#posts made just for me (all of them are but this one in particular...
Text
dress
she’s been his best friend since they were pre-teens; he was a rebellious, unrelenting, and aspiring racer, while she was a witty, energetic, and hopeful journalist. but after all these years, she can’t help but question whether they could be more- despite the challenges that come with her feelings.
op!81 x fem!journalist, best friends to lovers (smau)
🥀 “say my name n everythin just stops. i don’t want u like a best friend. only bought this dress so u could take it off…” 🥀
ty for the love on my first smau ! here’s the next per the last poll’s fav choice :) warning: lots & lots of typos/underlying delulu cringe
Twitter
Instagram
ynuser posted a story 6s
Liked by landonorris, logansargeant, fbsfuser, and others
Replies
landonorris: solidarity queen ✊🏼
-> ynuser ✊🏼
oscarpiastri: u are actually insane
-> wow this is so nice of you.
-> such a great best friend .
-> an even better journalist.
-> ynuser anything to humble u while i am in this industry 🫶🏻
user: you are UNHINGED
logansargeant: careful yn, your favouritism is showing
-> ynuser: it's part of my contract. im the comedic relief of f1 journalism
-> logansargeant: but doesn't will buxton naturally do that
-> ynuser: now THIS convo could get me fired. shoo logan.
-> logansargeant LOLL
mclaren: just 'cause we love you, we'll let this slide
-> ynuser: 🫶🏻😸
fbsfuser: send my fuck you's to them both :D
-> ynuser: already on it 🫡
iMessages
Instagram
oscarpiastri
Tagged: landonorris, mclaren, ynuser
oscarpiastri great start to the season @mclaren 💪🏼
the same can't be said about a particular someone tho... betting someone should get fired.
📸: @ynuser
Liked by mclaren, landonorris, ynuser, and 609,993 others
View all 21,008 comments
landonorris i dont support bullying, but exceptions can be made if it's towards you
ynuser if karma doesn't get u first then either stroll or i will
-> user oh my GOD 💀
-> user shots fired LMAOOOO
-> oscarpiastri i'd rather karma than u and...
mclaren and we thought lando was our only pr liability
-> landonorris wait WHAT
-> oscarpiastri that's a bit too insulting towards me
-> ynuser this doesnt include me.... right?
fbsfuser boy if you don't take this down...
logansargeant oscar is this meant to be retribution for her story earlier?
-> oscarpiastri so what?
-> landonorris that's kinda overdramatic compared to what she posted wow
ynuser i would also like to say that this stanky man tried to go out for dinner right after his race 🤢
-> georgerussell scandalous 😨
-> carlossainz55 not very smooth of you oscar
-> alexalbon not smooth.
-> danielricciardo not smooth.
-> charlesleclerc not smooth.
-> maxverstappen1 not smooth.
-> fbsfuser i think, and hear me out, maybe you're in the wrong here oscar
-> ynuser and this is why we were both wearing masks on track
-> oscarpiastri too far. you've gone TOO far.
Instagram: 10/03-21/03
ynuser posted a story 10s
Liked by yukitsunoda0511, landonorris, georgerussell, and others
Replies
yukitsunoday0511: i will get you back one day.
-> ynuser: ngaww 😹
oscarpiastri: u are tho
-> ynuser: ik
->oscarpiastri: wait. are you?
danielricciardo: mind giving me an extra mic so i can do this when youre not with us?
-> ynuser check ur driver's room ;)
landonorris: how did he know 😨
-> ynuser: we been knew lan
oscarpiastri posted a story 7s
Liked by landonorris, logansargeant, fbsfuser, and others
Replies
ynuser: there's no way you pulled out a photo from when we were 13.
-> oscarpiastri: full on war. what are you gonna do about it?
-> ynuser: watch me
landonorris: u have to give this pic to me.
-> oscarpiastri: LMAO ty for joining my side
-> landonorris: no no, don't be mistaken. im against both of you.
-> oscarpiastri: mate what?
carlossainz55: u guys should just kiss already
-> oscarpiastri: carlos NO
mclaren: you're really trying to blackmail a journalist who has resources at her disposal? 😮
-> oscarpiastri: ...yes...
ynuser posted a story 3s
Liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly, alexalbon, and others
Replies
alexalbon: congrats on winning soldier
-> ynuser ✊🏼
oscarpiastri: HOW DO U HAVE THESE PHOTOS ALREADY
-> ynuser: i like how u still underestimate my job then suffer because of it :)
pierregasly: these go hard 🔥
landonorris: well at least it's not as embarrassing for me. but a HEADS UP WOULDVE BEEN NICE
-> ynuser: bro dont even try ik you've been saving bad pics of me from oscar -.-
mclaren: we hope u enjoyed the pics!
-> ynuser: i owe u guys one fr 🙏🏼
Round 3 (22/03-24/03): Australia
ynuser
Tagged: f1
ynuser round 3 in australia!!!! 🇦🇺🦘❤️ amazing to be back on home base, and even better to see danny ric and pastry fight it out for the podium! (actual, professional, and correct news coming from me on @f1 tv 🫡)
ossie ossie ossie! oi oi oi! get it? 'cause ossie is like aussie and... okay. i'll stop.
Liked by mclaren, fbsfuser, danielricciardo, and 611,805 others
View all 21,008 comments
mclaren ty for providing us with baby pastry pics 🫡
-> ynuser pleasure doing business with u 🫡🫡
-> oscarpiastri excuse ME
oscarpiastri haha. so funny. at least u have stand up comedy since journalism may not work out :)
-> ynuser so you admit im funny 😸
-> oscarpiastri don't flatter urself.
-> landonorris nah mate, that sounded like defeat
f1 this commentary is fine 👍🏻
-> user LMAOOOO
user danny ric placing in his home base is such a dream come true 😭
-> user yeah im glad it isnt just a dream anymore
user cutiessssss
-> user them driving around the circuit in a golf cart must've been chaotic
-> logansargeant u have no idea...
user she's hilarious ilysm
-> fbsfuser back off fam she's mine ✋🏼
-> user i need to know how she got this job cause it is THE dream fr
-> fbsfuser yeah it really is a wonder given how many lectures she slept thru...
-> ynuser OI
danielricciardo 🫶🏻
-> user CONGRATS HONEY BADGER!!!
user can oscar fight???
-> user girl what are u talking about they aint tgt
-> user they aren't???
-> user no bruh theyre just besties
user watch me at the next race rizzin her up
Twitter
iMessages
Instagram Messages
landonorris: yn
-> yn
-> yn
-> yn
ynuser: bruh WHAT
landonorris: it's important
ynuser: lando i don't have time to answer whether a new pair of pants make u look flat
-> go ask osc
landonorris: ok first of all: a good pair makes a huge difference.
