videos longer than 5 minutes when you could post longer ones before, all of which are limits added to try and annoy you into spending 70 smackaroons usd a year on them. :B

K', guess I'll just keep embedding from youtube then.

Update: Okay I'm not sure if the 5 minute thing has been confirmed, I'm looking at the announcement post under @changes and saw a comment about it but staff has neither confirmed nor denied it.

Nonetheless I am side eyeing them hardcore rn

AT LEAST let the basic ad-free tier still be an option! Instead of charging everyone double for beta tester stuff you used to let people try for free. :B (Not that I ever signed up for it bc tumblr changes have often been... not that great. But yeah now they're charging you for the honor of being their guinea pig lmao)

#tumblr update #i don't usually have a vid longer than 5 minutes but i did have to back a vid up on tumblr when youtube took it down before #so i guess i just don't have backups for anything longer than 5 mins now unless i cut it into parts XD #anyway something something enshittification something something biggering

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johannestevans · 2 months

Note

Hi, Johannes! I was just wondering, is there anywhere on the web where a person could pay a lump sum for permanent access to any of your ero/literary works? Like, do you have any collected editions as ebooks? Subscription-based access always does me in because I have very inconsistent income, and while I would love to be able to back a Patreon or Premium Medium account, I've had issues with overdraft on those charges before. I know Slipshine has a bit of a different model than what you've got going on, given that there are a large number of artists under their banner, but they do have a Permanent Access tier, for example.

Wishing you all the best!

Hey, I'm afraid Slipshine doesn't seem to allow for authors, and is only for web comic artists.

Neither Patreon nor Medium allow that sort of subscription option for permanent access, unfortunately, and I don't have the time or the money at the moment to to invest in setting up my own platform. I know that Ream exists, but I don't think they have a package tier like this either.

The plan is to put together some more short story collections as eBooks, both of erotica and of other fiction, but I'm afraid it's quite a labour intensive process and takes quite a while to do, thus why I haven't made more available already. When I do this, a lot of my erotica is only going to be available on Smashwords and a few other retailers, just because Amazon has extremely stringent rules about what they consider taboo content, and a lot of my monsterfucking stuff won't be permitted on there.

A lot of my work is available on Ao3 for free or here on Tumblr, and I also upload some shorts on Literotica and Hentai-Foundry respectively - if there was another platform that let me do what you're talking about, I'd be more than happy to set my works up there, but I don't know that there is one.

I would also totally encourage you to save your favourite works from Patreon or Medium while you're subscribed - I'm sorry I don't have a better answer for you at the moment! I also obviously have an unreliable income myself, and I appreciate that it's really stressful and hard when bills hit unexpectedly, and that even really small ones can bite you into overdraft.

Patreon does permit an annual subscription option, where you can get a year's access, and obviously you'd have a lot more time to cancel that immediately, and you don't have to keep it on auto renew, as far as I'm aware - with the annual subscription, you pay for 12 months at a time, for which you get a 16% discount, so the cheapest tier at $3/month would be about $30 USD. That's obviously a lot more of a cost upfront at a time, but that would then be able to keep you having access for a long period of time without having to worry about the renewal charge.

Apologies again for the inconvenience, thank you so much for your support!

#musings #anonymous

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fehtism · 7 months

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Hi,

Do you have any advice on how to build Fee? I like her a lot, and I tried to bs a build with what I had lying around but it's far from ideal... I can't really afford to pull Marth (the new Lyon is taking all my orbs how foul), but I'm grinding codices to give her vital astra, probably? I sometimes run her with regular astra instead of galeforce

Last time I tried to properly read what skills do in heroes was years ago and the wall of text genuinely hurt my eyes, so I'd really appreciate the help!

