#the other one smells like weed all the time and the other other one doesnt wash her hands properly after using the toilet + keeps her dishe

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

man i thought i moved out to escape my family but it turns out i've jumped from the pan into the fire because holy shit my guys what the fuck??

[estxkios]

MIDNIGHT

tomkaulitz x skater!reader

summary: you sneak out with your boyfriend at midnight to smoke. (part two with smut??)

requested - no

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you couldnt fall asleep, youd been sitting upright in bed staring into the wall for what felt like hours. at this point, you want to give up the agonizing game of trying to fall asleep so you look over to your cluttered nightsand and grab your phone off of it. the screen turning on lit up your face in the dark room, all you saw was the time 11:59 pm, until the brightness coming from your phone caused you to squint irritatingly hard, so you flicked on your lamp.

after your eyes adjusted to the light you resumed back to your phone and opened your messages app, not expecting to see anything. except there was something. 4 messages from your boyfriend, tom.

tom : hey, u up? 11:56 pm

tom : can i come over 11:59 pm

tom : are you ignoring me i saw you turn ur light on 12:00 am

tom : fuck it im coming 12:02 am

and right as you read the last message there was a faint tapping on your window, you jolted at the sound, but then connected the dots. it was tom. you gently pulled your curtain to the side, he smiled when you opened the window, his skateboard that was adorned with stickers clutched in his right hand.

"so ignoring my text messages is cool now?" he said, the window screen still unopened. you giggled at his attitude and lifted up the screen so you could hop out. "i was trying to sleep." you huffed as you hit the ground, the leaves crunching under you as your weight hit them. "doesnt look like your sleeping now, schatz." he pulled down you window and the screen as you patted yourself off. "yeah, tom. obviously." you walked over to him and reached in his coat pocket where he usually kept his joints. he lifted his hands above his head jokingly "jeez didnt know sneaking out with you required a search-" you cut him off by wiggling the joint in your hand in front of his face, showing him you were not infact searching his pockets, just borrowing some weed.

"oh." he laughed and took your hand that wasnt holding the joint, "lets get to the park before we start smoking yeah? your parents will smell it"

"oh shit yeah." you shoved the joint in your own pocket and grabbed your skateboard that you kept outside your window for occasions like this. you reached for toms hand and squeezed it as you two walked down your driveway.

when you reached the end of your driveway, you set down your skateboard. setting your left foot lightly on the front of your board. tom mimicked your movements and started to skate ahead of you.

"tom-! wait up!" you whisper-shouted, trying to make sure you didnt notify your parents you were awake.

"catch up loser!" he shouted, going faster than before.

you snorted and started pushing with your right foot, although you were out of breath from the task, you caught up to him in no time

"oh look who caught up!" tom laughed and went even faster than before, he put his right foot back on his board, putting most of his body weight on the left side of his board making a sharp turn to the skate park. you followed close behind.

the only thing that lit up the skate park was one small street light, so you watched as toms blurry figure dipped into the bowl.

you expected him to pop back out on the other side of it, except he didnt. so you shouted, "tom?"

"come down here schätzen!" he called from the bottom of the bowl, his voice echoing off the curved walls of it.

you walked to the edge of the bowl. you couldn't skate down because you would hit tom so you shouted "catch!" before sending your board down to tom, who was sitting down with his legs spread.

"oh- fuck!" he squealed

he quickly grabbed the board before it hit him in the balls. you could not stop laughing. you slid down, shoes scraping the paved walls.

"its not funny." tom said with a stern look.

"oh but it really is!" you giggled and sat next to him at the bottom of the bowl, your legs touching his. you grabbed the joint out of your pocket and put it in your mouth.

tom, knowing the drill, took the lighter out of his pocket and instead of immediately lighting your joint he grabbed your chin

"you're so gorgeous."

you rolled your eyes. but deep inside your stomach was twisting with anticipation, and thanks the darkness that surrounded the two of you he couldnt see your cheeks that were now dusted with a dark pink shade.

he brought the lighter to your joint and carefully lit it, taking one of the many joints out of his pocket and doing the same with his. he took a long draw of his joint and held the smoke in his mouth. his hand reached up to your joint and he took it out of your mouth.

he put two fingers under your chin and got closer to your face. he put his lips near yours but didnt seal the air between you with a kiss, instead, he pulled your mouth open with his thumb and passed the smoke into your mouth.

you breathed in his smoke and inhaled, puffing the rest out of your nose, giggling. you got closer to him and wrapped you arms around his neck. he smiled, touching his forehead to yours, and this time, he did seal the air between you two with a passionate kiss.

[bluephoric]

ridiculously long list of larry johnson hcs because fuck you he doesnt get enough love

Tw for depressing ass shit

- larry is a tired clumsy airhead, and as a result he always has SOMETHING spilled, wiped, or drawn on his clothes.

- undiagnosed adhd, and probably a few other things

- both him and sal collect bottlecaps, they like to make pins out of cool ones they find, often trading them like pokemon cards. they have multiple matching friendship ones. on common ones though, he likes to flatten and paint.

- larry's mental health generally sucks, but when things get really bad he stops caring about his physical safety, often pulling some reckless shit. even when he gets hurt from it, he doesnt seem to mind. Times like these kinda scare him, and he tries to avoid falling into them.

- despite seemingly "not caring about anything" (as he puts it) during these episodes, he's still fiercely protective of his friends and tries to be gentle with them, both physically and emotionally.

- callused hands, fingers yellowed from smoking.

- big fan of gas stations when he's high, practically raids that shit. one of his nicknames is "stoner jesus"

- he's openly bisexual and flirts with random people for fun. its usually something light. dorky pickup lines, stupid puns.. he Never expects it to be shot back at him but on the rare occasion it happens, he turns into a giggling mess.

- he actually pissed off travis even worse a few times with it, I could go into it further but this isnt a larvis post so i'll spare you all. For now.

- his favorite horror movies are the funny ones

- he isnt much of a drinker, mostly around holidays and just to get a little buzzed. spiked eggnog and fireball are his go-to's. Drunk christmas karaoke is one of his favorite things (he's constantly giving sal secondhand embarrassment). 2 words, mariah carrey.

- For awhile he genuinely tried to be a good student but because he was so far behind and his undiagnosed adhd, the teachers started to demonize him. Eventually he realized it didnt matter how hard he tried, so he just gave up. The only subject he likes is art, so that's where he focuses all his energy and actually tries.

- skips school sometimes but lisa tends to give him hell for it so he tries not to do it too often, mostly just skips certain classes if hes really not feeling it.

- almost always comes to school high

- his room is such a mess. sal tries to help him with it but he has similar struggles. whenever ash or todd come over, it becomes a group effort and shit gets done rather quickly. luckily no biohazards, so its not like his room really needs a DEEP clean but still. its nice.

- larry fucking LOVES jack black movies, also stupid stoner movies.

- Loves the arcade too, You'd think his favorite would be guitar hero, but that's more for sal. his favorite is mortal combat or those car racing games that you sit in with the steering wheel.

- larry cant cook for shit, hes always burning something, it always turns out gross and inedible. unless he's stoned, in which case he magically turns into a michelin star chef. weird ass combinations, but it always turns out really good.

- despite being shit at cooking, he still tries to help his mom with it, even though he mostly ends up just being in the way and she eventually shoos him out of the kitchen

- he smells super musky, with cheap cologne and the faint scent of weed

- when he was really little, he had a dinosaur onsie that he would wear everywhere, very rarely taking it off until it started to get too tight. he was beyond devastated when he realized he grew out of it, lisa had to pry it away from him in fear that he would accidentally destroy it. She keeps it in her closet collecting dust. Its one of the few things she kept from before jim disappeared. despite it bringing up memories of what things used to be like before he "left", she couldnt bear to throw it out.

- sometimes when larry needs comfort, he sneaks into her room and steals it temporarily. on sleepless nights, he zips it over his pillows as a makeshift pillowcase, its one of the few things that help him relax. It's always put back in place by the next morning. Lisa has no idea, and he's far too embarrassed about it to say anything to her.

- the only person who knows about this is sal because of their sleepovers. One night He was high as balls and got paranoid, when he tried to sleep it off the fear was just too much so away he crept, into lisa's room. Of course he made sal come with him, he sure as shit wasnt going alone.

- when questioned about it, larry refused to answer and so sal let it go figuring he would tell him when he was ready.

- Larry Harbors an obscene amount of guilt. struggles with sh off and on, tries not to relapse unless things get really unbearable. to prevent this, him and the SF gang (primarily ash) regularly doodle and sometimes paint on the places he's prone to harm.

- when he can feel himself slipping into an episode, larry makes it a point to braid his hair so it won't get matted. tries to brush it and rebraid it at least once a week, but often struggles to find the energy and lets it sit in for longer. Not to mention, a lot of the times he stops showering which makes it even harder to braid because of the greasiness.

- has given himself a few amateur stick and pokes. They look like shit, and he knows it but he's still very proud of them.

- the ink he uses for it fades pretty fast

- he's also tried to give himself piercings, but always fucks it up so he takes them out and slaps a bandaid over it

- collects different kinds of flavored chapstick, takes a bite out of them sometimes when he thinks no one is looking (ofc sal has caught him a few times but has never said anything)

- after he first met megan, he was scared shitless. slept with the lights on for the next few weeks and refused to shut the door when going to the bathroom, insisting to his mom on keeping the shower curtain open at all times (he tried to act chill about it around sal and it kinda worked. kinda.) after awhile he eventually calmed down but still finds himself getting really nervous whenever him and sal talk to a ghost, though he would never admit it.

- has a picture of his dad in a locket but rarely wears it because he's afraid he'll accidentally break it. always keeps it with him though, usually in his pocket, holding it as he walks.

- Despite his general demeanor he's quite the gentleman, always holding doors open and really courteous towards women. Most people don't expect it just based on his appearance, but Lisa raised him right.

- also he's hot as fuck.

- we all know larry is a metalhead, but what kind of metal is his favorite? It generally depends on his mood but id say sludge, thrash, and doom.

- You're telling me this man, who is depressed as fuck and also a stoner wouldnt eat up some electric wizard? saint vitus? bitch, please. I know quite a few albums that would bring him to his knees.

- And I know I'm prolly gonna get hate for this but I notice when a lot of other people write about larry (AND sal), they tend to lean towards nu metal or just plain emo. And while I don't think either of them would mind it, The lyrics and vocals of Sanity's fall feels more reminiscent of death or black metal and given the fact that SF is his favorite band, I don't think he would listen to that kind of stuff, at least not on a regular basis. Ash on the other hand definitely would.