-> and second, it's about osc
ynuser: did smth happen to him?????
landonorris: no, sorry
-> shouldn't have led with that
-> i sent u a post on twitter
-> but just, read carefully k?
Twitter
Instagram Messages
ynuser: oh
landonorris: u see it?
ynuser: yeah
landonorris: are u okay?
ynuser: yeah im just surprised
landonorris: so you didn't know about it either?
ynuser: obviously not
landnorris: im sorry yn :(
ynuser: why? it's not like he owes me anything lol
-> im happy he started dating again in fact
-> was getting worried lol
landonorris: u sure u good?
-> doesn't really sound like u are
ynuser: im fine
-> plus i need to stay professional. i still have a job and there are crazy fans and all
-> thanks anyways lan
landonorris: alright, im here to talk if u need
-> so is the rest of the grid tbh
❤️ Liked by ynuser
iMessage
Instagram: 03/04
ynuser
Tagged: urmumuser
ynuser a little break back home with the parents doesn't hurt 🌊
@f1's the best for letting me regenerate lost brain cells <3
Liked by f1, fbsfuser, racerbia, and 702,009 others
View all 53,197 comments
f1 we got ur back queen ✊🏼
-> user in the middle of all the drama, this could mean so many things...
-> user well im gonna take it as them sayin that theyre on the right ship :)
user ngl guys the distance rn is probably 'cause yn and osc so close, especially with osc dating brianna, like she probably did it out of respect for them. no one wants to be 'the girl he told me not to worry about' yk.
-> user allegedly dating*
-> user allegedly dating*
user omg the parallelism to brianna with the surfboards 😭
-> user we've truly reached peak delulu i love it
landonorris enjoy ur break from a grid of shitheads 💪🏼
-> carlossainz55 speak for urself
wbuxtonofficial how am i going to handle them without you 0.0
-> ynuser well, not to state the obvious, but drivers are just... humans.
-> georgerussell hilarious
racerbia gorgeous girl 🧡
fbsfuser take me with u 😔
Round 4 (05/04-07/04): Japan
mclaren
Tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris, vindiesel, and mrodofficial
mclaren A little surprise for our papaya boys as they come back from their Friday practices! 🤫 Here's to hoping we go fast and furious in the land of sakura 🌸
Liked by f1, ynuser, racerbia, and 851,092 others
View all 60,004 comments
user the lack of yn's interactions with the whole grid is actually making me glitch throughout this weekend. and it's only friday 💀💀
user omggggg van diesel and michelle rod!!!!!!
user they really be spoiling osc lolll
user it's so weird to see an interview without yn
iMessages
Instagram
mclaren
Tagged: oscarpiastri
mclaren H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y @oscarpiastri!
Our baby driver is 23 today, here in Japan! Drive well, birthday boy! 😎🌸
Liked by f1, fbsfuser, racerbia, and 905,874 others
View all 35,621 comments
user happy birthday ossie!!!
landonorris: our baby is growing up so fast
-> f1 we must shrink him.
user wow she must be pissed if she took her first annual leave during this totally coincidental time
-> user fr sis is fooling no one.
-> user this feels like such a bad omen omg 😭
-> user guys maybe our bestie yn just really needed a break... haha...
briannawood_ happy birthday osc ❤️
-> user oh my god
-> user she actually exists
-> user girl what are you doing here
-> user ayo???
alexalbon happy birthday!!!!!!!!!!!
lilyhme HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSC
fbsfuer hbd
-> user oh-
ynuser
Tagged: oscarpiastri
ynuser to the one who vexes me, encourages me, n supports me sm, happy 23rd birthday. i've known you since your rebellious days, trying to prove to the rest of the world how your dream was worth fulfilling, and i'm grateful to have been with you to this very stage of your life. from re-watching cars and fast n furious for over a decade, to re-watching ur races and my interviews, know that i'll always be there, on or off track, no matter what. to the bane of my existence, from ur twin devil x
Liked by others
View all comments
user oh im gonna be sick is she the one who told f1 to invite vin diesel and michelle rod 😭💔
-> user u are spitting facts but in this case facts should not be facting because this is actually making me hyperventilate by all the drama rn
user no im sorry but why does this sound more like a goodbye than a hbd note
user yn trying to prove that she's actually a great write when she wants to be
-> user and SHE IS 😭😭😭
user the way she doesn't sound like herself AT ALL wtf is going on
user this sounds like a very strange way of resigning 💀
-> user YOU TAKE BACK WHAT U SAID RN
Comments on this post have been limited.
Twitter
Round 5 (19/04-21/04): China
ynuser
Tagged: f1
ynuser im back 😈 lovely weather here in china as we start round 5's quali day!! let's get back to it 💪🏼
Liked by others
View all comments
f1 she's back!
user oh my god i thought we were never gonna see her ever again
lewishamilton missed our fav presenter
-> georgerussell frfr!!
-> mclaren actually ☝🏼 she was and will always be OUR fav
fsfbuser welcome back gorgeous <3
user well... the good news is that she sounds normal again
-> user nah bruh im right here in the paddock and she looks nervous/twitchy af
user the besties obvie haven't made up yet 😪
-> user or maybe they never will...
oscarpiastri come on back over to our pit, you left before i finished changing ?
-> user oH WTF
-> user this shit is actually going to be the death of me
-> landonorris i thought we agreed that i'd call her? 🤨
-> charlesleclerc hush for a little while she's over at ours rn
-> user this is too funny
-> user is this a pr trick or some shit 'cause IT'S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE
Twitter
Instagram
oscarpiastri
Tagged: ynuser
oscarpiastri you are never escaping me ever again.
(forgive my impulsive actions tonight everyone, i swear im only ever like this around her)
Liked by landonorris, fbsfuser, ynuser, and 1,397,819 others
View all comments
francisca.cgomes SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. FINALLY.
-> lilymhe I KNOW RIGHT
-> pierregasly oscar can be so oblivious sometimes...
-> fbsfuser boy he was blind, deaf, and dumb for as long as i've known them. like pick a struggle??
-> landonorris i second this
logansargeant kinda giving serial killer vibes but u two are cute enough to forgive that
-> ynuser 🤪
-> maxverstappen1 i can finally go back to the garage in peace without u following me to talk my ear off
-> oscarpiastri u knew this whole time??
user i am going insane.
-> user maybe i hit the blunt too good this time...
-> user @landonorris and @fbsfuser u guys are the gods of all wingmen.
user oh thank god he wasn't actually dating brianna
-> user our queen and king can come back stronger and better now 😩
user your honour, nvm, my parents just got back tgt :D
ynuser 10 years, both of us having a nasty high school relationship each, and a rumour bomb that exploded from underneath me... i think i have every right to try and escape again.
-> oscarpiastri this was not funny when u first said it, and it will never be.
