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trashmouth-richie · 10 months

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𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently.

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink.

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there.

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,” you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.”

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.”

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.”

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.”

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot.

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table.

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours. Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was.

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.”

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!”

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.”

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?”

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life.

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place.

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick.

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter.

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view.

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon.

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East.

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls.

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music?

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls.

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left.

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle.

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty.

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him.

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back.

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins.

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans.

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag.

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed.

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer.

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind.

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar.

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet.

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home.

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain.

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there.

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid.

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality.

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains.

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night.

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room.

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall.

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall.

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.”

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?”

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole.

“Loud and clear.”

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it.

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass.

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out.

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men.

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals.

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull.

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath.

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.”

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room.

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet.

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly, “she’s his favorite.”

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time.

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks.

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?”

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?”

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle.

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both.

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.”

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.”

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer.

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.”

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste.

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins.

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs.

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh.

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory.

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place.

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples.

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges.

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day.

A day when you were both only thirteen.

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye.

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided.

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks.

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help.

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer.

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone.

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down.

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you.

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim.

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?”

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed.

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it.

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman.

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray.

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them.

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating.

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks.

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion.

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins.

taglist: @mmunson86 @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @tlclick73 @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @chrrymunson @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @mopeymopeymouse @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @littledemondani @eiightysixbaby @usedtobecooler

#eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie fan fiction #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things

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kwonnyangel · 5 months

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[☆] — long way home | c.sc

synopsis ‣ choi seungcheol knew the city roads like the back of his hand. 30 minutes was more than enough time he needed to take you home, but driving slow whilst taking the long route doesn't sound all too bad, especially if it's with you

pairing bf!seungcheol x fem reader

genre fluff, drabble | warnings not proof-read, use of pet-names (baby & love), kissing, reader calls seungcheol a dork lol

wordcount 0.5k

✷ first post ! been reading tumblr fics for a while but its my first time publishing anything :—) idea was sparked by the 5sos song "long way home" and my current obsession over coups heh enjoooy !

you were strolling around the park with seungcheol after having a hearty dinner at the newly opened italian restaurant you've been wanting to visit, followed by a quick stop for coffee on your way to said park.

hands intertwined, stomachs full, and the dim lights casting a glow on your lovely boyfriends face, you felt content.

and a tad bit sleepy.

"cheol, let's go home?"

you softly ask him, your head laying on his shoulder as you watch him snap a picture of a cute dog wearing a vest in an even cuter shade of pink. you make a mental note to look for one for kkuma, maybe you could even turn it into a matching outfit for all three of you.

"come on, baby"

the sound of seungcheol's voice breaks your train of thought and you look to him, his hand extended for you to take.

you gladly do so, jumping on your feet as you swing both of your arms back and forth all the way to the parking lot.

like muscle memory, seungcheol opens your door and buckles your seatbelt for you, not forgetting to send a cheeky wink your way when your eyes interlock as the buckle clicks into position.

"careful now, i've got a boyfriend you know"

"yeah? can he drive as well as i can?"

"for your information, he can!"

"well i'd like to meet this hotshot then, maybe i could snag his number and take him from you"

"hey!"

he giggles at your remark, admiring the way your hand fit in his as he drove through the roads of seoul with ease. you had always praised seungcheol for his driving, never once making you feel dizzy or nauseous especially for a person who gets motion sickness quite easily.

of course he was and is extremely proud about it.

driving together was easily one of your favorite things to do. drives with seungcheol always made you feel like you two were the only people in the world. laughter, intimacy, and conversations about anything under the sun filled the atmosphere of his cozy bmw.

"so we're taking the long way home?"

you ask in a teasing tone, hiding the hint of hoping that he would say yes. you loved drives with your boyfriend you won't let that get to his head, of course.

"you know it. i'd love to get lost and drive forever with you, baby"

a small giggle is elicited from you as seungcheol kisses your knuckle

"well i guess we should start our forever now."

"waaay ahead of you, love. been waiting for our forever... forever."

your smile widens as you spot his dimples, the streetlights casting yet another glow on your boyfriend's pretty face. the lighting gods must love him i guess, you do too.

"you can always make up for that lost time by kissing me everytime we come across a stop sign"

the amusement in his voice is evident as you spot a big red octagon with the word stop in its famous big bold white text.

the car does exactly as the sign says and seungcheol turns to face you, a boyish grin spread across his face, dimples present and everything.

"you're such a dork, cheol!"

that was all you said before flashing him your own signature smile and giving him a kiss that made him forget his name.

seungcheol made sure to pass by every stop sign on your route home after that.

#choi seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #svt fluff #seungcheol x reader #svt #seventeen fluff #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #svt drabbles #seungcheol drabbles #kwonnyangel

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cherrychilli · 9 months

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18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, grumpy dom! Steve, established relationship, PIV sex, car sex

A/N: I haven't written for Steve in a minute so I pulled this out of the wip vault and dusted it off.

The time to back out had passed.

Steve knew he couldn't disappoint the whole group now when it had already been decided that he would drive them out to the lake that Saturday afternoon. With Eddie's license suspended and Jonathan's car in the shop, there was no other option.