[blkkizzat]

Hi you’re such an amazing writer and great smut writer!! I was wondering if u had any tips on writing smut cus I wanna start writing it too! Do u have tips on dialogue/action/pacing and being descriptive 😭 it’s harder than it looks!! Ps your suguru bumpy car ride is one of my fave fics!! And I’m excited for sadako!geto 😘😘

hey nonny, pookie tysm ur too sweet! im so glad you enjoy my perversions enough to ask me for advice kcjhdscjkhsdb 😩🩷🙏🏽✨

also sure idk if these will be helpful but these are things that help me:

smut:

i think the cardinal rule of smut writing is if it doesn't make you horny, re-write it until it does. lol.

i am a very visual person so i like to close my eyes and imagine the scene before i write it. not just going through the motions either. if this is me, reader, what am i thinking, feeling (both physically and emotionally).

5 senses (touch, taste, smell, sound, sight) should be covered. not every action needs all 5 but if you are describing something you should at least be hitting two of these. " tears falling, you cry out as he enters you slowly" is fine but "blinking away tears you hiss from the overwhelming stretch of his girth entering you, even slowly, proves to be too much" is better.

sometimes i need a boost and if you partake then a few puffs from a weed pen or a glass of wine (im partial to bubbly) will put you in the MOOD lmfao.

*note i dont think you need to have experienced something to write about it, sex included for any virgins however in lieu of that, with anything you don't have experience in, you need to do research to make it believable.

dialogue:

use dialogue to tell us/reiterate who the character is. you can tell us the character is nervous but then its highlighted by the stuttering, rambling, etc of their spoken words.

break up long dialogue with descriptions. this is also a pacing tip. also can insert memories, i will have readers have a whole dialogue and in the middle their will be a relevant memory to give context and insight to the character and their motivations.

using subtext to explain character feelings, you dont have to be so explicit with dialogue all the time. instead of a character saying "im so fucking mad at you right now," use "alright" your voice is clipped, flipping your hair over your shoulder you go back to your task at hand, not even sparing them another glance.

i rarely use explicit dialogue tags now like "said, spoke, cried, yell" i will still use them but ill weave into the description that follows. ex instead of "please stay!" you cried—i would write—"please stay!" your lip quivers as tears gathered on your lashes.

action:

the last subtext tip also helps with action too, alot of times its what we see that really enriches the dialogue so "show" dont "tell".

this is also a pacing tip but during high action/intense scenes using shorter sentences helps express the urgency. although it all depends as long sentences/paragraphs too can help build tension, slowing down descriptions/actions during the climax (lol non sexual) of a scene builds anxiety/thrill.

explaining emotional reactions of heart racing, sweaty palms, etc, is just as important as physical reactions (even tho these are physiological actions they still are emotion driven).

pacing:

besides the pacing tips above in the other sections i think the biggest pacing issue i think people have is adding in details, actions, etc that don't inform your story. everything action/thought you take time to elaborate on that your character does, should be relevant to their motivations, story or characterizations. if it doesnt apply to one of those then cut it out. (note: sometimes it does apply and needs to be cut out and moved another section if its making a scene go on to long)

edit your stories, i know some people post and go and thats fine. everyone has different goals. some just want to get out thoughts and go. however, pacing can be hard to effectively capture on the first go so you will need to reread at least once to ensure your fic is properly paced.

editing leads into eliminating redundancy. often i will write something where i expressed an emotion/feeling then did it again a paragraph or two down the line just in a different way. unless that feeling is evolving, its redundant. redundant doesnt mean the feeling isnt applicable in both places, it means ive already established this feeling/state of mind in my story and it isnt needed both places. this can be one of the hardest things to identify or even fix. however i think my fics are 100x better when i do.

descriptive:

i think people fall into one of these buckets, 1) having the inclination of being overly wordy descriptive or 2)not being descriptive enough. i am the former, so my issuing is editing is pulling back and giving emphasis on somethings but not others. if you arent descriptive enough you will have to decide where in your story its important to give emphasis.

use metaphors that make sense to the person speaking or narration style. you wouldnt use overly flowery language for example if you were writing how sukuna is feeling about something lol.

hope these tips were helpful!

[toysrguts]

FLUTTERSHY HCs!!!!!

she is literally me as a horse i love her so much yes most of this is projecting dont come for me

•has a huge oddity collection, from animal skulls/bones to preserved organs to dried up bug necklaces. little creatures are like her friends and she needs to keep them forever

•also keeps dead flowers, all the dead things!!!!!!!!!

•hates loud noises but is soothed by aggressive metal music

•definitely a huge dethklok fan

•her mane is always a mess. she lets it grow out and rarely trims it and it usually has leaves and random flower petals in it

•her mane and tail are also dirty on the ends from dragging on the ground all the time

•constantly taking naps cuz she gets drained super easily

•hates asking for help so if she needs something she'll just stare at u blankly until u read her mind

•has a lot of stains in her fur from constantly being outside

•smokes a lotttttt of weed and occasionally partakes in other "natural" drugs, especially with treehugger

•she loves painting and finds it relaxing :) and shes really good at it its like her hidden talent

•her love language is gift giving since shes not good with her words. she likes picking flowers and making little friendship bracelets for people she cares about

•brings angel everywhere she goes cuz hes like a therapy pet to her

•the tallest of the mane 6 but is insecure of her height

•really good at sewing and crochet and makes almost all of her own clothes, and sweaters for all her animal friends too

•gets lost in her thoughts alot and is constantly zoning out

•shes a really good baker and her house always smells like warm chocolate chip cookies :3

•the first question she'll ask u if come over is what kind of tea you like. she makes tea for all of her guests and even memorized her best friend's favorites (she cant choose a favorite but she really likes earl grey :3)

•still has fangs from becoming flutterbat and uses them to her advantage cuz they're literally her one and only intimidating feature

•has stacks and stacks of old journals cuz she writes down her thoughts a lot when shes alone

•doesnt like artificial light, if it gets too dark she lights a bunch of candles (also why her and her house always smell amazing)

•cannot sleep unless shes surrounded by stuffed animals

•wears a lot of hoodies and beanies cuz shes always freezing her ass off

•hates having a messy room but is too tired to clean it

•cries at every minor inconvenience

•carries a little bag with first aid stuff everywhere she goes

[ev3rgreenxtrees]

,,Don’t Play With Me.’’

SUMMARY: Chris sees you ‘flirting’ with a guy at a party, and he gets jealous. Fwb type shit

WARNINGS: this is SMUT. Pure FILTH. DEGRADATION KINK.

PAIRING: Toxic!chris x fem!reader

BACK TO: Masterlist

-

As the third or fourth guy approached you from tonight, you sighed, annoyed at all of them. you were just trying to have fun at a party but you just kept getting hit on, and it was getting annoying. however, this time, you noticed something different. chris was watching. he thought it was okay to flirt with other girls, so why couldnt you flirt with other guys?

“hey, pretty.” the man seemingly around your age slurred, the smell of alcohol and weed making you want to throw up.

“hi, handsome.” you giggled, walking closer to him, slipping your arms around his neck. you wondered how much longer it was going to take before chris ‘intervened’.

it clearly didnt take long, because you felt strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you away from the boy.

“you think you can play with me, huh?” Chris growled in your ear, as you turned away from the man, focusing all of your attention on chris.

“for someone who ‘doesnt want me’, you seem to care an awful lot..” you smirked, causing him to harshly grab your hips.

“dont play with me, Y/N..” chris kissed your temple, his hand slipping down your body to intertwine his fingers with yours, as he pulled you away, in attempts to find the nearest unoccupied bathroom or room.

the second he found one, he shoved you into it, locking the door behind him.

“you really think you can be a slut without me saying anything?” chris growled, forcefully grabbing your chin to make you look at him. you didnt want to push any words out, so you just shook your head. his hand quickly found your ass, and he placed a harsh smack there, causing you to yelp. “words, you whore.” he bit and sucked at your neck, as you gasped.

“n-no..” you stuttered.

“c’mon, ma.. you know better than that..” chris tsked, rolling his eyes. he gave you a smirk before lifting you onto the counter that you were pressed up against, quickly bringing his lips to yours. you moaned into the kiss, unable to keep quiet.

“p-please, chris..” you whined, wanting more. needing more.

“so fucking needy.” he spoke in a low tone, his voice raspy, sending chills down your spine. his hands slithered from your hips to the hem of your shirt, as he tugged on it, and looked up at you, asking for consent, which you quickly gave.

he wasted no time tearing your shirt, exposing your barely closed chest to the cold air.

“so beautiful..” he whispered, as he kissed your neck, biting and sucking. you whined, feeling your need for him growing as the seconds passed.

he let his hands slide up your back, to find your bra clasp. he gently tugged at it, pulling it loose, and slipping it off your body. “fuck, ma.. you’re flawless..” he mumbled, taking a nipple into his mouth, holding your other breast in his free hand.

you gasp as you feel his mouth connect with your body, as you gripped the cold counter.

“chris..” you whined, wanting nothing but him.

he grinned at you, as he moved away from your tits, his mouth coming back up to yours. his hands found their way to your waistband, as he gently tugged at it, pulling it away and letting it slap back against your skin, causing you to let out a whine. you slid your hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling away from the kiss to pull it off of him. you admired his body, causing him to chuckle. sure, you’ve seen him shirtless before,, but not like this.

“like what you see baby?” he asks, his hands firmly gripping your hips.

“yes,” you nodded. “please, chris..” you pleaded, as he rolled his eyes.

“so fucking needy.” he rolled his eyes and went back to work, kissing down your barely clothed body. he started shimmying your skirt down, exposing your red panties that matched with your bra that was already disguarded.

he made his way down to your thighs, placing kisses up both of them, until he got to where you needed him the most.

he placed a gentle kiss on your clothed clit, looking into your eyes with his lust-filled blue ones. “may i?” he asked, gently tugging at the panties.

“god, please chris..” you begged, and he obeyed, quickly pulling them off.

“so fucking pretty,” he admired, before slipping two fingers through your folds, causing you to gasp. he slid his fingers through, coating them in your arousal, before sucking it off his own fingers, still maintaining eye contact with you. “jesus christ, ma.. youre so fucking wet for me,” he growled, his mouth making its way slowly close to your core.

you could feel his hot breath against you, before he licked a bold stripe up you.

“chris-“ you moaned, as he flicked his tongue up and down, his lips finding their way to your clit. “f-fuck, chris!” you yelled out, your hands searching for his hair.

he moaned against you, sending shivers down your spine. he continued to work his tongue, and your legs started shaking, “h-holy shit, chris! im-im close!” you yelled as you came on his face.

“i didnt even have to use my fingers, you whore.” Chris shook his head, his mouth meeting yours, you tasting yourself on his tongue. you moaned into his mouth. you needed more. you needed him more than anything at that moment.

he pulled away from your mouth, leaving wet sloppy kisses down your exposed neck, leaving you whimpering below him. who would’ve known you would be such a mess for him?

you reached for the waistband of the boys sweats, hoping that you could just pull them and his boxers down at the same time. your hands fumbled around, and you couldn’t seem to grab the waistband on his skin, and he scoffed.

“too fucked out to even function and i haven’t even put my dick in you yet.” he rolled his eyes and pulled his own pants down, leaving his boxers on. you let out a whine, indicating that you wanted his boxers off too.