Thanks in advance

hello ! thank you for your ask

i'd like to let you know that vital astra is only inheritable by /infantry/ axe lance and sword units.

here is a pretty premium build but i will give some other options for skills

the +atk iv isn't so important to bother using trait fruit for it

arcane devourer is infinitely better for her than arcane eljudnir but it is not the end of the world if you cannot get it. eljudnir is good enough for the cooldown acceleration alone

please refer to this post for a more in depth explanation of the difference between the two arcane swords : )

no quarter as a special is the definitive best choice for any melee unit that 1) cannot access damage reduction pierce (i.e. flier/cav without dr pierce in prf weapon) and 2) is not running a gambit build

it is however extremely contested fodder and incredibly hard to acquire currently due to it being locked to winter dimitri. iceberg is a good option in the meantime as well as moonbow, glimmer, and ruptured sky (scores high in arena).

i cannot recommend running galeforce on her without arcane devourer's special charges as she will have an extremely difficult time having more atk than her opponent to get the extra cooldown charges from heavy blade 4. this mostly locks her options for extra special charges to legendary hinoka. as a flier she is unable to get the effects of infantry pulse or run a skill like flash sparrow (outspeeding would be far easier for her) or atk spd pledge or a tempo skill. this makes it extremely difficult to precharge her galeforce without the usage of like . velouria or askr combined with the quickened pulse sacred seal.

atk/spd unity allows her to boost her most important stats in both enemy phase and player phase as well as turning debuffs into buffs. this can be stacked with legendary robin's grand strategy effect. you can inherit atk/spd unity from a few units but i would recommend inheriting from rearmed tana as you can get guidance 4 at the same time (probably a better option than rein snap for her c slot).

atk/spd unity is also available on attuned peony (allowing you to inherit atk oath echo attuned skill), fallen maria who is in the standard pool, and on some other limited units.

a cheaper option for her a slot would be atk/spd catch as it is available in the divine codes.

atk/spd catch 4 is available on the summer dimitri combat manual in divine codes 4.

guard bearing 4 is fee's best damage reduction b slot option as it doesn't rely on a difference in stats and it allows her to run low cd specials. guard bearing 4 is unfortunately locked to rearmed ingrid (arguably a waste of her fodder due to just how Good arcane luin is) and nabata juno, neither of which are in the standard pool.

until you can acquire guard bearing 4 feel free to stick with flow feather 3.

fliers have a lot of c slot skills they can run currently and her best options are guidance 4, soaring guidance, and s/d rein snap (not in any particular order). the guidance skills allow for warping for allies and s/d rein snap both debuffs foe's spd and defense and combat and grants +1 movement to some allies.

other options she can run in her c slot are: pretty much any tier 4 smoke skill (i.e panic smoke or fatal smoke), def/res or atk/spd ploy (ONLY WITH STILL WATER SACRED SEAL), and atk/spd oath 4 (available in divine codes.

atk/spd oath 4 can be inherited from the m!shez combat manual in divine codes 4.

she should run either distant counter sacred seal or atk/spd catch if on the same team as a far save armor. still water 3 should only be used with ploy and it will hurt her already middling defense.

hope this helps !

#fe heroes #feh #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem #fe heroes meta #feh meta #feh build

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foxofsunholt · 2 years

Text

Brief notes on the current system of romance in the game:

TIERED ROMANCE ROUTES

Romance in the game works in stages; the first stage is the “strangers” stage, in which interactions are mostly platonic. After spending enough time with an RO, you move into the “crush” stage. At this point, the ROs treat you with a little more obvious romantic interest. The crush stage can be activated for up to three ROs, this is not a love triangle per-se but it can lead to some jealousy between characters. Then you enter the third stage, “pining”. At this stage, you lock into a romantic route! In order to get the love-triangle options, you’ll have had to trigger the crush stage for both characters and have roughly equal romantic points with both. The third stage is basically the last stage, as you can’t opt out of their romance route at this point. MY GOAL WITH THIS is to hopefully allow players time to get to know the ROs before having to commit to one, without sacrificing relationship development time.

LOVE TRIANGLES

The current love triangle routes in the game are Adelaide and Camille, Mars and Sid. Love triangles move more slowly than the regular romantic paths, and you won’t get your first smooch until sometime into act 2. They also showcase a different side to these characters.