-> logansargeant ok but it kind of is
user my fav writer inspo is now my fav driver's wag MY HEART
landonorris thank god i dont need to listen to the both of you whining anymore
-> ynuser who said we're stopping 🤨
-> oscarpiastri you can't escape me either lando.
-> landonorris this is foul @mclaren i suggest you give me a raise for keeping ur other driver in check
-> f1 haha no.
mclaren thank god we don't have to whisper every time we see something suspicious now
-> redbullracing im ngl, same.
-> astonmartinf1 we once had to watch while they bantered with each other for 10 minutes 🧍🏻♀️
-> scuderiaferrari not that it's a competition, but they were always close to pecking each other whenever they were here
-> alexalbon wait why were they even in any of these garages??
-> mclaren ask oscar why he keeps following her...
user that interview was INSANE
-> user i don't think i've ever seen such a surreal confession oml
Twitter
a/n: lowkey cringey hehe. this was supposed to involve a wedding (for a mclaren engineer not oscyn loll) where they'd all be dressed up (you know... DRESS) but i reached the pics limit 💀 honestly i would've written this out as a one shot or smth but once i start i will never stop... and i have my ibdp math final 😭
281 notes
·
View notes
Text
Winter's King 15
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail.
“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.”
“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you.
“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts.
The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish.
The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward.
“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt.
His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss.
You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder.
“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly.
The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare.
“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.”
He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.”
You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit.
The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples.
“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.”
“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.”
“Horse pie? But he is fast.”
“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.”
“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.”
“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.”
“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.”
You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker.
“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.”
You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road.
“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask.
“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.”
You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well.
“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.”
“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?”
“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.”
He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry.
⚔️
The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent.
“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along.
You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail.
“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.”
“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move.
You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter.
“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.”
You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric.
“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly.
“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.”
“Yes, your highness, but the king--”
“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.”
You stare at her unmoving.
“They won’t allow it, your highness--”
A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands.
“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!”
She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away.
“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.”
You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either.
You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion.
It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion.
⚔️
The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains.
You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party.
Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist.
“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance.
You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head.
“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.”
He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth.
“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow.
“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.”
“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.”
“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down.
He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it.
“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls.
You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose.
⚔️
That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out.
Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat.
You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart.
“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back.
“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers.
“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels.
You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?”
“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs.
“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?”
He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat.
“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds.
“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.”
He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.”
“A skirmish?”
“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.”
“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.”
“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.”
“Yellow?” You wonder.
“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”
You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips.
“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?”
Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.”
You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?”
“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.”
You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?”
“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.”
#winter's king#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#medieval au#the witcher
167 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've been obsessed with @demon-of-the-ancient-world's post about Paul bandaging his own wounds after the duel with Feyd ever since I saw it. Partially because I am pretty sure he would not be physically able to do it, but he sure would try. So have a little thing.
Eventually, he is able to stop giving orders and having them fervently obeyed long enough to limp over to the hallway leading out of the war room. With every step, he is figuring out how to better hide the limp. His side still fucking hurts.
Close to the relief of the cool dark hallway, he spots a familiar face. Mari, the medic from his old band of fedaykin. Her gaze falters as he approaches.
"Bandages," he requests. At least his voice is still coming out steady.
She fishes in her pack and pulls out a roll. Holds it out to him like an offering, her fingers retreating as soon as he takes it.
She'd once held him down with a knee on his back while she pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his shoulder. Now she is afraid to touch him.
"More," he rasps.
She produces another roll. That should be enough.
There's a little anteroom just off the main chamber. A few Fremen trail after him as he heads there.
"Guard the door," he says to no one in particular. "No one enters." He shuts them all out.
He doesn't remember what this room was used for, in the brief time that he had lived here. It's empty now, save for a stone platform that runs along one wall at waist height. He drops the rolls of bandages on the platform and sags against it.
As soon as he lets the control slip, a wave of nausea washes over him. His head is pounding, blood drying tacky and itchy on his face, and with every breath it feels like both knives are still inside him.
Focus. He hears it in his mother's voice. She taught him this, how to reach inside himself and master pain. Attention stretching inward, finding the nerve endings that are screaming and shutting them down. He'd practiced with an embroidery needle pricking his finger. This is a bit more than that.
He concentrates until everything still hurts, but not so much that he's going to pass out. Probably. Then he starts working the fastenings of his stillsuit loose.
He gets the shoulder straps released and the moisture seal broken at the main seam, but then he's stuck. Pulling the suit off his left shoulder requires raising his right arm, and that comes with a spike of pain and an abrupt tilt of the floor underneath him. He grabs the edge of the platform and has to spend some more time working on not passing out. Starting with his right shoulder proves no better; twisting his torso in that direction makes his vision gray at the edges.
He's leaning heavily against the stone platform trying to figure out what to do when there's a commotion at the door. He hauls himself into standing up straight just as a young man, wide-eyed and with blood all down the front of his stillsuit, gets shoved into the room. "Forgive me, Lisan al-Gaib," the man says. "The scarfless warmaster insists on entering."
It takes him a minute to realize who he is talking about. "Let him in."
The man retreats, and Gurney steps into the room. "My lord." His gaze takes in the bandages, the pathetic progress he's made on removing his stillsuit. He closes the door behind him. "If I may."
Paul nods.
As soon as Gurney peels the stillsuit back from his injured shoulder, he realizes he never could've done it alone. It's a two-handed job, easing his arm out of the garment, and he needs his one free hand to bite down on to keep from making noise.
Gurney helps him slide the suit down to his waist. His torso is painted with blood but there's nothing to clean it with now. Best to focus on keeping any more from coming out.
Together they bandage his side, then his shoulder. Gurney's hands are not unkind but they are pragmatic, efficient, not flinching away from his wounds but not lingering either. There is no talking save Paul telling him to wrap the bandage tighter.
He remembers a time, long ago. Sitting on a storage chest in the staging room of the parade grounds below Castle Caladan, watching Gurney help his father put his armor on.
There had been a surrender--of whom, he can't remember. He could not have been more than five or six at the time. Generals of the army they'd just defeated coming to sign the armistice agreement, but with enough resentment about it that everyone was nervous, and his father was wearing armor to declare peace.
There had been no talking then, either. Just Gurney moving practically around his father, an extra pair of hands for pauldrons and breastplate and greaves, while his father practiced the speech he was going to give under his breath, making subtle adjustments to tone and emphasis along the way. He doesn't remember the speech, only the feeling, Gurney preparing his father's body while his father prepared himself in other ways.
That is what is happening now.
Once they get his shoulder wrapped as tight as they can, Gurney helps him ease the stillsuit back on. Gurney still needs some direction to get it laced properly, the Fremen way, but having another pair of hands to pull the straps tight over his shoulders means he only has to grit his teeth, not spend time waiting for the room for stop spinning.
