#e things and they don't always end up working out. it either sucks or it's not for me but. i realize i don't give up easily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raccoonspooky · 11 months ago

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Don't Buy The Entire Pig For Just One Sausage

Bo Sinclair X Fem Reader, NSFW 10k words. Rated E. Y/N Device is not used in this fic. Second Person, Bo POV. Full list of tags on ao3, highlights include: Unsafe sex, stranger sex, Bo is having a great time until he is not. This fic is not kind to Bo. Bimbo! Reader Nothing is safe or sane, consensual yes but hmm..

*Alternative ending included!

You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line. You were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars; lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

Full fic under the cut, or on ao3!

Last month, the grimy old dive bar Bo frequented for twenty damned years decided to kick the bucket. The place was run by some old git who either was the son or the grandson of the original owner and Bo imagined the fucker just curled up and died in whatever shithole he lived in. Ain't like he had family left to close the place proper, it locked up one night and it’ll stay locked up till someone decides to pry open the casket.

No one ‘round these parts had any concept of legacy to cling to, most folk were just sitting around with their thumbs in their asses, sitting in their graves and watching the world die around them. Figures that this shithole of a bar would eventually run dry. Bitter as he was, Bo knew it was a long time coming. Place was standing longer than most places lasted round these parts, it’d seen the birth and death of multiple nearby towns, it’d seen that big ol fire that burnt down the mill in Ambrose.

It wasn’t all that hard to find another place that suited him, it was closer to Baton Rouge than he would’ve liked but sometimes a man’s got an inherent need to get some pretty thing drunk. Back home, it’d been slim pickings recently; no tourists, no one on the road. Bo was stalking further and further away from home and every inch he stepped away from his front door added a new crick in his neck. One day, he’s gonna put Mama’s dream on the maps and he needs more materials to make it a reality. He’s got work to do and this fuckshit corner of the world is trying his fucking patience.

Sitting in his truck in the parking lot, white-knuckled on the wheel and glowering at nothing in particular —as if his bitterness had hypnotized him into staring blankly into space like a goat— a dancing gut punch of pink floats past his vision and Bo snaps into focus. The single-braincelled goat becomes a coyote in an instant and his fingers uncurl from their death grip on the wheel and finally steps out of his truck. He gives himself a once over in his driver-side window’s mirror before taking his hat off to smooth down his hair. When he first got into his truck, he wasn’t sure where he was going and now he regrets not finding an outfit better suited to picking up chicks.

He sucks his teeth audibly before spitting on the ground after clearing his throat. His skin itches in the way it does whenever he’s got the scent of something good in the air. No one would believe him, but Bo’s always thought that he had some sorta sixth sense on top of all the looks and charm. These blessings keep his dick wet and fill Ambrose with all kindsa new wax neighbors. Mama always said he stole his brother’s face, but Vincent wouldn’t know what to do with it. Dumbshit ‘ain't the same kinda predator he is.

As he heads inside, he sorta elbow pushes the door open while pulling his pants up a little as he looks around for the pink thing that had his arm hair standing on end. He doesn’t see you right away, but he’s already got a picture of you in mind. So far all he knew was that the blur of a person he saw was that it was vaguely feminine, walking stupidly, and likely some kinda whore. The rock solid assumptions are backed by years of work in this field, therefore he’s sure that this night is gonna end up in the exact same way it always does.

The case he’s building on you quickly begins to bloat. First of all, any unaccompanied bitch in a place like this must be some mix of stupid and a slut. The second biggest wedge in the mental piechart that he’s currently working on building is branded with four big bold letters spelling SLUT. You come in here, some dirty fuckin sticky floored joint that smells like sour beer and piss dressed in pink? You lookin’ to suck some hillbilly cock?

Of the few times Bo’s visited this place it’s been full of dusty old bikers and their floppy-tittied old ladies with sour cunts that smell and look like leather. Sometimes he’s seen some real fuckin backwater bushes folk, but girls sure don't frequent this place, sure there's lot lizards and other night stalkers like them but those don’t count as women. They’re more like walking fuckpockets full of rotting meat that’s more or less shaped like a woman.

Mindlessly, Bo finds himself with a cold beer in his hand and a tinge of agitation beginning to blossom behind his left eye. The routine that he’s kept to all these years right now feels like a collar buttoned too high up, one of those stiff starched church shirts where his mama would tie his tie damned near to choking him. He wants to rip it off and run at you like a bull, fuck the rules. It ‘ain't fair to keep someone like him contained by all this bullshit. This is a dog-eat-dog world and he ain’t the bad guy for being the first one to bite most often. Whoever you are? You’re prey and you know it walking in here in what he assumes is a pink dress. Maybe you have a death wish? Maybe you’re one of those dumb sluts who’s coasted through life with batting her eyelashes and shoving your tits at your problems. Over the years, Bo’s mastered breaking apart girls exactly like you, and from the way his throat tastes and the twitch in his eyebrow, he’s sure that you’re exactly what he assumes you are.

Bo saddles himself at the furthest end of the bar where he can get the best viewpoint of the whole place, there’s a pool table to one side and a forever out-of-order cigarette machine that’s got a nest of roaches inside. First time he came in here, he jiggled the machine just to see if anything would come out and a big fat roach fell out of it dead right atop his boot. Everyone else here looks blurred, he’s got tunnel vision and everything he can see, smell, and hear is pushed to the background in favor of setting all his focus on you.

His ears pick up on you before anything else, which is weird ‘cause he sure as fuck took a look at the group behind him and he didn’t see no pink thing in the mess of bald-headed fucks. You jingle as you walk, the sound of metal on metal and clothes shifting together and in another moment. You all but skip past him trailing some skinhead looking motherfucker behind you. Bo didn’t get a look at your face but he got an eyeful of everything else and god damn is there a lot to see. Your boots clip clop on the floor and they cling tight to your calves despite the pointed cowboy toe of ‘em. They’re shiny looking, like the vinyl seating of an old car. Bo’s mind registers legs, naked skin, the general shape of your body, and just as he’s on the cusp of a full thought, the most annoying voice he’s ever heard spouts from your lips and you chirp, “Follow the leader!” with a singsong voice at the asshole behind you.

So far, Bo was right in his assumption about you wearing a dress. Well… it’s some kinda skirt and a little shirt but that’s the same thing. Your lower back’s bare and he can see the hint of a tramp stamp peeking out of your waistband, it’s frilly up top like old lady bloomers or something but it’s got that sorta floaty look like in old movies. It might look old if it wasn't barely covering your ass. Bo’s not taken a single sip out of his beer and all he can do is stare at the back of your hair, dry swallowing and feeling his blood turn acidic in his veins.

Who the fuck are you? You’re like something that crawled right out of a trashy porno and into this shack as if you were summoned by the stench of ball sweat and violence. You sit atop a stool near the bar, sitting on your knees so you can sit higher and lean over toward the grizzled woman working the taps. You squeal something high-pitched and Bo feels his brain rattle against his skull. That fuckin’ noise reminds him of those fish bitches who sing dumbasses to their death, luring them with their fish titties while wailing them to their graves. The tone of your voice is gratingly annoying but he’s already imagining what other kindsa noises you could make. There's a perfect moment between three points of hurt, scared, and needy that Bo’s got several tape recordings of. He’s already thinking of what to label your tape with.

— “Pleaaase? I have to pee so bad and I just got over a bladder infection.” You press your hands together in a mockery of prayer after slamming your giant purse onto the counter with a thud. “You gotta know how it is! Cranberry juice for days and it’s not all that good of a drink when there’s no liquor in it!”

The woman at the bar huffs, surprisingly amused, and Bo glares. He’s tried charming the fuck out of that old gator but he’s never got so much of a twitch of a smile out of her. Old ladies fucking love him and that old bitch was completely immune to everything he was laying on. You continue to beg for a bathroom and it comes to Bo’s attention that sitting like you are, leaning over like that… there’s no way that you’re not just showing your panties to everyone who cares to look. There ain't anyone behind you and he gets up to casually walk your way to take a gander. No one’s looking at him, so he doesn't care to make a show of why he decided to get up and move to a booth directly behind you.

Bo’s convinced that anything he assumes is correct and raking his eyes up your exposed thighs and up to the slope of your ass. Your skirt giving him a good eyeful of ass is all the proof he needs to convince himself that he’s the smartest man in the universe. His assumption that he could take a peek at your panties is correct, sure he had to squint and pretend to pick something up off of the ground but he’s able to see just a hint of white fabric.

Fuck, white panties. Something about ‘em makes his dick jump to life in his pants. You think you’re some kinda sweetheart huh? With the frills in your skirt and your Barbie pink boots, d’ya think you’re some kinda doll? Plastic cunt hidden away by painted on panties? He remembers using scissors to cut the hand off of one of his mama’s childhood dolls; it didn’t have the same thick weight of slicing through meat that Bo’s come to enjoy in the years since then. You’ve probably got dainty lil hands, soft and with manicured nails. Bo’s fist clenches around nothing and he realizes that he left his untouched beer at the corner of the bar. With a huff, he gets up to retrieve his drink and you shout across the L-shaped counter,

“Ha! Pretty boy like you shouldn't be leaving his drink uncovered, c’mon that’s like rule one of being hot.”

In response, Bo coughs. And then he coughs again. He pounds on his chest with his fist and you giggle at him. He’s not looked at your face yet and glaring at you down feels like a nightmare he once had of his mother dragging him through some department store while glitter-faced makeup ladies from the counters laughed and pointed at him for being a grown man holding hands with his mama. What the fuck did you just say? Was that a threat? You think he’s…. pretty?

Instinctively, Bo latches onto the closest semblance of composure he can find,

“Speakin’ from experience sweetheart?” He sneers while finding his seat in the booth again.

You blow him a kiss and the gator behind the counter hands you a key and points. The big guy behind you stumbles and you hop off your stool with a sickly sweet smile that’s almost convincingly real. To anyone less versed in fake smiles, it might’ve gone undetected. Behind you, the guy looks woozy. The guy behind you shuffles as he walks, you stand him in front of the door and he steps away as if uncomfortable and you pull on his belt loop to force him closer. Bo can’t hear your command exactly, but it seems as if you were using the guy to guard the door as you took a piss. Fucking weird.

When the door opens again, you basically slam it into the neanderthal guarding you and he barely reacts. He turns around like a lurching zombie and your face screws up in mock concern.

“Are you feeling okay, big guy? I thought you were gonna show me your Harley!” You leave him for a moment to return the bathroom key and the dude slowly collapses into the nearest seat. You make a show of putting your hands on your hips and huffing, you nudge his boot with your own and sigh when he groans you roll your eyes, big lashes making the expression cartoonish. “Nighty night then lightweight!” You say cheerfully before basically skipping away from him with a big grin on your face. You hold your big bag low at your side and Bo notices for the first time that it’s bulging and looking as if it’s barely able to zip closed.

He can’t take his eyes off of you. Fuck you’re the most annoying thing he’s ever fucking seen. You seem to feel his gaze on you and Bo only challenges your “I caught you” expression with a raised eyebrow. You’re a fuckin loud ass flamingo with tits, of course he’s looking. Why would you dress like that if you didn’t want people to stare? He tilts his bottle at you, (still barely sipped) in invitation and you prance your ass over to him like a pony.

“Are you gonna buy me a drink? Cause otherwise I’m going home.” Your tone is completely bitchy, and you reach into your dumb little shirt and presumably your bra to dig out a tube of lipgloss. Your lips are already glimmery and Bo takes a slow drink from his bottle while imagining ‘em wrapped around something long and hard. Not everyone has his higher than average people reading skills, but any fuckin’ moron could look at you and determine that you’re good at sucking cock.

“I heard that guys who prefer bottles over cans have daddy issues.” You blow a small bubble with the gum he hadn’t noticed you were chewing and your sentence ends with a snapping noise as you pop it with your teeth. Your lipgloss disappears back into your tits and a lightning strike of rage splinters up his spine. He could slam your face into this fuckin’ table so quickly that you wouldn’t be able to so much as cry about it before you’re choking on your teeth! In a place like this, no cameras, cash only you’d be one more face in a god damned Walmart’s missing people plastic box by the return center you fucking bitch.

Ignoring his facial expression and the general violence radiating out from his person, you sit next to him which cages him into the booth without any escape.

“Where do you get off sayin’ this shit huh?�� Bo spits, low and dangerous. You’re so fucking dumb. Usually, Bo’s got a little more tact when it comes to finding someone for one of Vincent’s new projects. He knows how to sweet talk, Bo can put on the fuckin’ ritz for every dumbass type of bitch in the world but you’re tearing apart every bullshit line he could pull on you as if you knew that he was barely keeping it together in the first place. You don’t know fucking shit about him, you’ve got it all twisted around you bitch. He’s reading you, you’re the prey here. Not the other way around.

“Hmm.” You look upward, thinking. “Where do I get off? Ummm…. my bed usually. Where do you? Are you an alley pervert?” You speak before he can. “Oh! No, no ways. You’re like one of those guys who takes sneaky upskirt pics.”

Fucking what? Bo feels like he stumbled into another fucking dimension. “The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus.”

Your laugh is grating, a little nasally. “You seem like a photo guy is all. Everyone has their things. You asked where I got off, so I told you, duh.” You roll your eyes and Bo imagines how good your pretty makeup would look running down your face. You wouldn’t be all that sassy while bleeding out in his basement. The murderous thought is sliced clean through by your suddenly meowing phone, you unzip a pocket of your bag and dig around for a good minute before you find your phone and flip it open to answer the call.

“Nuh-uh!” You partway scream through a laugh as Bo just… stares at you, mouth breathing. He spent every last Thursday of every month buying two lotto tickets and treating himself to a burger and maybe some pussy, and he hadn’t won shit from the lottery in the twenty years he’d kept to the damned ritual, he hadn’t scratched off the tickets yet but with your stupid ass he feels as if he’s got a million dollars folded up in his wallet.

—” Oh you bitch! You did not,” You snort, actually fucking snort. “Did it hurt? What about lube?”

Bo clears his throat and you hold up a finger, “Ugh alright, fineee.” You pout into your phone, “Talk later babes, I forgot there's a guy next to me.” You pause for a moment and then turn to Bo to look at him with an analyzing expression.

“Hmm, he’s like a solid seven. Hot in a DILF way.”

