#to replace the old coke

[strange-anni]

What happened to Nancy Wheeler on Wills 8th birthday?

Long story short I do believe that the events of S3 namely Mayor Larrys Fun Fair/The Mind Flayer/ The Battle at Starcourt Mall could all give us some clues as to what really happened when Will got 8 years old in 1979.

Read this post if you want to know more. If you don't you may not understand what I'm talking about in here.

This time I mostly want to talk about Nancy Wheeler and what I believe could have happened to her on the 22nd of March 1979.

The Hawkins High Marching Band was at Mayor Larrys Fun Fair in 1985. This likely means that wherever Wills birthday party took place in 1979, the band was there too. Probably not directly because of him but they were at the same place at the same time.

Since the Marching band was there, Robin was most likely too as well as Vickie.

But

In S1 Steve also assumes Nancy took part in band practices. She denies it though but I don't fully believe her. I think Steve is right that she was in band at one point in her life and therefore was also present when Will had his birthday party. I'll get into why later.

That doesn't bode well considering that it's likely something horrible happened at the same day. Something Will only has vague memories about. El distinctly remembers killing a bunch of kids in the lab in S4. Even though it turned out that she didn't do it and it was 001 who did it, I do think there is a bit of truth to it as these memories are most likely altered memories of Will.

So a bunch of children died back then and it's the year 1979 we are talking about. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin and Vickie would have only been about 12 years old at the time and Steve about 13 years.

Kids.

This is what Robin had to say when she and Steve were drugged and in the elevator with Erica and Dustin. Ominous to say the least.

But back to Nancy

I think she got shot in the chest.

Her sweater is white and it's pure fuel but it's not coming off. The fuel blood just won't come off.

And it's Larry who gave it his best shot at the Fun Fair. Larry who shares the same name with Lonnie. Both are short versions of Lawrence.

Nancy like many others got killed on that day but something else also happened. Will got a box with 120 crayons and drew a big space ship, a Rainbowship. Joyce told us it's the only thing Will wanted to do. He didn't care for his new Star Wars toys and only wanted to draw. If that Rainbowship is so important, it's for a reason I think. It's purpose is to bring a lot of people into space/the UD to save them and then bring them back to earth so they can live again.

Karen is right I think. Nancy did get swapped in the hospital. She died there and then seemingly came back to life but it's not really the same Nancy. She looks like her and mostly acts like her but it's not her.

It's the Nancy that got transported back from Space/the UD with the Rainbowship after she died in the hospital. She was swapped.

She's what an eight year old Will believed her to be like. His best version/interpretation of her along with some deliberate alterations. If being in band was what killed her on that day, she can no longer be in band. So that aspect of her life got erased. It's why I don't believe her when she said she wasn't in band. She can't remember ever being there and this version truly wasn't but the old one was.

The new car which looks just like the old car but isn't the old car. A metaphor for many things in this show

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[zyafics]

ANGRY GOD | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Summary — Rafe always struggled with being the only person in his head. When he meets you on the balcony of Tannyhill, everything changes. As sweet and kind as you appear to be, you turn out to be a reflection of Rafe and his dark thoughts. A burnt soul. A perfect companion. But as much as he wants you, as much as you deserve each other, something stands in the way: your relationship with JJ.

Content — angst, suggestive themes, cheating (not on each other), minor blood kink, rafe does coke, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic dynamic, obsessive and psychopathic behavior, and subtle dubcon.

Word Count — 3.9K

lıllılı Deja Vu and She's Mine Pt. 1 by J Cole

Dedication — to @cybersunnie who read it first and gave me lovely feedback, ily my southeast asian bestie <3

Rafe looks for you everywhere.

Ever since that fateful night, he had searched every room and crowd for a glimpse of your face. Most times, he doesn't find what he's looking for, and a lump of frustration curls up his throat. A wasted effort, he tells himself, to look for someone who isn't his, but he does it anyway.

He's never been good at letting go of things that belonged to him.

Tonight's bonfire is on the beach. The firepit is surrounded by keggers lined neatly along the edges, and the salty tang of driftwood smoke hangs in the air. Flickering embers roared to the sky, while the drunken crowd moved in scattered clusters, their laughter coalescing with the music as they stumble over their steps. Rafe can't help but scoff at the very sight.

He had snorted a couple of lines before his arrival. Nothing calms him down quicker than strips of white powder that substitute for dopamine, but it still isn't quite the replacement he's looking for. It may make him feel lighter, unable to feel the depth of his soul sinking like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean floor, but it's ineffective. Riffled with the knowledge that there's something better for him out in the world, something that mirrors the use of a drug, something that can save him.

You.

Rafe sips on the beer he's been nursing for the past half-hour—coke and liquor are a hangover's bitch—and his eyes survey the mass of people in futile efforts. Everyone has arrived, including those Pogue friends of yours, but there are still no traces of you. Once again, Rafe believes that you've decided to forgo the invite to forget him.

Until he finds you off in the distance.

In the corner of the world, sitting on the shore and counting waves, with your legs drawn to your chest and your arms draped across your knees. Parties have always been a troublesome endeavor for you, rekindling old memories you want nothing more than to forget, but you always find yourself succumbing to one. It's a nasty habit you're unable to break.

You had slipped away—from the masses, from your friends, from JJ—for some peace on the edge of the earth. No one seems to have noticed your missing presence. At least, that's what you believe.

Something settles at your side, darkening your solace with its thick presence, and you turn to discover Rafe. He sinks into the empty space beside you, cold brew in hand, and refuses to meet your gaze. Your heartbeat skips, alarm bells activating and cautioning you to leave, but you choose to stay.

Silence engulfs the air and despite the heavy bass reverberating through the air and the flurries of chatters from Kooks and Pogues alike, none of that seems to matter. As always, with Rafe, it feels like you two are the only people remaining on Earth, spinning on its axis, waiting.

It isn't like this with anyone else.

"You've been ignoring me," Rafe announces flatly. His stare set to the horizon of the coastline, watching waves flatten into the salt-soaked sand inches away from his feet.

"I haven't," you defend, a little too quickly, wincing at the projection of your voice. "We just haven't been going to the same places."

He scoffs dryly, "Because you've been ignoring me."

You shake your head softly, but Rafe doesn't acknowledge the gesture. You doubt he cares. It mirrors you in that aspect, knowing exactly how his mind behaves—believing his version of events to be the only correct reality. Nothing you do, or say, will change it.

It's hard to talk to someone who's stubborn.

It's worse when the person knows you too well.

Because in some ways, he's right. Several invitations to various functions have been sent, but you've opted out of attending any of them. Partly because you don't want to be in that environment. Mostly because you're afraid of facing Rafe. You had assumed it'd be an easy facade to maintain—just as the rest of your friends suspected you simply weren't into parties—but Rafe sees directly through you, like glass.

He resists the urge to look at you. Fearing if he does, he'll never stop. It isn't enough for him to be within your proximity, he wants to have you, and it's a debilitating feeling to know he can't. Blood coats his senses, and he realizes he bite his tongue too hard.

Yet, he feels the heat of your stare on his profile. Your eyes sweep over every feature, every twitch of muscle as if you're committing to memory the days you haven't seen him. Pride finds him in that regard—to know he consumes your thoughts as much as you consumed him.

He begs to be wanted.

He wants you to beg for him.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," you say softly, admiring the faded damning colors of his assault to the healing yellows that smother his skin. "That's good."

His resolve breaks and Rafe turns. The corner of his lips lifts. "You would care, wouldn't you?"

You blink in surprise, but Rafe takes it as some protest of resilience. You won't admit it, as much as you want him, as much as you need him, and the anguish seeps into his bones. unable to detangle itself from skin. "Of course I do," you stutter a reply, "I patched you up."

"But it isn't the only reason," he presses, "Is it?"

His eyes meet yours, and it rivals the first look he's ever given you. Full of scorn and disdain, Rafe had once wanted nothing more than you to be out of his sight. Now, he can't have enough of it.

It evokes honesty in you. "It isn't."

Rafe grins, taking any small victory as a celebration.

You can't take it, deciding to break contact to reach into the pockets of your shorts. You fish out the lighter and a small box of cigarettes before torching the end of the stick and inhaling a sharp breath. Nicotine slithers into your system, calming your raging nerves.

Rafe watches with amusement. He had always hated a woman who smokes. It was unorthodox, dirty, and not someone he sees himself with. But when he watches the way the puff of smoke exits your lips, the calamity smoothening your features, he's never wanted to kiss you more.

“You smoke?” Rafe asks as you lower the cigarette to your side. The butt of the blunt brushes against the grains of sand.

“Yeah.” You say timidly. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break.”

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Didn't take you as a smoker," Rafe confesses, but something in his statement reeks of judgment. As much as you hate the need to be validated by others, something about Rafe leaves you desiring acceptance.

You scramble to form an excuse. “I only do it when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

You don't respond, but you're sure the split-second expression on your face revealed it all. Pressing your lips together, you rip your gaze from Rafe to look back to the ocean currents, raging and coursing through the tides as if a storm is brewing. You hoped this respite would dissolve the tension in the air, but it doesn't.

Thick and hot, you can't decide if it's the heat of the firepit against your backside or the idea of Rafe's close—too close—proximity to you. Your truth. The persona you've carefully crafted on the verge of collapsing.

Rafe finally understands why you don't go to parties. Even if you don't explicitly state it; it's him. The way he can read you, understand you, and make you feel. A parallel of himself in you that feels like a reflection against a pond. It scares you. It terrifies him. Yet he can't get enough of it.

You clear your throat, taking another puff of your cigarette, before returning your gaze back to him. "You left your own party again."

Is this what you want to talk about? Rafe would rather push past the small talk, but he entertains it nonetheless. At least it's something to keep you close. "It's not my party."

"Right." You hum, inhaling a nicotine-saturated breath that hisses and chars the end of the blunt. "But you left it all the same. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"I asked you first."

"Is that how you want to play it?"

Rafe cocks his head in challenge, armed with the mockery and condescension of his dripping tone. But it's not aimed at you, but rather for you. A provocation that asks: one of us is lying here, who will it be?

"You're baiting me," you announce, digging the burnt end of the cigarette into the sand to extinguish it. "It's not going to work."

Rather than take offense from your blatant callout, he scoffs out a smirk. His perfect teeth glistened underneath the moonlight, which can almost be read as fangs.

"Smart girl too," he muses, more to himself than you, before taking a swing of his beer. Directing his line of vision towards the darkened horizon, you watch him swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" You repeat. "Why would you be looking for me?"

"Don't act dumb, princess. It's not cute."

Silence stretches among you, and the only soothing sound of this moment is the cascades of water meeting sand. Your heart doubles its tempo, reconciling with Rafe's words before he pierces the quietude with another confession. "They don't care."

This time, you don't play dumb. You know exactly what he's referring to. Rafe made a bold accusation that his friends don't care about him, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is right.

From what you heard from your own group, no one is friends with Rafe. Not really. All they want is to get out of his way, to avoid being the receiving end of his wrath. Rapport is the closest method towards that settlement. A falsehood for security. He had come to the bitter realization on his own; that no one is real with him except you.

You don't take the time to be frivolous and reassure him with meaningless consolation. You cut straight to the chase.

"Then why come?" You ask, not knowing if he'll respond. But what you don't know is Rafe would answer almost anything if it came from you. "Why attend something when none of these people care about you?"

The instantaneous reply is a howling wind from the ocean, breezing over your skin and raising goosebumps on your arms. But you remain still. Unsure if Rafe will answer, you wait until he admits, "It's better than being alone."

All the air leaves your lungs.

Your heart pumps like it's about to burst.

Because Rafe confirms what you’re thinking.

And you feel the same way.

You're certain you're in an exact predicament but you don't have the courage to voice it. The Pogues only tolerate you because you're in this relationship with JJ, but you have a sinking feeling that it's just the novelty. Something short and fleeting. Something false.

You entered it under the assumption that JJ understood you—a burnt soul recognizing a companion. But that's proven to be completely untrue. JJ may have faced hardships, but his entire network is built on camaraderie. You never had that. Neither did Rafe.