ADELAIDE VS CAMILLE

The Adelaide-Camille love triangle will show a more forward side to Adelaide. She can see that the MC has some interest in Camille and wants to be clear with her affections. A kind of “Pick me, Choose me, Love me” approach. Camille on the other hand, will be working double time to keep the MC away, knowing Adelaide’s affections and believing her to be the better option. As these two care about each other very much, they will also be less willing to accept an MC’s advances until they are sure the MC is serious about them. Hamilton’s “Satisfied” is what I listened to when I made my initial notes on it.

MARS VS SID

This one bolsters a lot of jealousy out of these two that normally show none. If you’re a fan of that dynamic, then you’ll enjoy this route! Sid is everything Mars wishes he was and Mars is the kind of noble person that Sid wishes he was. There’s a lot of quiet pining, internal angst and jealousy here. Neither of them want to see each other as romantic rivals but it becomes undeniable as they continue their journey. This one is the slowest compared to their regular romantic routes, as it takes both of them a while to accept love when it comes in act 2 (Sid’s romance is already very slow).

RIVALRY ROMANCES

If enough rival points and romance points are acquired by the “crush” stage a rivalry romance is triggered, changing the dialogue and the shape of romantic interactions with your RO. This is similar to the system in Dragon Age 2. Scenes and experiences are the same, but the way the RO responds to you is different. Rivalry can also be triggered platonically for certain characters. But be careful! Pushing buttons too much can lead to characters disliking you; once a character dislikes you, you cannot romance them.

SIDE-ROMANCES AND FWB SITUATIONS

Throughout Act 1, there are side characters that express interest in the MC. Most of this interest is physical and your MC may reciprocate that interest.

With the ROs, if you’re not romancing* Faith, you can sleep with her. If you’re not romancing* Yoon, you can sleep with him.

If you ARE romancing** Camille, you may trigger a FWB sort of situation and YES, this is still possible if you’re doing the Adelaide-Camille love triangle and if you like pain maybe do this.

*you cannot be in their “crushing” stage at all **this happens while you are in Camille’s "pining” stage

THE SEVENTH RO

As the seventh ROs official introduction happens in ACT 2, this romance has less content than the others just by the simple fact that you spend less time with them. To trigger their romance, you will have to investigate their identity over the course of the game. When you get a choice to enter the “pining” stage with an RO, you’ll have to ditch everyone and chase 7. At which point, you’ll be locked in.

SO, WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER ROs THAT HAD A CRUSH ON MY MC?

Oh. They remember. Don’t worry.

DO I HAVE TO FLIRT WITH THE ROs TO INITIATE ROMANCE?

Nope! Not all MCs will show romantic interest in the same ways; your character may be obvious or they may be oblivious or they make be trying to mask their feelings or they may be so far in denial that they can’t even spell romance. When you reach the “pining” stage, the game will consider your MC having feelings for your RO(s) and the inner dialogue changes only then.

#mmmm im missing stuff but i cant think of what

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yifftwiceplz · 11 months

Text

rambling about daves timeline under the cut

this info has been touched on but a little more in depth

so i couldn't decide what age dave i wanted to RP and came up with some weird bullshit to be able to jump around impulsively but i have a general timeline for my dave

16-17: beats sburb, moves onto earth c. i DONT care about the endless isekai plot i want my boys to be happy B( i support anyone strong enough to stick with it, but personally i am rewriting it in my head the strilondes move into a duplex with roxy and rose on one side, dave and dirk on the other side. they do this because it seems like the healthiest option for all of them to live with their siblings and help each other grow and heal

dirk and dave have a lot of shit to work out both with dirk's chronic isolation and impossible standards for himself, and dave having been raised by a basement dwelling abusive dick. it's a little rocky at first especially with dirk's messiness and dave's clinginess but they push through and the strength of their relationship grows

neither of them has a job at first but they both piddle around with comics, youtube channels, and side projects until they both start messing with crypto scams. namely scamming crypto bros out of their money. it's around this point where they somehow get the rights to interdimensional twitter, which is a silly meaningless side plot but a fun one.

i probably won't play him at this age too much, but if i do the main things to look out for would be that he rambles way more and makes weird run-on sentences, like a full paragraph of metaphors, and still lives with dirk / the fam. he's also quite scrawny and still wears his god tier jammies most of the time.