He takes a few test steps across the room. The bandage around his ribs restricts his breathing a little, but it makes walking slightly less painful. That will do.
He pulls himself up to his full height, straight-backed, head held high. The posture of an emperor. Ready for battle.
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
Five Fic Feedback!
Tagged by: No one! Seen this floating about a few fandoms, and decided to bring it over to bagginshield!
Rules: Pick five fics you've written, then tell us about how you feel about it vs how readers have received it!
1 - Bad Blood
My Thoughts: This one is way bigger than I meant it to be! It was going to be about 5k words and the only scene I had in my head was Bilbo biting the elven guard, haha!
Readers: People really seem to love this one! I feel like feral Bilbo is always a crowd-pleaser, and this fic got much more attention than I ever expected it to!
-
2 - Soldier
My Thoughts: I'm really proud of this one. It was my first bagginshield fic, and it was after a loooong break from writing. Even though it's a bit weak in places, I have such a soft spot for it.
Readers: I ended up re-posting this one after some harassment kicked my confidence down the toilet, but since then the reception has been very positive!
-
3 - Poet
My Thoughts: I'm sorry to say it, but this is probably my least favourite fic I've written. If it wasn't so popular I'd have removed it and altered the end of Soldier so it was just one fic!
Readers: This fic seems to be very popular, and was the first time someone made art of my work - and more than once! I remember posting the first chapter and not expecting very much, only to come onto tumblr and see random posts where folks were super excited to see it was updating! It was such a lovely feeling!
-
4 - My Ego Dies
My Thoughts: I genuinely love this one, I think it's probably my personal favourite. I really enjoy playing about with the idea of "forgiveness" between Bilbo and Thorin, and this fic really scratched a particular itch for me!
Readers: Probably my least popular fic - statistically, at least! I've found most folk weren't into it for one reason or another, but the people who love it, really, really love it!
-
5 - Stealing Moments, Moments Away
My Thoughts: I wish I'd taken more time with this one in some ways, but in others it really is the reshirement fic I wanted to tell. Again, I got to tinker with that "forgiveness" trope, and have a good look at what survival might realistically have meant for Thorin.
Readers: This one is a quick read, and it's soft and fluffy, so I think readers enjoy it for that reason, though I believe some found it a bit boring. It was being updated almost daily, and the folks who were invested came back to comment and read practically every time I updated, which was just amazing to me!
-
6 - Backs To The Wall (Sorry, I've written six, so I wanted to do all of them!)
My Thoughts: I wrote this because it was something I wanted to read, and couldn't find. It's been amazingly fun, and I told myself when I started (knowing it was going to be fairly long - even if I didn't realise quite how long at the time, haha) that I wasn't going to take it too seriously, and I was really only writing this for myself, as the most self-indulgent kind of nonsense, ever!
Readers: I can't begin to tell you how utterly blown away by the response to this I've been. Like?? It's just crazy to me how much folks are enjoying this, how excited and supportive everyone has been! I've been so grateful for everyone reading, and genuinely shocked down to my bones, haha! 💛
-
No pressure tags for: @fantasyinallforms @lucigoo @lordoftherazzles @domesticgoddesswriter @thatfancygirlinwhite @lauramkaye @sass-y-squatch @mintedwitcher (and honestly anyone else who sees this and wants to do it, *waves a wand* you are Tagged!)
#tag game#bagginshield#bagginshield fic#thilbo#thilbo fic#fic writer#fic game#fandom#fandom game#conkers corner#bad blood#soldier poet king series#my ego dies#stealing moments moments away#SMMA#backs to the wall#BTTW#conkers-thecosy
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello I would like to remind everyone that the first (technically second if you wanna get really technical but who cares) thing we heard from fable was
"Release Me,
You are free of Enderian, now focus on purpose"
Directed at Icarus
"Now focus on your purpose"????? WHAT HAPPENED TO "HI" "HELLO" "HOW ARE YOU MY SON"
BECAUSE NEWSFLASH SIR THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TALK TO YOUR FUCKING CHILD
THEY AREN'T A FUCKING ROBOT TO TAKE AND CARRY OUT YOUR ORDERS THAT'S YOUR GODDAMN KID!
PEOPLE TREATED SEVEN WITH MORE FAMIARITY AND RESPECT
no offense to seven great guy rip man BUT STILL
Anyway on to actual analysis
After reading this note, several deductions can be made about our antagonist's character right off the bat, which in season 3 we see to be accurate assumptions
First of all the sending of the note "release me" constantly at the beginning of every reset presumably for the past several ones gives us a base line of a few things A) whoever wrote it is trapped B) they really want out C) whomever was to recive the note presumably can help with this D) this person is either very angry and resorting to formal wording as a form of passive aggression or they are simply a very formal person Had this not been the case they would have written "let me out" or "get me out" or even "help me"
Now for the post-corruption portion
"You are free of Enderian"
1) this person knows Enderian 2) This person knows at least of Icarus 3) They intentionally have been sending these to Icarus 4) despite being trapped they have some way to know what is going on 5) their particular view of Enderian is not favorable it's not overtly antagonistic however this is the one part of the not that can be read as at least partially sympathetic to Icarus
Finally "Now focus on your purpose"
1) they don't see Icarus as anything but a means to an end 2) tone wise it feels like both the chastisement of a child and an order to an unthinking being 3) "your purpose" seemingly refers to the prior statement of "release me" either implying that the writer believes Icarus is only here to get them out of wherever they are or that Icarus's sole purpose in life is to aid and assist them and 4) the use of "now" after the previous statement implies they view the corruption arc as simply something that was inhibiting the progression of them being let out
First off once again SIR THAT IS YOUR CHILD YOU MOTHERFUCKER-
In conclusion deductions that can be made from this note with the knowledge that i now hold are as follows: Fable wanted out of purgatory, they issued Icarus with the fulfillment of this task and saw the corruption arc as merely a speed bump on the road of getting his ass outta there. Fable is a pretentious douchebag. Like everyone else in his life Fable is constantly using his own son as a means to achieving his end goal.
Other notes:
Had Fable's motivations not been his underlying obsession with keeping what he believes is "his" even when it disrupts and disregards the rules of the universe and the sanctity of life he likely wouldn't have given 2 shits about Icarus.
If we view Fable's interactions with others through the lense of him thinking of those of the overworld as "his" his people his creations his world then it starts to become clearer that he only sees individuals as tools and for their potential usefulness to him. And if we want to take this view even further we could even say that he at least on some level viewed Alerion giving a place for his deceased mortals to restate something akin to how a child views their sibling stealing a toy from their room, which then implies that the war of the gods is just a big temper tantrum where Fable hurt his brother then his other siblings stepped in and went "hey woah man not cool you can hit Al dude he is literally just playing the game" to which Fable's response was to hurt them as well and now he's just got out of timeout and basically started blaming his parents for everything wrong in his life which is so silly goofy of him until you remember that these were people he was upset about his brother "stealing" from him and it becomes less silly goofy.