Maybe that's why you gravitate towards him.

Maybe that's why you're afraid.

"Why are you here?" Rafe prompts, turning the spotlight back onto you.

You lick your lips, suddenly dry. "The Pogues invited—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, but his tone lacks the bite. All it demands is truth. "I mean, why did you come this time? You've been avoiding me for a reason."

You scoff. "You know."

A cruel smirk carves the corner of his mouth, framed with an innocent dimple. "I want to hear you say it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're a liar, princess. Just like all of them."

Fire ignites in your chest by his accusation, reminding you closely of that night at Tannyhill, and your hands squeeze into tight fists. Sucking on the inside of your cheek, and licking the residual nicotine sticking to your gums, give you a minor boost of confidence. "I thought if I didn't, they'd stop inviting me."

You exhale a blow of air, similar to your cigarette, but a heavy weight lifts off your chest. You don't turn to meet Rafe's eyes, but you feel the heat of his stare.

Rafe grins, self-satisfaction ripples through his features in unparalleled triumph. "Just like me."

"Don't be a dick," you declare.

"I'm not trying to." He says. "It's just ironic."

"Ironic how?"

He takes a second to answer, lingering on the moment by sipping on the rim of his beer, letting a slow, singular drop fall from the corner of his mouth. "Because every party I've seen you at, you're always escaping it."

You shrink under this observation, nails buried into the sand to find grounding. "I needed a break."

"All the time?" He taunts.

You say absolutely nothing. And Rafe chuckles dryly. "The girl who always leaves the party. The boy who needs it. We'll make a good couple."

You lift your head. "Is that your criteria for a relationship?"

"No. But I'll take any excuse to have you."

Your breath stutters in your throat. From your previous interaction with Rafe, you concluded that he cuts through the drivel. But it's different this time around. Now, it riffled with the knowledge of knowing you, of wanting you.

Rafe always had a single-minded ambition, the type to chase after his goal until he captured it within the palm of his hand. That's you to him.

Morals be damned. As long as he has you.

To be wanted like that terrifies you. With your heart palpitating in your chest, you feel the urge to rebuild your walls. To add that familiar and safe space between you and him. "Rafe..." You trail off in warning.

Instantaneously, as if he can read you, he knows why.

Frowning, Rafe says, "Hm. Forget you're with Maybank."

You don't think that's entirely true.

"I should get back," to him, but that part remains unspoken.

Rising from your seat, you dust off the sheen coat of sand under your thighs before motioning to leave. But Rafe snatches your wrist. His grip is firm but loose enough for you to slip out, only begging you not to.

You look down, however Rafe refuses to meet your gaze. In fact, he avoids it, opting for the dark coastline that rivals the turbulent feeling in his chest. "Why are you with him?" He whispers against the wind, his tone seeping with vulnerability. "Why are you with him when you can be with me?"

You don't know how to answer that. "He was nice to me."

"I can be nice to you."

You shake your head. "It's not the same."

"Why not?" Rafe asks wretchedly, lifting his head to finally meet your gaze and you read how broken he truly is. Your chest tightens. His icy blue eyes warmed with desperation, and his grip around your wrist tightens, like a beggar seeking approval.

For a moment, you considered lying. It's the easiest way out. But there's no one here but the two of you. No one to perform to. No one but an audience who knows you soul-deep. How do you lie out of this one?

"I think you need me," you whisper. "I don't know how to be needed like that."

If you were anyone else, he'd feel insulted. To insinuate he needs someone—anyone—to function implies he's weak. That he's dependent on another. But Rafe hasn't felt this sense of gratification in years. A kinship that emerges from a soul recognizing a burnt soul. He can't lose that.

"Neither do I," he answers, almost pleading. "Let's try it out."

"Try what?"

"Us." He urges. "You and me."

You shouldn't, but you can't help but consider the proposal. It's awful, especially knowing you're in a committed relationship—as committed as you can be—and you try to build excuses and logic on why this couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. But all of them fell flat.

"You hate me."

"I didn't know you."

"You called me a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely.

"You called me a liar," you accuse, unmasking the sting from the label.

"You are," Rafe insists without missing a beat. "But I'll take it."

You chew on your bottom lip, gnawing on the raw, broken skin until you taste iron. "I don't know," you admit, voice low, chest heavy. "I don't know if I can save you, Rafe."

This time, he doesn't have a response. This time, he's rendered speechless. It's a confessional—what he truly desires from you is redemption. To possess a mirror that resolves him of his own sins.

His fingers loosen around your wrist.

"I have to go," you say softly, taking a step towards the exit.

But it isn't quick enough.

Rafe grabs you again and gives you one last tug, forcing you to land on his lap. Before you can move, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you close, forehead pressed against his, chest meeting the other.

You feel the rapid thumping of his own heartbeats.

"One taste," Rafe murmurs, his eyes on yours and they're pitch-black, all dissolved of his color. "Just one taste and I'll let you go."

"One?" You ask meekly, your heart threatening to spill.

"One." He confirms, reeking of the same desperation he's always been ashamed of revealing. But he doesn't care anymore. "And you can go back to Maybank and do whatever the fuck you want."

You search his face, trying to read him, but nothing but pure primal instinct coats his rugged features. He wants you—in a way that's so animalistic, he's actively holding himself back from taking more. A sick satisfaction curves up your throat at being desired by such capacity.

"Okay."

Rafe doesn't give you a moment to retract your consent before he drags your mouth down to his, silencing every pounding thought with a kiss.

Instinctively, you steel your spine from the assault before slowly unwinding. From all the venom and vile words spilled from Rafe's tongue, his mouth is surprisingly soft and tender. His kiss is rich with desire, gripped with desperation, and it pours all his silent confessions into one. Your heart has never raced so frantically but has never been this calm.

You want this.

Logic and reason chip away when you feel how warm Rafe is. How he laps over the broken piece of your bottom lip like worship, how he craves you with the depravity of a man receiving his last meal, licking you clean until you're nothing but bones.

It's intoxicating. Where has Rafe been all your life? Why haven't you done this sooner? Your mind can't find a proper answer until a slow, nauseating reminder strikes your drunken and lustful state. It's because you're taken. It answers. You're committed to someone who isn't him.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Rafe—"

"Not enough," he declares roughly, dragging your back and stealing another kiss. It's as if it's the only air he's willing to take. He demands it—it's his.

And yet, for all your stream of moral consciousness, there's little resistance.

You allow him to take you. Devour you. To suck on your bottom lip until a metallic tang is shared between you, and to feel the warm liquid ooze onto your tongue like sacred waters. He tastes so good, and Rafe's hands fall from your arm to your waist, tugging you along until you're centered on his lap. With an automatic roll of your hips, he groans, and you feel the growing erection form in his jeans demonstrating his obsession with you.

It's just one. But one kiss turns into two and three, and suddenly you can't stop. Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment with Rafe.

Pulling back a second time, your murmur against his swollen lips. "This is a bad idea."

"This is the best goddamn idea I've ever had," he breathes into your mouth, his hand straying to cup a handful of your ass under your shorts. "You taste better than I imagined."

"What do I taste like?"

"Mine," Rafe answers breathily, before cupping the back of your neck once again and aligning your mouth to his.

Addiction. Rafe is certain that's what this is. The way you rock against him, the way your body molds into his—like a perfect puzzle finding its match—he can't help but believe in fate. It infuriates him that it took him this long.

But even in a perfect moment, the illusion quickly shatters by a grating voice from the distance. Rafe wants nothing more than to ignore its bugging nuisance, but you can't seem to.

Because it's your boyfriend.

You rip away from Rafe to discover JJ's silhouette approaching the shore, searching for you. Panic zigzags through your chest and you swiftly leave Rafe's lap, brushing away any criminalizing evidence of your infidelity.

"That's one. We're done."

When JJ arrives, Rafe doesn't move. He doesn't even make a gesture to conceal the situation as JJ's eyes dart between the two of you, trying to piece together what you were doing with the Kook in the first place.

But no one reveals a thing. Not even you. You quickly apologize for leaving the party and fumble a flimsy excuse for Rafe's presence. And JJ's birdbrain accepts it, causing Rafe to scoff at the fool you're with.

When he takes your hand, leading you back to the party, you quickly accept—dragging yourself into the same space you beg to break from. And doing nothing but leaving Rafe behind.

He could leave now. After all, he came out to the shores searching for you. But there's a calamity that comes from being out here. Seeing the waters, watching the crashing of the waves. It allows him to truly think—away from the noises, away from the people, away from all the meaningless distractions.

Rafe swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the buzzing sensation left behind from your kiss, and collects a single droplet of blood. It must've spilled from you, or his bitten tongue, he doesn't know for sure. All he does is slip it right back into his mouth.

And for the first time throughout this entire night, Rafe grins. A real one. A devious one. Because he's coming to a familiar conclusion.

You parade among the people who don't give a damn about you, who don't know a single truth, and pretend you fit in their world. But you don't. You're a liar.

But as Rafe remembers the taste of your hot lips on his, the way your body fits in with his, the taste of your blood on his tongue—he realizes, so is he.

Because there's no way that is the last time he'll kiss you. That he has you. No. He had one taste and it wasn't enough.

Rafe is coming back for more.

Whether you like it or not.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03 / End

[mewvore]

the absolute nerve of tech companies to make dogshit digital products, beg and plead for people to buy them, and when that obviously doesn't work they just force people to get the product (force update, brick old versions) going "we know best its great we promise :)" and its a fucked up wreck for 90% of its life until they make something to replace it thats EVEN WORSE. like remember when coke made new coke and that shit caused absolute pandemonium? I miss when companies were beholden to actual customer feedback and not the 10 or so billionaires who invest in them with oodles of cash so they can tank consumer backlash until their dogshit is publicly """"""accepted""""

[tpwk-formula1]

Hii, first I just have to say how much I adore your request-format! It makes the whole process so fun, and I can’t wait to read more of your writing😚❤️❤️❤️

For the order, I’m really craving a gluten-free pizza, served by Franco, with some red sauce. But I’d like it kind of both ways, so red sauce from him and red sauce from reader, if you know what I mean. Like they’re fighting for dominance, switch x switch ❤️ and are kinda mean to each other. But for vibe, I’d love sort of a teasing, intense tone, where Franco’s just really teasing, charming and cocky. So rough but not too onesided, you know!❤️

Then for toppings I’d love pepperoni, tomatoes, gorgonzola and gouda, but again sort of evenly between them. I’d love for them both to be kinda mean. ❤️

To drink I’m really craving a diet coke, diet pepsi, red bull, white claw and an Old Fashion to finish it off. (Both crying)

Also dessert would be amazing, thank you!!❤️❤️❤️

For an extra add-on, if that’s okay (otherwise just ignore this part❤️), I’d love it if he spoke some spanish to reader, not really dirty talk but some hot pet names and teasing sentences that reader doesn’t understand. Translate is fine, so don’t worry abt it having to be perfect, but if you’re not comfortable just ignore this!❤️

Thank you, I’m really looking forward to reading your fics!!❤️❤️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free rivals red sauce rough sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" tomatoes "Do you enjoy pissing me off?" gorgonzola "Are you always this fucking loud?" gouda “Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” diet coke recording kink diet pepsi biting redbull hickeys white claw crying old fashion drunk sex dessert yes served by Franco Colapinto

Franco x rival! reader

TW - switch x switch, edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, rough, begging, unprotected sex, creampies, GOOGLE TRANSLATED SPANISH - MDNI 18+

WC - TBD

Y/N POV

"Do you guys ever get along?" I hear one of the drivers on the grid ask making Ollie groan and answer before Franco or I can answer.

"They were finding a way to fight each other even when she was promoted to F1," Ollie says making me laugh slightly.

"He just knows how to get under my skin," I saw while shrugging my shoulders not seeing how this was any of their business.

"You mean to tell me when she would be gone and we couldn't find her she was terrorizing him?" George asks. I just smile and nod my head proudly.