Bo’s breath jumps up a few notches and he feels a growl building in his throat. Something is fucking wrong with you and you’re a gift from fucking god at the same time. He imagines your limp body, legs bruised, blood seeping from beneath you. You’d beg him to kill you in the same way you’re gonna beg for his cock. Bo blows a slow breath through his nose and shifts in his seat, resisting the urge to adjust his dick that’s steadily swelling with blood the more you run your stupid slut mouth.

In a flash of movement, your phone is put away and you unzip your purse just enough to get your hand inside to pull out a worn brown leather wallet. It’s a bizarre contrast compared to the rest of you, it looks cheap but not cheap like you. You smell like dollar store perfume and your jewelry sure as fuck ain't valuable. Getting by as he does, he’s gotten good at figuring out if jewelry and shit is worth any money. You use the tip of your pink rhinestone-adorned talon to dig through the bills in the wallet and your eyes go wide as if surprised to see what was in there. Two twenties are removed and you curl them lengthwise as if offering money to a stripper.

You wiggle the bills toward him and Bo scoots further away from you, scowling. The only thing he wants to do is wrap his fingers around your neck and squeeze, he doesn’t want to waste any words on you because right now they’re in short supply. He’s unraveling at the seams and beneath his exterior he’s an animal thing desperately in need of a good fuck or a good kill.

“C’mon pup, get me a drink? Please? You can keep the change! My treat!” You flutter your eyelashes. Throwing money away like it’s fuckin nothing to a stranger? You don’t seem like a rich girl, but the thought pisses Bo off just the same.

“That ain't your wallet and I ain't a whore.” Bo decides on a safe response to spit out. He’s yet to fully comprehend that you just called him “pup.” as if some sort of mental barrier simply wouldn’t allow him to hear it otherwise he’d suffer a series of incoming strokes.

“Debatable.” You hop out of the booth and you point to the bar while blowing another bubble with your gum. “Something with a cherry in it?”

“Aint no fuckin cherries here girl.”

“Wine..?”

You look so miffed that Bo chuckles, he gets out of the booth and plucks the money from your fingers before pocketing it. It takes a tremendous amount of effort but he manages to even out his breathing. He’ll get what he wants, he’s never learned to be patient but if things go right he shouldn’t have to wait long.

“I got wine at my place.” He offers, putting on his best attempt at charm. If he could just get you back home things would work out perfect and he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind and either fuck you right here or now or break every bone in your body with a fucking audience barely ten feet away.

“Sure!” You grin, “We both know we’re gonna fuck in your car anyways. Might as well pretend it's headed for wining and dining.”

“Confident ‘aintchya?” Since the moment he set eyes on you Bo’s imagined about thirty detailed plans for what he wants to do to you and most of ‘em don't end up all that good for your well-being. He’s never met a girl quite so fuckin glib about shit like this, but he’s beginning to think that you’re missing a handful of marbles and your skull is full of cotton candy and cum instead.

You meet his gaze with big, moony eyes and there's a distinctive moment where your gaze turns sharp. The expression barely surfaced but Bo easily saw the face he’d be wearing if it weren’t for all this stupid pretense. Your big ass bag is hauled up and you hold it in front of yourself, “Carry my purse and maybe I’ll swallow.”

What the fuck would keep him from taking your purse and leaving with it? Your stare oozes nothing but confidence and your smile is an obvious challenge. His cock twitches, more blood surges through him and Bo swallows dryly. He used to volunteer to carry his mama’s purse when he was a kid, mostly cause he wanted to root around in it for candy but secondly, because he liked feeling important. Doing things for her was the only way she’d give him any ounce of positive attention and your tone cuts through him in a way you’d sure as fuck never live long enough to understand. Bo takes the stupid fucking purse and you preen, “That’s a good boy.”

You’re fucking lucky that you mentioned swallowing because otherwise, wrapping his hand around your throat as your mouth’s stuffed with cock and watching your face turn purple and your eyes bulge red sounds pretty goddamned good right now.

Bo has to push past you somewhat as you begin to walk ahead of him, as soon as you’re both in the dirt lot outside, it's clear which car is yours. An eyesore of a blotchily painted rattletrap is parked some ways away, one of its doors is a completely different color and the entire car is tilted as if your tire pressure’s low. There’s no doubt in his mind that if he were to turn on the engine, the entire dash would light up with every light there is.

He leads you to his truck and you giggle, “Man I thought I was driving a real shitbox. Look at this dinosaur!”

Bo’s jaw gives an audible cracking noise and he wrenches the door open to forcibly shove you inside. He doesn’t give a shit if it hurts if your surprised yelp is anything to go by. Your bag is tossed in next and he wastes no time in crawling over the bench seating and forcing your legs up to make room for himself. You’re like a dead bug on its back and he hates that you were right about him being a “photo guy” because he’s sure that he wants to remember you but he hates the idea of proving you right. This part of the show is easy, he feels more in control of the situation now that he’s found out how to get back on track, he’s barely aware of his thoughts as his body remembers who and what he is.

His hold on your thigh relents in favor of working on his belt and you contort your body, sitting with your knees over the back of the seat and your side twists as you unzip your purse. You tut an annoyed tone and then lay back to set your purse on your stomach, you tuck your chin to look into it and the angle causes an avalanche of shit to tumble out onto the floor.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bo grunts out, the conscious flow of thoughts to his brain cut off just about when he saw that blur of pink disappearing into the bar. It’s been weeks without any pussy, nothing’s stopping him from taking it by force, but he wants to savor the motions he has in plan for you. It’s a long ride home and it’d be easier and a hell of a lot less messy if you’d go compliantly. Maybe he’ll keep you around, fuck you for a few days till your cunt’s worn out. That’s the best a girl like you can hope for and that’s the highest offer he’s willing to place on the table.

“Looking for a condom, I dunno where you’ve been!”

Mentioning a condom is an instant boner killer and Bo shakes his head no while watching your purse spill more and more shit out. He sees makeup and a couple of wallets. Two belts, what looks like an entire outfit change, and countless receipt papers. “Girl you’re fucking killing me.”

You scoot a bit, bending and squashing yourself until you can sit up after seemingly giving up on your search. Fluidly, you lean closer into him and up close your perfume is almost cloyingly sweet. It tickles his senses, not enough that he wants to sneeze but enough that he wants more of a sample to determine whether or not he likes it. For someone who looks so sugar-sweet, who wants to smell like a lollipop you’ve sure got a fuckton of presumably stolen wallets. You’re a sticky-fingered little freak and a fucking cunt to match. Easy girls are never good ones, someone like you couldn't have possibly been raised right.

Slowly, your head tilts and you assess his face curiously. Bo only allows it because lately he’s been pushed past desperate, he’s fucking starved and he doesn’t want to know what the fuck comes after he’s skin and bones. He needs this to work out right, he needs a fucking win. It’s been forever since he’s stolen something he wants to play with and without that distraction, his mother finds her way in to bitch and moan at him from beyond the grave.

Your lips slant over his before Bo realizes what you’re doing and his stomach twists in disgust. Kissing is for pussies and your lipgloss is tacky against his mouth. Your tongue tastes like bright citrus, like an orange creamsicle and he feels you manipulate your gum to sit between your teeth and gums. The thought is gross and Bo grimaces against your kiss, you manage to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, and on instinct his hand reaches to cup your ass, squeezing hard while using his other hand to hold your hip

The candy-mouthed kiss feels all kinds of wrong but pulling away from you is far from his thoughts while you grind your hips down, rubbing yourself against his undone jeans. Your breath hitches when he slides his hand up to one of your tits and he pinches your nipple through your shirt, hoping to hear you complain about it. He’s made aware immediately that your tits are pierced and he’s unable to keep himself from groaning into your mouth. Your pussy could feel like a sandpapered ant hill and he wouldn’t give a single shit about it if you’d let him slot his dick between the perfect tits in his hands. Unfortunately for him, you pull away from the kiss which leaves him fat-lipped and dumb. “It’s a total bummer that we can’t fuck.” You sigh, speaking plainly, sounding almost bored.

“Why not?” He almost spits, his tone takes on defensive but it comes out sounding bitchy. If he was anywhere but here, he wouldn’t have to play this stupid fucking game. He could just take.

“Hello? Weren’t you listening? We need a condom and I can't find one.” You cross your arms, looking every bit the bratty doll that you are. Remembering that doll hand that he severed that got him locked in a fucking cabinet for a day makes his cock throb. His daddy woulda called him a sissy for playing with dolls, but the old man might’ve keeled over and died he caught wind that his son was about to fuck one.

“I haven't slept with anyone since my wife died.” Bo lies, settling on a random story for who knows why. It’s the first thing he landed on and a familiar face he often wears to garner some pity pussy.

“And you’re a forty dollar whore. Maybe your wife was a slut like you are huh?” Your garble out with genuine venom. It’s completely random and Bo blinks at you, surprised by what the fuck you just said.

Your bottom lip quivers and you suddenly slump over him to wail into his neck, he doesn’t know what the hell is happening but he doesn’t fucking care. Not when he can feel the heat of your cunt just a few thin layers away from where he wants you. Your shoulders shake and Bo wonders if he could reach under his seat and find something to get this over with before you’d even know what was happening. He had to have something… a knife, a syringe, a piece of broken glass. Just as quickly as your sniffling came, you sat up with a bright smile though your eyes look blown wide and manic. “Sorry.” You glance to the side, “I hate hearing about other girls. I just went through a breakup and everything still hurts y'know?”

God damn it. For some reason your insanity has his cock barking like a damned dog to get inside of you. If he just slid it in, maybe you wouldn’t notice? Your claws come to curl around his bicep and girl you’ve got a fucking grip on you. You wriggle your hips as if in frustration and Bo finally forces you to sit up so he’s able to reach between your bodies to free his dick. He strokes himself just once and closes his eyes, praying to god that he can hold onto his patience. You’re too good to waste on dumping you in the bayou. You’re a crazy fucking bitch but your mama blessed you with a face worth preserving and a body torn out of his favorite porn searches. Curled over him like this, tucking yourself in to be as small as possible makes it difficult to get at your tits, unfucking fair.

“—I thought he loved me.” You whimper though you confusingly begin to grind on his dick again. “I would’ve been so good, if only he gave me a chance. I would’ve been a wayyy better girlfriend than his slut wife and I wasn’t wrong for putting water in her gas tank. If you’re in love you’ll do anything right? So what about chemical burns and a missing poodle!”

Through your ramble, you readjust yourself and Bo takes the opportunity to pull your panties to the side. He wants to take a look at your pussy but right now it seems like a better idea to treat you like a wild animal, like one wrong move would have his head ripped off. You’re officially one of them one flew over the cuckoo’s nest sorta bitches but Bo can’t give a single fuck about it right now. Your body figures out how to slot his dick between your lips and you sigh, eyes closing, pussy soaking his length as you move. Seeking pleasure even while you continue to run your stupid mouth. On Bo’s end, he barely hears you and he’s pretty sure he mumbled for you to shut the fuck up, though he might’ve choked the sentence to death while fighting back the moan that wanted to croak out of him.

The truck’s cab ‘aint all that big and you lean back, blindly reaching behind yourself to press your palms against the dashboard, your dumb frilly skirt rides up on your thighs and you whimper when you manage to figure out how to move to rub his cockhead against your clit. “Fuck that’s so good,” Your voice comes out small and your face is adorably screwed into a pout.

“Look at me and shut up.”

Stubbornly you shake your head no and your eyes scrunch as if forcing them to stay closed. “No thanks, you’re too pretty.”

Bo lifts you to stand on your knees and takes hold of his shaft to position it between your lips, his cockhead just teasing your entrance. He can’t see your pussy on account of your skirt, Bo supposes he could easily look but little freak shits have been making Barbie get naked for decades and he likes the idea that he’s the first smart fucker who figured out how to use the bitch’s plastic pussy. If he looked, maybe all he’d see is the flat mound that other dolls have.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He finally remembers to speak after letting your previous words marinate. “Your mama drop you on the head or what?”

You open your eyes to glare, “I mean that you’re hot and if you ask nicely I’m gonna do something stupid and let you fuck me like I want you to.”

He can’t help the shudder that racks through him in response, girls ain't supposed to be forward and Barbie sure as hell ‘ain't but call him handsome all you want, he’ll allow it. He leans up to graze his teeth over your collarbone before easing you to raise your arms and get rid of your shirt and the cupless flimsy thing that’s apparently a bra. Your tits spring free and Bo wastes no time in pulling you toward his mouth. His tongue curiously flicks the hardening bud and he’s not shy to nuzzle into the soft flesh against his face. All points of contact of his body against yours are met with soft tits and skin, the slick glide of wet pussy, and hard, cold metal against his tongue.

Vaguely, he’s aware that every man on this planet knows the golden rule about sticking your dick in crazy but no one ever fuckin’ told him that crazy had the most fuckable, ruinable body all done up with perfect tits to match. Even now he’s barely able to resist baser urges, if he can't hurt you in the way he wants, he needs to at least gore out your pretty cunt with his near painfully hard dick.

It’d take a while but he wants to cover you head to fucking toe in cum, his stomach feels tight as if he’s going to cramp up if he doesn't bury himself inside of you right fucking now, his throat works the taste of steel down into his gut and no one would be able to resist you wet and writhing on his dick, telling him he’s attractive and downright begging for him to fuck you. Not even you could fault him for holding your hips and forcing you down to take his cock. He can't find it in him to savor your surprised gasp and the way your body yields, biology taking over delusion. His inner monologue clears away any conscious thought besides a desperate chant of hot-wet-tight.

Everything you are can be summed up in a simple “What the fuck.” Three hard thrusts in and he stammers, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he fights back the pressing urge to blow his load. He needed this more than he knew and your walls squeeze and suck at him as if trying to keep him deep inside of you, reluctant to let go. His fingers dig into your hair and Bo pulls you down to kiss him again, he wants to fuck your mouth with his tongue because he doesn’t have enough cocks to shove one down your throat. Your teeth clack against his and your hand slips on the dash, blindly you reach for the wheel and whatever you did causes the damned thing to click in a way that would normally have him bursting a gasket. All he does is mask a moan with a savage bite to your bottom lip instead.