"But Lilly!" I hear you say because you've totally read this far, mhm definitely "If he doesn't actually care about the dead people, then why does he act nice? Why is his charisma stat so high?" Well to that I say is it easier to keep someone in one spot when you make them believe this is where they wanna be or when they know the whole truth?
#someone take my Tumblr privileges#why is this so fucking long#and how have i not made this post before??#once again#thank you for coming to my ted talk#fable when i get you fable#i have hated this man since before we knew for sure that he sent that note because deep down i knew and i wasn't gonna let that slide#Icarus deserves better#so much better#also apologies for how discombobulated this might be i had like 4 separate trains of thought while writing this#so idk how coherent it is#fable smp
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
37 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm a fan of a certain shōnen manga/anime that isn't terribly popular on Tumblr, which is why I also have a reddit account to participate in the relevant subreddit. It's also not a very big thing there, a day or two can go without a new post, and the sort of discussion that arises is obviously somewhat different than that on Tumblr, but something happened last week (and again this week) that I just have to share.
Somebody made a post about how much they disliked this one particular character because she's just so annoying and ugh they hate her every appearance! How can anyone like such a character?! The character in question is a minor antagonist who shows up about halfway through, with a clear character flaw or two (definitely a bit annoying!), and who undergoes character growth later on, but the OP in question had clearly not read that far/only watched the anime which ends much sooner.
Point is, I fucking dreaded clicking that thread--but I did nevertheless, ready to fight for my life in the comments defending her.
...Except that I didn't have to. Sure, there were a couple of comments agreeing with the OP, but they were all disliked until they were negative. The other comments were all arguing with the OP, pointing out a bunch of different things, including, but not limited to:
Since when are we not allowed to like antagonists/villains? (Plus: she's actually a very good antagonist if you think about it, which is why she's great!)
There's plenty of other (male) characters who are just as annoying or even more in different ways (And we like them just fine, so why not her?)
She's just like me, which is why I like her
She's very realistic/she's just being a teenager/I like that she's behaving like a typical 16-years-old, everybody else is too calm
Yeah she's annoying now but her character development is great, I love her
And so on. I was very, very pleasently surprised, especially when another thread with roughly the same idea but by a different person showed up this week, and got basically the same response.
Idk if this is just fans perceiving any sort of attack on a character as an attack on the series as a whole and rushing to defence due to that, and I don't particularly care. Or if my standards are too low ...
Nah, I'm just going to enjoy this. Hope something nice happens to you too!
--
:)
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
@ifdragonscouldtalk fuckin deleted the post thinking I had saved the screenshots smh. Anyway 69 😎
--
"Spock, I need a favor," Leonard said.
Spock blinked slowly, the words taking a moment to really register. Of all the people he ever expected to ask for a favor, Leonard would have been on the bottom of the list. In fact, he'd be on a whole separate list, titled 'will die rather than ask for help.' But then, Jim might be the one who needed help, and they needed a cooler head to prevail.
Or someone with a stronger punch. But he hoped it was the former.
Spock finally turned from where he'd been examining a particularly interesting carved statue and blinked again, very hard, when he saw the flower crown on Leonard's head. It was made of what looked like Terran hedera, small pink hyacinthus, and blue myosotis. It was different from all the other flower crowns he'd seen so far, woven only with plumeria.
"So unfair that you don't have to participate in this stupid festival," Leonard grumbled, scowling up at him.
"If the Captain had listened to me, none of you would have to participate in the Florum's customs," Spock explained, for what felt like the umpteenth time. He turned his gaze on the festivities, watching as one of the green-skinned Florum plucked a flower growing from their breast and placed it in the crown of another. "As it stands, Vulcans are offensive to the Florum peoples, especially in their nuptiae rites. Flowers, as you know, are not abundant in the hot, dusty climate of Vulcan, and--"
"Listen," Leonard cut in impatiently. "Just--pretend to be my date, okay?"
Spock stared at him for a moment. Then, quite inelegantly, he said, "I'm quite certain I misheard you, Doctor."
"You didn't, the Florum are trying to get in my pants, and I have never been more uncomfortable in my life," Leonard hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the milling of peoples on the marble courting floor. "I haven't been with anyone since--Look, I just. I don't like this. I'm not Jim. I'm not--"
He really did look deeply uncomfortable, Spock realized as he watched Leonard shift nervously on his feet, trying to keep his back to any of the Florum's wandering eyes. He'd only come off the ship in an effort to learn more about the Florum's medical procedures. Apparently, the clean, clinical smell of the medical crew was like catnip to a cat. It made sense to Spock, what with Terran medicine starting in the use of plants to treat ailments.
But that didn't matter if Leonard was uncomfortable, he reminded himself. And while the Florum were known to engage in non-monogamous behavior, they were aware that more territorial species existed.
"...I know we can't hold hands," Leonard added haltingly. "I don't... know how else to show..."
Spock nodded. Of course he wouldn't know how else to show casual affection without it being too much. He and Jim were always all over each other. Vulcans were more reserved, though, and Spock even more so. Still, he thought, narrowing his eyes at an approaching Florum. He was Chief Science Officer. It would be unconscionable to leave Leonard to suffer while he was uncomfortable.
"Leonard," Spock said firmly, laying his arm over Leonard's shoulders and pivoting on one foot to turn him and lead him further away from the nuptiae floor. "I saw a particular sculpture of the Florum's deity of medicine that I think you'll find interesting. Come along."
"Oh," Leonard squeaked, and Spock couldn't tell if he sounded confused or embarrassed. That was fine, though. The Florum did not feel either of those emotions and wouldn't understand it even if they sensed it. "Okay."
Another Florum approached them. Spock paused only long enough to snarl at it wordlessly, and Leonard let out a noise he'd never heard before, so he whisked him away from the marble floor entirely. If asked, Spock would explain that since Florum didn't understand spoken language, he was just warning it off in a way that was expedient. He had to admit though, at least to himself, that he was annoyed that the Florum would clearly ignore Leonard's flower crown that basically flashed a blaring 'taken; not interested' sign at them.
#ifdragonscouldtalk#1-161 stony ficlet challenge#spones#anyway spock's snarl awakens something in leonard and he has no idea what to do with it#star trek
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Todays rip: 30/04/2024
guess what????????
Season 2
Featured on: Haltmann's Highest Quality Video Game Rips
Ripped by alden wolf
youtube
Requested by eg_9371! (Request Form)
It's Gonna Be May!