around 22-23: dave moves into a house with karkat, funded by dave's youtube channel, karkat's job as a marriage counselor, and help from dirk, who's sad to not be living with his bro anymore but is very supportive and pointlessly rich.

he's at home pretty much 24/7, just casually working on youtube videos, comics, whatever he wants really. karkat is fine with being the breadwinner and household leader, dave is fine with being bossed around and he likes to clean. he has very few priorities to deal with so he does what he wants (mostly troll you all here)

this is his current "real time" age, around 25, so after he's lived with karkat a couple years already. he doesn't ramble as much, usually in a good mood and lets things roll off his back. he is also chunkier and doesn't wear his god tier outfit much anymore; he got tired of the style. he does still wear the pants around the house.

around 30 is when dave really makes a name for himself on youtube and makes his first movie, which is relatively low-budget and simple. his career kind of explodes from that point and by 35 he's in the middle of making his second movie, which is a genuine hollywood affair. he loses quite a bit of weight due to stress / being busy, usually has a 5 oclock shadow, and his outfits are usually pretty dumpy (unless it's a premiere or a press tour).

he and karkat are mostly long distance at this point, which dave stresses about more than he should. karkat is fine letting dave do his thing, but dave is beginning to overthink the fact he's going to far outlive karkat. he eventually decides to bring dirk on, which he was reluctant to do because dirk really needs to work less and get out more. but dave accepts he needs help and dirk is the only guy who can do the job properly. and dirk is happy to live his childhood fantasy of being on set with his bro

things to look out for would be his hair has a nice fade, he wears his shades less, he's usually scrawny (unless he's on break back home to be re-fattened by karkat), and he uses punctuation/rambles less

he's really busy most of the time so until i get some more things worked out he's like a little old man treat that i sprinkle to you guys like goldfish pellets in a pond of giant koi

around 40 is tbd but chunky hairy homebody dilf-with-no-kid dave supremacy.

#editor's note #lore tag tbn #weight stuff is because of editor's own fluctuating weight #around 40 is when he stops actually ageing sorry to the god tier keeping you young forever deal #i want to see that man old and grizzled and domesticated

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firemama · 3 months

Text

I'll tell you, I'm kinda disappinted with the whole chatgpt thing. How it will *probably* die, and how it was either demonized relentlessly or used ruthlessly and thoughtless without moral.

Like, the sheer usefulness of it as a tool with a simple method of use was incredible. No you shouldn't have used it to write your story or essay, but no it wasn't *exclusively* a theft-machine like other ai inventions (such as the ai 'art' generators that are, yeah, just theft machines.)

In this age of Google becoming essentially unusable and thus information being harder to find from unbiased sources (or sometimes getting *any* information at all, because we all know these days that googling shit gets you things unrelated to what you asked for all the time now), chat gpt was so useful as a tool. You can't take what it says at face value because it doesn't know what facts are, but I used it to help invent a couple of words with prompts like "generate several options for the title of a doctor that would medically treat non-human sentient magic creatures. Generate these titles using Latin Root Words." And then I sifted through what it offered me for ideas and pieces. It would have taken me so long to google up various fucking Latin words.

Which is basically what chat got was useful for: quickly skimming information and data from the internet using a shockingly good quality algorithm to actually understand what information and context you *want*. The problem with generative written ai, especially the one fucking Google ai uses, is that they use the ai to *answer the question*, which usually leads to misinformation. Using the ai to fucking filter out the unwanted noise of the internet, and as a tool to gather the information you want, was just... revolutionary to my writing process.

It's unfortunate that people just fucking used that thing to write piss tier whole articles or books. It was a *tool*, not a writer. Neither evil nor good.

#part of why i never agreed with people who said things like “oh i cant wait for chatgpt to go bankrupt”#like. why? its useful? helpful?#maybe instead it should have been shit like “man i cant wait until chatgpt is refined into the helpful tool it could be” instead #yeah the first cars were complicated death traps but they were eventually regulated and improved #ai needs that too man #its NEW of course it can still commit crime #munchatter

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Silverfox Sunday-can we finally hear the details on how professor!Ari met the librarian?