“you can wait,” he spoke harshly, grabbing your wrist gently, placing it on his tight boxers. he groaned as you pushed your hand down and started rubbing, knowing what he wanted.

“fuck,” he moaned, pulling your hand away. he tugged his boxers down, and his cock sprung up, hitting his stomach. he hissed at the cold air touching him, but wasted no time pulling you close to the edge of the counter, and lining himself up to you.

“no prep?” you asked confused, to which he nodded.

“you fucking came before i could prep you, so now you don’t get it.” he scolded, and all you could do was nod. “now, your gonna be a good girl, and your not gonna cum until i tell you that you can. ‘kay?” he asked, and you nodded again.

he wasted no time pushing his tip into you, the sudden action making your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping them hard. He continued to slowly push in, his soft groans getting louder and louder, until he finally bottomed out.

“fuck, your tight..” he groaned, his head falling back. he didnt give you much time to adjust, before he started moving. his pace quickened as the time went by, both of you letting out moans and whimpers.

“f-faster, chris.. please,” you begged.

“f-fuck.. only ‘cus i want it— i- fuck..” he moaned as he quickened his pace, only because ‘he wanted to’.

“fuck, chris.. fuck, fuck, fuck,” you slurred, feeling your stomach tighten for the second time tonight. “chris, i- i need..” you tried speaking, but couldnt form full sentences.

“what do you need, baby? words, use your words,” he teased. one of his hands moved from your waist, to your clit, rubbing fast circles.

“holy fuck, chris! p-please, i- i need to cum..!” you pleaded, your head falling on his shoulder, your hands scratching his shoulders.

“go ahead,baby.. l-let go,” he huffed, and you moaned his name as you came. He pulled out once you were finished, and he tugged his own cock until his release came.

“holy fuck, that was good.” he panted, rummaging through the cabinets, trying to find a towel, which was easily found. he cleaned you off, and helped you get dressed again.

“its crazy to me that your so good at aftercare,” you smiled after he asked if you wanted a water or anything.

“whys that?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing, and his head tilting.

“maybe because you just called me a slut and whore so many times and now your offering to carry me around for the rest of the night,” you joked, and Chris rolled his eyes, and kissed your forehead.

call you crazy, but out of all of what just went down, that tiny forehead kiss just gave you butterflys.

you were supposed to be ‘friends with benefits’ now, but how long could you hold off as friends?

—

A/N: this has been in my drafts for so fucking long.

@bernardenjoyer

[vera-yaps]

🥀🖤Zero Day Headcanons🖤🥀

*i dont condone nor romanticize them or their actions i just love the movie!*

🖤🥀Cal tries to get andre to listen to Pavement, Andre calls him a fag for it but the next time he’s out with his parents at the mall, he just may swing by that one record store, the one that smells like rubber and use some of his pizza place paycheck to get one of their albums—the same one Cal showed him. he’d never admit it though.

🖤🥀They are so fucking homophobic/misogynistic im sorry yall😭Like andre i’d imagine more outwardly than cal, to me andre’s the type to say someth like a date🍇/aids joke or some shit and if Rachel’s in vicinity, she’d side eye cal to say something but of course the fucker doesnt. But if it’s just rachel and cal i feel like he may slip up and make some off color remarks but over all wouldnt call women bitches/etc the way andre would (and literally does in the movie)

🖤🥀To me (i dont think this is a very hot take) their part of new stratford is very conservative. it’s not like gun toting bible thumpers conservative but the area is relatively small and spreads fast—When Cal got caught smoking weed it wasnt scandalous but you did hear people saying that pam and steve’s son a few blocks down got busted hanging with druggies or something.

🖤🥀It also makes the queer interpretation more realistic to me. if we’re looking at it from that angle, those two are repressed and they are repressed bad. Like i dont have any particular sexuality headcanons for either of them simply bc they never got to officially figure it out. those feelings were so there for each other. Flat out. they just never got the chance to figure out what their identities were.

🥀🖤that being said my god those two were so pathetic for each other.

🥀🖤They met 1994 in sixth grade civics class

🥀🖤the teacher paired them for an ice breaker activity and they just sorta never left each other

🥀🖤honestly i feel like they developed feelings for each other on a subconscious level way closer to the events of Zero Day

🥀🖤Andre just couldn’t get Cal out of his head

🥀🖤like mf was simpin

🥀🖤Andre never found the need to make genuine friends. he was involved with the science club, the track team, he contributed to the school newspaper, and he was good at what he did, don’t get it twisted.

🥀🖤Like people paint andre to be super outwardly hateful and openly bullying his peers. but like to an extent i think he was liked. not necessarily popular and not as well recieved as cal, but like according to the website they both had relatively extensive-ish friendgroups

🥀🖤but the only person he’s ever considered a close person to him was cal, so he figured it was just that.

🥀🖤having a super close best friend makes you think about him all the time, makes you memorize his band shirts and typical outfits, makes you get all pink when he pays any kind of overt attention to you whatsoever. nothing out of the ordinary.

🥀🖤As for Cal I feel like he starts feeling that way alot sooner than andre does, but hes just as if not more repressed than he is.

🥀🖤Like i could go on about how cal is horrifically mischaracterized by the fandom but thats another post for another day. but like ppl think he’d be extremely open and okay with his sexuality/be a sassy twink? which like tbh i dont see at all

🥀🖤this dude comes from a religious background in the late 90’s/early aughts. like blud would be so repressed its not even funny

🥀🖤he just doesnt feel like anybody else could understand the kind of hate he had under wraps

🥀🖤But andre did.

[yourtouchismidas]

Ok sorry I just submitted the 🍃 blurb without reading that you were re-opening blurbs for George only, is this for RG verse or other? Because maybe you could do like Gigi phoning George to look after her if she's tried drugs or weed for the first time and is freaking out, because she's too scared to tell her parents.

no worries at all, i'm combining this with your first message and doing something in between!

gigi has been with her friends in the park. they're nice friends, good friends, but she is sixteen and they are all curious. they want to try it. and one of the boys has managed to pick up. one of them is a smoker so he knows how to roll, and then they all sit there staring at the joint like, what do we do now?

"gigi you're dad's a bit of a druggo isnt he?" one of the boys says, "you go first."

"he was," gigi says, hitting him playfully, knowing its a joke. they all love matty, the boys being slightly scared of him, especially the one who fancies gigi and wants to make a move. "but he quit hard stuff ages ago and weed when i was too young to remember really. so i dont fucking know."

eventually, one of them lights it, and they take turns toking, the smoker teaching the others how to make sure they take it back into their lungs. they cough and splutter and laugh, but start to feel the effects of it, heads tingling, thoughts hazing, everything becoming funny. gigi feels that too. until she sees someone across the park looking at them. what does he want. does he know they're high. and underage. is he looking at just her. does she know him.

her whole body goes hot as panic rushes through her. her heart starts beating in her chest. the guy who was staring moves on. but she cant shake it. she looks around at the empty park, terrified someone else is gonna come.

"guys," she manages to whisper, "guys i'm freaking out."

"oh shit," one of her friends says, one of the girls who wasnt really feeling anything, but just pretending to to fit in with the vibe. the others are all laughing. telling her to calm down. saying its fine. she starts breathing heavy and then they take notice. someone gives her a sip of coke for sugar but it doesnt work. her friend tells her when to breathe in and out.

"please call someone," gigi says, in between breaths. her head is swirling.

"your dad?"

"no!" she says quickly, she passes them her phone. "call my uncle please. my uncle george."

george turns up about half an hour later in an SUV, with dark sunglasses on. gigi has calmed down since they called, just feeling better knowing that he was coming. the other kids stare at him, this aging rockstar, and whisper to gigi to ask he will get them in trouble.

"course not. it's why i called george," she says.

he has hopped out the car and is walking over and she walks to meet him. he opens his arms and she falls into them. smelling the comforting smell of his washing powder and cigarettes.

"you okay kiddo?"

"yeah," she says, pulling back and looking at him.

"scared me," he says. then he nods at her friends as a greeting. they all stared, open mouthed, in awe. he still looks effortlessly cool, even nearing fifty, still as much a rockstar as ever.

"i was panicking," she says, "but i'm feeling better now."

"yeah," george says, sticking a cigarette in his mouth, "that will happen. you guys all alright?"

gigi's friends nod and say yes, and thank you, while george bobs his head.

"what you smoked?"

"just weed," one of the boys says.

george laughs, "yeah i know that. i mean kind. and what dealer?"

they shrug. they dont know what kind. they tell him what the dealer looked like.

"oh god," george says, puffing on his smoke, "dont use him. you want weed gus," he turns to gigi, "you come to me okay?"

"really? even with matty..."

"yeah, you need matty's permission first."

gigi rolls her eyes. "he's gonna kill me, george, you know that."

"yeah," george says, "but he's not gonna be happy with me either. so let's go. face him together."

he nods towards the car and gigi waves to her friends and hops in. she giggles when george starts driving, picturing the way her dad is going to yell at her, her mum and shay's concerned looks, the babies clamouring around her asking what weed is and crying that its not fair gigi got some and they didnt.

"what you laughing at?" george says.

"i dont really know, i'm about to get bollocked," she says, spluttering.

"yeah, that'll happen too," george says. soon he is laughing at her laughing. and both of them can't stop.

matty appears at the doorstep after seeing george's car roll up and gigi in the window.

"what's gone on here?" he says. he comes closer and holds gigi's face so he can get a better look at her red eyes.

"skunk," george says, and the two of them both try to hold back laughter.

"george?! you gave my daughter..."

"no no no, not me. sorry. should've been more clear. she did it with her friends and was panicking a little so i picked her up."

matty's eyes widen. he frowns. he's mad. oh he's mad.

"get in the house," he snaps, pointing to the open door behind him.

"right, i'll get going then," george says.

"nope. you too. in," matty says.

"it was gigi who did it," george says, pouting like a child.

"yeah and what good examples i've had," she says, and then her and george both start laughing.

"in. now." matty says. they go. george says as he is passing, "you need to teach her how to pick good stuff." which earns him a slap on the back of the head.

[narcolini]

five and one

rafa x gn!reader, 7598 words, canon typical drug use, hurt/comfort/angst, no happy ending(!!!)

the five times you were his friend, and the one time you weren’t 

a/n: this has been in my docs waiting to be finished for sososo long omg finally the rafito despair is here. enjoy!

taglist: @ashlingiswriting​ @drabbles-mc​ @cositapreciosa​ @hausofmamadas​ @cherixrosa​ @purplesong1028​ @mandaloria314​ @dashavau​ @yeetintomadness @thesandbeneathmytoes​ (as per i have forgotten who wants tagging and who doesnt sorry!)

1

Rafa’s been asking you for weeks. Come smoke, carnale, come on. I have something to show you.

Soon, you told him. I’m busy with school, work, I have to pick my Abuela up from church—I’m the only one who can drive her, remember?