For someone who, on a regular day, looks golden in every possible way under a perfect cerulean sky, he stuck out like a storm cloud today.

Steve sat out on the dock with his shades on to shield his annoyed squint and a soda pressed to his lips to conceal his scowl, wishing it was a beer instead.

Those of you who weren't driving picked frosty bottles out of the cooler Eddie had stocked for the outing, bottle caps coming loose with a pop, the nutty aroma of grain and barley fizzing into the wind. It was more than a little amusing to you as you eyed Steve from over your beer, watching the poor boy stew.

On the surface you appear oblivious but you're well aware that your boyfriend's eyes are trained on you too, a heated, razor sharp stare behind those reflective lenses.

His simmering displeasure goes unnoticed by the rest of the group but when you start to strip down to your swimsuit with the others and head for the water it's only a matter of moments before they notice one less member wading in the water with them.

Inevitably, what he'd been dreading begins and he has to deal with it all day. Everyone takes turns asking Steve why he isn't getting in the water with them and each time he's forced to mutter out some vague excuse that only lifts more eyebrows.

It's obvious to everyone that he's hiding something and the stubborn way he tries to refute is comically adorable. Some lighthearted teasing ensues and you can almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Robin gets the ball rolling with a quip about him spending too much time on his hair to risk getting it wet. Eddie joins in on the teasing too. Nancy and Jonathan are too polite to add to it but they laugh off to the side and try to suppress their giggles all the same.

None of it is cruel. it's all harmless, well meaning fun between friends and it's all the more enjoyable for you because you're the only one who knows the real reason why Steve wont just peel off his shirt and get in the water.

If he did, then your friends would get to see the result of all your hard work last night. They'd see the messy, lengthy scarlet scratches that rawed the skin all down his back, the half moon indents turning violet on his triceps and shoulders and the many hickeys like splashes of merlot you sucked onto his chest and his stomach.

You've got a few marks on you as well but you're saved from suffering the same torment as Steve thanks to your waterproof concealer. He endures it all, forcing the occasional dry, humorless laugh until the sun begins to wind down and the rest of you towel off before lugging your belongings back to his car under a cotton candy sky.

It's a little snug inside the BMW but you make it work. You buckle yourself in the front seat and the others pile into the back. Nancy finds room in Jonathan's lap while Eddie's somehow been strong armed into the middle by Robin so she can have the window seat. He doesn't concede quietly and the resultant commotion in the back is enough to distract the backseat occupants from noticing the tension between you and Steve. Well, more so the tension that's emanating from Steve because you look no more unbothered than you had all day, humming to yourself inconspicuously. Waiting patiently.

Nancy and Jonathan are the first to be dropped off. Next is Eddie, and then Robin. You wave goodbye to her as Steve slowly presses down on the accelerator to begin the journey to your apartment, twenty minutes of being alone together starting now.

"You really put me through it today", he spoke, breaking the moment long silence.

Your lips form a pleased smile as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. It was obvious where all of this was heading but riling him up was part of the fun and you didn't want it to end just yet. You wanted a little more before it's all teeth and ripped clothes when he gets you inside your apartment.

"I didn't make them say all those things, Stevie sweetie", you turn your head towards him and bat your lashes, the illusion of sweetness thick on your features.

His eyes stay fixed on the road, the vein near his temple more noticeable now. "You wore it on purpose, didn't you?", he sidesteps your comment like you hadn't even said it at all.

This time when you blink at him it's with confusion. "Don't play dumb, baby", he warns you with a laugh so mirthless that it draws a shiver out of you. "Oh..", you utter when you realize that he's referring to your strappy yellow bikini. The one he really really liked, because he made you keep it on all throughout riding him on on his sun lounger the last time you went over to swim in his pool. Not that you did much swimming in the end.

You'd been so wrapped up in all the teasing and what hid beneath the layers of his clothes that you'd paid little attention to what you'd been wearing all day.

"Wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the others today. You had me fighting off a fucking hard on top of it all too."

Your gaze instantly drops to his lap. By the looks of the thick imprint of his cock underneath his jeans he seemed to be done fighting it off.

The car slows into a turn and you realize that you don't recognize your surroundings, much more greenery around than what you're familiar with. You'd had your eyes off the road long enough for him to divert from the route to your house, detouring off a backroad and into an unfamiliar clearing thickly nestled by trees and forestry.

You bite down on your lip to stem the grin that threatens to erupt on your face. This was much better than you'd been hoping for and happening much faster than you could stand to wait.

Pulling into the isolated space, he cuts the engine, car going completely still. "Come here", but he's already pulling you with forceful a hand curled around the back of your neck before you have a chance of following through yourself. It's ungainly how you fumble with unbuckling your seatbelt as it presses uncomfortably against your chest but you manage to unfasten it, leaning further over the console to get closer to him.

You whine when he latches onto your neck, sucking at the skin there not at all gently. If the taste of lake water and sunscreen still lingered on your skin, he showed no sign of it. At least not any sign of disliking it as his tongue licked over your skin and his teeth dragged close to your pulse. When he pulls away you can feel the wet warmth of the fresh hickey blooming on your skin and your heart beating in time with the subtle throbbing there.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it looked like. Deep and dark and reminder of who you belong to. "You're not covering it up this time, understand?", he tells you and you nod. As if you'd want to hide it.