“W-wait,” You pull away from him panting, “I didn’t give you permission—”

“Nuh-uh. Your pussy was fuckin’ begging for it.” He says smugly, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

Your brattiness finds its way back from wherever Bo managed to fuck it from you and you cross your arms. “Only my boyfriends get to fuck me raw.” You poke him in the chest, enunciating your words with poke after poke. “You. Are. Not. My. Boyfriend.”

He takes your hand, unable to take you seriously. You’d look so much better with some fucking respect spanked into you, “Who’s your boyfriend? That fucker you left in the bar after you robbed him?” His thrusts slow and you sit up to hold onto his shoulders for leverage as you lift your hips until actually pulling off of him before sinking down inch by inch as if to take in every detail of the undoubtedly perfect fit.

You snort, “I have lots of boyfriends. Just most of ‘em don't know they're mine…”

Bo’s palm finds your lower back, his fingers slip into the waistband of your skirt and he traces the raised texture of your tattoo with his thumb. He’s still not seen it yet, but he wonders if you were dumb enough to get some asshole’s name branded above your ass. Over the years, Bo’s known plenty of stupid and slutty, or slutty and stupid… he’s not yet met a mix of slutty, stupid, and batshit until you. If he knew that girls like you had pussies that felt like they were manufactured for the sole purpose of draining his soul out of his balls, maybe he would’a snagged a girl like you years ago.

“Some of them think they’re taken. They’ll figure it out soon enough,” You continue, snapping your gum again and Bo takes your face in his hand to squish your cheeks and he uses two fingers to physically remove your gum from your mouth. Your only reaction is a pout and he sticks your gum onto your discarded shirt. He would’ve assumed you might’ve bitched about that but you’re already caught up in an incoming rant.

“Nobody’s gonna break my heart never ever again, I’m not gonna let them.”

Ugh, Bo closes his eyes and does his best to ignore your words because he couldn’t give less than a shit about them. Your already piss-poor job at riding him slows even further and you reach next to you for a moment before one of your hands comes to rest on the side of his neck where your nails just barely dip into his hair, your breath is hot against his ear and the unrelenting heat wrapped around him squeezes hard as if for his attention. Your teeth graze against the shell of his ear and the smallest murmur of a moan escapes his involuntarily parted lips.

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend, pretty boy?” You whisper, and your sharp nails curl around to the back of his neck, “I’ll be good to you, let you fuck me whenever you want. You can cum inside right now if you say yes…”

With a mind of its own his cock twitches inside of you, agreeing to any and all unspoken terms. All you fucking do is run your mouth and half of what comes out of it ‘aint fit for a lady and the other half is batshit insanity. You don’t get to claim him you dumb whore, but he can play along for now. If he can bite back the twisting wave of hate, all he has to do is behave for thirty-some miles back to the house. Once you’re in Ambrose, you’ll play by his rules and learn your fucking place. You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line, you were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars and lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

He can domesticate you. He’s always been decent at fixing shit, and he wants to put you back together so it’ll be all the more satisfying when he breaks you apart. Of course, he nods to your question, he’d be a right fuckin fool to say otherwise.

“Ah-ah,” You tut, “Out loud. Tell me.” The hand not on him shifts next to your side.

Lying is one of the things Bo does best. It’s effortless to look at you and spread a slow smile over his lips like sizzling butter sliding toward the edge of a pan, it’s greasy but it melts easily. He schmoozes hard enough to tilt his head to press his lips against your inner wrist. “I ain’t makin no promises tonight darlin’, let's get to know each other huh? Tell ya what, if you come back to my place tonight, I’ll take you out tomorrow.” His tone drips and oozes.

“A date?” You gasp, grinning. “Oh! That’s great! And here I was, ready to ride you at gunpoint till you said you’d be my boyfriend! This works out so much better, I think you’re gonna be my favorite.”

Bo jolts with the first mention of the word gun and you bring your right hand up, finger on the trigger of a cutesy little derringer that you must’ve pulled out of your purse. You didn’t have a condom but you had a gun? He’d wonder what was wrong with you if it weren't for his kit of zip-ties, xylazine, and duct tape beneath the seat. Instinct tells him to fight, to wrench your arm back until it cracks. You point the thing at him, squinting an eye closed and he feels as if some sense of self preservation should activate. “Bang bang!” You laugh, finger still on the damned trigger and Bo’s stomach flips, his cock surges and he growls, frustrated with the fact that you’re just sitting on him as his dick all but begs for movement. He should give you a taste of your own medicine, show you his own kit of weapons if you’re so excited to play show and tell…

The gun in your hand is so ridiculously small, it looks like a toy and you’ve seemingly stuck a few stickers to it here and there. Hello Kitty adorns the tiny barrel and a yellow dog thing decorates the handle. You’re so… stupid, god it’s like you can’t get any dumber, any more ridiculous, and then here you are, sitting on his dick and demanding that he hand himself over to you on a silver platter. You’re fucking lucky that he’s desperate, if he wasn’t so starved for an ounce of pussy this might’ve ended the moment you stepped outside the bar. Your body would’ve been hauled limp into his truck bed. You had no idea who he was, but he knew everything about you. his nostrils flare and his pulse races every screaming ounce of his sanity tells him to get rid of you because it’d be a mercy to put you down. Y’aint right, you’re fucked in the head… you’re a violent, demanding little psycho bitch who throws pussy around like you don’t care where it ends up and—

Bo unleashes an almost animal noise as the frustration building inside of his gut erupts into sparking violence. Your wrist is cruelly twisted and your fingers spread out to drop your weapon, Bo picks you up to slam you down onto your back, he thrusts back inside of you and the instant gratification nearly has his eyes rolling back in his head. Sure, you’re meant to take cock but you sure as fuck aren't supposed to take it while thinking that you get to decide whether or not it's for your benefit or his. No. He decides whether or not you’ll get it and bitch you’ve been asking for it since your stupid ass got dressed and got in your ridiculous fucking car to drive down here.

“Mm… You’re strong huh?” Your giggle clips into a moan, your weapon falls to the floor and you don’t pay it a second glance. Of course, you’re vocal. Hell, likely no one’s ever told you to shut up before tonight. Bracing himself with one knee on the seat and one knee on the ground, he uses the back of the seat for leverage while the other finds your throat. Feels fucking good to squeeze down, it’s just a taste of what he wants to do to you but for now, it’s enough. You choke on a half-spoken syllable, and every time he drives back into your cunt it’s as if the longer you’re without air, the wetter your sloppy pussy gets.

“Y’like it when it hurts sweetheart?” He lets up from your throat and you suck down needy lungfuls of oxygen. You only grin dumbly, neither confirming or denying his question or maybe you just didn’t hear him. Your body is unfair, your tits bounce against the force of his thrusts and he wishes he had some way of recording this. You’re all smiles, eyes half-lidded as if loving this treatment. Your body seems to understand what it’s made for even if your mind’s skipping around the maypole twirling a gun by the trigger around your fingers while thinking you’re anything but a living fuckdoll. Absently, Bo wonders if your so-called boyfriends ever thought of lobotomizing you or if he’s the first genius to cook up the idea. He can’t imagine being able to stand being around you for more than a parking lot fuck. Good ol’ Doctor Sinclair’s still got a handful of tools in his dusty old office. Maybe that’ll be step one into your redesign.

Whoever you were going on about must be some sorta delusion of yours because there ain't no way in hell that any man could listen to you and submit to whatever stupid bullshit you demand of him. Your pussy’s too tight, too perfect to have been stretched over anyone else. Hell, anyone besides him wouldn’t be man enough to take on a piece of work like you. Bo’s always wanted a fucktoy who ain't got right or reason to think herself a person and with a body like yours, you might as well be the best bet for a walking, talking cocksleeve.

Thinking about you floating through his house all dreamy-eyed and soft smiles, constantly available and with nowhere to go, your dollar store perfume a permanent feature of the place seems so fucking right. Hell, he can get rid of you whenever he feels like but Bo thrives on having goals. He might not want that forever but it might be nice for a while. If he plays his cards right, you might not even need the good ol icepick to the eye socket.

“You like my cock better than your “boyfriends”?” Bo emphasizes his disbelief in the concept and your sleepy fuckdrunk eyes brighten into coherence. Your lips twist and you bite your lip, thinking and Bo immediately regrets asking.

“Third maybe? We’ll have to try out some other things before I’m sure.”

“Wrong answer sweetheart, try again.” He sneers, hating how he’s been biting back his orgasm since the first thrust inside of you.

“But—” Whatever you were going to say is cut off with an open palmed slap to your cheek. He didn’t hit hard, there wasn’t any wind back but your attitude changes in an instant. You blink up at him, wide-eyed and your mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Your expression just about melts and you shudder beneath him, breath kicking into little high-pitched gasps. That’s it, Bo can just about see the pretty little fuckdoll right beneath your skin. You just needed someone to put in the work.

Your inner walls constrict and Bo grunts, feeling as if your cunt already knows who it belongs to and it doesn’t need to be taught a thing about being a good girl for him. Your legs twitch outward with an almost funny tremor and after another savage thrust, your back arches upward and you hiccup out a jumble of broken sounds that coagulate into a throaty, low moan. The moment your orgasm began to build in intensity was the breaking point of Bo’s pulled-thin restraint, a lightning strike of heat spits through his cock and he buries it deep inside of you with a feral need to drive impossibly deeper into your body. He can't stop, he can’t keep going, his orgasm seems pissed at him for the fact that it’d been too long since the last cumdump and he pulls out of you, groaning only to immediately thrust back inside because the loss of your body is an almost jarring sensation.

“Christ” Is all he can say as his brain threatens to leak out of his nose.

You hum, looking up with starry eyes and you speak after a long moment of quiet. “Did you like it?”

Bo takes a deep breath, “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together excitedly, “I wasn’t sure what I stole from that douche I roofied, figured it looked like coke so I decided to take a test run on it when I went to the bathroom.”

After coming as hard as he did, Bo can barely comprehend what you’re saying. You’re everything he’s been raised to hate and he sits up to lazily stroke his flagging shaft, already wondering if he can force his way into another quickie.

“I’ve never been able to come without anyone touching my clit before, so I think a little bit of coke in my pussy definitely did the trick.”

Immediately, his eyes threaten to bulge out of his head, and a vein bulges on the side of his neck. “Wh—” His shock turns to anger and Bo shoves you, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Fuck!” The world around him threatens to cave in, crushing his skull with the weight of a lifetime of American morals and a Christian upbringing.

“I told you that I wanted a condom. You’re the one who decided to fuck me like a rabid dog! And I loved it, but you have no right to be pissed at me, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy feels like an insult and the truck cab that’s usually his happy place begins to feel like a coffin that’s steadily being covered in dirt. Genuine dread keeps Bo tight-lipped and quiet. Someone needs to do something about you but you’re vermin rather than prey. You’re a pest. Despite the cold shoulder, you roll your eyes and laugh right in his face. “Are you seriously mad? You’re so cute!” Your bottom lip juts out obnoxiously, “It’s a joke! I’ve tried that before, it’s only good for like thirty seconds.” You giggle and for some god-awful reason, a hateful breath of heat tickles his cheeks. He’s not embarrassed if that’s what you’re getting at.

You pull your shirt over your head without your bra and do your best to get the gum off of it, the wad of orange is tossed to the ground and your purse makes a weird beeping noise. Looking like Winne the damned Pooh, pantsless and likely dripping cum onto his seat, you pick up a bright blue egg-shaped thing from the floor and press two yellow buttons.

“Ugh!” You whine in a high-pitched wound of a noise, “My Tamagotchi died! I take a ten-minute fuck break and the little shit poops itself to death!” The little egg’s screen is shoved into his face and Bo grabs your wrist, glaring.

“God damn it girl, how much of a dicking do you need for you to shut the hell up?” You don’t seem to think you need to respond to his words and you take a moment to pull out a pad of paper from your ridiculous garbage bag purse you hum while scribbling a few things down. When you’re finished the sheet is torn out and you place it in his lap, after patting it a few times.

“The fuck is that?”

“Read it if you’re so curious!”

He swallows the number of things he wants to say in response and Bo picks up the paper, he reads as far as the list’s header before crumpling the paper up and throwing it behind himself. The only thing he needed to read was “Rules of being my Boyfriend.” and that was enough.

You’re more or less dressed soon enough, all your shit is hastily stuffed back into your bag. “Can I get a goodbye kiss?”

“You’re sayin’ goodbye? Thought you were coming back to my place?”

You answer with a laugh, “Oh, you’re adorable. I’m not that dumb pretty boy.”

Bo sneers, patience broken and he hastily reaches over you to push the lock down on your door. It clicks satisfyingly and the incoming sense of gratification has his tone dripping toward bitchy. “Nah, here’s the thing sweetheart. I thought we had a damned agreement.”

“Oh! We do! I wrote it up for you!” You respond cheerily as if not quite understanding the threat you’re under.

He’s not listening, Bo grabs you by the hair with the intent of either knocking you out via asphyxiation or slamming your forehead into the dashboard. The violence he’d been uselessly sitting on all night roars to life and—

Something velcro rips apart and cold metal is shoved beneath his ribs, moving faster than what should be possible. A button clicks and his vision warbles in and out before splintering like glass. Piece by piece it all begins to crash and cut him apart and he chokes on a gasp, tongue feeling too thick to let him open his mouth to suck a lungful of air down his throat.

His door is forced open and you hop out, once again reduced into a pink blur of a person, and a sparking pink rectangle spits lightning, still sharply crackling in your hand. Through insurmountable effort, he manages to force his body to slump forward and just as he regains the general concept of feeling his fingers and toes, a cloud of stinging, whipping heat seemingly rips through his eyes and mouth and he gags, coughing on the gaseous fire that seems to get worse the longer his mouth stays open.

“Oh, I really wish you hadn’t grabbed me like that. I hate when guys get handsy!” The sound of a zipper is the only thing he can discern, Bo tries to open his eyes only to be met with another dose of wet acid that begins to melt his flesh from his bones. Fuck it fucking hurts.

“Toodles babe!” You chirp, “Pleaaase read that paper you crumpled. It’s got my number on it! Rule number one to being my boyfriend, call me or else!” The last word of your sentence is heavily emphasized but Bo barely hears you, all he can do is curl up into a ball to rub his involuntarily leaking eyes into his seat, his freshly tased mind is only able to rely on instinct rather than conscious thought.