When I joined Mercedes at the beginning of the season and became teammates with George I still would pop my head into the F2 paddock to say hi to some of my old teammates while also finding ways to piss the Argentinian off. But when he joined mid season replacing Logan we where finally racing together again which meant messing with one another became so much easier.

As the night out progressed and the drinks kept coming Franco and I found ourselves shoved in a dark corner together.

"God you smell like tequila," I state when he gets close trying to pull me in for a kiss. I just push at his chest pulling a fake disgusted look which only had him roughly grabbing my jaw and placing a kiss on my lips.

"Been thinking about that all night," Franco admits making me pull a disgusted look at him.

"That's prety fucking domestic," I state while pulling him in closer by shirt before I release my grip on his shirt and move my hand to his neck where I gave it a good squeeze while I plant my lips back on his.

"You're a fucking whore," I whisper against his lips when he whimpers at my tight grip.

"Vas a ser la puta en un momento," Franco whispers back against my lips making me pull back slightly giving him a raised brow. He knew I didn't understand much Spanish which made moments like this that much more intense.

"Let's get out of here," Franco says while turning away and walking towards the exit which had me following a few minutes after not trying to look like I was going home with him. I knew damn well the second they realized the 2 of us missing they would put 2 and 2 together rather quickly and Ollie was never shy to expose what we really did when we where alone.

When I finally pull up to Franco's hotel I waste no time in getting up to his room and knocking on the door.

When he opens the door he instantly pulls me into his room and closes the door before he roughly shoves me against it pulling out a loud whimper.

I feel Franco move his hand to my neck choking me in the same manner I had done to him when we where in the club. I whimper when I feel his grip tighten on my neck but quick compose myself and push against his hand so I can move away from the wall where I quick use my strength to push him against the wall and pull him back for a kiss.

Franco still had his hand around my neck but due to his shock of the position change made his grip loosen slightly. But it take Franco little to no time to gather himself and move his hand from my throat to my hair where he pulls me near the bed and push me on the ground so I was on my knees with my back resting against the foot of the bed to trap me in the position.

Franco wastes no time in pulling his pants and briefs off and pushing my head near his hard length. I open my mouth and let Franco start face cum me.

"joder siempre tómalo tan bien," Franco grunts out as he pushes my head against the mattress and uses it to his advantage. With my head not being able to move anymore he pushed his length all the way down my throat making me gag and almost instantly start tearing up.

"Fuck, you're a pathetic slut," Franco grunts when he sees the tears start rolling down my cheek. When he starts fucking into my face and hitting my gag reflex each time he pushes in I start fighting back slightly. I'm pushing at his thighs trying to slow down a bit which only has him going harder.

"Jodida tómalo," Franco grunts out while still fucking my mouth.

Franco pushes my head all the way down his cock making sure I take the fuck length leaving me to gag and tear up around his cock fighting to gain some air. When he finally released my head I pull off his cock and start coughing and gasping for air trying to gather myself before I stand up and push Franco on the bed. I quickly strip out of all my clothes while Franco pulls his shirt off and climb into bed to join him.

When I get into the bed I start teasing Franco's cock with my tongue making him hiss at the stimulation to his sensitive cock. I knew after face fucking me he wouldn't last long but I didn't care, I wasn't planning to let him cum, just wanted him begging under me.

"Fuck, hermosa," Franco hisses when I start pulling his cock into my mouth while still teasing his sensitive tip with my tongue.

While still swirling my tongue around the tip of Franco's cock I move a free hand down to his balls and start squeezing them making Frnaco moan rather loudly.

"Fuck, m'not gonna last long," Franco whines out making me speed up my actions on his balls and start bobbing my head bringing him close to the edge. I could tell Franco was about to fall over the edge which had me instantly moving away from his cock to watch him start bucking his hip and whining at the loss of contact.

"Fuck, no please! I was so close, I fucking need it! Please Hermosa hazme venir," Franco whines.

"Are you always this fucking loud? Begging to cum already? Pathetic little thing," I tell him while slowly stroking his length. I loved watching the way Franco gets exceptionally more desperate and needy when he was this close to cumming.

As I was leaning down to continue my teasing Franco roughly grips into my hair and pulling me up so he can plant a kiss on my lips before flipping us over so he was now the one on top.

I feel Franco instantly push his full length into my tight pussy giving me no time to adjust before he was roughly fucking into my pussy making me cry out in a loud moan.

"Now, who's the loud one?" Franco questions back with a smirk while he continues to fuck into my pussy making me loudly moan at the pleasure coursing through me.

"Faster please," I beg which has Franco instantly fucking into my pussy at a faster pace.

"Fuck, the way you clench around me is gonna make me cum," Franco grunts out making me clench around him around.

"More, please," I beg again needing more feeling my orgasm starting to build up.

Franco speeds up into a brutal pace becoming too much almost instantly.

"Fuck Franco," I cry while cumming all over his cock. Franco continues to fuck me through my orgasm at the brutal pace making me start crying in overstimulation while begging him to slow down.

"Franco can't take it. Slow down please!"

“Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl,” Franco teases back only going at a faster pace.

I knew I was a crying mess under him again but I didn't care when I felt my orgasm starting to build deep within my pussy once again.

"Fuck, gonna cum for me again?" Franco states when he can feel my pussy throbbing around his cock in anticipation for another orgasm.

"Fuck, Franco," I cry out as I start cumming all over his cock once again. Franco helps me ride my orgasm out finally slowing his pace down to let me catch my breath. Once I've settled down I flip Franco and I over once again climbing off his dick and getting back on my knees so I can pull him into my mouth again.

"I taste amazing on your cock," I say once I've collected some of my slick. I lean up and spit directly into Franco's mouth knowing he would only be able to taste my spit, but not caring because I loved seeing him swallow like a whore.

"Fuck, Hermose, please," Franco begs which has me leaning back down to his cock to pull him deep into my throat and bobbing my head.

"Fuck," Franco manages out while bucking his hips right on the edge of cumming.

I pull back at the last second while squeezing his cock knowing it'll help him from cumming before I was ready to let him.

"Please," Franco cries out making me smirk at him at how desperate he is.

"Shut up," I tell him before pulling him back into my mouth and repeating the same process while he was under me crying and begging for his release.

"I said shut up! Do you enjoy pissing me off?" I snap at him while sending down a harsh slap on his inner thigh making him whimper at the sudden and sharp pain.

"Please! I'll be good! I'm so close, please!" Franco begs while tears start rolling down his face.

"Look like a proper whore! Crying for me like you weren't just doing the same thing to me," I tease before taking Franco back into my mouth and edging him once again.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Franco groans out once again making me pull away from his cock entirely to watch as it bounces against his lower tummy in search of stimulation so it could finally be put out of it's misery.

"Mierda, Please lo necesito tan malo," Franco says so lost in his pleasure he's asking in Spanish. I let Franco start to come down from the edge while I lean down and start kissing his inner thighs before I start taking small little bites of out his sink before I finally sink my teeth in and leave a little hickey on his inner thight while i repeat the process a few times letting his once bare thighs be scattered with hickeys made by me.

"Given, I don't know Spanish I'm gonna take it you want me to do it again!" I say with a smirk only resulting in Franco crying out again while thrashing his body around a bit.

"Quite it!" I say while sending down a hard slap on his inner thigh knowing it'll get him to stop squirming around under me.

I lean back down and pull Franco into my mouth again and start bobbing my head which has Franco instantly gripping at my hair trying to keep me down on his cock, but it didn't work because the second he was about to cum I use all my strength to pull my mouth away.

"No, no, no, no, I can't do it anymore," Franco cries out making me smirk before climbing into his lap and sinking down on his cock making him cum almost instantly.

"Mierda, sentirse tan bien envuelta alrededor de mi polla," Franco chants in Spanish while I ride him through his orgasm.

"Fuck, I need you still Franco please," I beg while riding his cock which had him flipping us back over so he was over me again while he starts pounding into ym pussy as if he hadn't just cum.

"FUck, Franco, not gonna last long," I cry out making him speed up.

"Fucking hold it and be a good girl, and you'll get what you want," Franco grunts back making me whimper.

"PLease, Franco can't hold it back," I whine out making Franco roll his eyes and pull his cock out right before I was about to cum.

"Franco! What the fuck," I try to shout but it comes out more like a whine making Franco smirk at me.

"I'm just giving you the same treatment," Franco replies back before plunging his cock deep into my pussy and fucking me.

“Please!” I beg once again which has Franco speeding up his actions while bringing his head down and biting my neck making me whimper while throwing me over the edge and into another orgasm.

When I finally come down from my high Franco slows his hips down and unleashes another load deep into my pussy to join the first load he gave me.

“Fuck,” Franco groans while pulling out of me slowly and climbing out of bed to clean me up.

“Im not moving from this bed for atleast 12 hours,” I joke while curling into Franco’s side and relaxing into his warm embrace.

“Sounds like 12 hours of free range to fuck you,” Franco jokes back which has me whining and clenching my thighs at the thought.

“You like that idea I see,” Franco further teases with a laugh making me burry my face in his chest and start kissing his skin before making my way to his mouth and pull him in for a kiss.

“Think your teammate would believe it if I said you’re actually pretty sweet to me sometimes,” Franco says making me laugh softly and shake my head.

“No George is convinced Im heartless,” I reply back making both of us giggle softly.

[write-by-night222]

Cherry Coke & Whiskey: Hospital Visit

TF141 x Fem!Injured!Reader

Warnings: female reader, poly!TF141, hospitals, mentions of trauma, anxiety, comfort, mild smut (no sex, just groping), pda, I think that's it?

had an the second mri on my shoulder today. got me thinking while I was laying there.

(Reader) had to go to a civilian hospital to get some MRI done on her injured shoulder. The team, knowing damn well how anxious she gets in the general public after having been in the binds of the military for so long, decide to go with her.

(Reader) had to be there early in the afternoon. Two hours before she had to be there, Price pulled Soap's jeep around and made sure she was ready to go.

"'Ey, come on, we gotta go." Price tells her, finding her in the common room, messing with her phone. Her hair was down, something somewhat unusual for her. Sweatpants covered her legs, a loose t-shirt covering her torso.

"Price, it's two hours before my appointment. I can get there in an hour."

"Yeah, speeding in your Mustang. I'm drivin' you. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz are already in the car." (Reader) rolls her eyes a little before grabbing her jacket off the back of the couch and pulling it on.

When they finally made it to the hospital, everyone could see the tension in her body. She was uncomfortable, even just in the parking lot.

"Shit, why's no one know how to park around here? Everyone's taking up two damn spots, there isn't even snow on the pavement." Price grunts out, driving around the parking lot, looking for a spot.

"You might need to go to the parking garage. Looks like these are full." Gaz speaks up, pointing to the four story parking garage. Price sighs, reluctantly turning on the turn signal to pull into the parking garage.

"How freaked out do you think people are gonna be when you guys walk in?" (Reader) mumbles sarcastically.

"We're in street clothes, lass." Soap reminds her, acting like he's stating the obvious. Price was wearing a pair of jeans and an old army t-shirt with an army green hoodie pulled over it. For once, he left the boonie hat in his office, longer brown buzz cut on full display. Gaz has on a pair of black sweatpants, a navy blue t-shirt with a black zip-up hoodie over top of it. Soap's dark wash jeans cling to him, the blue hoodie doing nothing to conceal the fact he was well built. Ghost looked like some stalker, his ghost mask being replaced with a black disposable mask covering the lower half of his face, black jeans, and just a black t-shirt, the sleeves stretching over his biceps.

"I can pass as just a very athletic civilian, it's blantly obvious that you four are military. If nothing else the boots give it away." (Reader) has on a pair of slip on shoes, knowing she'll have to take them off for the MRI.

"Ah whatever, love." Ghost mumbles and Price finally pulls into a parking spot.

"Use our first names in the hospital, yeah sweetheart?" John Price tells her, patting her thigh softly. She nods, John putting the vehicle into park.