They weren’t made up excuses, even if he thought they might’ve been. You didn’t like it either, having no time for him, but it’s how it went. How it is. He dropped out of school, never made it to college. You did. It gives you different markers now, different structures to shape the friendship around. When you were classmates it was easy, natural: before class, in class, after class. Simple. There you were, there he was. Now, you have to pencil him in like any other obligation.

He isn’t an obligation. You try not to let him feel like one.

‘Finally,’ is how he greets you, when you see him at last.

He’s come to you this time, to the place in the city that you’re sharing with your cousin, and another student on your course. He doesn’t comment on the mess, the mismatched furniture, the dishes, the piles of books and paints across the dining table. He just walks in, bag over his shoulder, then drops into the couch to unpack.

Something to show you, he’d said. Here it is. You’re sitting in the chair opposite, with a weed cutting in your palms, before he’s even bothered to ask about your day.

‘Looks like marijuana,’ you say, lifting the bud to your nose, ‘smells like marijuana.’

‘No, mira.’ He leans forward and reaches to put his fingers over yours, separating the green in front of your eyes. It splits, looks healthy. ‘No seeds,’ he informs.

Your brow arches. ‘None?’

‘None,’ he repeats, ‘never.’

‘It worked?’

‘It worked.’ He grins, all teeth. His hair bounces over his forehead. ‘I’m a genius, no?’

‘Dios mio,’ you laugh, ‘you actually did it, Rafi.’

The pride drips off him, pours over the coffee table between you and lulls at your knees like the tide. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘you knew I would.’

You did, you’re smiling with him. It doesn’t stop you from teasing him about it, though. ‘I thought you’d smoke too many of the samples and forget what you were doing, tonto.’ You pass the cutting back to him. ‘Have you dried any of it yet? How’s it taste?’

‘Ah,’ he sighs, leaning back again, ‘that’s what you’re interested in? You don’t want to know how I got it to work?’

You give a half-shake, no. ‘You’ll tell me even if I don’t.’

He’s explained the idea enough times already, but it never sticks, it doesn’t connect in you, the way it does for him. It’s in one ear, out the other. He’s always been for it, science, statistics, experiments and the answers beneath; you’re one for art. Subjectivity.

Your foot finds his sneaker under the table and gives it a kick. ‘Puedo probarlo, o no?’

His free hand goes into his jean pocket, retrieving the tin that’s never far from his person. It’s made of a rusty, scratched copper, held together with a loose elastic band. He hands it to you without comment.

‘Is this from the first plant?’ you ask, watching him.

He shakes his head, brows pulling together briefly. ‘I wanted to perfect it before I showed you. Primo’s greenhouse is full now. Fifteen plants, como esto.’

The cutting you’d been examining goes down, onto the table, and then he brings another up. He’s brought a complete collection, kept them wrapped in newspaper and cradled until now, when he can finally show them off to you.

‘This was from one of the outside plants,’ he says. ‘I think the pinche güeys next door have their own. They must’ve pollenated my shit, look.’

You hum, acknowledging without really listening, and flip open his tin. A single, pre-rolled joint sits inside.

You flick your eyes across to him. ‘This is it?’

He nods.

‘You’ve already some today, haven’t you?’ You’re smirking as you ask, knowing the answer already.

Rafa laughs, pinching the sound short by biting into his lip. Then he shrugs. ‘What? I had to. I still brought you some, didn’t I?’

‘You’re gonna smoke it all before you make any money off it, Rafa.’

He’s going to get sick of it before anyone else can even try.

‘No, no, Miguel Angel knows what to do, how to take us to the next step.’ He says it confidently, hopefully. His eyes gleam at the thought. A purpose, he must think, direction at last. ‘My job,’ he says proudly, ‘is to make sure the product is good.’

You smile, infected by him, by the excitement glowing off of him. ‘You’re aiming high, then?’ You hum, nodding over the cuttings on the table. ‘The two of you?’

The newspaper crinkles as he rewraps, his eyes down like he’s suddenly humble, shy of it. Scared to admit the dream aloud. ‘Si, es solo el comienzo, sabes?’

Yeah, and it’s long overdue for him. The start and the end, because he’ll never have to invent another thing in the world, if this all goes to plan.

You put the joint between your lips and hold out a hand. ‘Pues,’ you prompt, ‘give me a light. Let me see the future.’

2

He sounds like he’s crying. It could be the line, it could be the fact it’s past three in the morning and you’re tired, barely awake, and he’s tired, barely understandable. It could be that he knows you wouldn’t judge him if he was. But it sounds like he’s crying.

No, he is crying, definitely. He sniffs, loud and wet, then draws in another gasping breath afterwards. Says something else about soil, earth, plants and lying scientists, fucking lying scientists. You blink against the dark, push the heel of your free palm into your eye sockets. Wake up, come on, wake up.

‘Have you tried digging elsewhere?’ you ask, hating that it comes out through a yawn, but you can’t help it. You only fell asleep a couple of hours ago yourself. ‘It has to be there somewhere,’ you add.

‘Yes,’ he rasps, ‘it should be there, the guy, pinche pendejo, he said, he, we have the maps—’

‘Rafa,’ you cut him off, ‘breathe.’ It isn’t a suggestion; he ignores it anyway. Rattles on about hard soil and sore hands still.

You sit upright, phone-cord stretching out of its coil, and hope that it’ll rouse you some more. He isn’t there to look at, but you pretend that he is. Imagine him sitting at the end of your bed, head in his hands, tears streaking down his cheeks. If he was, you’d reach a hand out. Run it along the ridge of his spine and watch him decompress. It’s easier to know what to say to him when you have him there, like that. Even just in your head.

You speak over him again, awake enough to put some force into the question this time. ‘Have you told Miguel?’ They’re partners, brothers. This is what he’s there for. ‘Can’t he help?’ you say, because you can’t, you’re miles away.

‘If I fuck this up,’ Rafa whines, ‘they’ll kill us.’

‘Who will?’

The line crackles. You hear a thunk in you ear like he’s struck the handset against the nearest wall. He has, no doubt, but it holds. The call stays connected and buzzing in your palm.

‘Easy, Rafi.’

You wish he was there, at your feet. You wish you could lean forward and shake his shoulders until he listened to you.

‘The plants are dying,’ he says, once he’s back on his end. ‘If we don’t find it soon.’

He cuts himself off with a groan of frustration, then another thick, ugly sniff, snotty and unpleasant even through the phone. You’ve seen him cry like this before. Once when he left school, once when his mum died.

‘And you’ve tried everything?’ you ask, just to keep him talking, just to distract him. ‘No water at all?’

‘We dug deep.’ He takes another heaving breath and then, on the exhale, when he speaks, he sounds more annoyed than upset. It feels like progress. ‘It’s like pinche steel,’ he says, ‘my arms…I can’t get through anymore. The workers are tired.’

You sigh. He’s sounding like he’s given up. He never gives up.

‘I can’t do it.’

‘You can,’ you insist. ‘You’ve just forgotten to use your brain.’

‘Ay,’ he sucks a hiss through his teeth, ‘el desierto, lo ha matado.’

The Rafa on the end of your bed is pacing now, stood up and tracing lines into your floorboards. Moving helps him think, it always has, the motion forces the idea to catch and roar into life, like starting an engine. You close your eyes and picture it. Another method, you decide, another method, another result.

‘Have you tried blowing it up?’ you ask plainly, still watching the false image of him behind your eyelids.

‘What?’ He laughs without meaning it. ‘Estás loco o qué?’

‘How do they make quarries, Rafa? How do they break through rock?’

You can hear it connect, weirdly, in the silence that follows. Hear the gears click, the brain turn. He takes a breath that stills his lungs properly this time, rather than stuffing them with desperate, needed air, then says your name like you’re a genius. Like you’re him.

‘I haven’t tried that, no.’ His voice lifts, he’s on the edge of smiling. ‘It can’t hurt, right? Una pequeña grenada?’

Now, it’s your turn to relax. He’s not crying anymore, he’s thinking, trying. It’s three in the morning and he’s back to himself again. You fall into the pillows with a sigh.

‘Don’t kill yourself, tonto.’

Don’t blow yourself to pieces for the sake of water, for the sake of Miguel and his precious sinsemilla.

He laughs down the line. ‘I’m dead either way, friend. Better I go with a bang.’

3

You’re a stranger now, as much as he tries to fight it. You don’t fit into the world he’s made for himself, or the one Miguel’s made for him, rather. You walk through his home like a guest, not a friend. You merge with the walls the way the staff does. Another set of footsteps in the mansion, another hand trailed up the banister in wonder.

He sends a car for you, because he can, when he has something to show you these days. Or something to ask, if it strikes him as important. Picks you up with just a warning phone call and a rush of, it’s fine, it won’t take all day. What do you need to go to work for, anyway? I’ve told you already.

He could find a job for you, he says. You could sit by his pool and earn money like it grows, right there, in the flowerbeds. You could live like he does, if you wanted.

No, Rafi, I like what’s mine. I like the quiet.

‘You brought me all this way,’ you say, once you’re standing in his bedroom, ‘to pick an outfit?’

You look at him, then back to the bed—four-poster, ridiculous, like something out of a movie. He’s got three suits laid over it, all matching, all expensive: white and red, blue with stripes, purple. Bright purple. You touch the fabric just to feel it. You’d never own anything this smooth, this well made.

‘I trust you,’ he says, ‘your opinion.’ He fidgets, digs a fingernail into the carved detailing of the bed frame. There’s white under his nostrils, you haven’t missed that, but you haven’t commented on it, either. At least he smells of smoke as well. At least he’s balancing it out.

‘What’s it for?’ you ask, like that’ll help you decide.

‘A girl.’

Your head twitches back to face him, quicker than you’d have liked it to—but, a girl? He’s not mentioned dating since he got fixated on weed, not in any serious way. Not to you.

He’s frowning as you look at him, his own gaze on the suits, like he’s tormented by the choice. Like they’re an equation to unwind. He hasn’t even noticed your reaction yet. ‘She didn’t take me seriously,’ he says, ‘last time. She made fun of my clothes.’

You let him continue. Your brain is still trying to scramble to the point where any of this makes sense.

‘Her father is el Secretario de Educacion.’ He sighs. His hands go to his hips. ‘I want to impress her.’

A new project, you realise, that’s what he’s found. Something he can’t have, something impossible. Something to solve. A drug lord with the daughter of a politician, Dios mio, he picks them well. This will be harder than growing plants with no seed, as dangerous as following Miguel into the dark.

You can’t get away with anymore silence, you have to act invested now, helpful still. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Sofia.’

He’s smiling and he expects you to returns it. You look back to the suits.

‘Sofia,’ you mutter, partnering it with a sigh. ‘Lucky Sofia.’

It’s something he would never do for you. Before today, you wouldn’t have imagined him doing it for anyone. He’s always worn what he liked, always put himself to the world exactly as he is, no apology, no polish. Just him, wild as he came. None of these suits feel like the Rafa you know. Or knew. They’re all the man you haven’t quite caught up to yet. The owner of this absurd pinche mansion.