Gravel crunches beneath your boots and you walk away unhurriedly, the general pattern of your footsteps is off kilter as if you’re skipping. “Call me!” You yell from a distance repeating yourself for emphasis, “Don’t make me say or else again! No other girls, No fucking around! I’ll know!”

Your sing-song voice is a tornado siren and Bo can’t help but feel as if he just stuck his dick in the eye of a storm. Everything hurts. He can’t see, his mouth and nose are on fire and his bones feel as if he shook hands with god. You’ll be hearin’ from him alright, count your blessings there sweetheart.

ALT ENDING (If you told the truth over whether or not you actually bewitched him with pussy cocaine)

Course you're a druggie. Figures. You're everything he's been bred to hate and you used him. Violated him as if his body was yours to ruin. He feels dirty for the first time in his life.

“Rule number one of being my boyfriend means you have to kiss me.” You wave your hand in front of Bo’s face and all he sees is buzzing flies and rot. Every southern superstition he ever laughed at currently taunts him in his mama’s tone and inflection. She spent her life warning him about how easily the devil finds its way inside of you and he never thought it would feel so fucking good to let it in.

“Okie Doke,” You quip after hearing no response. “You’ll call me then. Rule number two.” You tap the paper on his thigh. Bo wonders where your sissy little pistol went and if he’d still get a usable corpse out of you if he plugged a bullet through your skull but he knows that a clean kill won't be enough for him.

He fucked up. He was stupid and strayed too far from home and look where the fuck he ended up. Already, he wants more of you, and every deluded thought he had about making you his still felt like the best idea he ever had. Fuck you for taking that from him and fuck you in general. Your stupid bag unzips and the distinctive sound of a knife flipping open pulls him from his trance.

Quickly, you hop out of his truck and before he can think to react, you shove a pink, automatic switchblade into his fucking tire. It sinks in again and again as if you’re somehow used to knifing tires.

The dread withers away into animal rage and Bo launches out of his vehicle, seeing blood red pulsing in his vision.

“There’s a three-strike rule! It’s on the paper!” You yell, running at a full speed away, your stupid platformed shoes thwacking the ground while Bo lumbers after you with his pants undone and every nerve ending in his body on fire. Usually, he likes a good chase. He likes to win, but you’ve already scored several points over his tally, and at first, it was cute but now it ain't acceptable anymore.

“Strike one, you didn’t wanna kiss me… so you don’t get a tire! It’s only fair!” You stop running once reaching your car and Bo cracks his neck, thanking god for your stupid little brain for thinking the chase is over. You might think this is a game, but it sure as fuck aint a game to him. Your purse is dumped in your passenger seat and before you can close your door Bo shoves his hand in the way, which hurts but he reacts only by flaring his nostrils. Using every ounce of strength Bo fights to wrench your door open but you let go, causing him to stumble backward.

The hammer to your dumb little pistol clicks backward and you smile, “I’m sorry! Ugh I hate fighting on first dates, it’s uncute.” You turn your key in the ignition and your engine sounds like a croaking frog, subconsciously he’s sure that your radiator’s fucked just from the sound of it but right now he cares about killing, not cars.

“ I promise I’m gonna be good to you.” Your voice is pleading, “Don’t worry! Now walk back to your truck like a good boy now,” Your fingers wiggle and you jut your chin toward his truck, “These things are hard to aim and it’s only gonna kill you if you’re up close. I’m running low on boyfriends so I’d really hate to have to shoot you. That’s usually a third date thing!”

The little gun only has two bullets in it and Bo rushes you with a growl, hoping to catch you off guard. There’s a low chance you’ll get him bad enough to kill him and—

Your pink knife finds its way home right above his knee and Bo crumples. You take his moment of shock to slam your door. His leg refuses to respond to the urgency of the situation, he can move it but it comes with blinding pain that intensifies as you peel out of the parking lot. The way he fell seemed to have dug the blade in deeper and he can only yell in outraged agony as your trashy pink car gets smaller and smaller in the distance.

Thanks for reading all this! I opened a year old single paged draft and just spat out 10k words lmao. I love the idea of this bitch in his home, Tamagotchi beeping like the fkn telltale heart like just fkn HAUNTING him and he doesn't know where the beeping is from. I also love the idea of her smelling some other cheapo perfume on him and having a fkn meltdown because she'd NEVER wear such a trashy perfume!! Like she's fine with the MURDERING but how dare he even look at another vaguely feminine person, he's a cheating!!! HORRIBLE PERSON!! Jail! Jail for boyfriend #5 for one thousand years!

#House of Wax #House of Wax 2005 #HOW fanfic #house of wax fanfiction #Bo sinclair x Reader #Bo Sinclair #Slashers #Slasher Fandom #Slasher Community #Poki writing

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kazuyummy · 1 year ago

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😈 DAIYA NO ACE - ACCIDENTAL TURN-ONS

yuki tetsuya 💋 miyuki kazuya 💋 sanada shunpei 💋 isashiki jun 💋 kuramochi yoichi 💋 chris takigawa yu

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y u k i 💜 t e t s u y a ; hairpulling

you often look for tetsuya after sunday practice to give him the upcoming week's training schedule

as the meijin university boys' baseball team student physical trainer for the past two years, you help with their exercise regiment and work with the dietitian and coaches to deliver meal plans and practice schedules as well

it's not like you have to hand-deliver these things... but seeing Tetsuya is always a bonus (and it gives you a chance to go into detail - that's the excuse you use)

kuramochi, your best friend who had also decided to attend his high school coach's alma mater, is just so kind to interrupt and ask you to run through his schedule

"hold up, mochi - after i finish talking to tetsu"

"he can wait! i'm going on a date soon, so i'm in a rush!"

you snort, turning to tetsu to see where you left off on the page and telling mochi to wait his turn

mochi, the stubborn, unrelenting bastard, gives a short but firm tug to your ponytail

out of pure instinct, you bite your lip, eyes rolling back into your head with the tiniest of groans

mochi doesn't notice since he's behind you and still rambling on - thank goodness or he'd be howling, never letting you hear the end of it

but tetsuya certainly doesn't fail to catch it, visions of taking you from behind and pulling your hair fill his mind

he can see you ass-up on his bed, back arching and mouth babbling as he rams you with his cock, pussy gushing

he wonders if you like being spanked and choked too. would you call him sweetly by his name? or by daddy instead?

you blush heavily but continue talking, trying to play things off like nothing happened

but he's no longer paying attention, instead starting to brainstorm ways to get you to his for a personal training session with this newfound knowledge...

‎

m i y u k i 💜 k a z u y a ; flexibility

kazuya walking into your apartment is not an uncommon occurrence, but today, he's earlier than usual - which means he sees you doing a yoga morning routine that you'll inevitably give up on in a week or two

still, you're surprised at how flexible you are and how energized and focused it makes you - so maybe you'll stick with it for a bit

miyuki's heart isn't prepared to see your ass in those tight pants, or the way your boobs push out of the elastic, seamless sports bra

he's just thankful (or not) that your top isn't loose, otherwise he would perish on the spot at seeing any bit of underboob

with pants that fitted, you're either wearing the smallest thong known to man or nothing at all

he's imagining manhandling you in so many positions - to see just how far you can stretch for him, the burn in your muscles nothing compared to the heat you'd feel as he fills you up to the brim

what if he railed you standing, a leg hooked over his shoulder to spread you open as you beg for him to wreck you despite struggling to stay in this position?

he wants to rip those pants down the seam, eating you out then fucking the lights out of you

you could try sitting on his face in the splits to give him full access to your little pussy while he holds your thighs down

you switch to the downward dog pose, ass in the air toward him and ask in the sweetest voice if he wants to join you

he takes back his earlier statement - maybe he is about to die on the spot after all

‎

i s a s h i k i 💜 j u n ; finger sucking

studying in the library with jun is never a peaceful affair and you don't know why you agree to it every time - maybe because of your small little crush on your close friend that you continue to squash down

he interrupts your thoughts - "hey, what'd you get for number seven?"

jun pokes the side of your head - of course, he has his annoying moments too

"i told you i'm only doing even-numbered problems right now, idiot."

he doesn't ease up, continuing to poke, so it's time for retaliation. you whip your head around and prepare to bite

at that moment, something strange happens in your mind - you realize that he was poking you with his finger, not a pencil. and you don't want to hurt him with your bite, but you're already turning around, so - you... kind of just end up taking his fingers into your mouth

neither of you reacts right away. he's managed to get his long finger all the way in, hitting the back of your throat... with no gag reflex

his feels his digit rest on your tongue until you move it to flutter around him, the inside of your cheeks like velvet

"wh-what the fuck?"

his fingers come out with a pop and a little drool on the side of your cheek, which you wipe away

"would you rather i have bitten your finger? you'd be cryin', y'know?"

he stares, speechless and processing what happened. your mouth had felt so good, so soft around him. he'd be in heaven if you sucked him off like that, pretty eyes staring up at him while he paints your face white

"we wouldn't have had this problem if you stopped annoying me," you shrug

but when you pull out a lollipop from your bag, unwrapping it and swirling your tongue around, he suddenly remembers he's got something very important to do

‎

s a n a d a 💜 s h u n p e i ; thigh crushing

sanada's flirting is often affectionate, so it doesn't phase you when he sits on the floor of the couch in front of you, leaning his head back between your legs and looking up at you

you roll your eyes with a smile but continue watching your friends play mario kart on the screen

when it's your turn and the controller is handed to you, he becomes such a little demon

he turns to your knee and does that thing where he tickles you by putting his fingers in the centre of your knee and spreading them outward at the same time

"shunpei!" you scold him, "stop that!"

"or what?" he'll raise an eyebrow playfully

"or... or i'll accidentally kick you, idiot" you save face in your response, but your red cheeks show otherwise - you're a sucker for that little smirk of his

he doesn't let up, though, giving your calf a flick, tickling your bare leg with the texture of his hair from where he's sitting - you name it

"shunpei, if you don't stop, i will crush your head between my thighs."

you lightly pressing on the sides of his head with them, which finally gets him a bit quieter

but that's because he's now imagining eating you out, thighs trying to close him in as he pulls them apart, lapping at your folds as you beg him to keep going

he'd give you orgasm after orgasm, sticky sweet voice crooning for you to give him one more, and another after that, and another...

he wants you so fucked out that by the time he sheathes himself inside you, you're putty in his hands and just a little fucktoy for him

in fact, he's tempted to pepper kisses across your inner thighs, the only mercy from him coming from the fact that you're not alone in the room

"i wouldn't mind if i died like that, sweetheart"

‎

k u r a m o c h i 💜 y o i c h i ; neck kiss

being close friends with yoichi, it was easy to flirt in small doses with each other to deny your feelings by saying, "that's just what friends do", others saying you acted like a married couple

one day, you're saying goodbye and going for a kiss on his cheek when you both miscalculate - as you lean forward, he's already leaning away, and you end up moving too far forward, kissing his neck

you're a bit tangled in him, and whisper-giggle a "sorry!" in his ear, sending shivers down his spine

you chuckle nervously as you pull back, "i felt like a vampire doing that!"

he lets out an airy laugh, but he's rock hard right now

you've given each other plenty of friend-kisses on the cheek or forehead, but that spot just awakened something in him

he wants to feel your lips all over his skin, plush but feathery, whispering dirty, dirty things to him with your hands running up and down his body

how would those lips feel sucking his cock? how would they feel marking his neck when he drives into you, filling you with his load?

now he wants to fill your skin with love bites, tasting every inch of you and making your pupils dilate with hunger and lust

when he jokingly does it back and you let out a mewl, he knows his heart's in trouble. there's no way he can look at you the same again

‎

c h r i s 💜 t a k i g a w a 💜 y u ; straddling

chris isn't always one for parties, but he doesn't mind coming out to a few to socialize as long as his friends are there

(and someone may have let it slip to him that you'd be there)

he's seated on one of the loveseats when you find him after a couple drinks each

he's getting up to hug you but someone trying to get through the crowd pushes you forward and you fall onto him, luckily with no more cup in hand

you land safely, however, your legs are straddling his hips as he looks up at your breathless form

chris, as always, is smooth in an awkward moment like this

"hey, I don't mind. not too many seats around anyway."

you giggle, gaining some bravery from him as well,

"okay, but don't complain to me if your legs go numb!"

you turn around on his lap so you're in a far less suggestive position, but he can't stop imagining you riding him

he'd want to hold your hips as you bounce up and down, your tits following suit hypnotizingly as you scream his name

he'd let you do all the work sometimes, moving to your feet and crouching on him so he can watch himself push past your puffy folds and the way you grip him as he comes back out again

but you sitting the other way now? cockwarming wouldn't be a bad idea either. having you spread your legs and his fingers in a v opening your folds, showing everyone how filled you are with him - the thought is thrilling

for now, he's content with his fantasies, but looks like he'll ask you to swing by his place later...

this is a bit of a tribute to my upcoming miyuki fic (and you'll see why when it comes out lmao) but i'm in love w the idea of accidentally getting someone flustered like this and (sometimes) not knowing what you do to them, hehe. <3

#⚾️-dna #💭-ani-mini #daiya x reader #diamond no ace #yuki tetsuya #miyuki kazuya #isashiki jun #sanada shunpei #kuramochi youichi #chris takigawa yu

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klainepornytourney · 11 months ago

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Hi!

What the hell is going on here, you ask?

Simply put, we’re here for the fuck of it. That is to say, for the fun of our boys and their, er, polls. 😏

We want to show our love for all the smuttiest, most glorious, gratuitous fics that have entertained us since Kurt and Blaine first touched…lips. Fingertips? Let’s be real, soon as their eyes met, the eye fucking swiftly evolved into, well, fucking in the brains of fans around the globe. So, here we are!

The fic tournament will start late February, and run until we're all out of polls. In the mean time, we'll be posting a few fun polls per week about Kurt and Blaine, and their sex lives, so get your headcanons ready and start voting!

While we are supportive of all the ways Kurt and Blaine are DTF, we (unfortunately) DNF with certain kinks and tropes which you might notice the absence of in our posts/polls/tournaments.

You'll find the hows, whats and whatnots under the cut, along with the links to poll masterposts, and if your question isn't answered there, please send us an ask and we'll get back to you!