After the walk to the hospital, they arrive at the front desk, the receptionist staring for a couple seconds at the well-build women in front of her, and then the four tall, muscular men standing behind her.

"(Reader) (Last Name), 'm here for an MRI."

"Uhm, are these men with you?" The receptionist, her name tag says Mary, was an older women with thick glasses, wearing a knit sweater looks up from the women to the men behind her.

"Yeah, they're my uhm... team mates." (Reader)'s gaze flickers behind her, not quite knowing how to introduce or adress the four men behind her. Mary clicks away at the keyboard, John and Simon's heads on swivel, checking out the main entrance of the hospital. Johnny softly pats (Reader) on her uninjured shoulder, reassuring her. Kyle give the receptionist a look, he knows that the hospital will probably label her as a possible trafficking situation until they see her file says military.

"Ah! You're military, that makes more sense now." (Reader) simply just nods her head, dread crawling up her throat. Mary hands her the paperwork she had printed and gives her instructions to the radiology department.

Paperwork was filled out, the team now sits in the main radiology department waiting room. Simon's arm drapped across the back of the bench he and (Reader) are sitting down. Simon hasn't said much, but he knows what she needs right now isn't words from him, it's just knowing he's here. The muscles of her body are still pulled tight.

Johnny's hand interlocks with her, squeezing it softly. John paces the waiting room, Kyle just sits in a chair near Johnny's. They had been getting weird looks the entire time, yet none of them even paid the other patients any mind.

A big male nurse come out of a locked door and calls (Reader)'s name. All three of the men sitting stood up, John walking to stand behind (Reader).

"They're my teammates." (Reader) grunts out, the anxiety in her obvious to the four men behind her. She hands the clipboard to the nurse, Johnny brushing up against her uninjured shoulder, trying to relax her.

"Guess it's good the MRI department is slow today." The nurse motions for them to follow. (Reader) hands the nurse the clipboard with paperwork on it, he takes it and leads them to a smaller waiting room. "My name is Jason. I need you to go into one of these changing rooms, remove all of your clothing other then your underwear on the bottom, change into these pants and this gown, it ties in the back. I'll be out to get you in a little bit." (Reader) nods, and takes the clothing from him the nurse disappearing into a backroom, locked with a keycard.

"You need help gettin' changed sweetheart?" John asks, his voice soft and smooth. (Reader) nods and John takes the clothing out of her hands, motioning her to the closest changing room. The other three men sit down in the waiting room.

John locks the changing room door, before setting the clothing down on the bench before putting his hands on (Reader)'s jacket.

"I know your anxious n I don't blame you." He keeps his voice soft, gentle. His hands slide the jacket off her shoulders. "You've been in the military a long time. Joined the army fresh outta highschool." He sets jacket down before moving to the hem of her shirt. "Somehow, made your way to our team." Her shirt drops to the bench too. "It's been a long time since you've been in a place like this. But you're safe, alright?" He presses a gentle kiss to her neck, noticing all the scars and marks on her back and shoulders but not saying anything about them. He undoes her bra, sliding it off. "We won't let anything happen to you." He grabs the gown, opening it and sliding it on her body, tying it at the base of her neck and again right around the curve of her waist. His hands slide under, untying her sweatpants. He hears her let out a small whine.

(Reader) wasn't weak or frail, not by any means. Just as capable as any of them on the field and on base, but she struggled being in normal civilian life a lot more then the others. She was used to the structure of the military, she craved it. She had a rough past, joining the military to escape. He knew part of her trauma made her anxious in hospitals. She needed a stable, steady hand right now, and John was completely willing to be that.

"Be good n strong through this and the team will have a treat for you, Sargent." She nods her head, slipping back into her more military mindset. John pushes her sweatpants off her legs and pulls off her socks, replacing them with the hospital standard grippy socks and then sliding the canvas pants on her, tying them in the front. "There you go, (Reader). You're safe, ok?"

She nods her head as John gathers up her clothes and puts them in the bag the nurse provided and carries them out to the small waiting room. She follows behind him, sitting down next to Johnny. Sure he was usually energetic, eager, excited. But right now his main focus was in getting (Reader) through this. He interlocked his fingers with hers, Kyle giving her a soft pat on the cheek, Simon squeezing her thigh before returning his hand to his lap. The sound of running water makes her turn her head, John pulling the lever on the water cooler that releases hot water into a disposable cup. He drops a tea bag in it and comes to sit next to all of them.

"You took out all your piercings, right love?" Simon's voice cuts through the silent room and she nods her head.

Only a little while later, Jason returns.

"Ok, (Reader), we're ready for you back in the room. You guys have to stay here, she'll be out in roughly 45 minutes." Johnny presses a desperate kiss to her lips, lasting a few seconds longer then necessary. Gaz simply squeezes her side when she stands up, giving her a reassuring grin. John steals a kiss to her hand, Ghost only nods to her. It's all she needs from them. She was no child, she didn't need to be coddled, but the men weren't about to let her go through something they know she hated without a little affection. She follows Jason, disappearing between behind the door.

"Alright, no metal right?"

"Right."

"You don't need any contrast for this one, so just walk through this metal detector here to make sure you're good." No sound arises from the metal detector as she walks through it. "Good, good. What kinda music you want while you're in there?"

She thinks for a second, her mind going to the nights at base. The common room filled with the warm sound of on old country vinyl spinning on John's record player. Only the lamps on, bathing the room in a warm, soft light. John sitting in his leather arm chair like it was a thrown, glass of whiskey in his hand, cigar smoking between his lips, one leg resting on the other. His gaze heavy on the scene in front of him. Johnny making a drink, making sure the record was spinning right. Kyle's eyes following Simon's hands running over my body as he spun me around in the center of the common room.

"Country please. Classic country."

"You bet."

Soon she was positioned on the MRI table how they wanted her, earplugs in, headphones over top of them. Emergency ball in her uninjured arm, heavy fabric covered plastic cage over her injured shoulder. Jason presses the button to make the table slide into the tube. The MRI started, clicks, beeps, and hums swirling around her as the slow sound of classic country soothing her mind. Eyes growing heavy, the scene of late nights in the common room playing behind her eyes.

Her body jolts awake, feeling the table moving underneath her.

'Holy hell, I fell asleep.' (Reader) thinks to herself as the table is fully slid out of the machine. Jason takes the cage off her shoulder, she sets the emergency ball down. Headphones off, she pulls the ear plugs out of her ears, as he lowers the table.

"Ok, you're free to go as soon as you get get dressed. Your doctor should call you in a few days with the results." She nods as she pushes herself to stand on the floor, following him out. She reaches the waiting room, her men still the only ones there. Johnny and Simon's hands were interlaced, Kyle's head resting on John's shoulder as the older captian watched the news on the small TV.

"'Ey bonnie, you survived!" Johnny says, standing up fron the chair and pulling her into a hug.

"C'mon I'll help ya change." Simon grunts, throwing away the paper cup as he leads her to the changing room. The door locks with a click, Simon settinf the bag of her belongings down on the bench. Large fingers make quick work of untying the knots holding the gown together.

"Did *kiss*, such a *kiss*, good *kiss* fucking job." He pressed sloppy kisses to the back of her neck, right along the spin, hands sliding the gown off her shoulders. His large hands come up to her chest, squeezing her tits in his hands.

"I mmmhm, fell asleep in the machine." She admits, her voice breathy.

"Atta fuckin' girl." He mumbles, pressing one more messy sloppy kiss to the back of her neck, right where her shoulder curves up into his neck. His hands still rubbing her tits. M'kay, jus' a little taste of what's coming to ya later." He pulls away, sliding her bra on her shoulders, buckling it in the back. Then he pulls om her shirt, tugging off the hospital pants and socks before replacing them with hers. As he pulls her jacket over her shoulders, he kisses her on the lips. "There ya go love." He tosses the used clothing into the hamper. Simon leads her out of the changing room.

"Let's get outta here, sweet girl." Kyle tells her as he presses a kiss on her lips after standing up from the chair. They all make their way out of the hospital and into the parking garage. When they get to the jeep, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon sitting in the back, John sitting in the driver seat and (Reader) sitting in the passenger seat. The jeep roars to life as John pushes the key to turn in the ignition. He leans over, his large calloused hand catching (Reader)'s chin, tilting her face towards him, catching her lips with his own in a messy, sloppy, teeth clashing kiss. When he finally breaks away, both their lips are pink, (Reader)'s face flushed red. John backs the jeep out of the parking spot, getting out of the parking garage before pulling out of the parking lot. He makes his way to the highway, turning the opposite way they came from.

"Base is the other way, John." (Reader)'s voice is confused, wondering how in the world John forgot which way on the highway to go. He just chuckles, Simon speaking up from right behind her.

"We ain't going to base, love. We're going to my cabin. It's about 10 miles in the woods, no one will hear ya scream, pretty girl."

part two?

[alittlebitofloveliness]

can you please write something angsty about dally helping out darry after discovering how stressed he is or maybe finding him crying

Hi anon! Sorry this took so long, but here it is. Gonna tag @chained-sweater and @johnnyburntcake because they both asked to be tagged when it was finished after reading my out of context snippet. As with most of my stuff this is unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes or typos

*******************

Dallas Winston needs a lot of things. His boots are held together with duct tape and about fourteen different layers of mud, his jeans are worn, torn, patched, and torn again, and his number of material possessions is probably something less than twenty- he never had much in the first place and he pawned just about everything he had when he ran from New York five years ago. But despite all the things he is lacking, all the things he’s never had and the things he could use, what he wants most right now is a fucking break.

Dammit but he didn’t think moving out to rodeo country would involve caring so much. His gang back in New York had been a proper gang- more organized and even crueler than Shepards outfit, a group of tough as nails dealers and muscle, who’d just as soon shoot a kid as they would give them a chance. Hell, he’d been scared of them back in the day, for all he’d been smarter than most of them, because that kind of casual violence only came from the joy of hurting something, not from necessity. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of those sorts of people. Here though, in sleepy little Tulsa Oklahoma his gang is…a drunk, a dropout, two high schoolers, one recent high school graduate, and tagalong middle school kid- and yet, Dally finds himself far more loyal and goddamn committed to the ragtag group of big hearted losers than he ever was to old Alfie and his ring of coke dealing miscreants. It’s maddening. It’s wonderful. It’s horrible. It’s tiring is what it is, and Dally needs a goddamn break. Who wouldn’t after the night he’d just had, which involved practically dragging a nearly hypothermic Johnny Cade out of the cold and trying to warm the kid up? And as if that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d then had the dubious honour of driving Ponyboy to school this morning. Something about the kid’s zombielike stare and hunched shoulders had left him thinking of how bright those eyes used to be, just three months ago, which led to him thinking of Mrs. Curtis’ stern demeanour but kind face, and it was all just too much. Dallas needs a break. He wasn’t meant for this sappy caring shit. He’s done his mourning- he doesn’t need to be knocked all off kilter because of two kids who think of themselves as gangsters but in reality are nothing more than battered kids, bruised in different ways. This is the problem, Dally has found, with gangs that are more family than function- they’re made of people instead of parts of a machine. You can’t care about someone who is replaceable- but no one in the Curtis gang is replaceable, not by a long shot. That wasn’t the case back in New York.

Whatever. He’s done thinking about this now. He’s going to go back to the Curtis house and watch shit tv and maybe steal some food if the kitchen doesn’t look too skint this week. He is not going to think about kids who aren’t his problem (and yet completely are because he’d joined this stupid excuse of a gang and made them his problem in the first place), and he is going to stop being so fucking soft. Geez. If Tim could hear his thoughts right about now he’d lose just about all his street cred. 

Of course, because he’s Dallas Winston, and life has never thrown him a fucking bone in all seventeen years of his life on earth, his hopes for a peaceful afternoon are dashed the second he steps through the door. 

Darrel Curtis- six foot two, two hundred pounds of pure muscle, cool headed Darrel Curtis- is parked at the worn kitchen table, head in his hands, a water bill and something Dally is reasonably sure is property tax forms sitting in front of him.

 And he’s crying.