“I got tickets to this masquerade event, its held at a bar and its pretty exclusive-“

“-this is it. Are you ready? You look so damn cute!” She gushes over your dress, complimenting you heavily despite going for a safe option.

“And your mask matches! Let’s see if we can’t pin down some hot men…” she squeals in excitement and drags you along behind her, tickets in hand.

“I really don’t think…I don’t know if I’m up for this.” You stop her before the entrance, eyes widening beneath the mask as the entrance is feet from you.

“Y/N, come on! You can’t keep moping because your ex is a complete piece of shit! You deserve to be happy and…” she grins, nudging you with her elbow. “I heard there’s gonna be a lot of hot older men. Hello sugar daddies!”

“I’m not a sugar baby, that’s not me.” You frown, inhibitions making you want to turn and run.

“No one’s saying you have to be a sugar baby but there’s something about older men that just…” she presses her fingers to her lips and kisses them with a soft pop, a chefs kiss as an ode to her desire to experience an older man.

Your hands tug at the skirt of your dress. A nervous tick that you’ve been catering to since you’d arrived, even with reassurance that the skirt of your dress wouldn’t show your ass you still feel the need to give a tug.

You have to admit that its beautiful, with a tiered tulle skirt overlaying silk. The strapless bodice is beaded and intricate with added details in the bandeau top that is neither plain nor square. The dress fits you well and in all reality it makes you feel gorgeous, despite your ex’s best efforts to leave you a mess.

“Just get a drink and relax.” Your friend encourages you to spread your wings and find someone to take the edge off since your breakup, but the idea of finding another boy like your ex is maddening.

Still, you follow her advice and grab a drink. You sip on the mixture of the signature select, and begin to wander the crowds. There’s a dance floor to the far left packed with bodies grinding against each other and a balcony above that’s got people milling about.

You find yourself stopping in the thick of the crowd speaking to each other and drinking merrily, completely unaware of the set of eyes on you. You’re unaware of a man who’s talking quietly among his friends bidding them goodbye, before taking for the stairs.

You’re so drawn in by the atmosphere of this place that you entirely miss the approach of this tall gorgeous Silverfox, until he’s upon you.

“You look a little lost.” His question startles you and you nearly jump out of your skin, your drink splashing against the glass.

“I’m not lost, I’m just…” you find yourself biting down on your bottom lip, watching him as he’s watching you.

He’s got a black and gold mask that’s heavily detailed and seems to be in the style of some Ancient Greek or Roman depictions attached to the front. Its heavily detailed with sharp and crisp edges, adding another layer of intrigue to the man who’s standing before you.

He’s well dressed in a sleek button down shirt tucked into a pair of black dress pants. A slim belt is woven through the loops with a matching gold buckle that’s catching the reflection of the lights overhears.

You know he’s massive, you know he’s gorgeous and he seems to be interested in you.

“I’ve never been to something like this before.” You lift your drink to your lips again, eager to take a sip but his hand stops you.

“You need a cover on your drink, honey.” He offers to take the glass and you let him, startled but not disdained at the use of a pet name.

“These kind of events are exclusive, they’re usually safe but there’s still the typical asshole frat boy that slips in.” His voice is soft yet husky, and its inherently pleasant to your ears.

“I didn’t know.” You state, a shiver coursing through you.

“Tell ya what,” he leans in and you catch the scent of his cologne or aftershave, and practically melt on the spot, “I buy you a drink and you dance with me?”

“That’s all?” You wonder, looking for your friend and finding her dancing with another man who’s clearly a Silverfox.

“One dance, one drink.” He offers you his hand and you take it, pleasantly surprised when he keeps you close to him.

As if he’s safeguarding you.

“What’s your name?” You ask him when you reach the bar, your eyes captivated by his.

“That’ll cost you another drink.” He smirks at you, fingers daintily grazing your arm. “You up for it?”

“Let me finish this one first.”