‘Is she worth all this?’ You point at them lazily. ‘How much did this cost you, tonto?’

‘You sound jealous,’ he says, smiling, trying to pass it off as a joke.  

You shrug. ‘You’re putting a lot of pressure onto one suit.’

If this goes wrong for him, you’ll be back in the car to his house, talking him through the downfall, as always, as he wants, as you oblige. If she laughs at him still, you’ll have to think of something to throw down and bring him back up to Earth.

You pick up the sleeve closest and toy with the cuff of it. ‘I’m trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself,’ you tell him.  

‘Not what is seems like.’

Maybe not, but where’s the issue? You’re worried about the aftermath, the risk of more headaches down the line and, yeah, maybe you’re jealous too. Unlikely as you are to admit it aloud. You’re jealous of him, his success. His house, the clothes, the suits. The money that pours off him. The money he pours onto you in turn. Take it, he says, let me. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, have it. I want you to have it. Why can’t we both enjoy it now that we’re here?

Because it’s not yours, it’s his. He doesn’t get that.

And you’re jealous of Sofia, too. You wish you weren’t but you are. It creeps up to you, the longer you stand here, it crawls up your trouser legs, into your ears along with her name. She caught his eyes, his heart. You got the brain and everything else, but she has a part of him that he never shared with you. Never tried to.

It’s not yours, it’s his. It’s hers.

You’ve always been jealous of concretes, of things without leeway. You never took to it the way he did. Can’t keep yourself in one direction, can’t reach a conclusion and relish in it. He finds his track and runs it, right to the end.

‘You really think she’s special?’ you ask, redirecting him and yourself alike. It does nothing to think about it. What you could’ve had, what you never will. All that matters, is what there is, what you can hold.

‘There’s no-one like her,’ he answers, leaning his shoulder against the bed-post, ‘in all of the world.’

That’s how he is. Passionate. He fixates, he works, he wins. Loves with a tunnel vision that you’ll never understand.

‘The white, then,’ you decide. ‘It suits you.’

His eyes light up, his smile broadens. ‘Yeah? You think she’ll recognise it? Scarface?’

‘She won’t care, Rafa. Eres guapo. Te ves rico.’ And that’s what they like, girls like her. That’s what matters. ‘You be good to her, okay? Treat her right. She’s not someone you should mess around.’

He laughs, then puts his head to the wood. He’s looking at you fondly, through the thick of his lashes, and it itches, makes you drop the sleeve and step back from the bed.

‘You talk like you know her,’ he says.

‘I know you, Rafi. That’s enough.’

4

You didn’t know how bad it had gotten, until he tried to pull himself out of it. You should’ve realised really, or predicted it, should have taken more notice at his parties, should’ve seen the way his logic and rationality had sped up and burnt itself out. How his life had become a cyclone of Sofia, Sofia and drugs and Miguel. Round and round. How little it became about himself, or what he wanted. How close he’d stumbled to the edge without you waiting a step behind.

You heard from him less and didn’t challenge it. You didn’t ask, he didn’t tell, so you lived through the whispers of him. Maybe it’s time, you thought, maybe he’s outgrown you at last. Maybe this is the part where you don’t play catch up.

And then he’d stopped all together. Run out of track and hit the wall behind.

You weren’t there when it happened, you don’t know the details, only that he’d broken up with Sofia, and Miguel had broken up with him, in a way. Snipped ties worse than you had, ones with actual weight. Purpose. Structure that couldn’t afford to be pulled from under him. He lost his fields, you found out, lost his life’s work. Watched the dream collapse in front of him, at the hands of his closest friend.

Like he always did, Rafa saw it as a problem to fix, a cause with a solution that was within his grasp—always within his grasp. So now he was off the coke, too. Cold turkey and rotting from it.

It was Cuco that told you how unwell he was; on a clear day, blue and unfitting of the message, he asked you to come over. Ayudame, he said, I don’t know what else to do.

Tomorrow, you told him, it’s the soonest I can.

Today, when you get there, he looks scared; pale and tired and damp with old sweat.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ you say, and you regret it immediately, because he nods. He agrees. He’s the only one Rafa will let into the room.

‘It’s bad, man,’ he says. ‘Hallucinating and shit.’ He rubs at his neck, inches from the door like he’d been waiting for the excuse to. ‘I only called you because he started saying your name.’

‘Mine?’

‘Yours and Sofia’s,’ he corrects, ‘but he told me…’ He sighs, then shrugs. ‘I’m not allowed to call her.’

‘Entiendo.’ You don’t want more of an explanation. ‘Can I?’ You gesture to the closed door in front of you. They’ve shut him in like a beast, oiled mahogany set firmly between them and him, him and you.

Cuco nods and waves you forward. You can see a warning on his tongue, in the pinch of his brows. When he decides against it, shaking his head instead, you leave him in the hall behind.  

‘Rafa?’

You push the door open, shut it again behind you. The room’s dim despite the light from the high sun, drawn into shade with thin, orange curtains. One of the doors to the balcony is open, its partnering drape curls into the room on the breeze behind. Everything done in an attempt to make the space feel relaxing, unconfined and airy and easy on the eyes, everything done without reward, because Rafa’s not here.  

You scan the room again. The covers are twisted from the bed, half off the mattress and onto the tiled floor beneath. You follow the disarray. Photo frames knocked down and smashed, discarded bowls of untouched food, ash trays that haven’t been emptied. Clothes that have been torn off and left where they fell. It’s a den, a cage. Distress that’s been played out and abandoned afterwards.

The bathroom door’s open, the trail of clothes leading right to it.

‘Rafa?’ you call again, but the shower’s on; he won’t hear you over the water.

You pause a step in from the doorway. The mirrors are fogged, the tiles are wet with condensation. It’s been running long enough to make the room uncomfortable, damp and warm, more of a wet room than the stylised bathroom it was designed to be. Like walking into the overused swamp of a public swimming pool.

Rafa’s stood with his back to you, head under the stream. He’s naked, hair flat and dripping, with his hands against the wall in front. The water’s so hot, that it’s managed to anger the skin over his shoulder blades. The stretch marks up his back, from that growth spurt he had at fifteen, are angry looking, like they’re complaining too.

‘It’s me,’ you say, louder now.

His head lifts weakly. ‘Sofia?’

No, not her, only you.

You take off your coat, your shoes, your socks. Pile them all up on the dry floor behind. For a moment, you consider taking the rest off too, but you’ll try this way first. The shower won’t saturate you completely, if just for a minute.

‘Rafa, you should come out now.’ You’re standing on the edge of the shower basin, a towel from the side clutched in your hands. When he doesn’t move, you put it over your shoulder and reach in for him. ‘No quieres saludarme, amigo?’

He flinches at first, at your palm to his shoulder, then he comes to, peels away from the wall and toward you with ease. Slow, then all at once.

‘Easy,’ you coo, ‘easy.’

You put the towel around him as he turns, lift the edges to dry his face once he finally shows it to you.  

It’s bad, it is. You don’t know enough about withdrawals to know if it’s normal. If he’s supposed to look like this, if it’s part of the process. You don’t know if it’s even the drugs at all, but you know him, and you know this is bad for him. Lights off in the fucking dark.

What if this is him now? What if this is what happened while you were away, and it’s set too deep to be undone?

He looks scared, more than anything. Tired and sickly, yes, but his eyes are wide, and lost, and then welling up as your name falls from his tongue. The recognition at last, the return of the friend you’re used to.

‘You have to help me,’ he says, ‘I can’t do it, I can’t.’

‘I know. I know.’ You step back with him, holding the ends of the towel close under his chin. ‘Let’s get you dry, hm? Get you dressed, get something to eat.’ That first, that for now.

‘I miss her,’ he rushes, urgent like you had to hear it. ‘Sofia, I have to see her.’

‘Okay,’ you tell him. ‘Okay, we’ll call her.’

It might be a lie, a false promise. You haven’t decided what’s right yet. What’ll help and what’ll make it worse. You just have to get him out of this foggy room, out of the towel and into something comfortable and warm.

‘I miss you,’ he says, in the same way. Desperate, quick, like he’s only got a few words left to give. ‘You know that, right? I miss you, too.’

You pause. Nod. If he was his usual self, he’d see right through the gesture, know that you were lying; saying yes just to say yes. But his teeth are chattering now. His eyes focus—in and out—on you, desperately. His hands layer over yours and the corners of the towel.

‘You won’t leave again?’ he asks, shaking the two of you. ‘You’ll stay until I’m better?’

‘Yeah,’ you tell him, because it’s true for now, even if his better is worse than he’s ever been before. ‘Yeah, I’ll stay as long as you need me, Rafi.’

5

He never comes to your house. He never comes to your house. So why is he here now? Pounding on your door and peppering the button until the bell can’t complete a full ring anymore. It just spits out one shrill note, over and over. You’re there within the first couple minutes of his assault, and he’s acting like you’re late still, like you’ve kept him waiting. He doesn’t even let you say hello first, but pushes past you into the hall instead, like there’s a dog going for his heels. Nipping the tendons.

‘Jesus, Rafa,’ you scold, shutting the door behind him. ‘You forget your manners, cabrón?’

When you turn, he’s wild looking, eyes big and pupils swollen. High, you assume. He grabs your hands before you can comment on it. Both of them together, pinned into his damp palms.

‘What are you…’

‘I need you to trust me,’ he says. ‘No questions, okay?’

You take him in again. He’s erratic, fidgety, his shirt is done incorrectly—one button left at the bottom, one side longer than the other. So, he’s dressed in a hurry, driven in a hurry. Rushed to your door with an urgency you can’t grasp onto yet; it slips through your fingers, like him, like what you had. Scatters in the hallway like dropped ball-bearings. You can’t catch him like you used to.

‘Did something happen?’ you ask, bringing your gaze back to his face. ‘Are you in danger?’

‘No,’ he answers, too quick, all breath. His head shakes. ‘No, no, we just have to go away for a while.’ A smile. White teeth and false promise. ‘Okay?’

Not in danger yet, he means. Not if he’s fast enough.

‘We?’ You take a step back, pulling your hands free with a struggle, and he follows; you turn, head into the living room, and he tracks behind you still. ‘Rafa, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done, but—’

‘Me and Sofia will go first,’ he says over you, ‘then I want you to come. Okay? Te necesito demasiado para—’

And now you cut him off, turning back to him quickly. ‘Me? Me come with you?’

He nods, hair bouncing.

‘Come on, Rafi.’

‘Why not? Only for a while.’

‘Do you even realise what you’re asking?’ you ask, pointing a finger to his chest, pad to the stitching across his shirt. Spirals over the collarbone. ‘Have you actually stopped to think? I have a job, Rafa, a life. I’m not involved in your,’ your search for the word, the title of all his erratic decisions: adventures, war, ‘bullshit.’ Yeah, that fits.