Darry Curtis doesn’t cry. In all the time Dally has known him, he’s never seen the guy so much as sniffle- not even at the funeral three months ago when Darry buried both parents in one horrible day. Soda had broken down immediately, and Pony had stared wide eyed, rivers of silent tears pouring down his cheeks- but Darry hadn’t. He’s crying now though, and not just a little bit either, huge gut wrenching sobs tearing from his mouth and shit Dallas doesn’t really know what to do. What he wants to do is pretend he never saw this, pretend it never happened and leave, let Darry have his well earned breakdown in the solitude he clearly believed he had. Of course, he would have had to have the foresight not to slam open the screen door for that to even be a possibility.

Darry jumps at the noise, shoulders squaring immediately, letting out one last sob that he could easily explain away as a gasp of surprise as he regains his barings. 

“Oh,” He clears his throat, valiantly trying to pretend like his eyes are bloodshot and his stubble covered cheeks covered in tear trcks, “hey Dal. There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

In that second he sounds so much like his mother that it punches Dally in the chest a little bit. Something about the ocean of feelings quickly locked behind a kind word and a carefully controlled expression is so reminiscent of Mrs. Curtis that Dally almost finds himself nodding a yes and escaping into the kitchen. He can’t though, because as much as Darry acts like her, he will never be his godlike mother. Instead, he is his kind hearted self, a twenty year old with the custody of two kid brothers he couldn’t bear to be separated from, and all the pressures of adult life most people don’t even start having to worry about until they’ve had time to really live. Mrs.Curtis had taken care of all of them, even Dally when everyone else only ever looked at him as a lost cause. Darry can’t do that though, can barely look out for Soda and Pony. Anyone with eyes can see how he’s been struggling since the funeral, nevermind the way Soda’s endless energy has turned anxious and resentful, grades slipping, while Pony gets quieter and moodier, a thirteen year old ticking time bomb. 

“You stay outta trouble for me Dallas,” Mrs. Curtis said to him once, “I know you ain’t a good boy but you’re a loyal one and sometimes that’s more important. So don’t go gettin’ yourself locked up for a bit, savvy? My boys need you more than they know.” 

She hadn’t just been talking about Darry, Soda, and Pony. The whole gang was Mrs.Curtis’ boys and everyone knew it, but Dally had held those words close to his heart more times than he could count, a balm on his perpetually blackened soul. Mrs.Curtis had known the score, known that goodness wasn’t the same thing as love, and she’d loved him anyhow- unconditionally and more than his own sorry excuse of a mom ever had. She’d trusted him too, never babied him or tried to fix him the way every other adult was always trying to, just patched him up when he got into trouble, and scolded him for not being smarter. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were stupid Dallas, so don’t go pullin’ a stunt like this again. C’mon and git some dinner now, there's casserole in the fridge.

It would break her heart to see Darry like this now, so small and defeated, two things her eldest son was never meant to be. But she isn’t here right now, never will be again.

But Dally is.

My boys need you more than they know.

Damn Mrs.Curtis and her all knowing ways, because she knew what she was doing when she took him in because now he’s stuck with this stupid gang in this stupid town forever because she made him love her and love them all too.

“What’s goin’ on Darry?”

“Nothing,” Darry lies, fingers twitching a bit to pull the papers closer to him.

“I ain’t Soda, you don’t gotta lie to me like that.”

Shame twists his handsome features and he looks down, fidgeting with his high school ring.

“I don’t got enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Money Dallas,” he snaps, “I don’t get my first paycheck from that new job until next week, and both these are due on Friday. I bought groceries yesterday, and paid the hydro on Monday, no matter what I’m short.”

There’s such fear in his eyes. Dally remembers what the social workers said when Darry got custody, how militant they’re going to be checking up on him. One missed bill could have Soda and Ponyboy taken away before any of them could cry ‘unfair’.

My boys need you more than they know.

Dally can’t let that happen. It would kill Darry, Soda might go full crazy and Ponyboy…the kid was already sensitive. He’d never make it in a boy’s home. 

“How much?”

“What?” Darry blinks at him and Dally rolls his eyes. Darry Curtis has never been stupid, so he doesn’t know why he’s acting stupid now. 

“How much money do you need?”

“Four fifty.”

Dally winced. That was more than he had on him right now, more than he could get from Two-bit and Steve if he asked on the down low. None of them ever had that kind of scratch just lying around- unless Steve’s dad had recently paid him to come back home, but the old man had booted Steve out two days ago and chucked a bottle at him yesterday when he went back to grab spare clothes so they probably weren’t back to playing happy family yet, and likely wouldn’t be for  while.

Still. There’s other ways to get money.

My boys need you more than you know.

“Leave it to me.” Dally promises.

“No.” Darry shoots him down immediately,  “It ain’t your responsibility Dallas-”

“It ain’t all yours either.”

“That’s exactly what it is!”

“Are we a gang or not?” Dally glares, “I know you Curtis boys are wicked at acceptin’ help but like it or not you need it right now! I ain’t watchin’ the state take Soda an’ Pony away because of your fucking pride Darry!”

Darry stares at him a moment, eyes hard before he sighs, shoulders drooping, suddenly looking the same type of bone deep exhausted that is becoming an all too familiar look on him. 

“Just…don’t do anything illegal, ok? The boys can’t handle you bein’ locked up right now.”

For some reason the words sting. It’s true the gang’s all been a wreck since the Curtis parents died, but Dally is under no illusions as to his place in their ragtag little group. They survived well enough before him, and they’ve survived every time he’s been in the cooler since knowing them, and it won’t be any different if he gets locked up now.

He must have scoffed or something because Darry glares at him. “I mean it.”

Whether he’s talking about the gang needing him or about him not doing anything that could get him into trouble with the cops, Dally doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. Instead, he turns on his heel, a plan already forming in his mind.

Buck Merril is just about the most pigheaded cowboy Dally’s ever met in his life, but he’s always running about half a dozen money making scams at any point in time, and he jumps anytime Dally offers to help because he gets stuff done and keeps his trap shut good. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, working for a guy he hardly likes and doesn’t respect, but money is money and Darry needs money desperately right now so he swallows his pride and asks Buck what needs doing.

He ends up two towns over, at a rickety trailer park off the main road, two kilos of smack stashed under the seat of Buck’s car. He makes the drop, bullies the buyer who wasn’t willing to cough up Buck’s agreed upon price, and ignores the way his stomach twists at the way he just gave someone else the very thing that destroyed his sister’s life, a million years ago back in New York. 

Buck claps him on the shoulder when he gets back. Dally shoves him off, takes his cut of dirty money, and leaves before he can punch someone. 

Warm light spills out the window of the Curtis house when he gets there. Ponyboy is leaning against Johnny on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky, Johnny murmuring something to him that the kid doesn’t seem to be really hearing. It’s frightfully domestic and frightfully sad, the bruise on Johnny’s cheekbone almost black in the dim evening light, Ponyboy looking so skinny and tired Dally has the urge to tell him to go to bed. He doesn’t of course- it’s not his place, and Pony isn’t his brother. Instead, he ruffles both kids' hair as he passes them, tells them to get inside so they’ll have enough folks for a round of poker, and goes to find Darry.

Darry’s in the kitchen, scrubbing purple mac’n’cheese off a saucepan when Dally finds him. He watches for a minute, sees the tension in Darry’s broad shoulders, the viciousness in the way he’s scrubbing the pan. Desperation, Dally knows Is all consuming, bleeding into every thought, every action, every facet of life. For all he’s a different kind of desperate, Darry Curtis is as desperate now as Dally himself is.

He spares a quick glance over his shoulder. Johnny and Pony have trooped inside, the latter robotically shuffling a deck of cards, while Soda and Johnny chat quietly. Steve is flipping through channels on the radio, and Two is nowhere to be found. None of them so much as glance at the kitchen. Good.

“Dar.” 

Darry jumps, turns. 

“Glory Dal, scare a man to death, why dontcha!”

He rolls his eyes. “Ain’t my fault you weren’t payin’ attention. Here.” He holds out an envelope, and Darry’s eyes light first in understanding, then in hope.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be offerin’ if I wasn’t.”

“Dal…”

“Take it,” He shakes the envelope, “before the others see.”

Hesitantly Darry reaches out, but as soon as his hands close around the paper he all but snatches it from Dally’s hand.

“Dal…I…thank you. I can’t tell you-”

“Whatever man,” Dally can feel the discomfort that comes anytime he is thanked or treated half decently raring in his chest, “I told you I’d take care of it and I meant it.”

“I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

“It ain’t a loan, it’s just helpin’ out.”

“That’s not what I- nevermind,” Darry shakes his head, mouth twisting in a rueful half smile, “There’s dinner in the fridge, I made sure Soda saved you some.”

Dally fixes himself a plate, glaring down at pasta that was never meant to be purple, and he and Darry join everyone else in the living room. Johnny grins when he sees him, scooting closer to Ponyboy to make room on the sofa, and Steve steals the cards out of Pony’s hands to start dealing, having finally found a station playing half decent music. 

Dally eats his dinner and plays poker, pretending he doesn’t care half as much as he does when he loses. He wins half of Soda’s cigarettes and quickly loses them all to Johnny, pretending the feeling in his chest isn’t softer than anything he usually lets himself feel.

These boys don’t know it but they need him more than they know, and he’ll keep them safe. For Mrs, Curtis, but for himself too. 

After all, he’s always been a selfish bastard. 

[holleighgram]

Nobody asked but I'm gonna start doing headcanons of what characters order at a bar (when they are of legal and responsible drinking age, of course)

Sora: Screwdriver.

(I don't CARE if it's not brunch. Sora likes orange juice and he hates the taste of alcohol. )

Riku: Dark and Stormy

(dark island rum for my dark island boy and Ginger beer to help ease the nausea from his anxiety.)

Kairi: Moscato Rose.

probably from a box. (Okay fine, a mimosa because she's following Sora's lead, but doesn't like vodka cause it's too strong.

Roxas: Jack and Coke.

(Rum reminds him of Destiny Islands and he doesn't like it. He needs to reaffirm to himself and everyone and that fucking bartender that he's NOT sora...)

Axel: Amaretto Sour

(cause he can be sweet and fun but he's a lil bitter)

Xion: Tequila Sunrise.

(Orange juice for Sora, grenadine for Kairi, and then Tequila that makes you forget. )

Ventus: a fucking Pabst Blue Ribbon.

(He tried Terra's IPA once and will never try an IPA again)

Aqua: Gin and Tonic

(but she doesn't actually enjoy it. It's just what the bartender always makes her for free when they flirt with her.

So she would prefer a "Voqua Cranberry" as Terra calls it when he makes/ buys it for her)

Terra: whiskey sour.

(It has egg white in it, and my boy needs his GAINS.)

Xehanort and Eraqus play that chess game but replace the pieces with shot glasses full of mystery liquors. They get hammered and start a keyblade war.

Master Yensid: just raw- dogging a bottle of absinthe

Demyx- Jagerbomb

Vanitas- buys a shot of the most expensive malt liquor, downs it, chews and eats the shot glass, gives the bartender a bloody gummed smile and wink and leaves without paying.

Namine: White claw/ Vodka Soda

(MAYBE with a lime slice. If she's feeling frisky)

Ansem the Wise- scotch. Cause he's LikeThat™️ .....fucking asshole

Hanger- Mike's harder lemonade

Pance- budwiser.

Omlette- Paloma

Xigbar- old fashioned

Jiminy: Bloody Mary (but a shitty one. Boarder line just ketchup and vodka... not one of those that has a whole ass 4 course meal as a garnish.)

Repliku: rubbing alcohol

[allfryam]

feeder for president!