Which fics will qualify? Any completed E rated Klaine fic posted on ao3 between 2010 and 2023, that is under 10k words and written in English. (Sorry longer fics, you usually have too much plot between all the porny bits and we don't have time to read you all.)

How will the tournament run? We're still working out the exact details of it, so this answer will be updated with more info soon!

How will we keep things fun for everyone? If you want to be excluded, send us an ask and we'll take you off the list, no questions asked. We'll only be naming the fic titles and including fic links in our posts, so there won't be any blogs tagged or ao3 accounts linked. The different kinks and tropes categories will have their own tags so you can filter out anything you don't want to see, while still getting the rest of the polls. We'll provide you with a full list of categories and tags when we've finalized the tournament design.

What will we NOT include? Anything nobody in our group is willing to read. Currently, that list includes mpreg, bestiality, dub/noncon, b!p, adult/minor relationships (unless the 'adult' is 18/19), cheating, incest, watersports/scat, Karofsky, slavery, A/B/O, or fics where they're younger than 15.

We're aware that this may mean some of your fav fics won't be included, but we can only include fics that at least one of us will read due to the selection process.

How do we select fics? Scrolling. So much scrolling. We made lists of all the fics that meet the basic requirements, and then divided them up and started skimming them (okay fine, we ended up reading most of them) to be sure there were no hidden untagged triggers or unhappy endings. Fic quality or popularity was not a factor.

Are there any fics that will be polled differently from the rest? Yes! Some authors have been so particularly prolific, that there's just too much smutty goodness to choose from. Instead, they will have their own categories to narrow the options down before the winners join the general tournament. Again, if you're one of them and don't want to be included, let us know!

If there are a lot of fics in one category, then we'll seed (pun intended) some fics to the next rounds based on publish date.

Will it only be Klaine fics? Of course! They might have some (male) friends along for the ride, or a spectator or three, but they will always both be there, either in person or digitally.

How do I decide which fic to vote for? That's completely up to you! You can vote because you like the author, because it got your motor running, or just because the other one sucked in a not so fun way. Be as subjective or objective as you want, it's porn after all and my kink may not be yours! ;)

Are there any rules for reblogging or commenting on tournament polls? We ask that you don't name any authors or link to their blogs unless you have explicit permission from them. If you come across a fic or a kink you don't like, just filter it out and move on. This tournament is supposed to be fun and we will not tolerate any (kink) shaming or bullying.

As cliché as it sounds, everyone is a winner here. We chose the tournament style for this blog because polls are fun and we like to click things, but the real goal is to celebrate ALL the smut we as a fandom have been so lucky to receive.

Will you reveal yourselves? Nope.

We hope everyone will have just as much fun reading and voting as we had setting this up!

xoxo The KlainePornyTourney mods

Links to various masterposts:

Threesome Mini Tourney

Fuck, Marry, Kill

Non-fic polls masterlist

#welcome!#klaine fandom #klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine smut #FAQ #masterpost links

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howtobeaconartist · 5 months ago

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Hi, I want to know your opinion on this issue my friend(F) and I are currently having. I'm boothing with my friends in a circle and I had brought up the issue of space and that it might be time to consider splitting the booth cost by the amount of space that a person's merch is taking up to keep things fair for everyone. I brought this issue up cause one of my friend, E, has a very big inventory that it almost always end up with them taking most of the booth space, last event E had ended up taking 70% of the booth space (this was 2ppl in 1 table, granted the other person didnt have as much merch) I was told this was unreasonable and that E had also done accounting for us too so it wouldn't be fair for them to pay more since they also had worked more, so I suggested we could take the accounting cost out of the booth cost too so if they took 70% of space, then E only have to pay 60% while the other could do 40%. And if that was too troublesome then I had also suggested that we try to keep our merch down to equal sizes so that others wont get overshadowed. But I got told this was mean and unreasonable to E, do you guys have any suggestions on how we could deal with this? Sorry for the long msg, thanks for taking the time to read this

Kiriska: This sort of stuff really sucks to deal with and is going to be uncomfortable no matter what, unfortunately.

Ultimately, if other part(ies) aren't willing to budge, negotiate, or meet you in the middle, then you have to ask yourself how important is it that you "win" the disagreement, and what you may be willing to give up for that.

I obviously don't know all the details here, but it sounds like this is just table-sharing, rather than a truly collaborative "circle" or studio. If E has such a big inventory, why don't they just get their own table? Is there a reason they prefer to share?

Or, if the person E was tabling with didn't have a problem with the table split, why do you? Would your friends think differently if you were the one splitting with E and brought up your arguments then?

I also don't know both sides of this, only your side. So maybe there are other factors, or a reason your friends think you're being unreasonable even though it seems logical that someone taking up 70% of space should pay more.

Do you feel strongly enough to leave the group? To try table-splitting with other people?

Like, you can't force your friends to agree with you.

In many cases, "the person who cares the most wins." If you're not willing to leave the group, but no one else agrees with you, your only real options are to either keep bringing it up and hope they'll change their minds, or you can just go with the group's decision.

Good luck.

#artist alley #table sharing #friends

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tinyidle · 2 years ago

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a-z (g)i-dle nsfw headcanons: kim minnie (nicha yontarak)

WARNING: smut, small fluff, switch!minnie, switch!reader, gen (fem main) reader, male genitalia mention, all fiction ofc

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

she's not as sweet as you'd think lol. she'll be very sleep when you wake up from your sessions though

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

she likes her mouth, especially on you. as for you, she likes your hips. anything that shows off your waist makes her physically drool.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

do it all over her. she loves that shit everywhere, especially on her tits.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

she would one day want you to gag her while forcing her to cum again and again. or force her to fuck you until her hips turn red. but since you like to sub, it could never happen :(

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

she has enough experience to make you feel good. had penetrative sex? maybe. oral? definitely.

F= Favorite position

doggy style is always fun, but her absolute favorite is actually not a position. she likes to see you get yourself off as she watches and taunts you, or herself getting off as you're forced to watch. humiliating exhibitionism.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

during sex the only time she'd ever be slightly playful is through kissing or overstimulation. but moreover she takes intimate time very seriously.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

i feel like she has a small bush that she only grows out for freaky deaky times, especially if you say that you love it.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

she likes it rough, mainly because sex for her is playtime. if you ask her to be soft ste would. for like only one time

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

*imagining her with a cock* no because she only gets horny when you're around, so she'll just call you over and propose to fuck lol

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

sadism and masochism, especially scratch marks and spankings. she just loves them you know?

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

the answer is bedding. a couch, blankets on the floor, duvet, bed. as long as it's cushioned enough she'll want you.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

either bratty behavior or you begging her. if you beg her i promise she'll give you what you want.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

no harsh markings. she wants you to be red, not blue, purple or gray. if she found out that she broke skin, she'd lose it; kissing the areas, treathing them, apologizing profusely to you and then isolating herself for a while to reflect on how 'horrible she is'. please assure that you're fine :((

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

headmaster. she loves to give a lot more than receive tbh. like sometimes she'll sit you down and rile you up just to suck your cock and balls/ clit and lips. will leave you shaking at the end

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

her pace is steady, sometimes teasingly slow to agonizingly fast. unpredictable fr.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

never happens she loves taking her tome with you.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

shet so freaky that i bet she's been to orgy parties and came out the longest running person there.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

girlie can last, and i mean last last. once she tired you out after having three hours of constant sex-- and she was doing most of the work!

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

other than a vibrator and maybe a strap, i don't think she's a toy person. her fingers and tongue are the toys lol

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

unfair is her middle name. nicha unfair yontarak. kim unfair minnie. loves to see you cry from her constantly teasing and edging you.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

grunts and groans more st of the time, especially when she's doing most of the fucking. yells melodically when she cums.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

your ass was stinging from the slaps, hut you couldn't help but moan once she let one last blow to the butt hit you. honestly you fell in love, and so did she when she saw you crave for more.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

long and thick and proud of it. you might cry if you see it fully erect :((

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

surprisingly she doesn't long for sex that much. only when you are is when she feels horny.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

is a caring queen. she knows she tires you out so expect her to treat you well and even baby you. if you one day top her, expect her to whine and become the cutest baby for you :(

hope you guys enjoyed this! im honestly not feeling the a-z like i was before, but i already started, so im gonna try to continue it til all the girls are done.

#gidle smut #minnie smut #gidle headcanons #kpop smut #gg smut

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nightstag · 2 days ago

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an eveden featuring eve (pc) & eden mini-drabble fic thing written as a gift for @edenscompanion

i love eveden very much and so should everyone so consider this my attempt at indoctrination. i am by no means a proper reference of eve in her entirety so you should defo go check out her creators blog and ask ouppy many many questions yayay

He has her sat up on a table. A lousily opened medkit sat a couple inches of her with it's content messily tossed about inside of the container itself. The silence was loud, had been loud from the moment the two arrived to this specific spot of the entire situation. Eden isn't unfamiliar with accidents let alone minor scraps or even injuries that weren't too deadly but still something unsettling lurks in the pit of the stomach knowing it wasn't him who was made to be seated this time around.

He can count on his hands the number of times Eve had taken cared of him. Patched him up when he's insisted under his breath there's no need but she's pleaded with him. Asked him nicely in the way that he could almost never refuse. Always ending off with a just this once but it was fifth or sixth time it had happened.

"E-" She starts yet it's already like she can't catch her breath. Saying she was nervous wasn't even enough. "E-eden..." A prolonged stammer finally finishes off with her calling his name. Her eyes flicking between the floor her feet had been hovering over between his face to try to get a read at all.

She can't help but fold her hands together against her chest. "Sorry." A meek mumble underneath her breath with a small droop of her shoulders.

"Stop moving." His words are blunt yet they don't hold hostility. Maybe a twinge of frustration yet that's directed at himself. Not once looking to her face but keeping to work on cleaning the cuts and scraps on her legs and knees.

"I was only trying to catch up with you. I got distracted by some berries I saw and... and... I know you don't like it when i stray too far but..."

"Look, I'm not upset with you." He finishes his disinfecting, an attempt to be as gentle as he could with the swabbing but he didn't want to be lousy in his treatment either. Retracing all the things she would do for him unto her. He sucks in a deep breath, voice beckoning out in a lower register. "Only got me wonderin' how you survive on your own."

Cut that.

He doesn't like thinking about her on her own because it'd be without him in the picture. It happens semi-infrequently. He's understanding about it but doesn't mean he didn't stew. The thought of her getting hurt where he can't interfere? Don't leave the forest where I can't help you.

"Somehow." She's honest with the answer. Her thumbs fidgeting together while she fixated her gaze to it. "I think by luck I manage to get by f-fine but I'll try to be more careful. I got overzealous and tripped this time."

"Darlin'," He calls and she shoots her head up almost immediately. The fact he called her that likely ringing throughout her head with the way she stammered an almost immediate "y-yes?"

"It was an accident."

"Yes?"

"Don't think it was in your intention to trip over one foot now was it?"

"R-right..."

"Terrain around here also ain't too great for not looking. Random twigs, logs, or shrubs be out on the path." Eden fidgets with the wrapper on a bandage, opening it slowly before placing it over a cut on her left knee. "All I'm telling you to do is be more aware of that."

"Maybe wear some footwear better suited for this area while you're at it."

She nods her head, gaze having returned to her hands. She can't help but still feel lingering guilt. Like she's failed him or something along the lines of this. Her lips press together while the last of her injuries were taken cared of.

Eden on the other hand was more than keen on what might've been going on here. He wasn't all that fond her dropping her gaze too often. How her hands were rubbing together like that so as soon as he finished he leaned in. Took hold of both her hands to gently set them at her sides. "Eve." A murmur of her name, spoken in a cadence that was only used in moments of intimacy.

"Eden?... What is it?" She spoke softly. Mostly out of a mixture of embarrassment but hesitation.

"Look at me."

She could never refuse him so she does. Brings her gaze to his face. His red eyes peaking through his bangs. A gaze that was always mesmerizing to her.

Eden leans in and placed a kiss to her lips. Initially a gentle touch yet quickly becomes more heated. The sound of lips smacking adding to the over all ambience of the cabin until he broke apart, inhaling with a rumbling chuckle falling from his lips. "I know you're my good girl who'll reflect. Stop fussing about the details."

And all Eve could do in this instance is rapidly nod her head with her cheeks growing further flushed from the sudden praise. It's a lot yet enough to make her feel better. "Thank you for taking care of me, Eden."

"Mhm."

"Anytime."

#stag writes #eveden

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dollsonmain · 2 months ago

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Long work day today.

I did prefer when I had 6-11 every day but at the same time I do want the monies.

Eh.

Pain and fatigue seem to be about the same regardless. I mentioned it to That Guy and he was like "Well that's good, isn't it?" and I cried.

Of course it's not good. What's good about having been just as exhausted and in pain as though I'd been working this much all this time when I wasn't? There's nothing good about having been rotting and 100% financially dependent on someone that's undependable all this time when it would have hurt just as much regardless.

Either way, I still need to find a way to get there that's not walking, but I'll need a few more paychecks, first, because I also want to get Son a new laptop and I've not earned enough for either an inexpensive laptop or an e-bike or something similar, yet.

I might have to get a little scooter that folds up so I can try to shove it in a corner in the sink room or something. The lack of employee accommodation is frustrating. We're expected to keep everything in the car but I don't have a car. I have to bring a backpack because I have to keep everything on me and there's barely room for that in the back room, either.

Speaking of which, I think I need a better backpack. Maybe I should get a wheely-bin instead and either push or pull it instead of carrying it on my back. But then where would I put THAT?

I think also she doesn't usually schedule people long enough to need to eat lunch because she's kind of confused as to where I should do that. When the weather is nice I'm supposed to go outside behind the building but what about when the weather isn't nice?

I have noticed she kind of makes a point of never scheduling two employees at a time, like we usually are scheduled so that one is arriving at least an hour after the last one left, so there's no overlap at all which kind of sucks. It wouldn't hurt to be able to talk to whomever is coming in and say like, these things came in and I got to this point on pricing them.

I also feel like we're kind of stepping on each others' toes anyway. We all have a set list of tasks to do but I often come in to my tasks being done and end up having to do other things which likely are part of someone else's tasks.