He leans over you then and you retract into your seat to make room for him, back pressed firmly against leather. Steve's intention becomes clear when he pulls at the lever to adjust your seat. You squeak when it reclines abruptly and he climbs over you to push it all the way down.

"Get these off. Now", he orders you, not unkind but firm, pulling at the hem of your damp t-shirt and the waistband of your shorts. He's impatient but so are you, wiggling around and maneuvering your limbs messily underneath him as he helps you to peel the clothing off.

You manage to toe you shoes off as well, elbows and knees bumping Steve and parts of the interior until you're left in just your bikini. The frantic rush suddenly halts and things slow down when he runs a finger down your sternum until he reaches the little strap just below your breasts, hooking his finger into it. " 'Played dirty all day, didn't you honey? had your fun while I all I could do was sit back and watch?", he tugged, the bottom curve of your breasts becoming visible as the material slips.

"Couldn't help it", you breathe out, hands sliding up his biceps. " I like it when you get mean", you confessed softly, eyes all big and glossy and wanting. He laughs, hair falling over his forehead. "I know, baby. Gonna take my time getting back at you". He's done with the gentle interval, yanking your bikini down to expose your tits. You yelp, not because it was unexpected but because he'd done it a little harder than you had expected. A welcome roughness that made your core feel sticky.

He's all over you, weight pressing down on you as you writhe under him, gasping as he marks you up. More fresh bruises to match the one on your neck are peppered across your breasts first before his lips trail hot on your stomach and then your hips and your thighs. The noises he's forcing out of you are needy and pathetic, high pitched, breathy whimpers and mewling cries of his name all tumble from your lips until he pulls away to look over his work.

You're left panting as he appraises you, eyes raking all over in search of more space to fit another hickey or two. "Never looked better, babe", he sits back on his knees, grinning happily. "On second thought...", he grips your waist, encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees. You scramble to get into position, pulling loose the knot on your bikini top and tossing it towards the back seat so that it no longer hangs limply on you in a tangled mess. You grab at the headrest, bare tits pressing against leather as you arch your back for him and present your ass. "Now you've never looked better", he scoffs, open palm landing on your left cheek with a swift slap.

"Shit! please just fuck me already, Steve", you whine, beyond the point of playing dumb and coy.

He pulls your bottoms to the side, thumb brushing against your soaking entrance as he lets out a low whistle. It's a little strange being almost completely nude in his car like this. You usually had a little more clothing bunched around you on the off chance the rocking vehicle might attract any passersby's attention. It makes you feel that much more vulnerable. Hidden but still technically in public. Still at risk of being discovered.

It's all so terribly exciting.

The distinct jangle of his belt being undone makes your spine tingle and the crude sound of him spitting onto his palm before he tugs on his cock a makes you clench.

"Not gonna go easy on you", he warns, catching your eye when you look back at him over your shoulder.

"I can take it", you challenge him and you can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches against the smirk he's trying to force away that he liked it.

He places one hand on your hip and the other on the foggy window pressing his cock into you in one slow thrust.

"That's my girl"

---

The next day you anticipate Robin's reaction when she pretends to barf at the sight of the hickeys on your neck and you giggle, amused because you know never to take it seriously.

Eddie's slower to notice because the first thing he does is climb into the back seat of Steve's car after it's been parked, claiming to have dropped his lighter there yesterday.

"Did you find it?", Steve calls out behind him when he joins you and Robin as you get ready to head into a nearby burger joint for lunch.

There's a suspicious pause and some rustling before he finally yells out an answer.

"Nope! Found something better though"

Kicking open the door, Eddie barrels out with your bikini top sloppily thrown on over his shirt, batting his lashes at Steve like some kind of parody of a lovestruck cartoon.

You're too entertained by it to be embarrassed though you can't say the same for Steve who's turned completely red, placing a hand over your mouth as you snicker.

Puckering his lips, the metalhead makes eyes at your boyfriend and you double over with laughter while Robin rolls here eyes and makes her way inside, having had her fill of Eddie's theatrics.

"Come on big boy, fancy another round in the back seat?"

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

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octuscle · 4 months

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New Car

Peter was aware of how stupid it was to meet with the seller of the car. It was an almost new BMW M3. The car was still going to cost over USD 100,000.00. That was way out of his budget. But there was something that appealed to him even more than the car itself. In a photo, the owner had been reflected in the car's freshly polished paintwork. And Peter couldn't get this reflection out of his head. You couldn't see much. But what you could see was muscular, tattooed and wearing a shiny Adidas tracksuit. Peter couldn't get this image out of his head for the life of him. So he dialed the number given. And when he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he got a hard-on. It was churlish English with a heavy Arabic accent. Peter was actually on the phone to one of his favorite wankers. Bloody hell! He tried to act as cool as possible. He tried to ask a few questions that feigned competence in the direction of sports cars. He was trying to come across as cool and chavvy as possible. He probably sounded more than ridiculous. But the two of them arranged to go for a test drive. After the salesman hung up, Peter urgently needed to go to the bathroom. And have a wank.