Saying that SiIvaGunner has in-jokes is perhaps the most obvious statement of all time - it is an in-joke upon which the entire channel is built upon. Yet there's obviously always different LAYERS to each joke, how obvious each of them are - and even today, there are many running gags on the channel that fly over people's heads despite having followed along for so long. Indeed, such is the case today with guess what????????, as requestee eg_9371 made me aware of a channel in-joke that's been running quietly in the background for the better part of seven years as of today. All of it built on one simple truth - tomorrow, it's gonna be may.
To reiterate - beyond the funny ha-ha memes we all know like Mr. Grand Dad and more, the SiIvaGunner channel is filled with little nods and gags that oft go overlooked. I of course covered 5 Nights of Snop Dog recently which is a great example of one, there's how rips like Kill & Learn (Recut Ver.) reference a running joke by long-time mashup artist Triple-Q about how Sonic Adventure 2 and Kill la Kill have an immeasurable amount of similarities, rips like Kermit in the Ocean being spiritual successors to very specific years-old rips on the channel - you get the jist. Some of these gags eventually get special attention on the channel through specific channel events, but such has not yet been the case with guess what????????'s joke - it's a gag that's stayed in the background since its very beginnings, and is only being kept running by a select few rippers. If you're listening to the rip now and it still hasn't landed yet, you may need to be enlightened to the ways of hit boy band *NSYNC. Or, well, really the band itself matters very little compared to the song of choice - It's Gonna Be Me.
Boy band music has a pretty interesting track record on SiIva in general, honestly. One Direction, Backstreet Boys, Boyzone, *NSYNC - to me the typical audience that obsesses over these kinds of bands feels at odds with my image of the average SiIvaGunner fan, and yet whenever they're prominently pushed I get reminded of just how good their music can be when wielded by good rippers. We've had two explosively quality events focusing on two bands in particular, the Big Time Rush takeover of Season 5 with Famous Surprise and the One Direction day of Season 7 with Beautiful Dreamer. *NSYNC hasn't had the same explosion of notoriety, but It's Gonna Be Me in particular has stealthily appeared on the channel every year since 2017 on April 30th. The joke is originally an ancient Tumblr meme from 2012, based on the way singer Justin Timberlake (yes!) pronounces the titular line in the song as "It's gonna be May" - the joke writes itself, and so Tumblr users have annually celebrated the day-before-May in Timberlake's honor.
eg_9371 writes in his request for this post that he's actually one of the most active rippers in keeping this joke going on SiIva for all these years, which I find extremely commendable, and it all started in Season 2, with guess what????????. It's a rearrangement of the song in the style of Donkey Kong Country 2's Mining Melancholy, a track most notable for its rhythmic percussion of steel drums sounding like steadily-working pickaxes deep in the mines. Its a fantastic track on its own, yet that percussion especially is a shockingly natural fit for the harpsichord(?) backing prominent throughout It's Gonna Be Me. Mining Melancholy's usual percussion and other parts of its melody stick around for large parts of the rip, making it more of a melody swap/mashup of the two than a full rearrangement a la Sog-Gee Ambiance - but it only serves to enhance the two tracks used, giving It's Gonna Be Me a more melancholic sound and Mining Melancholy a more self-assured feel in return, a super interesting blend of moods. I don't think the It's gonna be May bit would have worked nearly as well if the rip it was paired with wasn't of high quality, and guess what???????? clears that threshold effortlessly - its a great rip that's made me appreciate the quality in both songs used.
*NSYNC rips have, again, continued to show up in all the years since, always on the dot, often even deliberately placed as the LAST rip of April 30th to drive the joke home. I think it's really sweet that the joke has stuck with eg_9371 in particular, likely in part due to alden wolf's initial contribution to the bit - he's even made It's Gonna Be Me rips on dates completely unrelated to the beginning of May, just because its a genuinely fun song to listen to. There's tons of these "secret" gags left to find on the channel, reoccurring dates or rips that reference jokes from other rips that are years-old by now - and really, a huge part of the fun in running this blog is getting to discover so many turning gears of the channel that I'd never been made aware of. Keep an eye out for these gags yourself - and keep an eye out on SiIvaGunner channel itself later today, to see if It's Gonna Be May for yet one more year.
#todays siivagunner#season 2#siivagunner#siiva#alden wolf#Youtube#its gonna be may#it's gonna be may#justin timberlake#*nsync#nsync#boy band#boy bands#it's gonna be me#its gonna be me#may#donkey kong country#dkc#donkey kong country 2#dkc2#rareware#snes#snes music#david wise
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
https://www.tumblr.com/sageistrii/749080074375086080/i-am-not-gonna-lie-i-find-it-a-tad-bit-funny-that?source=share
But do you think that because of jk's songs like seven, snty and 3D which were like gp friendly jk's popularity in sk might have increased? See i know that the sk industry or gp does challenges that fit the tiktok kinda vibes and even jisoo's flower was done by many many ppl (it actually reached my country too where i didn't just see the kpop fans doing the trend but even some celebs who never does anything related kpop doing the challenge or using the song) and jk's all these three songs were are actually pretty popular in sk. alot of idols has mentioned him as their fav/role model and even has recommended other songs from his album too. isn't it like being popular and having strong fb a different case? So do you think jk is more popular?? I'm just talking about it based on how much ppl i have seen doing his challenge/mention his songs/mention him as their fav etc. If there's other criteria through which this get's calculated then I'm not well aware. I actually saw someone asking this question so i was wondering too.
Seven did well in SK because it did well all over the world. 3d and snty not so much, like crazy did better than both those songs in all major aspects. If a song's acclaim and chart placement lies on how many people joined it's challenges, then I luv it by Kamila cabello would be number 1 on the hot 100 right now. Some people just join these challenges for fun, doesn't mean they're listening to the song. Like we can all see the chart placements of both songs
Also this man has been everywhere since 2022, Hybe made sure of that and you're surprised he's being name dropped by every kpop idol. That's literally how idols move, they name drop songs or artists that are trending at that particular moment. If this year some other soloist that isn't jk gets the same coverage and success that jk got in 2023, they're going to ignore him and talk about that person. You think none of those idols listen to other BTS members especially jimin? Or have y'all deluded yourself into thinking jk's album was the only one these idols listened to and liked? I guarantee you that they're also tons of idols who listen to rapline and love their music.
But they're going to mention the one member that was being shoved down their throat because that's how they also get publicity for themselves. And it's one reason why unlike some pjms I will never hype these random name droppings from idols because I know how it goes. Next year they're going to focus on the next trending idol or group and not even acknowledge your fave. It's like how idols jump on TikTok trends, it's not because they like the song or the singer, it's for visibility.