Like yesterday I arrived, couldn't make sandwiches because there was no meat, went to fill cigarettes but they were already full (I always see the owner doing that and he's closing the store, now), ran out of tasks, and went about randomly cleaning. Then Barbara came in and was wandering around, looking for something to clean since that's her job.

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thegeminisage · 10 months ago

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iiiit's tng update time. last night we watched "a fistful of datas" and "the quality of life."

a fistful of datas:

i wanted to like this episode because it had data in the title but i Hate holodeck episodes. like clockwork, someone goes into the holodeck and it breaks. i understand they're doing this to give us "real" stakes but all it does is cement my belief that the holodeck is not only unethical but DANGEROUS.

however, i did love getting to see data's cat. and a reference to his poetry. actually i'm surprise riker recognized it since he fell ASLEEP during the reading >:(

deanna western outfit HOT. i didn't like the smoking part but every time she cocked a shotgun i had hearts in my eyes

deanna/worf rights??? tenderly bandaging his wound...rescuing his son with him...FLIRTING WITH HIM...we were missing riker but STILL deanna e worf e riker. it can happen. i can make it real with the power of my mind.

i don't remember what exactly the dialogue was but data's accent was VERY good. i understand there are difference between a southern and a western accent that may be too subtle to catch unless you've spent a long time listening to both, but they DO sound similar, and he remembered to drop the front of whatever word he said which came after the word "i." like bones in this side of paradise: "wanna see how fast i'an put you in the hospital?" most people faking a southern accent don't remember to do that (love and light to lucy gray). anyway, it might have been "i'm going to..." that sounds right. in a southern accent this becomes something that sounds like, "i'm on..." which is changing "going to" to "gon" and then dropping the first half of the word entirely when it comes after "i'm." elliot spencer also does this, which i appreciate.

anyway this is only the second time i've seen hints of worf not being the Worlds Best Dad (the first time was in that AWFUL lwaxana episode) but given that the holodeck went SO wrong can anyone really blame him for being reluctant to go...like yes he should have sucked it up and gone anyway or suggested an alternate activity instead of trying to wiggle out of it but i DO understand.

as a final note, the first scene with picard getting interrupted during his flute-playing (hi, flute!) like 1000 times is just yet more examples of no work-life boundary aboard this ship...you're always on call even during your personal time...no such thing as a do not disturb sign on the door...

quality of life:

this one was...okay?? like, none of the science experiments made ANY sense, it was bad science, but whatever, we got to watch data be data.

star of the show: the little guys, and their wiggles. like they're kinda cute.

this lady scientist looks SO familiar and i cannot figure out why. i don't recognize anything on her imdb page. i think i must be getting her mixed up with one of the ds9 ladies i've seen in gifs. we give star wars shit and justifiably so but they also have a lot of pale alien brunettes on that show. okay i just looked up jadzia i think i thot she was jadzia LMAO love 2 be faceblind

i didn't like everybody doubting data when he said those little guys WERE alive. but i did like him saying he had intuition with other machines the way he didn't with biological life forms. that's a neat piece of worldbuilding. also, i don't want him to be alone in the universe either :'(

i didn't like how one of them died in the end after all data did trying to save them!!! we should have had a little scene where it got fixed up!!!!!!!!

that said, what's proof of sentience like self-sacrifice for another...actually, no, that's bad science too. but they're good little life-saving guys!!! and they wiggle.

TONIGHT: chain of command, parts i & ii. these are the LAAAST tng eps we watch before starting ds9 (we are doing it in release order, so we will soon be watching two shows concurrently).

#personal #star trek blogging #tng lb

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hetalia-club · 1 year ago

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My love, my dear, my friend. I am an aroace I know for sure I can be a partner for you and you deserve better. And I will tell you straight up this point here you life will be better than being with a sorry excuse for a boyfriend you left. J E S U S 😅 I’m not saying you’ve been through the worst but holy shit all those little things that he did gives me a headache. If I knew you personally I would’ve taken you out of there. But in all honesty take care and show him that you WILL be better off without him, and I’ll be rooting for you too dear. Take care ♥️

Ace buddies! :)

The thing is irl you would have never known because he didn't act this way in front of people who were not me or his mom and dad. He would put on this dude bro act. And he didn't act this way at first around me until I lived with him for a few months and then I started to noticed it slowly. My mom knew how he was because I tell my mom everything and she would always say "he sucks" and I would do the "Mom don't say that :(" But she is right he does suck.

But I was a fool and gave him wife privileges too early in our relationship (NEVER DO THIS!!!!)(NEVER EVER DO THIS!!!). And in turn it turned him into a man child. It was almost like he reverted back to being a teenager. Towards the end he just played video games on his 5k PC set up all the time. Literally all the time. If he wasn't at work he was doing that. And it was always some stupid shit no one cared about. He got REALLY into that dumb ass Pinocchio game and told me all about the lore and I pretended to care but I was just thinking "What is blud yappin about..." He bought so many F-ing games. I think he bought a new game every week, would like rapid fire beat it and then just move on to a new one. I had to put my own Steam account on invisible just so he couldn't see when I was on there because he would message me to bring him another beer or some string cheese. (I want you all to know I checked and he's on there playing Starfield as I type this)

He also stole my personality which he will not be able to hold onto now that I'm gone. He was never as funny as I was. I have more originality and humor in my pinky toe than he has in his entire body. So I famously don't talk much IRL. I'm very shy and normally just sit there and mind my business unless spoken to directly. But I would like whisper one liners under my breath to him at parties and group outings. And he would take what I said to him and say it louder and get a big laugh from everyone. I did call him out for that and I said something like "Hey you could at least credit me if you're going to take every funny thing I say and pretend you said it" he got REAL annoyed at that. He was like "WELL FINE! I just won't talk to anyone ever!" Because that was what I said... Which if anything is a fault on him because now his friends are going to wonder why his humor turned so sexual all of a sudden and he stopped saying actually funny things and just started making dick jokes (THE ONLY MATERIAL HE HAS)(That and also quoting American Pie movies & Step Brothers. And he plays it off like his own shit as if no one has never seen them...)(I so bad just wanted to be like That's from Anchorman you didn't come up with the joke about San Diego being the fake word for Whale's vagina you directly quoted that from Anchorman.) But I would laugh every time...Not real laughs they were pity laughs but he either couldn't tell the difference or just didn't care so long as I was stroking his ego.

He honestly somehow transformed from this super hot, former football player, frat bot, silly guy into what I would call a neckbeard, but a closeted one because he only acted that way at home.

The worst crime...He wasn't even 6ft. I put up with all of that and he was only standing at a lackluster 5'10.

#ask #let me know if you guys want more stories btw lol.#I can laugh about it now that i don't live this life anymore #i got 5 years of man child crying.

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ntls-24722 · 1 year ago

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so the way DJ figures out he has caught feelings is when Wesley goes up north to meet family, the same yearly event that led to them meeting and he's like "damn! this sucks. my best friend's leaving for like a month" and they don't get to talk as regularly as they usually do and DJ is catching himself missing him way deeper than usual. Not necessarily more than his homesickness for the plex and his animatronic Bros but in a different way than what he would feel for a friend and he's just like "damn!!!! this double sucks!!!!"

So instead of just moping and sitting with it he's kicking his artistic talents to overdrive. He's busting out tunes and he's writing all this music and he's excited to eventually show it to Wesley but as the end of the month starts to come around he's looking back at the lyrics like "...were these always so romantically charged." And a lot of things are starting to fall in place as he's putting all the pieces together he's just like "this triple sucks!!! im a goddamn homosexual in this small ass town in the 1950's!!!!" and Wesley finally comes back to him with this epiphany and while DJ's happy he's back, now Wesley's back and he knows he has feelings for him. what happens next? Who knowwwssss

but rewind, the 1950's. Wesley was a kid around the 1920's since he's in the rubberhose animation style, and when we last see him/the day he dies, it's the peak of the hippie movement during the late 1960's and early 1970's. So Wesley's at least 40 something, probably 50, but the reason why I bring this up is that the first animatronic band was the Country Bear Jamboree in 1971 but the first restaurant that featured animatronic characters outside of Disney was Chuck e Cheese in 1977 - He would've died before animatronic bands were even a concept to be concieved, but of course, there was Mr Butlertron that was made in the 1920's right alongside with him.

So my question is, do I just shift the creation of animatronic bands back, or do I make DJMM a weird thing of his own (leaning towards the latter) but either way, a redesign might be in process since robot designs (the conceptuawere way different back then than they were now. Though weirdly enough they actually are kinda sleek and somewhat similar to the glamrocks' (though, not painted or colorful, very metallic).

Bonus: While doing research i actually found that there actually was a robot made in 1928 called Eric the Robot - a replacement for the Duke of York after he cancelled on opening an engineering exhibit at London's Royal Horticultural Hall that bowed and gave a speech in his place. The reason I bring him up is not just because he's a robot made in the 1920's, but because him and Mr Butlertron also have the exact same existential crisis, because the very first line of his speech was

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Eric the robot, the man without a soul."

They're british robots made in the 1920's with the same existential crisis of having no soul. hmm

To anyone who asks, he will tell the correct time; he will get up or sit down in obedience to the human voice, and if in the midst of a speech anyone anyone says sharply to him, “Shut up” – he shuts! The only serious work that his inventors have yet been able to get out of him is to make him drill holes either in wood or metal.

so mean. so mean to him

Also CAMERON

the only family member (or anyone he knew from our reality that he didnt meet in Miguel) that knows about his relationship with Miguel is his brother and it didnt go very well at all and was actually pretty angsty but all i had was this shitpost

#ntls-24722 #wesley nestle #mr butlertron #djmm #dj music man #cameron #miguel #(almost) daily music man #gospel music #clone high wesley nestle #wesley nestle clone high

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eponastory · 1 year ago

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I've decided to throw another Evan story up.

It takes place seven years after Tell My Heart To Beat. This is a 4 or 5 part story that I haven't finished yet because of writers block, but it basically starts the day V goes to Dante with news of Urizen.

Someone Help Me, I've Stopped Functioning

Chapter 1 - That Day In May

Rowdy's Diner was slightly packed on a Saturday afternoon right before Evan was to get off her shift. She was in the break room working on wrapping silverware for the next person to come in for a shift. She would be sitting in a booth out in the main dining room working on her chore, but the restaurant was full. The only thing she had left to do after that was grab some trash and tip out. Oh, and she had to grab a pizza on her way out.

Tonight was also Patty's birthday party, so Evan had to go back to Lady's apartment and change clothes. Smelling like greasy food was not on her list of things to do at a party where half the seniors at school were going to be. She really did not care for parties, but Patty was her best friend, so it would be a tragedy if she did not show up. Patty may not ever forgive her for not attending her eighteenth birthday party.

The blond had only been going on about it for a whole year. At some point, Evan had to tell her friend to shut up about it because she already said she was going to go. The worst part was that Patty had also invited Evan's father, but he either forgot or ignored the memo.

"Hey Evan, you got a minute?" Rowdy himself walked into the break room with a clipboard in his hand. He was a generous man, always making sure his staff was taken care of and had everything under control. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, I'm almost done with silverware if you don't mind waiting?" She looked up at the back haired man with a smile.

"Yeah, just meet me in my office when you're done." He smiled back at her before leaving the room.

She had been working at Rowdy's since she was sixteen. It was her choice to work there after it was decided she had to move in with Lady. It was a long story, but living with her father was not working out. Mainly because he was terrible at paying the bills and could barely take care of himself. He did try. He tried so hard to make it work, but there were some things that not even he could do.

As soon as she finished with the silverware, she put the bin next to the clean plates. There were only five minutes left of her shift, and she still had to go speak with Rowdy. She had no idea what he wanted, but it could not be bad. She was trying to save up for that post graduation trip she and Patty had been planning ever since they got into high school.

Stepping into Rowdy's office, she closed the door behind her as the man was typing away on the computer at his desk. She sat in the chair in front of him with a smile as he looked at her. His expression was neutral, which could only mean bad news... or he was getting ready to make cuts.

"You wanted to talk to me?" She asked him with her hands in her lap. She was slightly nervous about the whole thing.

"Yeah, I wanted you to hear it from me before rumors start spreading." He clasped his hands on the desk and looked her in the eyes. A nervous feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach. He was definitely about to make cuts on staff. He took in a deep breath before letting it out. "I'm selling the diner."

"What? Why?" There was no way. Rowdy's had been there since she moved to Capulet to live with her father. As a matter of fact, this was the first place she had eaten at after that horrible nightmare in the forest when she was eleven.

"It's just the right move, Evan." He gave her a sad smile. "We are barely making ends meet as it is. Saturdays are the busiest days, but the rest of the week is very slow. The quality of the food has gone down because we can't find good cooks or hard-working people like you." She frowned at the news. The economy did suck at the moment. Money was tight, and even her father had a hard time finding a decent paying gig.

"So, what does this mean for me?" She pointed to herself. Of course, it was her right to know what was going to happen to her job.

"Well, there are a couple of options." Rowdy was definitely going to make sure she was taken care of as she was his youngest staff member. "You can stay on with the new owner, or I can help you get a job somewhere else. Of course, while you are looking, I'll keep paying you. I'm not just going to let you go without." Thankfully, the man in front of her did care about her a good deal since he had become like a surrogate uncle. Plus, he was friends with her father in some capacity.

"Do I have time to think about it?" She smiled nervously. "I've got graduation in a week, and I don't want to really make a decision right now."

"Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need." Rowdy smiled at her as she stood up from the chair and smoothed out her black shirt. "You better go tip out and grab your Dad's pizza."

"Yeah, right." She smiled at him before she left his office. It was exactly five in the afternoon as she made it to the break room where her locker was.

Removing her apron, she bundled it up before unlocking the locker she had her purse in. It was a small black leather backpack coveted in button and enamel pins. Throwing it over her shoulders, she slammed the locker shut before heading to the front of the diner to get her credit card tips. She had plenty of cash in her back pocket from her shift during the day.

"Hey Evan, headed out?" Kaley was at the register for the night shift. The red head was one of the older women in the place just looking to get out of her house.

"Yeah. There should be a pizza for me back there somewhere." She looked over the counter towards the to go stand behind the older woman. "Yep, there it is." She pointed to the pizza box resting on the second shelf.

"For your Dad?" Kaley turned to grab the pizza box, then put it on the counter in front of Evan. "One Supreme, no olives, extra cheese and pepperoni... right?"