#silverfox!professor!ari levinson #silverfox!Ari Levinson #librarian!reader #ari Levinson x reader #silverfox!Ari Levinson x librarian!Reader

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kelpan · 11 months

Text

This fic is now over 20,000 words long, and we're not even to the end of Act 1 yet. Hoo boy do I love torturing myself with massive projects that take full control of my life lol

Anyhoo! Please enjoy! Next chapter is shaping out to be a bit of a long one, so I'm shooting to try and get it out before the end of the month.

Credit for the OC Chrysanthemum Headshot goes to wwispie on Etsy/Instagram!

Ao3: Petals on a Stream of Stars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act 1, Chapter 9: Marigold

Wednesday

1:30 pm

Chrysanthemum

“Yes ma’am…. N-No, I’m sorry, I…. It’ll never happen again, I promise…. Yes…. Thank you….. Yes, of course…. Goodbye.”

Chrys hung up the phone at the security desk, her heart hammering a mile a minute. She hadn’t been fired. How had she not been fired? Her second day, and she’s over four hours late. By all intents and purposes that should make her a no-call-no-show. Not exactly employee of the month kind of behavior. Officer Vanessa had been livid—who wouldn’t be?—but more than forgiving all things considered.

I should buy a lottery ticket with this kinda luck.

Sun cocked his head out from behind one of the support beams of the playplace, his worried eyes asking her what the verdict was. She replied with a wide grin and a thumbs up, to which he pantomimed clutching at his heart and breathing a sigh of relief, the jester. He scrunched his face then, and jabbed a pointer finger at the packed lunch sitting next to her on the desk. She laughed, and waved his instruction away, opening up the zippered lunchbox to prove she understood the assignment. Satisfied, he grinned wide, and returned to his task, tying off a banner hung off the edge of the structure which read “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in colorful, excited letters.

She’d been smart to throw a little something together the night before. Given the frantic rush that turned out to be her morning, there’d have been no time to even consider trying to make food then. Neither did she have any intention of giving Sun yet another reason to worry over her; Given how he’d reacted yesterday, she could just imagine him calling for a full stop of all preparations until he was satisfied she’d eaten enough. That was the last thing either of them needed. Smiling at the absurd image, she grabbed a cheese stick out of the bag, and set to work on chewing it down.

With nothing else to do while she ate, Chrys watched Sun’s journey across the daycare, blowing up balloons, decorating areas with confetti and shiny cut pieces of tinsel, and wondered how this afternoon might go. It hadn’t occurred to her that hosting parties in the Daycare had even been an option. From all she knew, the daycare was just that—a daycare. Sun had mentioned they were few and far between before she’d gone to take Vanessa’s call, so perhaps she wasn’t all that far off in thinking that. One thing, however, was clear; Sun was tickled pink at the prospect. She hadn’t seen his rays stop moving since.

With the last of the streamers hung perfectly in place, Sun came bounding back over to the security desk, resting against the upper edge to lean overtop. His excitement was infectious, and she smiled, hiding the mouthful of food she’d just eaten behind her hand.

“Oh, this is gonna be so much fun, Chrys, just you wait! It’ll be freeplay the entire afternoon! Nothing but games, games, games! Oh, you’re gonna love it!”

With a wipe of her napkin, Chrys finished her lunch, and gathered all the trash together to be thrown out later. “Sounds like a blast. What about cake and presents? Do we do those here, too?”

“Oh, yes!” His face fell a twitch. “But… not this time. These parents bought the Ultra Deluxe Fazzerific package, which includes presents, pizza and cake with the entire Glamrock band over in the atrium. It’s one of our most top-tier offerings.”

“Oh. Sounds expensive.”

“Very!”

Coming out from behind the desk, Chrys took in the newly transformed Daycare. “So how will I be able to help? Is there an itinerary to follow?”

“Nope! Well, yes, but nothing you need to be concerned with, I’ll lead it all. Just help me keep an eye on the kids, make sure no one is hurting themselves or others, that sort of thing, and we’ll be all good! As long as everyone is safe and the birthday girl is having the best day of her life, that’s all that really matters.”

The clock rang twice, signaling the start of what would normally be the second shift. Sun jumped, and raced towards the gate, waving for Chrys to come join him.