Let me use le sserafim as an example (no shade to them), during their promotions last year they danced to flowers by Miley because it was popular when they probably don't even listen to it but what they got in return was publicity because Miley posted them on her Instagram. They mentioned Taylor repeatedly during the time when her name was all over the media for the release of her re-recordings, they've name-dropped Beyonce in a song they teased in Coachella which makes sense because she's been the most talked about person on social media this year and has one of the most popular songs of the year so far, now they've also been linked to Sabrina carpenter in Light of her new found chart success. That's how the industry works. Name dropping or joining challenges doesn't necessarily mean they're listening because those idols could drop their 2023 Spotify wrapped, and you probably wouldn't find any Jungkook song.
Jimin has spent a long time at the top of Spotify Korea and like crazy got almost 200k unique listeners on melon, just a 100k+ below seven, you think none of those listens came from idols? But why would they name drop him after all the shit that happened with his debut and also when bang and scooter made sure all jk's achievements stifled his?
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
I am once again being haunted by "a paradox" holy fuck Olivia what the fuck is going on here what did you get yourself involved with and what did you do after it speak to me Olivia I can't keep living like this
#rat rambles#oni posting#the second half fills you with the horrors so you forget that the log opened up with that b111-1 bomb#for the record a paradox is one of my favorite lore logs of all of them because its the log that made me go Oh Shit and go reread all the#olivia logs I initially only skimmed through and begun the olivia brain takeover#the second part rewired my brain irreversably like its so fucked I love it#in particular one thing that makes me so fucking glad that the old olivia jackie logs were scrapped is that originally jackie was the one#who printing pod ified olivia to save her from the end of the world or smth#but the change to make it self inflicted? fucking amazing ten million times better and more interesting#especially because it implies she did it on purpose!#which opens up so many doors and I fucking Love it#because the teleportation technology was what she knew of as a method of doing this but either A shed have to have kept using teleporters#anyways and either just count on her not dying or counting On her dying#or shed have to know the link between it and the neural vaculators#which is very possible considering Stuff™ but does raise the question of how she used it#now the boring answer is that her brain map was already taken from the neural vaculator tests but god. that answer is boring.#the most interesting possibility to me personally is that she could have well. tinkered a bit with existing technology.#unlikely? maybe. fun to explore for my purposes? yep.#also I need the peace of knowing that jackie never got the satisfaction of knowing what happened with olivia's dissapearance#or if she did only after the fact#I need this to have been completely out of jackie's viewpoint at the top and I need it to fuck with her and shatter her worldview#I need to see the desperation and paranoia of a woman who is realizing that she has lost control over her technology#I need to see her try to cling onto her past ambitions and sense of control while falling apart at the seams#and I need olivia to have never thought jackie would give a shit until all else but her is dead and gone#do you see my vision do you see it do you see how much more fun it is if it was extremely deliberate instead of only lightly so
24 notes
·
View notes
Photo
my ocs but make them tma fear avatars
#oc things#posts made just for me (all of them are but this one in particular...#need to apologize for my lack of art lately but I am Going Through It lmao#original characters#digital#altair solomon#nagi almstedt#satsuki kurosawa#sorcier de la croix#cian citrine#enoch eklund#<- tagging my characters as if they're actual characters#also i did think of what fears they'd be consumed by#would love to draw it but#from top to bottom: web desolation vast stranger hunt and buried#have other ocs i'd love to do this for but idk if I'll get to it lmao
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
the amount of time I spend on tumblr dot com has given me quite the set of standards when it comes to artworks on the theme of 'Trans Angel', and actual museums are failing to meet those standards quite spectacularly.
#news from the cupola#if you don't want to hear a lot of inane whining stop reading this post Here.#today once again I saw this particular sculpture entitled exactly that. it is the most unpleasant thing I have ever beheld.#it is relevant that it is a sculpture about the transamerica pyramid and not about Transgender things. but I do keep forgetting that.#so many errors were made in the construction of this fucking thing. I have seen it maybe thrice at this point and it has not grown on me#in the slightest. and I know that the conversation about Good Art and what makes Good Art is certainly fraught.#but by my lights whatever this is this isn't good art#maybe it's partially that this thing is displayed among some really wild examples of Just What Can Be Done With Clay#it's surrounded by hundreds of years' worth of technical mastery and it fails to be anything of note except bad to see!#clunky sculpting! ugly glazing! forms that are difficult to parse but also not very interesting once you do see them!#and why in the goddamn does it have the twitter logo sculpted all over it. what is Happening.#everything else by this artist in this exhibit is also not great in similar ways?#it's not even bad in a way that's interesting! it's just. not good!#it all feels like they're trying far too hard to make Art That Means Something and missing by a mile#also. no one calls the transamerica pyramid that. You Say The Whole Name. or you just point at it and say 'that one'
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
Obsessed with the dynamic (not romantic, not platonic, but a secret third thing--both and yet neither) between two characters who knew and cared about each deeply years ago when they were both younger and life was much less complicated.
But then, tragic, transformative circumstances separated them. Assuming that this separation was certainly permanent, because how could it not be?
And yet, somehow finding each other again years later, and sometimes they aren't sure whether the reunion that they once longed for with every fiber of their beings is a blessing, a curse, a joke, or a punishment.
Because they've both changed in the intervening years--largely because of the hellish circumstances that caused their separation. They've both changed completely and irrevocably, even if one of them has changed much more noticeably and dramatically than the other to the point of seeming a complete stranger. It is about leaning to see and appreciate all the things that have changed about the other and all the things that have not changed. It's about learning to reconcile beloved, often rose-tinted memories with the complex, yet-equally-compelling reality of the person those memories are about.
#it's the very particular sensation of loving someone who is both recognizably your beloved childhood partner-in-mischief#while also being someone so different (physically; mentally; and/or emotionally) that you can scarcely see their past self in them#and knowing the feeling is mutual#and also knowing that the only person who can truly understand the full extent of the change in you is each other#because their transformation is linked to your own#forged in and through the unique experiences that you shared and the way you were separated#it's the idealized adoration of youthful playmates/pseudo-siblings#transforming into a very different but no less powerful connection in adulthood#that's what really gets me#it's just#*chefs kiss*#estabalena#nahyupollo#jaydick#anyway this post is specifically about estabalena and jaydick#and to a lesser extent apollo/nahyuta#but it doesn't really matter if people tag and respond with other ships#even the narumitsus provided they recognize that not every post was made for them#it goes double for jaydick and estabalena tho since they each have two (2) shared formative and transformative experiences#that few (if any) others can possibly understand#for estabalena; it's the 41 years of suffering in the dark times and the crystal well magic flowing through ones veins#for jaydick; it's the experience of being "Robin' and feeling that the role and all it means was ripped from you too soon#and then it's the experience of dying and your family failing to welcome you back with open arms#because you didn't come back 'right' or quick enough#and that you 'chose' to stay away rather than circumstances forcing the issue#apollo/nahyuta also has the jaydick parallels in terms of bruce and dhurke#it's recognizing that your very human shared father figure failed you in many ways#even as he simultaneously saved you in others#he made you both the best version of yourself while also creating or enabling all of your worst tendencies#just
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Ahsoka show might be great. It might suck. It might just be mid. Either way I’m glad Rebels is gonna be essential viewing (I mean more than it already is) and the normies will no longer have any excuse to blatantly ignore it just cause they assume it’s Too Kiddy because of the art style. I had to deal with people saying Solo was the first time the Imperial March was established as the Empire’s in-universe national anthem. I had to deal with people saying Fallen Order was the first time a Jedi knighting ceremony was shown in canon. I had to deal with people watching Clone Wars season 7 and thinking Ursa was the Armorer cause they didn’t take five seconds to read the end credits. I had to deal with people who didn’t watch Clone Wars OR Rebels talking about Mandalore stuff and thinking they know more than me cause they skimmed a Wookieepedia article. I had to deal with people saying the Obi-Wan show should’ve been about Maul hunting down Obi-Wan as if it wasn’t a story that had already been told 5 years prior. No more. At long last I shall be free.