The appointment for the test drive was on Friday evening. Peter took the bus to the address given, which was located in a suburb with a bad reputation. There was garbage on the streets. There was graffiti on the walls. But the cars parked on the street were in many cases like something from another world. Expensive, high-powered cars, perfectly maintained. And he was leaning against one of them. The prototype of an Arab chav who spent too much time pumping iron and in the tattoo parlor. Peter had to make sure his erection wasn't too obvious. The guy introduced himself as Ibrahim and greeted Peter with a fist bump. He said that Peter wasn't allowed to smoke in the car and offered him a fag. And instead of saying that he didn't smoke at all, Peter gratefully accepted the fag, took a light and walked around the Bavarian beauty, trying to look as professional as possible. "Shit, dude, what's that on your pants?" Damn, Peter must have sat on a piece of chewing gum on the bus. "You're not getting into my car like that," growled Ibrahim. He opened the trunk, took a pair of training pants out of a sports bag and threw them to Peter. "Seriously?" asked Peter. "Here, on the street?" "Either that or you can fuck right off again." So Peter took off his shoes and trousers, put on the tracksuit bottoms and then his…. Nike sneakers??!?!???! He wasn't wearing sneakers. Ibrahim threw him the key. "Come on then, brother. Fall in love with my baby!" Peter sat down and tried to start the engine as cool as possible. When the 510 horses howled, he winced. Ibrahim grinned. "Yes, you have to get used to it. But you will. Go on, drive towards the highway!" The car was hell. An untamed beast. Peter's forehead was covered in sweat. "Come on, old man! Step on the gas!" And Peter stepped on the gas. The speedometer showed 140 miles per hour. Damn, that would cost him his driver's license. And Ibrahim calmly started a conversation about soccer. "Of course Galatasaray will win the championship again this time!" Peter heard himself say and stepped on the gas once more. The BMW was power and strength pressed into leather and steel. He loved the car. As if remote-controlled, he chased the car first along the highway and then at far too high a speed along the arterial road towards the city center. The sleeve of his jacket stretched across his biceps as he wrenched the steering wheel. Ibrahim pressed himself into his sports seat. "Hehehe, you and the baby make the perfect unit!" "Dostum, ne düşünüyorsun? Gerçek Türk erkeklerinin kanında petrol vardır." replied Peter. No, not Peter, Sinan! Ibrahim turned up the music. Syrian gangster rap. Just the right thing to cruise along the city center boulevards now. it was a warm evening. Ibrahim opened the glass roof. He let his mighty biceps hang out of the open window. The boys and girls looked respectful, envious or disgusted when Sinan revved the engine. But in any case, they looked: Who gives a shit, they had the coolest car, they were the cool guys with the biggest muscles. "Dude, get some cigs and then change drivers," said Ibrahim Sinan. And Sinan headed for the nearest kiosk.

Sinan would never be able to afford such a car in his life. Even though he was number two in the gang behind Ibrahim, his place was usually in the passenger seat. But fuck it, Ibrahim was his boss and he followed him through rough and tumble. Ibrahim's hand missed the stick of the gearshift. But he caught something that was at least as hard. Shit, if he cums on the leather, Sinan would spend the whole morning cleaning the car again. But it was worth it.

Pics by @ki-kink

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #race change #ai image #chav tf

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melanieph321 · 4 months

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Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Thick Part 2/8

Part 1

Kenan and Reader share the same high school friend group. As graduation is near, Reader sets out to pass her drivers license test but ultimately struggles to. Thankfully Readers friends agree to help her with driving lessons and take turns doing so. It is during one of Rader's lessons that it becomes clear that Kenan likes her. A chock to Reader, who has a crush on someone else in their friend group.

Enjoy!

Kenan wasn't in class today so you had to wait for him to pick you up at the end of yours. Unfortunately he pulled up an hour too late.

"You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry." He sighed. "Did you have to wait for long?"

"Yes, an hour."

You got into the passenger's seat of his BMW, the last car to leave the school parking lot.

"I'm really sorry Y/N, my training session ran late. If I had a chance to text you I would've."

"Can we just get on with the lesson, please? My parents want me home before dinner." This was actually a lie, your parents were diplomats and often didn't make it home in time to dine with you. Nevertheless, you were starving, craving anything that the family chef was throwing together for dinner tonight.

"How about we switch?" Kenan suggested, referring to your seats.

"Fine."

He pulled over the car and you threw your bag into the backseat. The two of you made the switch that left you behind the wheel of his car.

"So, where should we go?"

"Well, I've had some problems with big roundabouts." You admitted. "Like the one in town."

"With two files?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Alright, it shouldn't be too crowded at this hour. Let's head there and see how you do."

You nodded, pushing Kenan's car to a start. It was a nice car and you bet he took pride in how expensive it was. Of all the people in your friend group, Kenan was the person you spent the least amount of time with, alone that is. You and Luca weren't really the closest either, but that was because you were too shy to ask him to hang out, Kenan on the other hand, you avoided if not on purpose. He was a jock. The worst kind, a football jock. With a newly signed contract to Juventus FC, the best football team in Turin.