“Ok,” he said, stationing her to stand opposite him on the other side of the door. “We’ll open the gate together, and yell “Welcome, new friends!” at the same time. Ready?” She nodded. “Great! Here we go!”

With that, the Daycare flung open its doors, and together they rang in the start to the party.

Peels of excitement ripped through the crowd, converging into their own miniature stampede as the children rushed past each other to disperse into the daycare, diving head-first into whatever caught their attention the most. Sun spared one encouraging glance to Chrys before running into the thick of it, matching their energy and then some.

Chrys laughed, but took the chance to look out into the waiting area, if only to make sure there were no stragglers left before moving on. She found she was glad she did; There was still one more friend yet to be welcomed inside.

Standing in the otherwise empty waiting area stood a young mother, dressed in affluent but feminine, neutral-toned business attire, with a little girl no older than five or six years old clinging to her side, head full of strawberry blonde curls pressed as far into the side of the woman’s leg as was physically possible.

“Please, don’t worry too much about her. Give her some time, she should open right up.”

The woman spoke with a kind but firm tone, her words every bit as much a command as a reassurance. She put off the air of someone who was used to taking charge, despite the slight crack of fatigue which broke through. Kneeling down, she detangled herself from her daughter’s death grip on her skirt. “But, do be sure not to let her out of your sight. We’re going through a… a bit of a rough time, right now. You look away for one second and she’ll up and hide on you, I guarantee it.”

Switching between mother and child, Chrys could sense the underlying unease radiating off both of them. A mother who seemed drained, yet doing her best to hide it, and a child who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Neither a good state of mind to be in before a party.

“Don’t worry, there will be supervision present the entire time, we’ll make sure of that.” She took hold of the little girl’s hand at her mother’s behest, and felt the tiny fingers squeeze her own. Without her mother close, the girl curled in as tight as she could, chin tucked to her chest.

“See to it that you do. Bye sweetie, please try to have fun, for me. I’ll be back to pick you up in a few hours. I love you.”

The child stirred, and looked up from the floor. Her bright blue eyes were full of tears, and she squeaked out a meek “Love you” back before her mother turned and walked away, a quick, air-blown kiss her last bit of encouragement before disappearing around a corner.

Hand in hand, Chrys walked the two of them inside, closing the gates behind her. She knelt down to be more at the child’s eye level, and spoke in a soft, soothing voice.

“Hey there, it’s ok. I know this is a lot. My name’s Miss Chrys. What’s yours?”

She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “… Marigold.”

“Marigold?” Chrys repeated, adding a bit of excitement to her voice. “What a lovely name! Did you know that’s the name of a flower?” The child nodded. “I think that’s super cool. Hey, wanna know a secret?” Another silent nod. “My name’s the name of a flower too! Have you ever heard of a Chrysanthemum?” This time a shake, the girl’s ringlets bouncing side to side. “It’s a fall flower, with lots of thin, yellow, white or red petals, like the color of my hair. Just like yours, too!”

Untucking a strand of her own hair, Chrys held it out, ushering Marigold to do the same. She tapped the two strands of hair together, similar to a drink toast. “Now we’re flower buddies! How does that sound?”

Chrys held her breath, waiting to see if her efforts had taken root. A quick double-take between her own hair and Chrys’s face, and the little girl repeated the gesture, tapping the strands together with intent, the tiniest of smiles peeking out underneath her drooping bangs. Chrys exhaled in triumph. If there was one thing she knew about childcare, it’s that if you could get a kid to smile once, you could do it again.

“There ya go! That’s it. Now, let’s figure out something to do. What do you say? Anything out there look like fun?”

Chrys watched as Marigold scanned the area, her face revealing nothing. Guess they’d have to figure this one out the old-fashioned way. But before she could brainstorm possible ways to keep this child engaged, she caught the tell-tale jingle of Sunny approaching, and internally relaxed. He’d know what to do here better than she.

“Oh my! What do we have over here? Did Miss Chrys find you, little star?”