#that fifth example in particular pissed me off so much#like i remember seeing rumors that maul was originally considered to be in the obi-wan show#and that filoni was the one who suggested they use the inquisitors instead#which as far i can tell all that was just rumors with no hard confirmation#but anyway someone made a post about it that was like ''oh OF COURSE filoni suggested they use a character from a filoni show''#and i mean say what you will about dave showing favoritism towards his characters#but you REALLY think it was a bad call to feature the jedi hunters instead? in the show about a surviving jedi?#you REALLY gonna tell me it would've been better if they dismissed an entire season's worth of plot development from rebels?#yeeeaah no. fuck off.#and the mandalore thing is the second most annoying of these#like at least half of the worst takes about the mandalorian are from people who never watched clone wars or rebels#and think reading fandom wikis is a substitute for actually experiencing the story and makes them an expert#i'm not saying everyone's obligated to watch them. just don't act like you know more than me when you don't. bitch.#the first three examples aren't nearly as annoying it's just about the principle#shut up tristan
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
the poll for how to arrange the brackets just finished with proceeding as originally planned winning!
so, without further ado, here are the lineups ^^
note :: songs with a * next to them may require a content warning. i'll provide specific warnings as soon as i have the time, but as of now please proceed with caution
main matchup bracket ::
alice of human sacrifice* by yugami p / fear garden* by chaa
magnet by minato p / romeo and cinderella by doriko
world is mine by ryo / world's end dancehall by wowaka
triple baka by lamaze p / the disappearance of hatsune miku by cosmo p
meltdown by iroha(sasaki) / luka luka★night fever by samfree
fire◎flower by halyosy / trick and treat by oster project
daughter of evil by mothy / dancing★samurai by kanimiso p
rolling girl by wowaka / matryoshka by hachi
madness of duke venomania* by mothy / alluring secret ~black vow~ by hitoshizuku x yama
senbonzakura by kurousa / outer science by jin
doubleganger by kulfiq / mikusabbath by utsu p
jinsei reset button by kemu / common world domination by pinnochio p
the fox's wedding* by masa works design / tokio funka by takamatt
heat haze days by jin / patchwork staccato by toa
six trillion years and an overnight story by kemu / lost one's weeping by neru
aishite aishite aishite by kikuo / echo by crusher p
setsuna drive by taki yoshimitsu / yoake to hotatu by n buna
a fake fake psychotropic by kairiki bear / therefore you and me by tadanoco
my r* by kurage p / i'm glad youre evil too by pinnochio p
chururira chururira dadada by kurage p / mkdr by deco*27
blessed messiah and the tower of ai by hitoshizuku x yama / 86 by dasu
law evading rock by neru / nakakapagpabagabag by dasu
sand planet by hachi / ghost rule by deco*27
monster by kira / hated by life itself by iori kanzaki
cause i'm a liar by mcki robyns p / honey i'm home by ghost
hole dwelling by kikuo / bring it on by giga
meteor by divela / seraphim on the ring by mitchie m
the court jester by thquib / casino by azari
king by kanaria / villain by teniwoha
lower by lanndo / phony by tsumiki
higanbana milk tea by vane / scapegoat by ghost
queen by kanaria / bug by kairiki bear
honorable mention bracket ::
electric angel by yasuo p (original), giga (giga arrange) / freely tomorrow by mitchie m
po pi po by lamaze p / go google it by wintermint p
black★rock shooter by ryo / bacterial contamination by kanimiso p
i like you, i love you by gevanni p / first love academy • school of true love by nem
(also a quick general note ! i don't have everything ready for a formal polished reveal at the time of posting this. i plan on updating this post with links to the songs and also a visual bracket when i have the time. they'll definitely be up soon, so make sure to check back in a bit for them ^^
i'll also make sure that reblogs are turned on for the final version!)
#vocaloid song showdown#sorry it's just a list for now i promise i'll update it and make it look nicer as soon as i get the chance :'D#i'll also add the playlists to the final post so those will finally be out soon too !#but for now it's just a quick little post to get the matchups out sooner rather than later since this is already kinda behind schedule :')#anyway it's still kinda bonkers to me that only one person nominated po pi po and electric angel#those songs used to be Everywhere it felt like#and unless i continually missed it no one sent in llevan polka :(#(to be fair itnisn't originally a vocaloid song. idk if i could fully qualify it bc of that but still shocked that it got no nominations)#oh also ! until i have the image finalized if anyone thinks any matchups should be tweaked at all feel free to lmk !#i was mostly judging popularity based on nominations and view count (reprints included) but it was hard to tell for some ???#like i remember a whole bunch of reprint channels getting deleted or privating all their videos and i'm sure that impacted some view counts#and rolling girl in particular has a lot less views than i thought it would ???#it's not a small amount by any means but it also seems to be on the higher side of the average for the final bracket songs#it was also unsurprisingly the most nominated song#so some of the matchups were a bit weird and wonky to put together fhdkfh#(especially echo actually too ? it got 2 nominations and barely made it but has the highest view count out of all the songs last i checked)#anyway all that to say if anyone wants to give feedback on the bracket pairings i'm open to it until i get the formal version up ( ^^)b#additionally if i missed any songs that should have some sort of warning please let me know fhdkdh#i added them only off the top of my head so i might've missed one#(the final version of this will have more specific warnings too. potential flash warnings as well)#EDIT :: changed up within 24 hours to up soon#i wish i could've had everything together within 24 hours but things came up and i need just a little more time :(#but i wanna get started on voting monday (february 27) for real this time ! no more putting it off :'D
29 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
letitflow10
Let it flow.
dangan-ask-ronpa-blog
AU Dangan Ronpa Ask Blog
the-orange-in-red-silk
That was very sweet.
dasiyr
Daisy🍀
octo-in-the-mainframe
DJ Octavio from Splatoon my beloved