"Alright, just take it slow." Kenan said, as you arrived at the roundabout. He was right that it wouldn't be crowded at this hour, which made it easier for you to slip into the right lane.

"Good job, Y/N." He said, praising your driving skills. "I don't see why you wouldn't be able to do that at any given hour?"

"Because..." You muttered, steering the car in the direction towards town. "Traffic makes me nervous."

"Yeah, I guess the Italians can be a bit ruthless here in Turin."

"Ruthless." You snorted. "You mean lethal. A man once honked his horn and shouted for me to get off the road, saying that his disabled cousin could drive better than me."

Kenan laughed, a rich laugh that showed off his dimples.

"I don't see how that's funny?"

"It's not." He wiped away his grin. "I'm sorry."

"You've said that like five times already."

"What? I'm sorry?"

"Yeah. It's annoying."

"Right, sorry." He smiled.

You rolled your eyes.

Silence fell in the car, highlighting the tunes of Kenan's Spotify playlist. It consisted mostly of German trap and some other songs in what you assumed to be Turkish. Rebecca once told you that Kenan's father used to be in the Turkish mob and that's where Kenan got the cut on his eyebrows. However you called bullshit on that fact. The cut on Kenan's eyebrow was clearly a display of what he thought to be fashion amongst the cool kids.

"Do you miss England?"

"Pardon?" You snapped out of your thoughts, feeling Kenan's eyes on you. However, you were too nervous of a driver for your eyes to leave the road.

"Home." He said. "Do you miss your home in England?"

"Well, it's not really my home since I wasn't born there."

"No?" Where were you born then?"

"The Netherlands. But I spent most of my childhood in London."

"Because of your parents' job?"

"Yeah." You were surprised that Kenan knew about your parents' job as diplomats. Come to think about it, perhaps it was the one thing the two of you had in common.

"Do you miss Germany?" The car stopped at a red light, allowing you to turn your head and look at him. Kenan's eyes stared blankly into yours, a faint but seductive smile on his lips.

"Italy is not so bad." He shrugged. "Here I get to play football with one of the best teams in Europe."

You nodded. "If it wasn't for the traffic I would've agreed with you, Italy is quite the place to live."

"Don't worry Y/N." You flinched as Kenan's hand was brought to your thigh, patting it lightly. "You'll get a hang of the traffic in no time."

Heat rose to your face and you weren't sure whether to be offended or flattered by his actions. Nevertheless, his hand slipped away as quickly as it appeared.

"I'm starving, how about some McDonald's?" He suggested.

"Oh, God yes."

You drove the car to the nearest McDonald's, although Kenan had unbuckled his belt you pulled the car into the drive through, not the parking lot.

"Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you?" Said a lady through the drive-through monitor.

"Yeah, Hi. Erm...can I get a Big Mac menu with large fries and a large coke."

"Yes, anything else?"

"Yes, can I also get a double cheeseburger on the side and one of those ice cream sundaes with caramel topping."

"Sure thing, is that all?"

You looked at Kenan, who sat back in the passenger's seat with blushing red cheeks and wide eyes.

"Kenan?" You frowned.

"Huh?"

"Make your order."

"Oh, right." He snapped out of his daze and leaned forward. "I'll have a chicken burger and a cup of water, please."

"Is that all?" You whispered.

"Erm...yeah."

The lady in the monitor told you to drive around the building and wait for your order to be delivered through the nearest window. Thankfully it only took a minute. Although Kenan began to unwrap his order in the car, you waited to eat your food at home.

"You know, I like a girl with an appetite." Kenan said, through the half chewed food in his mouth.

"You mean a fat girl?"

He frowned.

"Skinny girls don't have big appetites, so I'm only assuming."

"Yes they do." He protested. "The Italian ones."

"Well, I'm not Italian."

"Yeah and you're not skinny either."

Your mouth fell open. "I can't believe you just said that?"

"What?"

"You just called me fat Kenan." It was hard for you to concentrate on the road, your hands gripping the steering wheel with a fear of losing control.

"Not fat." Kenan said, shifting in his seat. He placed a hand next to yours on the steering wheel, seeing as you struggle to keep it steady. "You're not fat Y/N, you're more like....like...."

"Yes?"

"I don't know, fluffy. Yeah. You're a fluffy girl, not fat."

"You fucking asshole."

You pulled over the car, grabbing your things from the backseat.

"Y/N, wait! I didn't mean it like that." Kenan got out of the car with you, chasing you down the street.

"Leave me alone Kenan."

"Come on Y/N, I just couldn't find a better word for it."

You paused and turned back to look at him. He seemed genuinely misunderstood. That is, until he opened his mouth again.

"You're not fat or fluffy Y/N."

"No? What am I then, because I've heard it all from you football guys."

"You're thick." He nodded. "Guys like thick girls, that's why I like you."

"Right, so now I'm fat and dumb."

"What, no? That's not what I..."

You turned your back on him, continuing down the road towards your house, tossing the McDonald's bag into the nearest bushes.

Part 1

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz #juventus fc

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thesirencult · 9 months

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YOU NEED PEOPLE LIKE ME / DARK PSYCHOLOGY

You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your f*****’ fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy.” So what that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie.