‘Why?’ he asks, as he always does. Why won’t you let me help you? Why can’t I share this with you? ‘This isn’t like the other times,’ he adds. ‘It’s. It’s.’

‘Life or death?’

He scoffs, too dramatic to be natural, or innocent, then turns away to hide from the fact. Trying to compose himself, no doubt. Plan another lie. He thinks you don’t see the warning signs, the flaming lights behind his eyes. ‘No, just,’ he winds back to you, ‘please. You can’t trust me?’

You puff a hot breath out of your nose and allow the moment to still before trying again.

‘Have you planned any part of this, or did you do too much coke and come here on a whim?’ you ask evenly. You’re not judging him, but you have to know. Fear or drugs. It’s one of the two. You stare at him afterwards, waiting for an answer.

Then he looks down, and you look down, and you see that he’s brought a set of tickets from somewhere, clutched in his hand now, and is waiting to present them to you.

‘No mames, Rafi.’ You laugh flatly, head shaking as you take a step back, like the space will make your message clearer. ‘You thought you could show up with tickets and I’d leave? Just like that? Leave everything and follow you to,’ you pull his wrist up to read, ‘Costa Rica?’

He hesitates, chews the words into his bottom lip before admitting, ‘Well, yeah. It’s all paid for, carnale.’

You scoff.

‘You only have to get on the plane.’

Just get in the car, just come to the house, just pick up the phone. You roll your eyes and push the tickets back into his stomach. It’s too much, this time. This is something he can fix for himself. Whatever it is doesn’t have to involve you for once. ‘I’m not going,’ you tell him.

He catches your arm before you can turn. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says, and the break in his voice is enough to make you wait. ‘It’s important. Serious. I have to leave for a bit.’

‘Why?’

His chin twitches. You don’t need to know.

‘And Sofia…?’

‘She wants to come with me,’ he answers. ‘And I want you to come too, once it’s safe.’

You eye him. He’s smart still, it’s always in there, under all the shit, so there must be a logic to it. There must be some formula he’s got in mind, right? You just aren’t seeing it. You aren’t built the way he is. ‘For how long?’ you ask.

He laughs, shrugging. ‘As long as you want. About time you had a vacation, no?’

But that’s not the point, is it, primo?

‘I don’t like this, Rafa. This, this shit.’ You shake your head, force a deep breath. You can’t be considering this, you can’t. ‘It’s not me,’ you argue, it’s not you. ‘This is too far.’

‘I know, I know.’ His hands come up again, fussing. The tickets bend as he takes you by the shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

But what are you even agreeing to? What does he need you for, when he’d have Sofia with him already? Why would you go if he was going to—

‘You aren’t coming back, are you?’ It comes out as you realise it. He wants you to follow him there, because he might never come back, he might not be able to. ‘Is that it?’

You watch his gaze drop, his chin lower. His stomach pouches slightly as he slackens with the confession. No hiding now, Rafi.

‘Yeah,’ he admits, before pushing a palm into the front of his hair, fingers scraping, ‘maybe. I don’t know how it will go.’

And now the dread’s setting in. Rooting in your heels, the back of your neck. Things have never been this way before, not even close. ‘You know I can’t follow you, right?’ you say quietly. ‘Even if I come, for a little while, I can’t run with you forever.’

He nods, slight enough that you almost miss it. ‘I know.’

‘And if I do come, you can’t ask me again. To follow you. You can’t expect it of me.’

‘Yes.’ A step toward you. ‘Of course, entiendo.’

You’re losing the fight to deny him. He said two weeks until you go, más o menos, so you have time to sort something with work, if you want to. And what’s two weeks in Costa Rica after that, even if it is a goodbye? There are worse places for this to meet its end. One final time, you could show out for him just one final time, and then put it to bed. No more friendship, no more relying on you to pile up the bricks again. If he can’t come home afterwards, then you will, alone, and he’ll be free to take on the world. All by himself. Just as he wanted to.

‘Promise you’ll pick up if I ring?’ he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes. He’s sincere, pleading almost. He needs it, he needs you.

You nod.

‘And that you’ll meet me there.’ He taps the tickets you still haven’t taken from him. ‘Two weeks from now. We’ll meet you at the airport, okay?’

‘What if they find out where you are?’

A laugh you don’t like twitches out of him; he isn’t taking it seriously. He doesn’t realise how easy it is to fall yet, how close he is to the sun. ‘They won’t,’ he says. ‘Why would they? I’m nobody out there.’

He’s never been nobody anywhere. Even before all this shit.

‘They’ll think we’re on our honeymoon,’ he goes on, ‘and then me and you, and Sofia, we’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere new.’

‘And then I’ll come home,’ you add. He’s already talking like he’s forgotten, like he thinks you’ll follow him across the globe, one step behind as always. ‘And you will too, if you can,’ you prompt.

He nods, quick and unconvincing. ‘Por supuesto. Just as you say.’

You don’t believe him any more than he believes it himself.

6

‘Your pockets,’ the man instructs, without even looking at you. He’s looking over you, past your shoulder. Waiting for you to empty what’s in your jacket without so much of a hint that he’s talking to you in the first place. ‘Into the tray.’

You scoop out your car keys, your lighter. The cinema ticket from a couple weeks ago. Put them all into the plastic tray on the low counter beside you, obliging because there’s no choice. When you stand straight again, he mimes for you to put your arms up and out, so you do, and then begins to pat you down, all without really looking at you still. Eyes always elsewhere, head always titled slightly away, like he’s bored. Kind of like he hates to even be near you. He pats along your arms, then under them, over your chest and down your sides, over the jeans, your thighs—

‘Clear.’

You wait. Arms out still. He steps back.

‘Can I…?’

His head bobs up and down, a forced nod, as he grabs the tray of your things and pushes it toward you. You just about catch it before he lets go and steps around to face the person waiting behind you. His next unfortunate victim, good luck to them.

Why you agreed to this, you don’t know. Well, of course you fucking do, because that’s how it goes every time, isn’t it? Rafa calls, you come. Rafa needs help, you save the day. Rafa gets himself fucking arrested, and here you are, going through security in the mangiest looking prison you’ve ever seen, and never thought you’d step into, getting patted down for entry by a guard who looks like he’d spray you down with bleach if he wasn’t on camera. Just because you’re here, and someone you love is in there, waiting behind the bars. The association alone is more than enough for him to judge you.

And maybe he’s right to. Maybe everyone worth something would be smart enough to say no to this.

You never made it to Costa Rica, he got caught before he even had the chance to ring and give the all clear. The tickets are on your bedside still. Not that you’d even decided to use them; you were waiting for the call, to see what your gut would say once the exact moment of it came, and then it never did. And you watched the arrest on the news until your gut said to turn it off, so you listened then, instead.

They got Sofia too, and she sold him out like the criminal he is, without hesitation, confirmed his name without even weighing the options—you know, because that’s what he told you on that first call he was allowed. No hi, no apology. He spoke for two minutes before you even opened your mouth.

I’d have done the same, you said to him. Lying would’ve made it worse.

Not for him, of course. He’d reached the end of that rope. It would’ve made things worse for her, tagged her into the downfall alongside him, so it’s good that she avoided it. She stands a better chance of a future having done it.

She probably told them where I was in the first place, he said, though he didn’t mean it. It was all anger. Hurt. Liquid regret pouring through the handset. No-one knew we were there, carnale. Fucking no-one.

But it could only ever have been him that got himself into something like this. It was, every time, it was. He made every decision that led him to this moment, to this place. To this dingy visitors room with indoor picnic tables, and steel hoops for cuffs to be attached in the centre of them.

I’ll come see you, you said and you left it at that. The rest has to be done in person. You at least owe him that mercy, after everything. You’ll look him in the eye to say it.

In the doorway, you’re greeted by a less indifferent guard. He sits his clipboard on his curving stomach and asks for the prisoners name, looking at you, then your name, still looking at you, then ticks you both off and nods for you to continue into the room. He even smiles as he does, just a bit. It’s in the corners of his mouth as a gesture of goodwill.

You thought that maybe you’d have to search for him, but it mustn’t be a busy day for visitors. There’s a full table to your right, father, mother, kids. Food unwrapped and shared over the top of it. A couple are huddled over another in the far corner, as close to kissing as you assume they’re allowed, hands locked, noses tip to tip.

And then there’s Rafa, right in the middle.

He’s looking at you already, facing the door, expectant. He’s smiling so big that you catch onto it immediately, unintentionally. You shoot your own smile back at him before remembering why you’re here in the first place. It wasn’t the plan to come in like this was any other, normal reunion, like you’re seeing him after an impromptu vacation. The plan, was to be a friend to yourself, for once. You set your mouth back into the line firm you’d practiced with.

‘You look well,’ you admit, as you sit across from him. ‘Was expecting you to look like shit, Rafi.’

He laughs, unfazed, and goes with rattling wrists to hold your hands briefly. ‘I’ve been counting down the hours, carnale.’

You watch his hands over yours. The cuffs on his wrists, the chain between them and the hoop on the table that they’re welded to. This is the first time ever, really, that he’s been pinned down in one place, trapped with nowhere to go. The first problem he’s faced that he can’t think his way out of. It’s as unbecoming of him as you’d expect it to be.

‘I can’t stay long,’ you tell him.  

‘It’s okay, I don’t mind.’ He’s smiling still, shaking his head likes it’s nothing. ‘I’ve been going fucking crazy in here,’ he says, ‘not even Neto wants to talk to me.’

‘Neto’s here too?’

You’ve met him before, of course. He isn’t a character you can forget easily.

Rafa nods. ‘They’ve separated us now.’

‘Why?’

‘Ahh…’ he sucks a breath through his teeth, winds his head away then back again, ‘es basura, he hates me, or something. Told the guards I’d kill him in his sleep.’

You raise a brow, a would you? brow. He just laughs.

‘Pinche viejo is paranoid,’ he explains. ‘Wants this place to be his kingdom.’

‘And you can’t have a kingdom with two kings, right?’

When he laughs this time, you join him, and again, for a minute, you forget what you’re here for. You let it stand. Just us, for a moment longer, Rafi. Peace before the storm.

He sighs on the come down, lifting his hands until the chain is taut. ‘Pues, qué clase de rey es esto, hm? Si Mama pudiera verme ahora.’

You nudge him under the table, your sneaker against his prison-issued pants. ‘She’d tell the guards they aren’t feeding you enough, flaco.’

A smile, another in return. Time to get it over with. He doesn’t know it—or maybe he does, maybe he’s always known—but he’s sanding back your conviction, as usual, one grin at a time.

‘Mira, I should tell you, Rafi.’ You cough, then look down to fiddle with the already scratched skin by your nail-bed. Say it. Say it. ‘I won’t come again.’ There.

‘What?’

‘After today…’

Your throat dries. You’d rehearsed it in the mirror; it wasn’t the same as speaking over the table in front of you. Honestly, you’d hoped you would at least have some glass between, you were counting on it, even. Something for his reaction to bounce off. Instead, it strikes you directly now, clear and targeted, hurt from his face right onto yours.