Lots of excitement was shared when Frank wheeler was elected as the new president of the United States. He seemed to have great ambitions and an incredible spirit. But just a few months after he was elected, he put a new law into place. Every single American over the age of 18 must consume at least 5000 calories per day or they will be executed. He implanted every single American with a chip in the back of their throat that counted their calories. If the requirement had not been met, it would start leaking a poisonous substance into your system immediately. Effectively killing the person. This wasn’t all though. All gyms and any form of exercise equipment became illegal. Sidewalks were replaced with conveyor belts to prevent people from burning calories. Every year, you are required to gain at least 25 pounds. For every pound over this goal, the government will send a $100 check to your home.

as expected, all hell broke loose. People began rioting and begged for the law to be reversed. The smart people didn’t hesitate to start stuffing their face. Fast food restaurants had their busiest days in years as people frantically raced to consume as many calories as possible. To bring in more customers, McDonald’s released the heart attack burger. It was three burger patties cooked in pure oil and fat, then there was 6 pieces of bacon, loaded fries, a mountain of cheese, and McDonald’s new secret sauce. The burger contained almost 2000 calories and people went nuts for it. Companies removed small drinks and fries and replaced them with xtra large and supersize. A supersized coke was two liters and contained almost 100 calories.

the new system quickly weeded out the protesters and the only people left were obedient, soon to be fatties. Fitness influencers became weight gain influencers. They would give tips and tricks on how to eat more and expand your stomach. New stores began to open where you would pay to be mindlessly fed by one of the employees. You could set a certain amount of calories or a certain amount of time to be stuffed. If you were really desperate, some places carried an item called a lard ball. It had exactly 5000 calories all in the size of a pill. You would take it and immediately feel like you had just stuffed yourself silly at a buffet. It was quite expensive, but for those who could afford it, it was a game changer.

after a couple years with the new law, there wasn’t a person in sight without at least a bit of a belly. Abs were a thing of the past and it was hard for new 18 year olds to let go of theirs. But they obeyed and ate till they passed out. Some people took the $100 a pound rule very seriously. With how easy it was to gain weight, some people could gain over 100 pounds and get tens of thousands of dollars. Desk jobs became popular as no one was fit enough to do much else. Jobs were now required to give multiple snack breaks to employees so they had time to stuff themselves. it was paradise. Bulging bellies in all directions, former abs were memories of the past, countless people racing to shove food down their throats to meet the limit. I think this law may stay in place forever!

[midsummer-semantics]

under the dancing lights

Small break while I do a million other things but here's *checks calendar* day 16 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: Halloween

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Underage Drinking, Cemeteries, Canon Complaint (question mark???), Ambiguous Ending

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

He isn’t sure why he’s out here. It’s not like there’s anything left, anything calling him to action. The kids are old enough to trick-or-treat without supervision, Robin is with Vicky at a party he didn’t want to third-wheel to, and everyone else…

The point is, traipsing through Roane County cemetery on Halloween night seemed like a good idea when Steve is three Jack and Coke’s deep and unsure of where he fits into the regular world. He bought a dozen flowers on the way here just before the shop closed for the evening, like he couldn’t risk showing up to the cemetery empty-handed for some reason. 

Barb’s grave is overrun with flowers 365 days a year, three years running. Steve leaves several of the carnations in the bundle he carries at the tombstone, begging forgiveness as he does every few months. He hasn’t told Nancy what he does, even when he’s accompanied her a few times. He simply stays silent, lets Nancy grieve, and returns a few weeks later to replace the dead ones when no one is paying attention.

Next is Bob Newby, whom he didn’t know, but the kids did, so he drops a couple of flowers off out of perfunctory expectation.

Billy is the one of the hardest, his grave near Steve’s dad’s grandparents’ joint plot. He tends to spend a little more time here, aware of how the plot feels under his knees, remembering how Max looked as she lifted in the air under Vecna’s influence. Sometimes, Steve comes just to sit, to stare at Billy’s name and curse his existence, even if it brought him Max. Other times, Steve sits and talks, tells his rival how his step-sister is doing, how Steve learned to plant his feet, how regardless of what a piece of shit he was, no one deserved to deal with the bullshit the Upside Down had to offer. He leaves one flower out of obligation, but he doesn’t linger like he normally would.

He leaves a few at Chrissy’s grave, not just because she died, but because he knew her, even vaguely because she was a cheerleader while he was still on the basketball team. And because Eddie would want him to.

He flips off Jason’s grave as he passes it.

Three years — less than, technically— since the first death. Almost three years since Steve took Jonathan’s nail bat and made it his weapon of choice against the monsters that lurk beneath their feet. 

Over half a year since Max went into a coma that doctors — UD connected or otherwise — or Eleven haven't been able to wake her up from. 

Seven months since Eddie Munson was added to the list of people Steve couldn’t save.

The sun has dipped well past the treeline on the edges of the cemetery by the time he reaches Eddie’s grave. There’s no one else around, thankfully, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before some idiot high school kids make their way to the cemetery to get trashed and try to see a ghost or fuck near one of the graves. He should know, he was one of those idiot kids not too long ago.

There’s writing on Eddie’s headstone, scrawling letters spelling out MURDERER in red spray paint. One of the R’s is backward, Steve notes, rolling his eyes, a gesture that makes his vision swim a little. It’s not the worst thing that’s been blasted across the headstone since it was placed, but it’s by far the dumbest. He sets the remaining flowers down at his feet as he crouches to examine the writing closer. It’s dry, but it can’t have been there for more than a few days considering he was just here for Eddie’s birthday and had cleaned the last slur himself. He should have brought a bucket and brush instead of the stupid flowers, but he’s a little wobbly from the alcohol and the idea of going back to his car for any reason other than to go home and pass out alone sounds terrible. He’ll come back tomorrow and clean it, plus whatever gets done to it tonight probably. Maybe he should have brought his nail bat. Camped out next to Eddie’s grave and waited to see who exactly is doing it so he can make sure they know never to do it again.

Steve loses his precarious balance, falling back on his ass in the cold, damp grass with a soft “oof!” The flask in his back pocket digs into one cheek, and he shuffles around until he can extract it, then leans back on one hand while the other holds the cool metal.

“Probably stupid to drink more, but I doubt you’d give me shit about it,” Steve says to the grave, holding the flask up like he’s making a toast before closing his eyes and taking a swig. He actually hates whiskey, but it was all that was in the house since it’s his dad’s favorite, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, he coughs a bit as the straight liquor burns a path down his throat — he really should have brought some kind of chaser with him, but hindsight and all that — and then lays back on the grass as soon as it clears.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing through the slight roil in his stomach, and imagines what it would be like if he simply sank into the ground beneath him. Not like if vines were to spring up and drag him under, but if he just slowly melted into the earth the way one feels like they’re melting on a really plush mattress.

It’s only a slight comfort that the grave he’s lying on is empty. Otherwise, his vision of being swallowed by the earth might come with the extra twist of Eddie’s hands dragging him down Evil Dead-style. 

He snorts to himself, his head lolling back and forth a bit. Eddie would have loved that reference, he knows it. He may not have known him for long before. . . before, but he’s sure of it regardless.

After a moment, he brings his hands up to rub the heels into his eyes, waiting until he sees stars before he opens them. The stars continue to blink for a few seconds as his eyes adjust to the inky black sky.

Wait.

No.

There are stars dancing. Little lights swaying to and fro in front of his face, with more popping up around him. He turns his head in awkward directions against the grass, knowing he’s getting foliage in his hair the whole time, watching as more blink to life.

He shuts his eyes again as he sits up, but when he reopens them, they’re still there. It’s too late in the year for fireflies, too cold this late at night at the end of October, and yet the lights dance regardless. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu to when he was blitzed out of his mind on Russian truth serum and staring at the ceiling of Starcourt.

One of the stars comes close to him, wisping against his cheek like a tickling feather before flying away. Another does it to his left arm where he’s holding himself up, another to his hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly under his windbreaker. Steve giggles uncontrollably as another brushes his forehead and he turns his head to follow them. There’s another, and another, and another, and as he reaches out to catch one—

“Having a good night, big boy?”

[dayshift-confessions]

(To the davesport is toxic anon, Respectfully)

That was A LOT!

I'll quote specific things from that essay to respond to, btw thank you I can finally go over the things that most people ignore in the story [:

So get ready cause it might get longer than a chapter of dearly detested!

"Just because Dave isn't aware of how awfulhe's being to Jack doesn't mean he still isn't being that way."

Never said he isn't being that way, breaking into someone's property isn't morally good! Nor is killing kids!

if it were actual people with common sense, yeah that'd be toxic.

But does an orange man who kill kids just beacuse a random SCP with a new york accent told him that it'd get him out of the contract he signed have any common sense?

"Let's start with the good endings. The ones where Jack ceases to do anything harmful. Dave continuously pops up, preys on his insecurities 'You're only about as human as a hammer or a wrench, sportsy, and that's what I and phoney see you as.'"

And why wouldn't he..???

seeing the context, Jack works against him.

Like a brick wall, slowing him down from revenging the man he cares about the most.

Not to mention, he is actually furious against Jack there.

Just look at his diary (company computer). In the first day, he is all excited to continue his partnership with his new fella, but when we refuse? He is furious. He feels betrayed.

So how can we tell if they'd be toxic with each other in a relationship by comparing a single line from a route where they're literally enemies. Also, in that same route, Jack still happily says hi to Dave(trap).

Peter literally had to remind him not to befriend the enemy😭🙏

Cause again, Jack doesn't care all that much.

"He still follows Jack from location to location."

That's actually the contrary.. Dave is always seen to be there before we get the job. WE find him, not the other way around.

And in the other locations Jack worked at, Dave was never stated to be there.

"Dave is horribly attached to someone he sees as a tool. This is EXTREMELY unhealthy for both him AND especially Jack."

Ok, and that's the point where things start getting into a mess.

Dave. Never. Saw Jack. As a tool.

Doggo stated that himself: Dave saw Jack as a replacement for Henry. and you'll see how everything goes into a full circle when we arrive at your final point.

But first off, let's start with the marrion ending flashback.

Dave immediately starts comparing every part of Jack to Henry's.

The scars. The eyes. The soulless grin.

He says he is perfect.

If Jack represents Henry to Dave, he is everything but a tool in his mind.

But something to note, im talking about dsaf 1 dave, Jack is basically a Henry's lookalike stranger to him.

Now you would wonder why he abandoned us every time we failed at something.. well, it's simply because he has based standards for Henry, and we all know what they are. So If we aint worthy of doing everything right like henry does,, we are out of his legacy. (Again, dsaf 1.)

But by dsaf 2, he spends more time with old sport and starts appreciating Jack for who he is, not who he looks like.

The real noticeable shift is when we play as peter in dsaf 2, and Dave says "the fucker tried to do a flip in a springlock suit! I love that bastard."

First time we see him actually appreciating Jack's character, he is starting to know him, finds him FUNNY, something that Henry isn't.

But dont expect him to like us the first time he sees us step into that saferoom and sniff some coke with him in vegas

"Yes, this is a product of what Henry did to him, but he still does it. He still preys on Jack, because he's perceptive enough to notice his weaknesses and use them to gain what he wants."

How's Dave a mastermind using someone's insecurities in his advantage when he is just bold with every single aspect of himself. Literally telling a stranger within the 4 seconds of meeting him, he killed tons of toddlers.

He doesn't manipulate Jack in any way since we can literally get out of his plan whenever we want to, and the times when he kills us afterward are almost all by accident. (In Dsaf 1 AND in dsaf 2)

Our ONLY positive responses to him telling us his entire plan are:

"Sure, why the heck not?"

OR

"Anything to get away from this job."

"And Jack. Jack 'seems' to be okay with it, but he's notorious for pushing down his feelings. He's not a "human, after all, so why should he care what happens to him? This mindset is exactly why Dave is able to get him to do anything in the first place."

That's also one of the main problems

Most things go into the headcanon section, and things that weren't directly confirmed in game, nor by doggo.

And it's totally ok, but from an official game perspective, the only confirmed aspect here is

the fact that Jack has a hard time expressing his feelings, doggo confirmed it on his tumblr responding to an ask basically asking who Jack generally is as a person:

"Firstly, Jack is a bastardman not very touchy-feely. We can see this in many scenes, where Dave more or less says "I love you" and Jack responds with deflecting humour. or outright scorn When Dave says it for the final time, this time, Jack tries to say it back, but can't outright, only getting out: "Why is this so hard?" and "I hope you can find peace with what you've done." Which Dave understood the meaning of.(Hey, better than Henry (LEGACY Jack) hearing "I love you" and proceeding to tear Dave limb from limb, huh?"