He knelt down before them, his head extending unnaturally low in order to not tower over the two of them. The little girl looked to Chrys, her round eyes a mix of trust and uncertainty.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Sun is a friend of mine. He’ll help make sure today is lots of fun!”

“Absolutely!” He spun his rays fast enough to create a funny whizzing sound, earning a small giggle from the child. “We can’t have the birthday girl spend her special day stuck under a raincloud, now can we?”

Wait, birthday girl? The statement clicked in her head, and had there not been a child present, she would have smacked her own forehead in exasperation. How had she managed to miss that? She struggled to keep her face neutral. It wouldn’t do to let the very kid they were trying to cheer up in on her little fumble.

“Tell me,” Sun continued, taking the helm on guiding the conversation, much to Chrys’s relief. “Do you… like crawling through the tubes? Or we could make some sparkly crafts? Ooo! What about getting a game going with all your friends? I’m sure they’d be so excited to see you!”

“They’re not my friends.” Marigold said, her tiny voice cold. “They’re from my class at school. Mama told them to come. I don’t have any friends, except big brother. Is he here yet? I wanna see him.”

Chrys froze. She shot Sun a quick cursory glance, silently asking if he knew anything about this. With as little movement as possible, he shook his head no.

“Uh, sorry sunshine! No one here has arrived registered as your brother. But, uh, who knows! He might come later. W-Why don’t we all play a game in the meantime? We could play “Princesses and Gremlins”! Although… ah, nevermind. That wouldn’t work.”

He exaggerated the last of his words, going from excited to overly sad with ease, keeping a keen eye trained on Marigold through his dramatized antics, taking in her feedback and adjusting as needed.

“… Why not?” Marigold asked, hesitant but intrigued.

“Because we don’t have a princess, silly! Everyone knows those can only be played by birthday girls.”

“B-But…” she tugged at the hem of her cool blue, tailored dress. “I-I’m a birthday girl! I could be the princess!”

Sun gasped, hands to his cheeks. Chrys had to stifle a giggle of her own. “Well tie me to a kite and send me to the sky, you ARE indeed! So, how about it? Will you be our Princess today?”

Marigold puffed out her cheeks, the determination bringing a fire to her eyes that Chrys wouldn’t have thought possible five minutes ago. The little girl nodded with a purpose, hands balled into tight little fists.

“Great!” Sun morphed back into his standard, smiley state. “The game is simple; We’ll split everyone into two teams. One team sides with the princess, the brave knights.” He struck a dashing pose. “Everyone else are the gremlins, who will try to breach the knight’s defenses and kidnap the princess!” He made an attempt at a grotesque face, releasing it only once he’d earned a happy giggle from Marigold. “Whoever gets the most ribbons from the other team, or manages to get both of the princess’s ribbons, wins!”

If Marigold’s eyes could grow any bigger, Chrys would think they were saucers. There was no doubt Sun had nailed this one.

Oh, he’s good.

“And who will you be, Mr. Sun? You a knight, or a gremlin?” Chrys asked, teasing.

“Neither! I’ll be the mighty dragon, sworn to defend the princess till the end of days! All who threaten her will be tickled!!!” Ever the one for theatrics, he released a mighty “roar”, arms held above his head and cocked to turn his hands into pretend claws. Marigold squealed, ecstatic.

“Come, my princess! Your kingdom awaits!” Taking her laughter as permission, Sun picked the now beaming child up, rays shrinking inward and head dipping low to allow her to safely sit on his shoulders. She shrieked anew as he stood, thrilled at the newfound height. Chrys watched with a warm smile on her face, feeling a sense of pride to see him so masterfully bring out the best in such a nervous little girl, a feat not many could claim.

Hands holding Marigold safely in place, Sun rushed to the center of the daycare, calling all the children together as he went. Chrys made her way instead to the large toy box anchored against the wall, to grab all the accessories they could need for said game to commence. Sun had been right; Already she was enjoying herself. She’d missed this feeling, of helping others to find the joy she struggled to keep hold of, especially in ones as innocent as kids. Arms full of velcro ribbons and adjustable woven belts, she followed Sun’s lead, determined to do everything she could to make sure that this was the best dang birthday party these kids had ever seen.

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