‘I won’t visit you,’ you manage. ‘Anymore.’

The tourists in the cantina, the university professor. The fucking DEA agent. How did you overlook all of that? The cocaine, Sofia, fleeing to Costa Rica. He’s been souring since he’d swapped you for Miguel, himself for the business. Been gone before you’d even realised. You’ve spent all this time trying to stitch him back together, keep the body whole, keep the motor running, and he was already a ghost. Gone through the fucking cracks. You were just too sentimental to see it, too loyal to the kid you’d met at the end of the street.

‘You won’t see me after this,’ you reiterate. ‘I should have done it a long time ago, but this is it, Rafi, this is where I get off.’

No more phone calls, no more cars sent for you. No more advice on things you had no right to be speaking on in the first place. This, is where you draw the line. You can’t put everything on hold and wait for him now. There’s a life for you outside of him. Outside of this.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ he says again, as dumbstruck as the first time. ‘Why?’ He leans forward and there’s a lingering smile behind his voice, an edge of disbelief. ‘It’s over now, I’m done.’ He thinks he’s invincible still, even at the end.

‘It’s always been about you, Rafa,’ you push, looking at the table instead of his hope, ‘every time, it’s all about you. I can’t do it anymore. I have to…’

He goes for your hands but you pull away. It doesn’t deter him. ‘You finally have me back,’ he says. ‘After I’m out, we do whatever you want, okay? No more shit.’

You shake your head. ‘I won’t wait, Rafa.’

He laughs, a hollow, limp sound. ‘It’s not like I’m asking you sit around doing nothing, carnale. Come on, you can’t spare a few hours a week to see your oldest friend?’

The silence can answer him this time. You let it work through the gaps, dowsing the humour he’s clinging to.

‘What?’ he continues, sounding anxious now. ‘You want to get married and move away, or something?’

‘Rafa…'

It’s starting to sink in. You can’t look at him, can’t watch it turn over in his head. The corners of his mouth dropping, the pinch of his brows. You can’t look. False woodgrain in the plastic table. His shoulders. His eyes. The chains between his wrists clatter as his arms go slack.

‘You won’t even call?’ he asks.

‘No.’

Maybe. Maybe on birthdays.

‘I shouldn’t,’ you tell him. ‘It’s better this way.’

He scoffs. It’s a sour enough sound to make you wince. ‘For who?’ he asks. ‘I need you in here, I’ll go crazy, I’ll—’

‘For me, Rafa.’ That’s the point, the whole point, and still he doesn’t get it. ‘It’s better for me, and I have to do it.’

And he has to let you. He said he wouldn’t ask again, wouldn’t expect you to follow him everywhere he went. Just because he’s stuck in one place now, doest mean you have to be too. One of you deserves a win, right? You won’t serve time on his behalf.

‘I’m sorry.’ You say it to the side of his face because he isn’t looking at you, won’t look at you. ‘Maybe something will…’ No, you stop yourself, put the wheel straight again. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve said something earlier. Long ago. I shouldn’t have waited until now.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You never let me—’

‘Well, if it’s my fault,’ he shrugs, ‘what else is there to talk about.’ He spares a moment to flick his eyes in your direction—and they betray him. Show the child behind the face. ‘Go,’ he says to the wall again, ‘you don’t want to be here.’

You don’t, and if this is how he wants to be, then fine, conversation over. Cloth cut from the body at last.

When you stand, he’s looking away still, with his forearms crossed over the table—awkward, but it’s what the cuffs allow—and you won’t say goodbye to the cheek of him, so you don’t say anything else at all.

You’ve found your track, now it’s time to run it, right to the end. Just like he would.

[dissectedgrrl]

okay so a while ago i mentioned a the good place rtc au

n so i finally made one :D

keep in mind this is j kind of a rough idea thing so not every detail is there but here are my ideas !! this also includes some headcanons for the characters so dont mind certain parts

------------------------

so it kind of follows the same plot as the show

karnak is like michael and he tells the choir where they are, what happened, etc

he got their names right + the fact that they were the choir n referred to as "the six saints" in the news

but he got their personalities mixed up with other students

he thinks they volunteered, helped out a lot of people, etc.

he doesnt know about mischa stealing wine, ocean bullying literally everyone, etc

but the choir knows its all wrong n have to find out what went wrong, how to get out, etc (just everything eleanor went thru)

------------------------

cast of characters :

Ocean O'Connell Rosenburg

she/her , lesbiaB, learning 2 languages, can speak 5

Ocean is in COMPLETE denial that she doesnt belong in the good place. i mean why wouldn't she ? shes ocean o'connell rosenburg. shes perfect. shes supposed to be here.

she tries to remain as perfect as possible while in the good place

she keeps calling karnak "god" no matter how many times he tells her there is no god in the good place. sometimes she does it on accident

the soulmate she got matched up with is constance

^ when she was told that she blurted out "WHAT ? WE ONLY KISSED ONCE !!!!" and everyone just kind of . . . . stared at her

most likely says the "all neutral people should go to Cincinnati" joke

Constance Blackwood

she/her, bilingual and bisexual

Constance doesn't want to leave the good place but she knows it isnt right for her to stay

she loves ocean, but being her soulmate takes a lot of patience (that constance sometimes doesnt have)

she got SO excited about the free froyo flavors

"mmm . . . . warm laundry flavor 😍"

when ocean said the kissing thing constance was j kinda like "🧍"

Savannah

("jane doe")

she/they/it, pan demisexual demiromantic (i swear im not projecting 😭 /srs)

i have a lot to say abt her 💀

since she doesnt know who she really is she tries to learn as much as she can in the good place

^ she always has a "why" to ask n gets frustrated if she cant figure something out

^ it LOVES learning

^ whenever something interests them they get really excited

karnak gave them their doll n when they asked why all he said was "shes nice"

^ ever since then shes LOVED dolls n just toys in general

its favorite thing to learn about is toys

it has a lot of toys n keep all of them in a toy chest

when she learned she could eat food she just didnt stop 😭

^ they LOVE food but their cooking skills arent the best . . . .

^ its favorite savory food is pizza. dont ask why they just like it . . . . all kinds of pizza too

she really really likes music as well

^ favorite artists are frank sinatra and edith piaf !!

its soulmate is ricky

^ she LOVES him like theyre so close (i havent decided if theyre gonna be platonic, romantic, or both, but for now lets j say theyre best friends !!)

^ her and rickys relationship kind of confuses her bc all the other souldmates kiss n hold hands n what not but her n ricky just kind of . . . . watch star trek and talk about their interests together

they HATE being photographed and recorded, the smell of smoke, big rollercoasters, and anything people use to smoke (weed especially)

it hates being called creepy and having people afraid of her

shes really nice and smart but no one (expect ricky n the rest of the choir) rlly gives them a chance :/

Mischa Bachinski

he/him, bi, speaks same languages as he does in canon universe

soulmate is noel

he loves music (we all know this) and listens to any recommendation he gets

has to try and keep calm while in the good place so no one gets suspicious

his weakness is animals . . . . show him a rabbit n he will cry istg

^ hes a dog person but tries to hid it bc noel prefers cats

he doesnt rlly like sweets but hes okay w the free froyo (only SPECIFIC flavors tho)

he asked karnak if his mom was also in the good place, but didnt get a straight answer, but karnak hinted at a yes

^ his goal is to find his mom while he has time in the good place

^ hes doing everything he can to find her and is convinced he gets closer every day

Noel Gruber

he/she, gay (and maybe bigender or genderfluid ? idk yet), speaks english n french

he rlly likes black coffee like . . . . a lot

^ mischa says he hates coffee, but hes never tried it so noel is determined to make him drink it

noel sees the good place as a second chance at life

^ she hopes to get to live out her monique dreams here

secretly hates mischa's music taste 💀

noel introduced jane to edith piaf !

Ricky Potts

he/they, pan + trans demiboy, can speak english n pig latin (when jane asked why he just said "itsyay ustjay oremay unfay anthay englishyay !")

he loves living with jane because he gets to ramble n he gets to hear her ramble as well

^ him n jane have cats ! :D

^ every other saturday night ricky n jane watch spiderman movies while eating pizza. they look forward to that saturday every week !

he actually CAN cook

he claims he doesnt have a favorite cat but Captain Butterscotch is always with him . . . . suspicious

one of their favorite pastimes is looking out the telescope thats in their backyard at night

^ he likes to name stars (even if they already have names)

------------------------

okay thats all i got so far ! if you have any suggestions or anything feel free to tell me ! srry if there are any spelling errors i wrote this down so fast bc i had to get these idea out or else i would implode 💔

[4thenookie]

You said you wanted some headcanons, so here are some of mine

-I reckon Bens definitely a stoner, I reckon he'd probably like drugs like LSD -I reckon that Ben also mainly likes the story side of the video games he tends to like -I dont think Liu is really evil, I think that he forced his anger at his brother down, and it festered and became that Sully guy, so Sully hates Jeff and Liu doesnt - I think Sally fakes sweetness, but she's actually incredibly ruthless and manipulative -Ben probably likes playing idiot pranks on everyone and would like incredibly dirty jokes (he's said to have died at 12, probably in the first grade of high school, so he's probably stuck in the mindset of around that age, and from my expierience thats what 7ers are like) -Jeff and Ben would be best friends, and probably tease the hell out of each other -Ben just gives me... british vibes. I reckon he's british. -Also I reckon Ben would be pansexual, he doesnt seem like the type to care about gender. Sully too. -Oh, but i reckon Liu refuses to date because of the crap that happened when his old gf, so he simply doesnt do anything. -I think Sully loved their gf too, but he completely flipped, and now he's just a horny asshole screwing everyone he can. But generally not the other creepypastas, I think he goes to clubs and picks up girls or boys, spends a night with them and breaks their heart. In fact, sadistic horny asshole. -I reckon Ben does the same most of the time. I also reckon he kinda looks up to Sully and has some sort of crush (well the kind of platonic one, like he worships the guy) but he doesnt tell Jeff, because like... Sully hates his guts Thats all I can think of rn! I hope you like them!

hello!!!! these are so so real thank you for sharing them with me :)

stoner BEN is so real, idk why but it makes so much sense lol

his room probably smells like weed n stuff 24/7

as for his taste in video games i actually agree that hed prefer story based ones!! i hc that video games are mre of a chill hobby for him and he doesnt love when its competitive (jeff does tho bc he thinks everythings a competition lmao)

i totally agree about liu when you say its more sully that hates jeff rather than him, i think that liu misses their bond and wants to reconnect someday but sully doesnt want that to happen in case it goes wrong again

OMG EVIL SALLY YES!!!!! i completely agree i think shes a bit like a poltergeist and her favourite hobby is throwing shit around and running down the halls giggling at night

lmaooo that's so true about BEN he basically speaks in memes

BEN and jeff being friends is so real!! theyd have a 'everyone can make fun you, especially me' friendship lmao

i reckon ej is british too! but which part of britain would they be from..