So yes, that part is canon, but the rest? Who tells you he only 'SEEMS' ok with it.

But, if you prefer it like that, thats totally fine.

Everyone is allowed to like it how they want, that's what a fandom's about <:

"Dave went into him and Jack's partnership with the intention to use, abuse, then throw him out. Even in the bad ending of DSAF 1, it ends up with Jack thrown out on the side of the road for "hoarding coke." Dave's plans changed, of course, but his methods of coercion never changed"

Dave will NEVER throw you out if you work with him according to plan.

And about the ditching him in vegas part, that was in dsaf 1, and again, Jack is still a stranger to him at that point. Plus it isnt like he doomed Jack for going back home without alerting him? Jack can take the bus back to Colorado on himself.

And they fought over coke. Can you imagine how high the both of them were?

Dave was just mad, so he left without him!

"Fun thing, did you know that Dave was lying in the first game when he said that he needed Jack to get him out of Freddy's?"

Indeed, i did know! But i alas i also know that that was old info from doggo's deleted tumblr account, and thus, nuffin in it should be taken as accurate.

Also, because it absolutely makes no sense since the phone guys themselves say that the employees who tried scaping freddy's were found and killed! Dead in the ben outside freddy's! Charming

And also assuming Dave actually lied, that would throw the entire concept of the red contract out of the window.

Y'know the contract Steven warns about, because since he signed it he wasn't allowed to see his nonexistent family for the past 10 years or smth!

So yeah, Dave was definitely not lying, for all these in-game reasons.

"And before you say..."It's mutually toxic, what about the end of bad route DSAF 3???!!" Yeah okay that still isn't a mutually toxic relationship. Jack was coerced into a rigged springlock suit that Davetrap KNEW would end up with Jack getting impaled, all because Davetrap wanted to make himself feel better about his own physical state."

First off i have no idea what you were talking about in the first part, cause i dont think its at all mutually toxic in dsaf 3, Davetrap is just a whole other story because he ISNT stable at that point, and Jack doesn't change all that much other than growing in maturity.

But we are not talking about THIS right now, we are gonna talk about the full circle thing I referenced earlier.

Davetrap, NEVER springlocked Jack because he wanted to feel better about himself. (In fact, at that time, he left better than ever in it. It was the first thing Henry built for him, a GOLDEN RABBIT according to doggo's dsaftales: "nothing", Da golden rabbit was like a GIFT for Dave. So he felt like he was GIFTING this to Jack at best, and he literally refers to it as a gift too)

Davetrap still sees Jack as Henry.

Davetrap's WHOLE character is about the part that got the most fucked up by henry, the part that can't let go.

The part that still sees Jack as Henry's vessel.

Notice in which suit Dave springlocks Jack.

It's Henry's. Henry's suit.

And that's when everything goes into a full circle.

For Davetrap, at that instant its all coming together.

Him and Henry, reaching vegas, reliving the golden days, filling the empty hole inside of him.

But all that ends up being in vain.

That's when we get the plot twist that Dave can't actually feel anything bla bla bla lobotomy bla bla bla realizes all of Henry's bullshit bla bla bla yknow the slack

Oh and Flipside Dave, in doggo's words, is as Dave when he was a child, aka no lobotomy, just lies fed to him, thats why he turns against Herny so easily.

Btw guys, if you are in lack of lore or anything, just go on doggo's tumblr, search anything Dave, davetrap, Henry related and boom, Doggo spills the lore for you! (You gotta scroll down a hundred posts though.)

Oh also about the "I don't want you to take that kind of relationship as an example"

Trust me, I won't, I'm aroace and do not plan on killing toddlers any time soon!

But again, I see people that just find it more interesting to interpret them as toxic, and I totally agree, I FREAKIN LOVE TOXIC YAOI!

This whole thing was just to settle my point because it seems I didn't expend my yapping well enough in my last confession. BUBYE!

:o

[brainr0t-landfill]

T

Jonathan Price x Transexual Reader

Chapter Two:Settling In

trigger warning:forced workout, forcemasc fetish, drug mention, past marriage, implied familial abuse

"I asked if I've done enough for salvation, they said you'll die if you leave it up to god." -Ethel Cain, Age of Delilah

İt's your first week home.

İt feels weird to call it that when it's so many miles away from the driveway with the gravel that would burrow in the shoes he refused to replace and the tiles you wiped on your knees. Freedom feels a lot like childhood, growing into yourself feels like lugging stinking trash out of a desolate beach.

You grab the old TV by the underside putting your back into lifting it, the muscles on your thighs scream your arms feel like rubber, sweat runs down your face stings your eyes the way to his old pick up feels longer than ever it's almost full and the sun is almost gone, gently kissing the surface of the tumaltous sea with peach hues.

His eyes don't feel like they used to, you drop the TV in the back he pushes on your shoulder rearranges your posture

"Feeling the burn yet sweets?"

"Y-yeah, I feels like my arms are gonna fall off"

He smiles, full cheeks and well groomed beard, his tabbacco stainedteeth.

"That's good lad, don't you love it?"

You nod as you stumble back to the piles and piles of washed up trash the sand is warm under your feet, his eyes are like a lighthouse, stage lights. The binder restricts but the shadow on the sand with the body you have in your dreams liberates in a way you can't out into words.

You grab an old plastic bucket it's colors long since drained off and stuff whatever trash you can find in it, bags, sandals, chewed plastic straws you cram it in with your bare feet they're tender and so are your hands you haven't worked so willingly in years, the handle snaps on the way back so you hug it to your chest, he claps when you place it in the back and he closes it.

"Ready to head home love? Just about ready for some supper huh? Looks like you could use a proper pint too"

"Yeah, could eat a horse."

When you sit down in the car he reaches into his pocket

"But first, a little reward no? Think you've deserved it"

A beat of silence you watch his hand still in his pocket

"Don't you?"

"W-what?"

"Don't you think you've deserved it?"

"Well I've been working really hard and I- I've been good a-and-"

He huffs, he doesn't like stuttering, doesn't like self doubt or stalling.

"Tommy, I asked you a very simple question."

"Yes, yes I deserve a reward yes"

You pant, and he fishes a vial out of his hand the labels on it clean and clear

"Coke?"

He chuckles shakes his head, he's almost always patient, in a good mood, sunny. Unless he isn't of course.

"No, no lad, testestorone. Ain't no shame in supplements"

You stumble, your mins short circuits fear like lightning in your veins desperation like dog teeth against your tounge. You gulp watching as he stabs the syringe in and slowly pulls the liquid into it.

" That's right Toms"

"B-b-but won't that make me a man-?"

He laughs, half humorous half ready to take you over his knee and correct you, he hasn't yet , he will at some point.

"That's sort of the point dearest. What? You don't want it or something?"

He asks as he lifts the basket ball shorts he's put you into, one of his old pairs, you'll get yours soon enough he says. He says that about everything he hands down to you, your husband never kept his promises for some reason you believe it when he says it.

"N-no I just I- are you sure I mean it's so- aren't we going a bit far-"

"Shut it Tommy "

He bites and stabs the syringe into your thigh pumps liquid hope into you as your breath stutters in your chest, he rubs at your inner thigh ay the hair that's accumulating there.

"That's a good boy now, good boy. Feels good don't it hmm? Gonna get a beard soon, we'll have to get you tweaked a bit, don't think you'll grown much taller but we have other things to work on. Don't we?"

He grabs a handful of your crotch and squeeze s, you can't imagine it, you pant like a dog for it the vial shines in the golden light of the setting sun.

He starts home the dreams your mother shamed into your run like water and clot like blood, you want his face with gratitude, with hunger, you want his pin scars, big nose, eyebrows that have never seem the metal of a tweezer, beard yellowed from alcohol you want it all.

"Humor me a night at the pub Toms?"

"Yes, sir"

[bratbby333]

the jjk men + their drink of choice

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

blurb/brain dump

sfw; mentions of alcohol, obvi

feat: suguru, yuuji, megumi, satoru, nanami, sukuna, toji, ++ choso

author notes: i've been bartending for three years now and i can safely say ive gotten pretty good at reading people and guessing their go-to drinks,,so here's the jjk men!

-suguru: a whiskey coke. probably jack or maker's mark. simple, straightforward, and gets the job done. suguru is too laid back to be picky and is definitely the most patient person sitting at the bar. his intuitive and observant nature has him scanning the other patrons at the bar; he's a people watcher for entertainment, paying no mind to the tv's. he speaks to the bartender with a smile on his face, joking around with them, making small talk and sarcastic remarks. he's just so sassy and violently intelligent; his soft, healing energy rubbing off on everyone around him. he's a breath of fresh air in a busy bar environment. he tips well, too.

-yuuji: a piña colada (rum, coconut cream, pineapple juice; blended and served in a hurricane glass, garnished with a slice of pineapple and a maraschino cherry). freshly 21 years old, this would be his first legal drink. "look, you even get snacks with it!!" he'd say, referring to the garnishes, his age definitely showing with this drink. he attempts to chug it, getting a brain freeze in the process.

-megumi: an espresso martini. classy, bold, and strong; this drink is definitely for someone who wants to appear more mature and sophisticated than they actually are. megumi is mature, but he's overcompensating for the fact that his best friend just ordered the fruitiest drink possible. the caffeine mixing with the liquor makes meg more talkative than usual, and his reserved nature and unreadable face is left at the door and replaced with soft smiles and the occasional chuckle at his goofy friends. he'd also definitely makes fun of yuuji for ordering that piña colada.

-satoru: a tequila sunrise (tequila, orange juice, grenadine, layered to make a gradient). extra af, sweet, and fruity. orders it with a triple shot cause he's grown. "it's just so pretty, isn't it?" he'd giggle, kicking his feet under the bar like he isn't a fully grown man or the strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world. oh, satoru. filled with such child-like wonder. with enough drinks in his system (although, he'd definitely do this without the liquor), he would work his way around the bar trying to make conversation with anyone and everyone, not caring if they didn't participate- no biggie, he'd just talk at them.

-nanami: a manhattan or an old fashioned, but only with top-shelf bourbon. it'd be a waste to have the bartender craft this perfect cocktail and use shitty liquor. he sips it slow, savoring the caramel notes of the bourbon. the perfect drink for a stoic and reserved man. nanami definitely has a sophisticated palate and never settles for low quality liquor. he goes to more upscale bars, enjoying the smooth jazz that pours through the speakers, occasionally snacking on small h'ordeurves, but more often than not working his way through a pile of paperwork.

-sukuna: liquid cocaine shots (equal parts goldschlager, jager, and rumple minze). absolutely unhinged and vile, but if you like them, you love them. and sukuna loooves them. he takes the shots like they're water and still manages to out drink everyone else; he'll even offer to buy shots for everyone at the bar, the other patrons cheering and thanking him, expecting it to be shots of vodka or tequila. with a maniacal smile plastered across his face, he watches as everyone's faces contort in disgust when they realize it's a liquid cocaine shot. sukuna just grins as they struggle to get them down. such a sadist. an absolute menace.

-toji: an adios motherfucker (equal parts tequila, vodka, gin, rum, and blue curaçao, with sour mix and sprite). "but that's such a lame drink!" his friends say, but toji would roll his eyes and state that it's a funny drink name and that it gets him drunker quicker; promptly chugging it and ordering another. the glass looks so small in his giant hands, other bar patrons casting judgmental gazes in his direction at the scene in front of them; giant, scary-looking man and his fruity little drink, but he couldn't care less. it's not like they have the balls to say anything to his face, any way.