"Yep, and my tips too." She smiled as she watched the woman open the register and pull out at least forty dollars of cash out. Of course, about twelve of that was going to pay for the pizza. Kaley handed her the cash, only taking out what was needed for the pizza. "Thanks, Kaley!"

"You're welcome, kiddo." Evan picked up the pizza before going back through the kitchen and clocking out.

She grabbed a bag of trash and headed towards the back door, telling her coworkers bye as she went. As soon as she was out the back door, she looked around to see if anyone else was in the back alley. The trash bin was a good twenty feet away on the other side of the alley. She smirked as she threw the bag up in the air, then jumped up, giving the bag a good kick. Sometimes, she liked to let loose, but most of the time, she played normal human beings.

With good aim, the bag full of trash managed to land into the bin without busting this time. Last time, it busted everywhere, and she had to run away quickly. How she managed to do this without dropping the pizza was pure skill. Maybe her talent for martial arts had something to do with it, but she chalked it up to practicing with her father as often as possible up until she was seventeen. Then school got in the way.

Her father's shop was only five blocks away, so she normally walked there without a problem. Sometimes, Patty would meet her outside the diner after her shift, but that was not likely to happen tonight. Instead, she was alone as she passed random people on the sidewalk.

As soon as she was on the steps of the shop, she knew her father was likely sleeping in his chair with his feet up on the desk. That was typical of him in the afternoons. Of course, with graduation so close, she had not seen him in a couple of weeks. She did not even bother knocking because he probably knew it was her as soon as she entered.

Sure enough, he was exactly in the position he was always in when she visited. She sighed as he did not move a muscle, obviously sleeping underneath the magazine covering his face. She rolled her eyes as she felt the stuffiness of the shop and the lack of lighting except for the sunlight coming in from the windows.

"I smell food." His voice was slightly muffled from the magazine on his face, but that was quickly remedied when he removed it and put it on the desk with a yawn. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"If you would answer your phone, maybe you'd know I've been getting ready for graduation." She stepped closer, setting the pizza down on his desk. "You didn't pay the bills again." She said as he set his feet on the floor and ran a hand through his silvery white locks.

"Yeah, no gigs." Dante lifted the lid of the pizza box and smiled as the fragrant steam rose up off the tasty food underneath. "That smells good." She was pretty sure he had not eaten in a few days. Which was not uncommon for him since he had told her many times he did not need food often, but it was one of those things that he loved way too much.

"Dad, when was the last time you cleaned this place up?" Evan commented as she looked at all the paper, beer bottles, and pizza boxes on the floor. She was worried he was slipping again, which he only tended to do when he was alone. There were only two times he had slipped when she was there, but those had been extenuating circumstances. "Have you even been out of this place lately?"

"Haven't felt like it." He chomped down on a slice of pizza as she went to sit down on the red couch away from him. "Last time I went anywhere was when we went to the arcade a couple weeks ago."

"Ugh... seriously, Dad, you've got to stop this bullshit." Evan threw her hands up in the air and leaned back against the couch. She put her hands over her face and then sighed. "I mean, I've been busy, but would it kill you to come see me at work or something. I'm literally five blocks away. You can walk!" All of this was coming out of her need for her father in her life, but he continuely had this bad habit of letting the past consume him.

"I know... I know." Dante said softly as he put the pizza down and stood up from his chair. "I'm a shit dad." She did not mean to hurt his feelings over it, but he needed to hear it.

"You aren't a shit dad, you just have problems... like me." She watched as he came over and sat next to her on the couch. "I just get scared when you get depressed because you do this whole self doubting thing, and I start doubting myself. I don't like it." She put a hand on her chest as she turned to face Dante. "I mean, we both have messed up childhoods. I had mom until I didn't, but then I had you, and now I'm getting older. I want to do my own thing, but I don't want to be worried about you." She started to tear up. She looked down at her hands.

"Hey, don't do that." Dante put his hand on her cheek. "I'm sorry that you feel this way, and I never meant to make you worry." There was so much emotion in his eyes that she had no choice but to start crying. She was always a crybaby around him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. "To be honest, I miss you being around all the time, so it's lonely."

"Yeah, well, five freaking blocks, Dad." She sniffed as she leaned into his side and wiped her eyes. "And Lady's place is like right up the street." To be fair, they had not had a movie night in some time.

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Princess." There was heavy guilt in his voice, which no one would probably ever hear but her. They sat there in silence for a bit, with Evan just enjoying the protective comfort of her father.

Dante, on the other hand, was currently allowing all the guilty thoughts to race through his head. He was never fit to have children, not with the traumatic childhood memories and the constant fights with world ending demons. This was half the reason he elected to keep his own nephew at arms length. But Evan, she was a different story altogether.

The moment she was put in his arms as a newborn, his heart was hers. He never admitted it to anyone the entire eleven years the two of them were apart. Then, somehow, he found her in a forest in the middle of winter, and he never wanted to be apart again. In hindsight, he could have done so much better for her, but he had a nasty way of letting the past pull him down.

What was worse is that Evan had needed him during those times he was barely able to keep himself together. The older he got, the more he wanted to fall apart, so he just stopped trying to keep himself together. It was exhausting. He tried so hard to keep it together for her, but the guilt and the pain always got in the way. The worst part is that he knew he was a terrible father and if it were not for Lady, and sometimes Trish, Evan may have suffered more.

And he blamed himself for it.

Although, he really had no example to go off of since his own father was just as shitty. Sparda was all for saving humanity, but he neglected to stick around for his own family. Dante still held a lot of resentment towards his father for setting this path for him and Vergil. He only hoped that Evan would not resent him for the choices he made. The one thing he loved the most was hurting because of him. Well, maybe not just Evan, but Nero as well.

Those two... three kids, because Patty had become a surrogate daughter too, were what made the world a better place.

"Dad?" Evan's voice knocked him out of his thoughts. He gave her a squeeze.

"What?" She sniffed as he leaned his head on top of hers.

"When was the last time you showered?" He closed his eyes and chuckled at her question, then pulled away from her.

"I guess it's been a hot minute." He lifted his left arm and took a wiff. Yeah, he needed a nice long shower, but it was not that bad. Nothing a little cologne could not fix. Of course, he had left his coat on the rack behind the desk so there was a chance it could cover up some of the musk. "Yeah, it's been a while. No water."

"You know you could just go to Lady's and take a shower." He groaned as he got up off the couch and stretched. "She's home right now, actually, and it will get you out of here for a bit." Well, he could use a change of clothes as he had been wearing the same black shirt for at least four days now.

"Alright, fine." It was a good excuse to spend some more time with his daughter. He had not walked her home in a while, so why not. "I'll go get some clothes together." He grabbed her ponytail and flipped it around playfuly before making his way to the stairs. "Mind locking up for me?"

"Sure." She also had to call Lady and let her know that Dante was going to hijack her shower for a bit.

Ten minutes later they were walking side by side down the sidewalk in the late afternoon sun. Summertime meant longer daylight and the sun did not set until about seven thirty. Evan had to be at Patty's party by eight, but really she could show up whenever the hell she wanted. There were rules when it came to parties. Dante had taught her that.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" He asked her as he adjusted the bag over his shoulder that held his clean clothes.

"It's Patty's birthday today, so she's throwing a party." He groaned and rolled his eyes. "She's only been talking about it all year, Dad."

"I forgot it was today." The third day of May was just a normal day to the regular folks of Capulet. However if anyone were in any way associated with one Miss Patty Lowell, they were invited.

"Yeah and she pretty much invited the entire graduating class." She shuddered at the thought of having to be in the same room as most of them. Evan was not into the popular crowd that Patty was in as the fashionista of the entire senior class. "She even invited you."

"I must have missed the memo somewhere." He smirked at her. She knew her father was absolutely not into hanging out with a bunch of teenagers. She could not blame him. "That's okay, I'll live vicariously through you."

"Spoken like a true adult." She elbowed him as they walked. "Anyway, she's probably been trying to call for hours now. My phones been dead for a while too." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and showed him the blank screen.

"Which is why I don't have one of those. I'd never get any sleep." He was what the kids called a 'boomer' for not keeping up with technology. She often teased him about that, but to be fair, he had no need for things like that. "Wouldn't know how to use one anyway."

"Just wait, you have a birthday coming up." She wiggled her white eyebrows with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Don't remind me." He put a hand on her shoulder as they made it to the door of Lady's building. "I'm pretty sure people will start calling me old man if I don't shave this mess on my face."

"It's not that bad, but yeah, probably so." They made their way up to the third floor where she lived with the woman she saw as her surrogate mother since she was eleven. She unlocked the door and opened it, letting herself in with Dante behind her. She could smell something good coming from the kitchen. "Hey, Lady, we're here."

"Oh good, you brought stinky with you." It was not unusual to see Dante there, since the two adults had been friends for well, forever now. The huntress was barefoot in the kitchen wearing shorts and a shirt with her favorite band on it. "You know the drill, Dante. Clean up after yourself." She pointed a spatula at him with a glare in her bi colored eyes.

"I'm gonna go change and get ready for Patty's party." Evan said as her father headed to the guest bathroom down the hall next to her room. "Oh, did you get her a gift?" She asked Lady, who was stirring the pot of stir-fry.

"Yeah, it's on my dresser." The eighteen year old gave Lady a thumbs up before retreating into her room to change into something less greasy smelling.

It did not take her long to change into a fresh pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and the white leather jacket that her dad gave her last birthday. She untied her ponytail, letting her wavy hair fall just past her shoulders so she could comb through it with her fingers. She looked in the standing mirror to see if she was decent enough before throwing on a little lip gloss. By the time she was done, she could hear Dante's voice from the kitchen as he poked fun at Lady.

"Hey, you said it, not me." Lady said as Evan walked out of her room with her little backpack slung over her shoulders. "Besides, there's been some shady people walking around here at night."

"When have we ever not had shady people in this part of town?" Dante rebuted as he leaned against the counter on his forearms. Lady gave him a look.

"You know what I mean." She dished up her stir fry onto a plate. "As long as they don't bother me, I'm fine. Otherwise, I've got Kalina Ann to deter the hooligans."

"Whatever you say, Lady." He smirked as Evan walked into the kitchen. "Hey, Princess, you're looking better."

"You smell better." The teenager said with a deadpan look, only to get a glare from her father in return. He had definitely changed into some clean clothes, specifically that faded navy henley shirt and leather pants he usually wore these past couple years.

"Funny." He told her. "Anyway, I need to get back home. Thanks for the shower." He grabbed the bag he came with. "You coming?" He looked at his daughter, who nodded before following him out the door.

"I'll be back later, Lady!" Evan said, following him out the door and shutting it behind her.

The sun was setting as they made their way down to the bottom floor. Once at the bottom, Evan made her way over to a pair of motorcycles that had been parked in the breezeway of the building. She pulled her keys out of her pocket as Dante stood there watching with a smile on his face. He had saved up a lot of money to get her the white one for her sixteenth birthday. Of course, he had been saving money for her since she was born, but she did not need to know that.

"You want a ride?" She asked him as she rolled the bike out to the street and putting the kickstand down so she could tell him bye. "I'll let you drive." She smiled.

"Nah, I'll walk." He wanted to enjoy the last bit of daylight before he became a hermit again. "Besides, me and that bike don't get along." The throttle was a little fussie with him, but Evan preferred it.

"Okay then." She walked up to him, giving him a hug. "I'll stop by after the party to say goodnight." Dante kissed the top of her head after he wrapped his free arm around her.

"Yep, have fun. Don't get in trouble, make good choices... you know the drill." He let her go and watched as she got on the bike.

"No promises." She started up the bike and gave it a rev. "Love you, Dad." She said before putting the kickstand up.

"Love ya too." He waved at her as she rode off down the street.

It seemed like yesterday that she was this tiny, underweight little girl that had survived for months by herself in a forest. Now she was a healthy teenager blessed with youth and had a pure heart. She grew up too fast. Not that he could stop that from happening, but he missed a lot of her life before then. For that, he had a lot of resentment towards her mother's family.

He sighed as he began walking back to his shop alone. If he was lucky, he might get a visit from Morrison in the next few days. Not likely as there was not much going on with demon activity. There was a lull right now and it was sort of strange.

Although, Nero had been pretty busy last he heard, so that was good. Oh well, back to the shop for the rest of the pizza and a nap.