(Tony Montana, Scarface)

Most people can not handle their darker side. They can not handle their ego and their deepest desires. Now, I'm not telling you to become like Tony Montana. He was consumed by his vices and they run the show for him. I'm telling you to do what you what to do and to stop lying to yourself and hiding from your true nature.

A couple of years ago, I met a girl who had an obsession with finding a wealthy man. She did not care about anything else other than the money. In her defense, she grew up in a poor family where, her dad beat her mom up and he even did that while her mom was pregnant with her.

That girl was studying finance. She took up Arabic and wanted to work for off shore companies where she could find a husband. She specifically told me she wanted her husband to drive a Porsche which has more prestige than a BMW and buy her a BMW cause the woman should be beneath her husband. Overall she was "micey" in character. If you didn't know her you would think she was shy and religious, but. you should know better guys, these people have more ego problems than the most outspoken, egomaniac extrovert.

So, she looked "weak" but had an agenda. She also was trying to give off the "trad wife" vibe but salivated as soon as a man breathed her direction and shamed any woman who showcased her seductiveness.

A few days ago, she messaged me. She wanted to grab a coffee with me as she would be in town. I was surprised when I saw her. In the "kindest" way I can put it, she looked like women who run on every single rally around and fight for justice (nothing wrong with taht, but if you're following me I bet you get what I'm trying to convey). A white girl with Bob Marley braids! Yup, there it is!

She told me she had given up Arabic and no longer wanted to work in a big shipping corporation because that supported big oil and their agenda. She then preached to me about equality and why the left is supreme. Now, I'm pretty straightforward so I asked her, how and why her views changed. She wanted to own 3 cars and be a stay at home mom! She looked outside the window of the coffee shop and saw my parked car.

"Do you see this car?"

I said "Yeah, I see it."

"Whoever drives this car is a right wing egomaniac who doesn't care about the environment and just wants to flaunt their money." (my car is a hybrid you guys!)

"Do you drive?"

"No, I can not afford a license and my family owns only one car. Also, I'm scared of driving. Also, did I tell you I'm running on the elections with the *left wing side*. Will you vote for me? If I make it I'll get 2k per month plus health care benefits."

"That's my car. I was going to ask you, do you want to take the train home or will you ride with me?" I just wanted this meeting to bo over, to tell you the truth.

She came with me.

Wanna know why? Here is my hypothesis (and it ties in with Tony Montana's words):

99% of people give up on their dreams by age 23. In order to make it easier for them and help them soothe the guilt this breeds, they begin to drift to the opposite "side" of the court. Pornstars turn to trad wives. Playboys turn to "faithful" husbands who preach the word of the Lord. Money and power hungry individuals take up boring jobs and blame the rich and the goverment for everything. Men who can not pick up women turn to red pill guys and so on and so forth.

Most people can not handle their darker side. They can not handle their ego and their deepest desires. Now, I'm not telling you to become like Tony Montana, he was consumed by his vices and that's who runs the show. Either you run the show or someone else or something (an addiction) runs it for you.

We see all that often with sex. Body counts, "I can not find a good man/woman" etc. People who can not get what they want hate those that have the GUTS to get it.

If my acquaintance's beliefs are that strong why did she enjoy the drive in the luxury SUV? Why did she then ask me when are we going out again and if I can bring "that" guy friend who runs a tech start up?

Because they are not her beliefs. They are just a cover up. A mask.

We've all seen how happy some people get when a dreamer fails.

So, go one. Fail. You''ll succeed at some point. You're better than those who sit on the sidelines running their mouth.

They would want to be at your shoes. They would want to run free on the court.

Own that. Own yourself and run after your goals and desires. Fuck them.

#level up journey #self education #seduction #self love #philosophy #psychology #dark psychology #48 laws of power #robert greene #dark femininity #dark feminine aesthetic #dark feminine energy #femme fatale #personal growth #source: thesirencult #source:thesirencult

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kaitaiga · 26 days

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Archie “Frost” Campbell HCs ❄️

Some random hcs that’s been sitting in my head for a while :)

Loves to have Tapas and chat with Joseph. Just catching up on life or any new developments.

The type to have 5 photos of his family but about 1000 of his cat, Vader 🐈‍⬛

Speaking of Vader, he is a very chatty cat. Struts around Archie’s apartment like he owns the place. Very clingy, always having his nose in whatever Archie is doing.

He drives a BMW F82 M4 in dark grey. Red interior.

I mentioned in his profile that he self-taught himself various mechanical and electrical engineering concepts, however he also taught himself programming too. In his spare time he likes to tinker and do various projects with Raspberry Pi.

I like the idea that once Archie joins Task Force Dagger, the rest of the members occasionally train him up with CQC. Archie isn’t particularly a great fighter. Sure he flies a fighter jet and all but without it, he’s stripped of the majority, if not, all of his power. The boys agree that SERE is just a baseline and that now he’s in TFD, he’s exposed to more risky situations. The real deal.

His clothing style sticks to neutral colours. He likes to wear quarter Polo zips, jeans, knit sweaters, vintage leather bomber jackets and converse sneakers.

He also likes to wear Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses and a Casio G-Shock watch. RAAF x IWC watch for formal occasions.

