you dont know the half of it

well how do you see me? a drunk or a deadbeat?

[lucasshair]

[gentleaddictions]

[kissedbruises]

@wtf-ollie​ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ closed starter at emersyn’s house 

Emersyn was bored. This was never good. She had just had her annual big blow out summer garden party at the Prayer Factory, but she wanted more - Emersyn always wanted more. She clung onto entertainment like favorite little moments, onto people that could bring her amusement like little grudges she could keep and candy she could pop in her mouth. She did that well - seeing as her client list had grown exponentially throughout the years and it was a one woman operation. Just Emersyn. She was magnetic, bringing people like a moth to a flame and in the summer - it was time to set those flames.

She had texted Oliver to come over, to amuse her, and sat lounging out by her massive pool at her home in Beverly Hills. It was a classic home, one of the homes that was featured in every beautiful Reader's Digest of Beverly Hills. She had none nothing different - and she required nothing less. One of her many staff maids had brought her a lemonade as she lounged, comfortably, in luxury chairs when she looked up to see Oliver come in.

"Well, darling. Look who is here. Welcome once again to my humble abode."

[wtf-ollie]

Olivers supply was dwindling, he would have to re-up soon, but in a land of postmates it was rarely his job, just a task he would delegate. The young diamond heir had been enjoying the summer sun at a rooftop speakeasy, surrounded by beautiful bodies and more drinks than his liver could possibly consume. It was a well known fact at this point, the moment he started to enjoy something he would inevitably start to feel like he wanted more. A curse of the rich is what his father would call it, the inability to stop climbing, searching, doing anything to find the next big thing. Legal substances could no longer keep his interest.

In that moment, as if she read his mind, he got a text from Emersyn. Closing out, and bidding adieu to the chorus begged him to stay, he was already out the door. His driver was out front, opening the all black SUV and shuttling him into it. He closed his eyes for a moment, settling in to let the buzz cover his body, but all too soon it was ripped from him, his door swinging open once more.

He was ushered in, and led straight to the pool, as he saw her he smirked. "I am starting to think you have a tracker on my usage darling, you always seem to know when I am running low." Oliver made his way over to the lounge chairs. "love, if you were going for humble I think you missed the mark by a few million" slowly settling into the chair next to hers. "why the personal call? I would think you would still be recovering from that garden party, I thought we did quite a bit of damage.. but you seem unscathed" his eyes fluttered shut once more and he took in the sun, his light cotton button down was held together with only two buttons, exposing most of his chest to the warmth. "how can I be of service this fine afternoon?"

[kissedashes]

Foster knew Oliver. Living in this town long enough, everyone knew who Oliver and his family were - the diamond heir was someone he had hung around, had partied with. It was people like Oliver who Foster liked to be around, people of the world, who could afford anything they truly wanted. It was something so foreign to Foster growing up, when a plain pair of shoes was something he often went without. That little boy though from Macon, Georgia, was no more - here stood a rich musician, famous and full of notierty, but still - Foster at times still felt like the poor kid who hung out on his porch's first step most nights because he couldn't stand the fighting of his parents.

"And there he is - Mister Diamond. Sorry I didn't see you there, I was distracted by the cute hustlin' right in front of me, kid. How ya doin'? Haven't seen you in a stitch, have I?" Foster had barely seen anyone since getting out of rehab and of course the first people he bumps into - it had to be him. Nothing could quite trigger a relapse more than seeing Oliver. "Oh, yeah, is it? Well, for royalty like you, kid, I'm sure your first favorite kind of place is somethin' really shiny and pretty. Why don't you tell me all about it? Drinks on you - look at you, already bein' so generous and kind. I like that. Daisy, baby, why don't you cop someone else's joint for a while?" He kissed the dancer on the lips as she nodded and walk away, and he turned his attention to Oliver.

"You find any cuties in here ya fancy?"

[wtf-ollie]

The club seemed to quiet when he had something to focus on, and Foster was always a good time. The man across from him was usually one of the only people he knew that could keep up with his indulgences. "please..." he feigned modesty "Mister Diamond is my father" baby blues rolled. He let his eyes swivel around the darkened room, it was definitely easy to let ones attention wander, surprisingly he had blocked most of it out for the early part of the night, Oliver had a feeling that was soon to change.

"it has been a minute, where have you been?" he smirked, he had heard a rumor that he had gone off to rehab, but who in this town hadnt at this point. "you know, same old same old for me.. debauchery and bad decisions... life is tough for a practicing philanderer" he let a small laugh escape his nose. "I am only here for the NDA we sign at the door, didnt feel like my antics deserved the front page today" Oliver watched as Foster sent the waitress away, hoping it meant a bottle or two of something good was coming. Without a drink in his hand, this place was showing its true colors, and the young Allard was not interested in watching horny people beg for sex from people who were pretending they were entertaining the idea.