-choso: a little overwhelmed by bar culture but happy to be invited anyway, he'd sneak a straw into his brother's piña colada, even though yuuji would be more than happy to share. choso would eventually branch out on his own after feeling a bit more confident (and after googling the most popular drinks around the world) settling on a mojito, not realizing it was one of the more laborious drinks a bartender could make. he'd feel bad when he realized it and wouldn't order one again, apologizing profusely to the bartender.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

author notes: this took me way longer to write than it should have solely because i couldn't stop laughing over some of the scenarios. also,,i just want to thank each and every one of y'all for liking, commenting, and reblogging my stories...it means so so so much to me and i wish i could give all y'all a big ole smooch on the forehead (consensually). my inbox is open n ready for ur suggestions...please feel free to drop a request♡

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[darling-solaire]

i am asking about solaire's transport choices

Solaire vehicle HCs:

Vincent:

I’m not sure if the fandom made this or Erik confirmed that Vincent has 4 cars but uses one more than the others because it’s like a newer version of his car pre turning but I really wanna build off of that because it’s such a clear presentation of his character to me

William gave that boy everything he could’ve wanted after his turning maybe it’s guilt maybe it’s a genuine love for someone he’s seen grow but despite it all all Vincent wants is the humanity he cannot have

Him having all the options in the world and him clinging onto something from his past that isn’t the same but the closest he can get really shows how despite everything he has still not come to terms with the fact that he is a vampire and is no longer the boy he was before

Alexis:

Alexis is truly daddy’s little princess and while she isn’t the favourite she’s never left wanting for much

She seems like someone who knows what she wants and doesn’t waver from her preferences often which why I think she would go for a more vintage car

Probably a 50s convertible in like a coke bottle red because she knows her standing as a princess and wishes to be seen wherever she goes

Sam:

I think after Sam’s turning and all the turmoil that happened within the house William offered to buy Sam whatever he’d like anything to compensate for his tremendous loss and it came to a point where he offered to replace the car Sam broke in the crash

But I don’t think Sam would ever want a gift like that to buy his silence almost especially so close to the turning and especially not a replacement because it would simply remind him of the incident over and over

That’s not to say sam would let the old man off the hook. He took the money a stored it away until he was good and ready to purchase something of his choosing and after hard deliberation he decided he didn’t need anything fancy anything that tied him to the others he wanted something humble something that was his alone and that’s how he got his truck

Porter:

Porter has a car it’s brand new and he’s never really used it much.

With his line of work a car would only draw more attention to him so he opts for a motorcycle because I bike would allow him to slip into areas much easier than a larger vehicle ever could.

He works on it meticulously making sure it’s always at top condition because he can’t risk it breaking down on him but a smaller part of him takes pride in working on it it gives him an opportunity to work on something without any outside input an almost therapeutic ritual for him

[sulumuns-dootah]

Gusion x f!Reader - Skipping school (18+)

A/N: A something that I got inspired to write by something that defnitelly didn't happen. This might not be the best out there, but this is my first smut in a really long time (last time i wrote one i was still a minor and had no bussiness in knowing what smut is). Also this is very self-indulgent, so I'm sorry if it's too ooc for you. (Writing this also made me realise that Gusion is pretty much like my real life boyfriend)

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

Characters: Gusion

Word count: 1471

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

    ༺☆༻

“I thought you were at school.” Gusion startled you as you were going to the kitchen for another glass of coke. You didn't even notice him sitting in your living room and reading a book from your bookcase. Of course he was reading your favorite book you raved to him about many times before.

“I uh....missed my bus...” you trailed off not wanting to admit to him that you'd now twice in a row skipped school. But then something popped into your head: “...Hey, what part are you reading?”.

“Don't even think about changing the subject. How did that happen again?” his tone was stern and slightly irritated.

“I was literally right there, but the driver is a dick and left even though he saw me clearly there.” you huffed and sat down next to Gusion in annoyance.

“You're a pain to deal with, you know?”

“And yet you still come here.”

“Ugh, whatever. Do you at least have some notes from those classes?”

“Yeah, teachers send us the materials we're working with.”

“Great, so go take your notes and when you're done we can read this book together.” Gusion finishes your argument with a sip of coffee from one of your mugs. You stand up with the same annoyance you sat down with and head back to your room.

Not even twenty minutes pass and you're already fed up with all the different types of fruit for your Pomology class, so you resort to scrolling on your phone instead.

“Just what do you think you're doing right now?” a voice booms from behind you.

“A break. Ever heard of the Pomodoro method?”

“You've barely written down half of a page.” Gusion looms over you to see what you've written.

“There's a lot to get through!” You say loudly this time, annoyed that he chooses to not pick up on your bad mood.

“You really are a pain. Do I really have to supervise you?” he sighs as much as his lungs allow.

The moment Gusion sees your answer is only an eyeroll, he picks you up, sits on your chair and sets you on his lap. You can feel his slightly rapid heartbeat and smell his significant scent of dark coffee and old books. This definitely made things worse and the delicious juicy fruits in your materials would soon be replaced by thoughts about another delicious fruit that you currently sat on. You tried to compose yourself, but Gusion noticed your slightly ragged breath.

“I tell you what: for every page you fill up I'll give you a hickey.” he mutters under your ear and follows it by a soft bite. You only softly hum and nod you head, trying to calm your breathing and start to write down things again.

Five pages and five hickeys later, Gusion is playing with the hem to your shorts and patiently waits for you to finish rereading your notes to make sure you understand them. Something else, that is not so patient has made itself known more and more with every page. Every time you slightly shifted in his lap to reach for something or to get more comfortable, Gusion would quietly grunt trying to not distract you from your task. But now you were finished and any distraction was welcome.

“Good girl. Do you know how attractive it was to see you write all that down? I think you deserve a reward. Can you guess what it is?” his hand that played with your shorts moved slightly inward to stroke your inner thigh.

“I think I know exactly what I deserve.” you turn your head around to kiss him.

“You really are a cocky one. Careful with that attitude or you might not get what you expect.” the strokes have turned into light taps with and occasional squeeze between them.

Gusion picks you up and carries you to your bed with leisurely steps as if he's not the one who clearly needs this more. As he sets you down, his hand quickly makes its way to his tie to undo it.

Your back hasn't even fully hit the mattress and your hands are already pinned above your head to be tied to a headboard. Finally looking up from his neck to see his face, you see Gusion's black eyes are even darker with lust.

He pulls back to fully appreciate your choice of outfit, which only consists of thigh highs, oversized zip up hoodie and underwear since you planned to only stay at home for the rest of the day. Though it did make you feel slightly self-conscious, there isn't much that you can do to cover yourself with your hands tied up and your legs being spread by Gusion kneeling between them.

The hands previously holding the end of the tie that binds your wrists, travel slowly over your torso to rest under your thighs, massaging them. He pauses and simply looks at you with unreadable expression despite having one of his rare smirks.

“Are you only gonna look at me all pretty, or are you actually gonna do something?” you break up the silence, slightly curious how he can manage to stay so collected despite his obviously painful boner.

“What a smart mouth you have, but you better be careful I don't find another use for it.” he digs his nails into your thighs and shifts more backwards to take off his shirt. His skin is so tempting to touch; if only you weren't tied down you'd rake your nails down it. He continues by taking off his pants to be left only in his underwear. You shiver in anticipation of what's to come.

Returning to his previous spot, Gusion runs his hands from your ankles up to rest on your waist for a moment while his mouth resumes where it left off leaving hickeys. He slowly makes his way down by unzipping your hoodie and kisses with occasional bites that will surely leave marks. Stopping above the area where you need him the most, pulling your underwear down and skips to your inner thighs. Each of them earns few bites and kisses until he's up again, admiring his work which has already started to begin to show its blue-black results.

“I should leave you like this so you remember to not skip school.” Gusion pauses to palm himself for a few seconds before he finally pulls his member out “But the truth is, that I enjoy having you in my lap while you're taking notes.”

“So I should be missing it more then, huh?” you reply with a sassy tone in your voice and sticking your tongue out with a wink.

Gusion only slaps your inner thigh painfully and gives you a stern look that warns you to not pull a stunt like that. But before you can roll your eyes in response, he enters you and you can feel tears well up in your eyes from the stretch.

A deep sigh leaves Gusion and then finally is followed by him starting to move. He plants a tattooed hand next to your head while the other moves to play with your tits. You try to stealthily get your hands undone so you can scratch and claw his back, but he's having none of it. His thrusts speed up and become more forceful, which has you bouncing closer to the headboard but also brings you closer to your release faster than you'd like.

“S-slow down... Too much...” you manage to breath out between moans to maybe get some mercy to be able enjoy this feeling longer. Gusion only chuckles into your ear and speeds up even more, which has your headboard banging into the wall. At a time like this you're glad you don't have neighbours.

The hand playing with your tits moves to your clit to massage it and his head moves to plant kisses on that special spot on your neck. All of these things combined have you seeing stars and screaming his name.

It doesn't take much time for you to find your release despite trying to hold off for as long as possible. Gusion lets you ride out your orgasm but doesn't pull out. Quite the opposite, actually - he stops, still rock solid.

“Why did you finish me so quickly? Why didn't you finish yourself?” you still try to catch your breath.

“Do you really think I don't know that you also skipped yesterday? I bet there's a lot of things you have to write down for those classes too.” he picks you up while still inside you and carries you back to your desk.

[seven-oomen]

When the world's at stake | Poolverine fic |preview

I'm writing again for the first time in months, so be nice. I'm trying. I'm pretty happy with this so far. bit of a character study of Logan's feelings and insecurities as he gets to know Laura, Wade, and his friends and settles into this new life. Will eventually feature Omega!Logan.

Love isn’t something he deserves. Not after everything he’s done. After everything’s he’s been through. Love is meant as a bond of warmth between people who will do anything for each other. Stronger than any adversity. He’s already proven in the past that love is utterly wasted on him.

And yet, as Laura smiles at him like he’s her entire world, he can’t help but feel the supernova of warmth sparking in his chest. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve it, but by fucking god will he make sure she feels loved for the rest of his days. He can’t replace her father, he’s not that virtuous, nor good, he’s not that Logan. But he sure as shit can try to be a surrogate. For her. He’d do anything to see her smile like that.

At least it’s the one thing in his new life that is fairly simple to figure out. Things are a whole lot more complicated when it comes to Wade.

Wade who’s sitting beside him as his friends and family are gathered around him. Wade who invited him into his home and life without even so much as a second guess. Wade who smiles at him and Laura, and ruffles Mary’s Mohawk as he leans against him. And for a split second he almost believes that the warmth in Wade’s eyes is directed at them both.

It can’t be. He knows that. Wade’s just smiling because of the cub next to him and how her little antics keep him focused on her. That’s all. There’s nothing more to this. Not when Vanessa sits on Wade’s other side.

Because why in hell’s name would Wade ever smile at him, when he has his entire world around him already?

He’s just the extra baggage that comes with saving it all. That’s all he is.

It doesn’t take away that nagging little feeling in the back of his throat. But that’s just life isn’t it? Can’t have everything you want.

So he simply returns that smile and fights down the urge to do anything about it. Instead taking the bloody dog from Wade and nudging him in her direction.

Vanessa is a good person. She’s good for Wade. He can tell. It’s in her eyes, in her soothing scent. In a way she reminds him of Kayla. Back before everything went to absolute shit. They have the same air about them, kind, compassionate, not taking any shit from the people they care about while giving their all in return. That’s the kind of person Wade deserves.

Laura ruffles Mary’s hair again and lays her head on his shoulder, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He’s met with a knowing gaze from the cub as he looks down at her. Too smart for her own good.

He chuckles anyway. “Comfy?” “You make a good pillow, yeah.” “You’re a weird cub, you know that?” “Cub?” She tilts her head up and stares at him in defiance for a moment or two, then chuckles. “You’re a weird old man.” “I’m not disputing that.” “As if you could…” She mumbles with a roll of her eyes. He immediately misses her warmth when she sits up to take a sip of her coke.

He didn’t mean to call her cub to her face, it just happened. In his universe it’s not unusual for an Omega to address a kid in that way. But this isn’t his universe and every little interaction like this constantly reminds him of that fact. It’s gonna take a while to get used to.