For Archie’s birthday, Joseph gifted him a Lego Star Wars Republic Gunship set. Unfortunately as he was about to finish, Vader knocked it off the table and it shattered. It now sits unfinished in the corner of his room.

He secretly feels out of place in TFD.

Archie promised his grandfather that he’d be able to watch himself fly for the first time in whatever fighter jet he was given. It happened, his grandfather who was too weak to stand and was bound to his wheelchair still made it to the base, dressed in his old leather flight jacket from WW2 and cap watched Archie soar across the skies. With all the strength he had left and some help, he managed to give Archie one last final salute before he passed a few days later.

Archie prides himself on his cooking ability. He was so fed up with cafeteria food that he spent a great time learning to cook. He likes to have a nice glass of red wine with some jazzy music playing in the background as he does so. Oh, and a few candles to create a warm atmosphere.

His favourite food is a nice steak cooked ‘til medium well with roasted veggies, gravy, herb butter and chips.

On average, he drinks at least three coffees a day. Usually black or with two sugars and a dash of milk. He likes black tea too, his favourite being an Indonesian brand - Sariwangi - that was introduced to him from Daniel.

He wants two more cats: Luke and Leia, both orange cats. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the time or space currently.

#foreshadowing something? perhaps…#archie campbell #my oc #task force dagger #military oc #pilot oc #rich handsome nerdy cat dad pilot-#apologies I like to yap sometimes 👍🏻

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hirocimacruiser · 1 month

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Telefonica Dakar Rally 2004

Nissan's second year in the Dakar Rally was a "challenge to return." Led by Ari Vatanen (Finland), a four-time Dakar Rally winner, the team also added Giniel de Villiers (South Africa) and Colin McRae (Great Britain), a top athlete in the World Rally Championship (WRC), and pushed the Nissan pickup to its limits. Vatanen achieved 50 wins in the Dakar Rally's SS (special stage). Both de Villiers and McRae completed the race, and Nissan's challenge continued into 2005.

Nissan's Dakar project enters its second year

Former WRC champion McRae was welcomed to the team. This showed that this year's rally was a challenge in terms of "speed". In addition, there was the stable Vatanen, Loupe, and the rising star De Villiers. In order to develop Japanese drivers, Yoshio Ikemachi and Atsushi Mitsuhashi were welcomed from the two-wheel team and competed in the T1 (production car) class. Yves Roubaix (France, Nissan Pickup) was forced to withdraw for the first time due to electrical problems.

Although there was unexpected trouble that forced them to retire on the 1st, the efforts of each team member to fulfill their assigned role to the best of their ability were inspiring. Just as the nightmare of the desert and the joy of reaching the finish line at Lac Rose seemed to be fading away, McRae, who had competed in the Dakar Rally for the first time and had many hardships, spoke again about the following.

"I will challenge the Dakar again next year with a Nissan Pickup.

This year's rally gave me confidence. I can win the Dakar with Nissan! I believe that without a doubt.

I’m here.”

Nissan Works' 2004 Dakar Rally started on an exciting note. In the European stage at Castellon (Spain), De Villier took the top time in the 9km 35 (race section), demonstrating his speed to the passionate Spanish fans. After crossing the Straits of Gibraltar, in the first African stage, Vatanen, who has won the Dakar Rally four times, achieved his long-cherished dream of winning 50 special stage races in total. In his second year back in the desert with Nissan, De Villier set a new personal record.

Nissan Pickup Runs Hot as Records are Breaking

"I had wanted to achieve this feat in the Dakar, but I'm happy to achieve my 50th victory at the start of the African stage."

Vatanen is, of course, the most successful driver in the Dakar Rally. Next is F1 and Le Mans winner Jacky Ickx (Belgium), who has 29 wins. The record he achieved in a Nissan Pickup is unlikely to be broken anytime soon.

Since Nissan decided to challenge the Dakar Rally in 2003, Ari Vatanen has become a symbol of Nissan. He has always been a figure of attention, and still shows top-class driving. In 2004, Colin McRae's participation in the Dakar Rally increased the attention of the British media. The Nissan Pick Up attracted attention from all over the world. The trio of Vatanen, McRae, and de Villiers fought a high-speed battle in the desert against Mitsubishi Pajero Evolution, BMW X5, Volkswagen Race Touareg, and Schlesser Buggy. They attacked boldly. Vatanen lost a lot of time after getting splashed while crossing a river in Morocco, but the next day he started from 90th place and finished 7th in the stage. He overtook more than 80 slower cars with the speed of a veteran to complete the stage.

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Taking advantage of last year's success, the Nissan team's top-flight teammate, G. de Villiers, took the lead on the 7th. This South African challenger held off the unreasonable Bush and drove the car to the finish line.

Ikemachi won his class in his first attempt at a four-wheeled vehicle. He brought a ray of hope to the Nissan team, who were generally forced to make difficult decisions. He demonstrated the durability of the machine and the effectiveness of the training program. And he showed Ikemachi's own potential.

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It surprised everyone.