"oh no.. its all too easy here, I need more of a chase.. its no fun when sex is on the menu". As if on cue two bottles of champagne found their way to the table, popped and overflowing Oliver poured two glasses and passed one over to foster "but it seems everyone I have chased seems to find their way through these doors, " He took a long drink and set the almost empty glass back on the table "what about you Fos, anyone you got your eye on?"

[wtf-ollie]

what's the most meaningful gift you've ever been given?

"still waiting for it.. what do you give someone who has everything?"

[wtf-ollie]

Who do you rely on most?

"easily @kissedbruises, who else could get me through the week like that little minx"

[wtf-ollie]

Most extravagant thing you've ever bought yourself?

"private jet... unless this is the IRS, then that is strictly for business purposes"

[wtf-ollie]

When did you realize you had rich people kind of money?

"when I was gifted a private island for my third birthday"

[wtf-ollie]

Are diamonds truly a girl's best friend?

"if my bank account is any reflection, they sure are... I've never met anyone able to turn them down"

[wtf-ollie]

[janployshompoos]

[wtf-ollie]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 @mcverickk

Sundays. The worst day of the week. The knowing of the next week being fast approaching had always brought Oliver anxiety, of which he usually quelled with a prescription that wasnt his. It made him feel like a cliché at times, the rich kid who had a prescription pill problem, and when he found himself feeling such a way he would just drown it out with more pills, more booze, more. A hard and fast shake of his head seemed to set his thoughts right. the day had been agonizing. Not a moment had lulled Oliver from his boredom, his stormy blues had been half hooded all day, from either pure exhaustion or the chemicals that had been slowly leaving his system. He let his glossy eyes flicker over to the clock, it had been later than he expected, but the sun hung heavy in the sky, so he should have known better. “fuck this” he muttered aloud to his empty house. He took a breath in and pulled the nearest shirt over his head, basketball shorts fitting loosely he stood from where he sat on the couch.

staying in was a new development for Oliver. He had purchased this home with the intention of making a dent in the endless amounts of wealth that seemed to never stop replenishing itself within his families bank account, to no such luck. The sprawling home was never meant to actually be lived in. It was decorated meticulously, art hung from the walls, couches were arranged perfectly and flowers were always freshly cut in vases, but it was all for show. The idea that he would have someone over for long enough to actually look at any of it was laughable. He pulled out his phone "im coming over", he grabbed a six pack of some microbreweries seasonal selection and was out the door.

Maverick had lived suspiciously close, Los Angeles is by no means a walkable city, but Mavericks house certainly was. Knowing this made nights like Sundays easier. A short walk later, he found himself at his doorstep. He let his fingers go straight to the doorhandle, opening it with ease, “Honey, Im home, hope you're indecent” he called out with a smirk that made its way into his voice. He set the beer down on the counter and walked over to the couch, his hands on the back of it as he leaned down looked from side to side. “it looks like a fucking crime scene in here” he chuckled. There was an ease with Maverick that Oliver had never known, and rarely allowed himself to bask in, but tonight felt like an exception, he needed easy, he didnt want another vapid conversation with people whose names he could never remember.

[cagedkinq]

status: open to everyone location: Venice Beach

California and Australia were not much of a change for Kennedy. The sun, the cities and the beaches were not much of a difference for him. But in California, Kennedy was free to do what he loved. Making music was his life passion. But that didn't mean he didn't get homesick from time to time. The sunny beaches were a bit of a comfort for him. It the same waters that he saw back in home. Kennedy wasn't going to deny he had this certain look, tall blonde and built physique. He looked like someone who could surf. He's been told that by multiple people, even a few of his bandmates. And today he was going to change that. Maybe.

He gotten so far as to renting a surf board. He had taken lessons before but they didn't go well that he didn't take them back up. But he learned enough to go on his own. Yet he was still standing on the beach. "Hey, quick question." Kenny turned to the person. "By just looking at me, how many years do you think I've surfed? For science."

[wtf-ollie]

Who knew there was so much sand at the beach. It was getting everywhere, his hair, his arms, clinging to his swim suit. This was not as relaxing as he had been led to believe. Laid out on a beach towel, sun warming his skin, all he could think about was the sand. Oliver sat up slowly, wiping it off of his arms and shaking out his hair. A dip in the ocean should clear most of it, it will leave him a prime target for more to cling to him after, but that was future Ollies problem. Walking back under his umbrella, he folded his towel, and checked his phone. Instant regret, he ran a hand through his messy brown mop of hair before locking it once more and letting the missed calls and unread texts live face down on his beach chair.