BEN and sully being pan is very real!!! for sully any hole is a goal lmaooo

i reckon BEN wants to spend more time around sully but he cant bc of jeff or something along those lines

i hope you dont mind me adding my own thoughts!!! thank you for sharing your headcanons with me <3

[inkybinkyboink]

dude getting high with nacho and lalo

whoever grinds the weed depends on who's weed it is

lalo rolls better blunts but nacho rolls better spliffs

nachos a sativa girlie, lalo likes indica more

they're both like opposites? nacho is so grumpy and lalos like a hyper-self aware child so I feel like the strains would bring them both down to earth a little.

lalo. food. lalo..food...

nacho consistently uses up all the hot water taking showers

nacho! is! so! nice! and friendly!! he would stay on the couch and get clingy but it's ok bc he's just sleepy and ahhh

lalo gets so fucking tired. he started talking gibberish spanglish

they are so comfy and smell so good

nacho asks if you want another hit and shotguns smoke into your mouth.

lalo does too and every time he does he tugs your hair a little bit.

lalo runs so warm...it's so bad...

he gets hungry a lot but he cooks all his own food so he'll get to the kitchen and forget what he's doing.

it usually just ends with nacho buying pizza and him and lalo bickering about how it's just as good as homemade pizza.

when he's not stoned nachos really on top of taking care of others. he's there to hand out cups of water or talk you through a bad high.

if you're all high is lalo who's like the equivalent of a big brother giving their kid sibling alcohol but with the intent of calming them down. so it's not ideal but he's very nice to take weed naps with and he'll talk you through anything at all.

hey dont drive high but lalo does because you guys. really...really...wanted chicken nuggets. 

bro

bro

bro

showing up at los pollos 

and gus is like

“dude what the fuck we just resolved a bunch of shit”

and “no im not here for that, im here for that sweet sweet chicken, broski”

he is so confused

okokok i feel like nacho doesnt smoke inside. he always makes guests go outdoors. 

so picture: you, nacho and lalo outside at like 1 in the morning going for another smoke break. it’s like, 1 degree celcius. shivering, shaking. the works. lalo’s the only one calm enough to cup a face and light a blunt. 

lalo clapping you or nacho on the back when you cough too hard

sometimes nacho turns off the porch lights and you’ll just lay on the ground and stare up at the stars

like theyre both insane babygirls and granted this may be slightly ooc but honestly i dont care, i would smoke up with them. 100%

[daddyd0nt]

SO apparently my old diagnosis of DDNOES isnt used anymore and I would be considered OSDD so I just thought that I (we?) would say a little hello to the community.  I AM professionally diagnosed and my new therapist thinks it might help me a little bit to actually acknowledge my alters instead of my last therapists advice which was not to give in to it.  

Sarah is my adult fronter (Im 30 but I feel like shes more 21-25 which is around the age i detransitioned).  She is very sexual, likes to dress in lingerie (specifically babydoll style), the only one in the system who responds positively to male sexual attention, the only one in the system who masterbates (sorry if that is TMI).  She is also the only one in the system with the ability to do makeup.  She loves VC Andrews and poetry and fancy smelling soap.  Her favorite music is stuff like Xiu Xiu, The Mountain Goats, radiohead, Nicole Dollanganger, Ginger Bronson, and Hole.  She does non-contact online sex work and is a bit of a compulsive spender.   She collects Precious Moments figurines. We are all autistic but Sarah is the highest functioning.  Sarah is recovering from EDNOES/Bulimia/Atypical Anorexia.  She likes benzos, opiates, and ecstasy and is my most social alter.  She has a slight southern accent.

My second alter is Syd.  Syd identifies as male and is roughly 15 years old.  He likes rough sex, is a recovering cutter, is an insufferable edgelord who is fascinated by gore and autistically into horror.  He holds most of my wrath toward the world.  He’s my second most common fronting alter.  He likes MCR, The Used, Smashing Pumpkins, and Three Days Grace.  He loves to read splatterpunk and transgressive fiction.  He is a reckless drug user and will get high on anything from benadryl to cough medication to the air in the whipped cream can and is a compulsive stoner.  His preferred high is psychedelic.  He prefers the company of other boys and doesnt have a lot in common with most girls.  He is very dysphoric about his chest and the most likely to get caught up in drama and discourse because he doesnt separate negative and positive attention.  He collects horror merch.  He has the most severe case of BPD and NPD out of the system members and also has the most noticeable tic (sharply exhaling through the nose).  He uses a lot of slang circa-2011 and has the strongest eastern accent out of the three.

My most common fronting alter and also my lowest functioning is Ash, my “little” (age 2-5).  She loves to color, likes early Melanie Martinez, collects squishmellows, and is terrified of “mushy” textures.  She is very emotionally dependent on our partner and gets severe separation anxiety.  She is the most capable of caring for children out of the three because she understands their needs, being a child herself.  She is a severe trauma holder with CPTSD and often nonverbal.  She is completely asexual and terrified of male attention.  She is friendly to everybody to a fault and easily manipulated by false kindness.  She is the only one in the system without body dysmorphia.  She likes weed because it makes the overstimulation calm down a little bit and did NOT like acid when i did it while she was fronting.  She is obsessed with receiving praise from authority.  She enjoys more lighthearted media like comedy and eats too much candy.  She has a higher pitched voice than the other two.  

I sometimes dissociate to a robot/void state when overstimulated but I slip between alters with little to no interruption or chunks of missing time (well that may or may not be true i have a very bad memory) and have some control over “who” is fronting its not completely involuntary (like i can push Syd and Sarah down if they try to front at work) but my therapist was pretty confident in the diagnosis.  So thats pretty much it, Im open to more questions if anybody has any but that is pretty much “us”.  

[gikairan]

Boy it sure is fun to see Building Drama that you are just... not aware of.....

I mean i feel this is all par for the course in living in an apartment building. Especially as this is a pretty mixed building - theres people who own outright, people who own a % (like myself) and i think people renting here. I know this was outlined in a document i was given, but im not sure which one anymore. I also think theres specific units for social rent, not private rent. So, council flats basically.

And i dont want to sound like i've got anything against the social rent scheme - its important, and theres nowhere near enough of it. Unfortunately, theres... a bit of a stigma against people on the scheme. It tends to attract some of the less-savoury members of society. Theres a looot to talk about on this issue full stop, and i dont want to dive to deep into it. But poverty makes you more likely to be involved in crime, drugs etc, develop mental health issues etc etc. tl;dr poverty sucks, and is just generally very bad for you.

So the buildings got people who own 100%, own some %, and some who were possibly put here by the council. This is... maybe not the best idea? You've got people whose literal wealth is tied up in this building, and people who... have pretty much no stake at all.

Most of what i see of anyone is... their contributions to the bin room. Its... just.... a travesty. Like, the recycling literally says "no plastic bags" and yet the council are constantly refusing to collect them because theres plastic bags (filled with recycling) inside. The standard waste bins... people only seem to want to fill the handful that are nearest the doors. Once theyre full up, they just... start piling their bin bags on top. ... Despite the ones on the other side of the room being half-full at best. Sometimes, they use the floor! Last week there was half a pizza just on the ground! :D Do people want rats? Because this is how we get rats.

Then theres also... one guy on my floor. Now, i live right at the end. I go past everyones doors to get out, but no one has any reason to go to mine. I share a wall with no one. I dont interact with anyone. I'm far removed from any nonsense that might happen. But one thing i do know Floor smells like weed most of the time. And look - dont care. Think it should be legalised and taxed. Have worked with massive stoners my entire professional life. But the problem is that this guy is clearly inviting some unsavoury elements to the building? Not by virtue of simply smoking in his own flat (fine), but apparently drug dealing in the garage??

And how do i know this? Well another neighbour went and stuck up some letters to other residents in communal areas of the building about the buildings issues of course! :D

Including mentioning the drug deals in the garage (Among other things, some the issue of the housing association)

Today i find out one was posted in the lift, not just the one i saw in the front foyer while returning from a day in the office. Now i dont usually use the lift because i live on the first floor. I just... use the stairs... So how did i find out this was in the lift? Well, because the lift was open when i walked past. No one in it. The doors were just... stuck open. Did see some kind of cable sticking out of the side so uh... thats not great, dont want to see that. (As i returned upstairs i wanted to see what kind of connection it was and it... fell down... as i was looking... no idea what it was but id guess introduced to jam the doors somehow)

But the lift one also had... contributions from other residents. Including giving this persons door number. He doesnt live alone, btw. There is a partner in there, and also probably a kid? This guy is.... actually the only person ive had a conversation with, and i know hes mentioned a kid. Never seen the partner, btw, or kid. Partners written on the paper "dont give away peoples door numbers, my daughter lives here" And someone responded to that with "dont lie, its just your drug dealing boyfriend. I saw him smash up the sign downstairs" (Sure enough, the sign downstairs turned out to be broken when i got there) and just, oh boy oh howdy what the hell is going on here.... Im just minding my own business as one person seems to be shady, a bunch of other people are not pleased, and the shady guy is maybe going around breaking stuff because of it.... 🙃

And like, i dont know if this person owns or rents. Literally cant remember what file all this info was in, and if it said what flat counted under what scheme. I dont know if anything can be done to get rid of him, especially if he owns. Does someone deserve to be kicked out because theyre causing problems? IDK! But kinda sucks to have someone causing problems, and a bunch of people pissed off at them, while i sit in my little quiet corner and get whiplash when i go to throw my bins out....

[everythings-whithering]

Trying not to make people feel bad is hard

[jdsmineralwater]

so i want to jump on the mom friend mischa trend and give my two cents so here are my mom friend mischa headcannons:

only the choir get to hate ocean. if anyone else is heard badmouthing her then mischa is on it

im talking full on scraps in the alley behind the school but come on theres no competition

mischa wins

sometimes if hes there when it happens he just dives straight into action

and god forbid hes with ricky or noel when it happens

ricky will willingly give up a crutch and lean on the wall while mischa beats the person up with it until theyre lying on the ground and/or ricky needs to get to class and might want his crutch.

noel is almost as defensive over being the only person to mock ocean as mischa is, and worse, mischa wants to impress him

so imagine mischa bachinski actually trying while beating you up

yea thats what i thought

moving aside from ocean he'll fight anyone who comes close to the other members of the choir

his basement is always free to anyone who needs it

he always has a change of clothes and first aid stuff for those who need it

tell me he doesnt carry one of oceans inhalers at all times

ocean goes to his house before school everyday to shower so she doesnt smell like weed

so does penny

oh god does mischa get defensive over penny

like woah hes got everything she might possibly need

ocean: hey mischa-

mischa: nope

penny: i want taco bell

mischa: already on it

he has noel on speed dial for that

honestly penny doesnt even really like taco bell she just likes watching noel run from the mall to wherever mischa called from

penny doesnt even really need defending at this point mischas scared everyone off

wow that got long, lol.