#devil may cry #dante #dmc #fanfic #devil may cry fanfiction #dante sparda #dantes daughter #devil may cry 5 #amwriting

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the-firebird69 · 1 year ago

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Watch "E-dirt Bikes are Killing It | Hard Enduro on Sur Ron" on YouTube

youtube

Dave s is challenging his friends family and some of his enemies to the first annual or biannual or bi-monthly night Time bum race

On the local BMX track which is of course not exactly legal it's attached the high school but usually get a slap on the wrist unless you're an idiot

John r

We accept we'll be there we know what time and place and I'm bringing the rum so I have to have a spare battery cuz it's heavy

We're going to record it I'm going to show that these bikes work on the track pretty good and that we can raise them and it's faster and it's a lot more fun than the BMX bikes which suck and you can see they suck here these are the light dirt bikes and they're not even BMX and they suck the ride is so hard you want to go home and cry even the shocks when you always wipe out with these fat tires you don't wipe out that much that's a lot of fun his idea is great this is what we do and we can bring trucks and offload them and stuff but he says you're just going to do a couple laps and you might get caught so that changes things doesn't it it becomes more real that's what it's about. We have to test this. We can do a street race too they're not really illegal and people ride bikes in a bunch but the cops will watch and see if we stop at a stop sign and it's not a formal race and there's a perfect route it's way out where the houses are I've seen a few bites at the same time they ride in the group it's no big deal and cops usually don't stop you so let's get this going and see by weekly bum race series and we're going to have it on the road the sidewalks and the track and trails yeah we do have trails folks and they're fun and I have bikes that are a lot more powerful and they last a lot longer and they go a lot faster

Dave s

I've got one that goes like 35 miles an hour and it lasts for about 30 miles an hour going 30 and when you go 20 it goes about 60 miles it's very intense it's a red one that looks real expensive and a friend seen it they can't remember the name of it he thought it was really cool but expensive and it is it's like 3500 bucks? And he can't afford a ticket either

Guy w the red bike that was at Publix during the hurricane I know I'm not a clone

There's a huge number of us who want to race and he means Tommy F clone. And we want to race this bum race is the best thing I've ever heard. It might actually turn into a circuit cuz they don't really race these he says real simple you limited by the Waters of the motor and that makes everybody equal and several what shape you're in and how you ride and your tires condition and you have different races and different tires but right now it's a bum race so you go out there with what you got you can take some stuff off we can put stuff on I like signs and Trump things and bumper stickers or that thing the lady has the two fans that are going or streamers or basically just painted something stupid and we call it stupid but it's not stupid to you I'm going to go ahead and sign up for this wherever I can I have to show up for it

Terry c

We have to have some problems to solve or something to do and I've got a e-bike shop and this will help out we can go a little faster and get places but we want to see what's going on it is a great idea and we can organize meetups and we don't have to be slobs but the bum race is an interesting idea. And we're going to start the races tonight and for money and that's really going to start things all over the place

Trump

And I'm going to make a trophy and it's going to have a bum on it they have them too it's like this gold trophy with this guy with his pants down his bum showing we're going to do that I tell you this sounds like a lot of fun and we'll take pictures we can put it on Facebook and stuff and run it on YouTube I don't know we're not doing anything at all this is so damn boring

And we're trying to rope them into it and he has rear end is worried about and we all do but it's the only way it can get stuff so it's probably going to start pretty good

Trump

Problems are really seriously thinking of doing that to his bike but I'll probably get into the race too

Mac maybe daytime first

I don't believe this there's a lot of people who want to do this and he looked at the track only like a month ago and it looks fine there's some stuff in the way and part of it I will have to look at that and see what it is I might zoom over there and check it out

Let me know and I can post it later

Caa

Will do

Good

Hera

Let's try guys I don't think you can use that one well we're going to use it and I don't think the kids are it's so lame so if they say what are you doing they'll say we're going to see if we can rent this I want to see if it would work and it might work

Trump

Lol hahahaha we're testing it out we know what you're saying

Mac

#Youtube

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 1 year ago

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Chapter Four

This is the chapter I wrote while playing "Words Fail" from Dear Evan Hansen on repeat. I recommend it. Really enhances the experience. Evan's a bit of a creep and Tim is not, but the words work well for his POV.

In the end, there was depressingly little to pack.

Literally didn't realize until right now that I repeated this line to start one of Tim's chapters in The Return. Je suis HACK.

His decorations were mostly functional—wall hangings chosen nearly at random, the odd plant or two, little knick-knacks that he had picked up like lint on a sock slid under the bed.

As always, I find it such an interesting challenge to truly think through how a character lives and what sort of things they might surround themselves with. I knew Tim wouldn't have much, because his apartment was always meant to be temporary, but I enjoyed thinking about not only what he might have but also how he would think about those things.

The majority of things he would have cared to take with him were still at the Manor, lying dormant under the heavy assumption of his return.

A true banger of a line, if I do say so myself.

Returning to his room, Tim threw himself on the bed. It was the middle of the day, but he had nothing to occupy him except to stare at the ceiling and watch the fly swooping in lazy figure-eights above his head.

I, as a rule, do not visualize spaces. Do. Not. I am very very bad at it. Weirdly, though, I do know what this version of Tim's apartment looks like. (And the one he uses in other fics unconnected to this one.)

So Tim booked his plane ticket, stuck his Red Robin suit in the mail, and released his last shred of resistance to the inevitable.

I couldn't figure out what Tim would do with his suit that wouldn't be a security risk, either to his identity or to his plan. This... was not that. Where did he mail it to?? Does the Cave have an address??????

He gasped as a hand clapped his shoulder from behind and yanked him backward.

Tim was absolutely not going to let anyone into his apartment so I had to force the issues.

Dick kept scratching the callous on his thumb, a sure sign he was agitated.

I gave Dick my thing. My poor thumbs.

“Kon?” he guessed. He should have known quitting the Titans would make it through the Kent grapevine.

Gabby Midwesterners, man. You can't trust 'em.

“Tim, that’s—” “You idiot, do—” “Oh come on—” “Tim—” “No—“

Can you match speaker to fragment?

The trembling hands disappeared into his pockets, bony wrists pressed to his hips as he edged toward the door, ice-blue gaze flying from face to face.

It's a good description but not one Tim would use from his POV about himself, I don't think. I was still learning.

His other hand reached for Tim’s head, to touch his cheek, maybe, or to cradle his face. He was boxing Tim in, the others crowded around on either side. Tim kept retreating and they kept coming, trapping him, cornering him. They were saying his name, arguing, squawking like a flock of vultures over a slab of carrion. He’d only wanted to leave quietly.

Now that's also a fun thing, the way caring can feel like so much when a person is on the verge of a meltdown, even if this exact caring is what they've told themselves they've wanted all along. Put a pin in that.

Tim gulped down an audible breath and looked up at Bruce. “I’m no one. I’m just the clingy kid next door you couldn’t get rid of.”

That was a line I was writing toward. I knew it would be a mile marker in this chapter and everything before it was trying to drive the momentum to get there.

“Everyone’s fine. You don’t need me anymore. I told you, Bruce. I told you I’d stay until you didn’t need me anymore.” His lungs rattled as he sucked in a breath and dragged a hand across his eyes. It was his fault for delaying, for pretending, for ignoring that they had passed their need for him. He was the ingrown hair, the splinter that had scabbed over. If he stayed, their lives would fester and he would rot.

It's so angsty it's giving me secondhand embarrassment. This is my "Sad Sad Tim Drake fic" for a reason! “I’m sorry. I stayed too long. I should have... I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

or, alternatively,

I never meant to make it such a mess I never thought that it would go this far So I just stand here sorry Searching for something to say Something to say

“Is that what you think you’re supposed to be? Needed? You are correct. You’re not.” There was a small scuffle, soles sliding on hardwood and the soft smacking of shushing hands being batted away. Damian spoke over the noise. “My mother needs me. My grandfather needs me. It is not as pleasant a state as you might imagine it to be.”

It was so important to me that Damian and Jason be the first ones to speak. They ALL care about Tim, they are ALL there because they care about Tim. Also, it can be easier to accept true things from people you think love you a little less, because they appear less likely to lie. Because of their fraught relationships, Damian and Jason need to get in there first, before Dick or Bruce or Cass.

Tim only knew Jason’s younger voice from old home movies and the odd press recording. Death, cigarettes, and the Pit had deepened and distressed the sliding street accent, rubbing it raw on a bed of gravel and metal. Jason didn’t seem to miss his old voice, instead wielding his new one like another weapon to intimidate and unsettle. But when he spoke like this, full of reluctant good intent and lacking his usual caustic bite, Tim could almost hear the boy that used to be, the one who used to believe that change was just over the horizon before he was buried six feet beneath it.

Jason's voice is, like, a spiritual experience for me.

Tim rocked his head back and forth against Bruce’s chest, despairing and disbelieving, but Bruce continued, “You are my son as surely as if you’d been born a Wayne. You are their brother. No matter who you have been or who you believe yourself to be, that’s who you are, Tim. You are needed and you are wanted. We want you because we love you. Not because of what you do or what you can do for us. Because of who you are. I am so sorry if we ever made you feel otherwise.” This was a dream. It wasn’t real. Bruce didn’t apologize. Bruce wasn’t a person who hugged, or held someone like Tim. Bruce didn’t talk about love. “I had no idea how lucky I was when you showed up on my doorstep. You saved me. Not Batman. Me. Because you’re brilliant and brave and generous and kind.”

Some people in the comments and bookmarks (those are public, folks!) complained that this was all toooooo simple and Bruce was tooooooo good. Maybe but 1) Bruce isn't an idiot and he can and will do hard-for-him things to literally save his kid, 2) Tim really really needed to hear these things explicitly, and 3) it's fiction. Deal with it.

I do admit it's awfully schmoopy though.

(But that's okay! People still connect with it and like it and that's wonderful!)

A sob punched through his chest with the force of too many years, and his knees buckled. Tim ended up in Bruce’s lap on the floor of the kitchen, arms wrapped around his dad, clinging with a terrified strength.

I don't remember what, but I was sad about something or maybe just homesick and really wanted a hug from my dad, so here we are.

His clock was running again, ticking steadily onward. Instead of a countdown, it was merely a beat, a rhythm that he could sway to, a current that kept him moving steadily along. The hands of his family kept him afloat, supporting him and steadying him whenever he crossed a wave that threatened to drag him under again.

Gotta work in those callbacks to make the lit nerds shiver happily!

They all visibly worked to reach out to him more, to extend explicit invitations instead of the implicit ones that he so often missed; to drop backup batteries into his bag, reminders of the weeks of texts and calls he had missed while accidentally letting his phone die; to text or call with a funny story, a casual complaint, or just because.

This is one point I want to make clear and explicit. I want to tattoo it onto the eyelids of every single person that has ever read this fic, because it's important.

This is my Sad Sad Tim fic. He is a sad sad boy. More than that, he is Capital-D Depressed and depression lies. A lot of people admitted to relating to Tim in this fic, to feeling isolated and alone and forgotten, which are awful, awful feelings. And Tim was not wrong, but he also was not right.

His family is objectively bad at expressing how much they love, like, and appreciate him. Full stop. They say so and apologize for it and actively work to change their behaviors. But they DO love, like, and appreciate him, and Tim's depression kept him from seeing that. Instead of talking to his family and expressing how he felt, he cut himself off. He left, he lied, and he missed the times they did reach out because he removed himself physically from their lives and then let his phone die. His family objectively made some mistakes but not to the extent that he felt was true.

To quote my own reply to someone that I left in the comments:

One of the great things about fiction is we can learn from the mistakes of others without making them ourselves. Tim made a ton of things harder for himself by misreading situations, drawing unsupported conclusions, and then isolating himself without verifying his view of reality with anyone else. Whenever you start feeling wobbly, remember Tim. <3

Or to quote myself again:

Here's the thing about Tim. He was wrong and he did literally everything wrong. He let his emotions and his wonky brain chemistry and his own assumptions dictate his perception of reality, and his perception of reality was incorrect. He isolated himself, he missed key facts, misinterpreted other facts, and put the burden of proof on others rather than reaching out and vocalizing his insecurities. He also deliberately cut off his friends in the Titans, who were actively demonstrating the care he felt he was lacking from his family.

It's okay to identify with Tim. It's okay to see things in his situation that make sense. Just don't emulate him in any way.

I'm so pleased this fic has had such a long life and resonated with so many people, and I hope it continues to help, either as an example of what not to do or just as an outlet for catharsis.

They weren’t perfect, his family, but they were his, and he was theirs. And that made it real.

title nodddddd

It Wasn't Real (But We Were Happy)

First posted: June 6 2018

Focuses on: Tim Drake and the Fam

Favorite bookmark: "I was clutching my face for the last two chapters."

Second favorite bookmark: "Do you want to cry?"

Tier: Top five in hits and subscriptions, top ten in everything else

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

This is a multi-chapter series, so this thread will be reblogged with each chapter's thoughts added beneath the cut.

Chapter One

This is one of the rare fics where I can remember exactly what was happening when it sprang into being. Mostly. I was walking home on evening, post-rain, and skirting around puddles while texting with @starknjarvis27. I don't remember what started the conversation but suddenly I was knee-deep in emotions about Tim as The Replacement, Tim as Nanny McPhee ("When you need me but do not want me, then I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, then I have to go."), Tim as Mary Poppins (That's gratitude for you. Didn't even say goodbye?" "No, they didn't.")

I don't think I started writing directly after that, though I may have. I do know I deliberately banked up the chapters and didn't post the first until they were all written. I was worried about losing steam and not finishing. Given how popular this fic is, maybe I should do that more often.

The title is from Dear Evan Hansen (it was 2018, give me a break), from the song "Words Fail," where the main character emotionally confesses the elaborate deception he had built, ensnaring the people he professed to love in a fantasy that he said was for them but really, in the end, was only for himself.

It was said that time was the great equalizer, but Tim didn’t know how that could be true. Time seemed to touch everyone differently, and everyone grappled with it in their own way.

As you've probably noticed, I do this kind of a lot. "It" being both a philosophical beginning and lining up each of the fam and examining what makes them different in certain ways. Both are a good way (for me, the writer, at least) to ease into a fic. Starting is hard.

Dick bobbed in its streams like a vacationer in a tube. He let it carry him along, neither struggling nor straining, but enjoying the ride wherever its path led. Jason floundered, striding through the water until his steps inevitably found the gap of his stolen life. He would lose his footing and plunge under, only to burst above the current with great, heaving breaths and push on determinedly once more.

Again with the water metaphors. I would say I'm sorry but I'm not. I'll also add that this is, of course, Tim's perspective. He's not wrong, but Dick, for example, would likely have a nuanced take of his own relationship with time (that also would not necessarily being objectively right or wrong because perception is subjective, even of ourselves.)

A good many endings surprised him, horrified him, came whistling out at him like fists in the dark.

I think I use this metaphor more than once in fics. Mentally I tie it to "A Knife in the Dark," the Bree chapter title in The Fellowship of the Ring and later the song title from the Howard Shore soundtrack for the same scene. The whole point is wildly different, but the mental association is there for me, whatcanyado.

But it was only their timing that caught him off guard, never their existence, like turning the crank on a silenced jack-in-the-box. Without the music, he could only guess when the pop and cackle would come, but he knew the lurch in his stomach was inevitable.

My sister was scared of jack-in-the-boxes as a kid/young adult, like Buddy the Elf, so I stole this from her and him.

Alfred would have noticed, had he been around, but timing his exodus to Alfred’s annual sabbatical in England had been Tim’s one act of true cowardice. Alfred would have noticed Tim’s abandonment of the Manor and would have lured him back in with calls or threatening visits from the others or the sheer guilt power of a raised eyebrow.

I think if I were a stronger or braver writer it would have been a good challenge to keep Alfred present rather than shooing him off to England like Superman to space.

No, the hardest task had been quitting the Titans. They didn’t need Tim any more than the Waynes did, but they wanted him. They were his friends. Tim couldn’t see any way to continue with the Titans, however.

Commenters speculated on the Titans showing up. I hope they weren't too disappointed when that didn't happen but I do not know those children at all. And they weren't the point, anyways. The point was Tim and his family.

#fanfic bts brain dump

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