Fingers instinctually went for the cooler, maybe it was the unpleasantness of being sober that was his true irritant. A voice came through, Oliver was mildly annoyed as he turned to face the man standing before him. Well at least the view helps. Arms went across his chest, truly taking in the man before him. "years?" he asked with a chuckle. "I would think it was your first time... judging by the way you are still out here on the beach and not in the water." eyes finally left the tall brunette and went back to the cooler, pulling a beer and popping the top off before moving to sit on top of the grey box he had just opened. Oliver took a long sip. "surfers are usually in the water at sunrise and don't get out until at least noon, its like..." he motioned to look at a watch that was very clearly not there. "way past noon, and you're a little early to catch the sunset.." he brought the bottle back to his lips and let his eyes once more dance across the mans frame. "you look like you could be on a surfing magazine though... perfectly oiled standing next to a surf board" he let the cool glass settle into the sand, standing once more and taking two steps towards him. "I was just about to get in the water though.. want to prove me wrong?"

[selfmythclcgy]

open to: everyone location: lounge bar at glass house

The torment was as close as he could get to resolution in his retaliation against his vices. Wiping his fingers along the stick of a bar counter after one too many drinks, biting into a lime or an olive to salivate at the anticipation of something stronger, listening to a slur and feeling it slick on is own tongue— Sinclair could relish it all from a distance. He carried some false sense of faith that as long as he didn't hold a drink, he could keep himself from stumbling out. Soon enough, just as his manager told him, he would have to walk into rooms like these and know how to act. He told himself this was what he needed to do in order to learn how not to behave, but survive. But as he leaned forward to ask for another cup of garnish, a heavier glass was put in his hand. He could smell the fumes of ever bridge that would burn under its influence. "For you, sent from over there," The bartender greeted him with the gift and a nod towards the other end of the bar. Sinclair turned his head away quickly, sliding the glass over to the person next him. Maybe they could skip the line with whatever prize sloshed over the the crystal edge lined with salt. "Take it," He said. "It's on me. I doubt whoever sent it over knows what I drink anymore."

[wtf-ollie]

Liquor had settled through his blood stream, a warmth that defrosted the chilled ache he wouldn't admit was lingering. Meaningless chatter with meaningless people had kept him satiated for long enough. This was the point in the night when he would crave something more, usually to no avail, settle for more to drink, and someone vapid to wear on his arm like the expensive jewelry that adorned his wrist.

The exclusivity of it all was what usually drew him in, the best of the best, but tonight it felt all too much like exactly what his parents wanted of him. Someone rich and influential to further their empire. The drink was getting to his head, it was far too early to wallow.

Pushing his way through the crowd and up against the bar he should have known it from the smell of his cologne. That smell that has lingered through his memory, the smell that has reminded him that he could fight this. That he didn't have to feel like this anymore, that this hazy buzz that lingered, the fire in his throat and the cut of his tongue when he spat words he didn't mean at people he could have cared for didn't have to exist. That it wasn't only drink and drugs that took that edge off, there was another option, and the proof of that was standing next to him.

"sadly, you're the only one I cant take a drink from" it was enticing him, it sat between them like a ticking time bomb. Despite the sheer volume of his blood that was alcohol at this moment, he felt perfectly sober, and would try to act like it. His constant debauchery didn't feel out of place in any other situations, but this one felt like being caught. "what are you doing out tonight? and why here of all places, it has to be tough, knowing its all within arms reach.." he looked down at the drink once more. It was as if it was shouting between them, yelling to be addressed, to be drank. Oliver picked up the drink and put it behind him, offering it to the next person in line.

[kissedashes]

wish on an eyelash : ̗̀➛ opened to all

Foster's producers, managers and all were pleading with him to keep a better image now that he was out of gambling rehab - but that didn't mean Foster had to be a perfect angel. By no means was Foster the perfect man - he liked his down time to be filled with good thrill, good liquor and good times - and what better place would that be than Wish On An Eyelash? Foster had his usual table, his own drinks flowing, people to fawn over him and life was good - as long as he had the money to cover it all. He was running low - which always was a trigger for him. Still, he kept up the facade well as he looked up from his drink and smiled, all before it spilled all over him.

"Aw, fuck, man. The wort party foul." Waitresses and all came to his rescue with napkins, but Foster only smiled that boyish smile and sighed. "Ay, shit like that happens. No big deal. You okay over there? Don't apologize - you can always just buy me a drink instead to make up for it. These are my favorite pants, so, uh - maybe two drinks?"