McRae also mastered the dune running and became a "Peterran"

"There were times when we were catching up with Sel and Masuoka," he said. But the "three days of hell" were about to begin for the Nissan Works team. After troubles occurred in succession in the eighth and ninth stages, Vatanen and McRae were still stuck in the desert by the evening of the 9th. The team was worried. If things continued like this, both would have to retire. However, the rally was being watched by a gang of bandits (the Malian anti-government group).

The team was warned by intelligence sources that the Mobuchi stage was likely to be occupied by the French army, and decided to move on to the next stage via Bamako. It's not over yet. The deadline is 6pm on the 12th, the rest day.

At the time the announcement was made, the two Nissan Pick Ups, excluding de Villiers, were still stranded in the desert.

Two Nissan cars, two big names in particular, won

Whether or not you can wear it within the time limit. That is the maximum for rest days.

It became a hot topic. Two days passed, and the 12th came.

The team believed in them and waited patiently. McRae arrived around 3pm, and Vatanen arrived after 4pm, welcomed by the press as if they had won. Their rally wasn't over yet. The two started the next morning without a rest day. However... Vatanen was driving too hard and was bounced over a gap and crashed into a tree. He was finally out of the race.

McRae, who remained, never gave up on his "challenge for speed" until the very end, setting the fastest time on the final day.

He was able to demonstrate his ability.

Speed in the Moroccan desert, perseverance, teamwork and excitement from Mali to Burkina Faso. The second year of the Dakar has taught us many things. And it has fired up our enthusiasm for the next step. Nissan's challenge in the desert continues.

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What did former WRC champion C. McRae think of the Dakar Rally? Despite struggling with problems, he quickly adapted to the machine and the environment, and finished in 20th place.

The team staff supported the intense race from behind the scenes. Including the support truck, more than 60 crew members assisted the driver with a perfect backup system.

The 2004 car has undergone significant evolution, including in terms of aerodynamics. Japan's NISMO also assisted in its development, and the car is equipped with a 3.5-liter V6 VQ35 engine, and its appearance racing through the sand dunes is truly that of a "desert GT car."

For the four-time champion desert hero, his seventh place finish last year was just the beginning. But just as he was coming off a record 50 Special Stage wins, this disappointing result came.

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NISSAN DAKAR RALLY CHALLENGE

Japanese rookie entry record

● Yoshio Ikemachi

A patient drive leads to class victory

Born in 1971, he is 32 years old. In the 2000 motorcycle race, he achieved the highest ranking of any Japanese rider, finishing 10th overall. He made his first appearance in the T1 class with a Nissan Patrol (known as the Safari in Japan) and led the team to a splendid victory.

Rather than being happy about winning the class,

I felt like I had completed the race. The commercially available T1 class Patrol (known as the Safari in Japan) that I drove was durable but heavy, and the regulations required a small intake restrictor, so it was a tough situation. I had to endure throughout the race. Supporting the Nissan team's T2 machine, a higher class, was also an important part of my job, so I aimed to finish the race trouble-free and come third in the class. I could have actually driven faster, but I had to endure being overtaken and was patient even when there was a car a little slower than me in front of me.

But on a rest day, I was suddenly told, "I'm going to give you another task. Aim to win."

This was my first time in the Paris-Dakar Rally on a four-wheeled vehicle, and I learned that mental strength is more important with four-wheeled vehicles than with two-wheeled vehicles. I was taught a lot by an experienced navigator, and we started out as teacher and student relationships, but once we were able to communicate well, I was able to concentrate on driving.

To me, the navigator was like a reliable older brother.

Of course, my goal is not to be satisfied with winning the T1 class, but to compete in the T2 class and achieve good results. I want to participate in the actual race again as soon as possible and try to improve myself again.

I would like to test the power of the T2

Jun Mitsuhashi: I found possibilities in the midst of hardships

Born in 1970, he is 33 years old. With the experience of participating in the Dakar Rally for three consecutive years, he participated in his first four-wheeled vehicle race in a Nissan Pathfinder (known as the Terrano in Japan). Although he was confused by the difference with two-wheeled vehicles, he showed outstanding speed in every scene.

The two-wheeled race was held on an individual basis, but

The team is incomparably larger.

Especially the Dossudo Chi that I joined.

The team (France) was the largest team participating in the Rally-Dakar, so I really felt that. My impression of my first time participating in a four-wheeled vehicle was that I had to use my brain a lot while driving. My mind was always working at full speed while driving. Since I was always with the navigator in the car, it felt strange to say the least in the pre-drive tests. It may sound strange, but it felt like two people were in the same bathroom. But as I got used to it and our communication improved, I was able to look at the road in front of me and concentrate only on driving fast. In the end, the clutch wouldn't disengage before I crossed the sand dunes, and I couldn't change gears and had to retire. Since I didn't finish the race, this year's Rally-Dakar ended in an incomplete way for me. Still, I was able to drive as I had aimed and improve my position, and I also gained some benefits, such as being able to drive on an equal footing with the top group on the high-speed stages in Morocco.

I was able to test all of my strategies in real combat.

I wanted to make a move in the next marathon stage, but I flipped my car over and damaged the radiator, so I couldn't run as I wanted. My goal is to win the overall championship, so I want to practice with a fast T2 class car soon.

#paris Dakar #nissan patrol #nissan safari #nissan terrano #nissan pathfinder #colin mcrae

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