[wtf-ollie]

Escapism. That's what this bar had always been to him, but lately it had become dark tourism. Haunts of former lovers, one night stands, and people whose name was on the tip of his tongue but lost to the sound of the music. Strip clubs were hardly of his taste, but the NDA was right up his alley. The bartender had his card on file, if not memorized, but who was watching his account enough to notice? Certainly not Oliver. He had bought drinks down the bar, hoping it would cause the ever present bodies to dissipate, give him room to breathe, no such avail. With a breathy sigh he pressed backwards into the crowd, drink in hand and eyes on constant swivel. Lev spotted her at the exact right moment, angry, charging, ready to make a scene.

Tiffany? Rachel? God why are there so many names? Hers was a hazy blank spot in the depths of his alcohol soaked memory. With a swift movement he was through the crowd, if there was one thing the young Allard had learned, it was how to get away from someone who was trying to confront him. For a final measure he would duck into one of the overcrowded booths. Icy blues surveyed his options, Batchelor party. Pass. Men that were enjoying the spectacle far too much. Hard Pass. Eyes land on a booth that seemed to be here for what he was, the drinking. Settled. Finishing off his drink in one fell swoop and allowing the glass to rest on a passing tray Oliver made his way to the booth, getting turned around at the last second by a burly man escorting a very guilty looking man towards the exit. Hip met table, and the sound of glass falling was all too audible in the too loud club.

Expecting was a fickle thing, knowing the clientele of this establishment, Ollie had his notions of what the reaction to a spilled drink would be, this was not that. A small smirk played out across his features, lighting his eyes, "all good over here" his voice was cool and calm, slender fingers reaching for the glass, placing it on the waitresses tray. An almost laugh leaving his lips, while he wasn't one to apologize, he was one to buy forgiveness "I'll do you one better, drinks for the table are on me, all night" He turned to the woman helping them "put this table on Allard, anything they want". With the moments business out of the way, he pushed himself into the open seat across from him. "favorite pants huh?" his eyes wandered slowly down his frame. "you wore your favorite pants to a place like this?" a small gesture to the place around them, "this is more of a fifth favorite pair kind of place" a small pause lingered, as he let his eyes slowly come back to Fosters face "no ones even going to see them" a sly grin teasing at his lips "not for long by someone that warms your sheets if you're fortunate, and not at all by the public if you're lucky"

[wtf-ollie]

it’s a dog eat dog world, and OLIVER PHILLIPE ALLARD has to learn how to bare their teeth without letting the cameras flashes catch anything other than a smile. with a face like AXEL AURIANT, the world wants nothing from HIM except all that HE has to offer. LEV has had 20 YEARS in town to learn the rules of living it up on top. but at just 25, will they try to make peace with the golden scale that’ll try to tell them their heart is in the right place or fight for what they want? with DEEP PURPLE BRUISES, LATE NIGHT "u up?" TEXTS, VINYL SKIPPING IN THE OTHER ROOM, BURNT COFFEE, and STALE CIGARETTES to make up their reputation, let’s hope the DIAMOND HEIR won’t look for the saints in the city of angels to help them. there’s nothing holy about hollywood. ( ash, 27, she/they, est, none ) hi there im Ash! meet my trash son. he is a mess. I apologize in advance. TW: drug use, TW: parental neglect, TW: cheating

TL;DR

asshole, daddy issues, drug problem, will break your heart like its nothing.

THE WHOLE STORY

-born to parents who didnt care about him, they only had him for the photo ops, and the illusion that they werent falling apart as a couple -would get into legal trouble to force his parents to come and deal with him -started using drugs when he was 14, and will party his ass off at the drop of a hat -his drug problem landed him in a cushy rehab at 17, he did his six months, all the while hooking up with nurses to get blow -left Los Angeles to go to Dartmouth to get out from under his dads shadow, isnt thrilled to be back in LA but has a house of his own on the other side of the city from his parents. Claims traffic is the reason he doesnt visit. -He is fluent in French and Italian, he spoke French with his mother and studied Italian in college because he thinks it is a useless degree, and was a waste of his parents money.   -Is not a good partner, but could charm a nun out of her skirt. -pansexual -BIG aries energy

Fun Facts

-he uses sex as a coping mechanism and will push anyone away by breaking their heart -he is a goof, so he will bring you on the most imaginative dates but then never call again - his moral alignments are; neutral tired, chaotic idiot, lawful romantic - phone is always on 10% -has stopped being faithful to anyone or anything, hoping it will stop his parents from trying to set him up with other rich families kids, hoping his image will be tarnished enough as a playboy to stop the offers. (it doesnt) -loves pistachio ice cream -is secretly super into planes -doesnt have a job

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[drive-in-the-ocean]