#i gotta get you something

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Sylvia lore. So much angst. I'm so sorry.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎☆⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

Sylvia does not wear a prom dress. It's glorified lingerie if anything, a short little dress found in the back of her closet; a relic of simpler times. Her revenge dress, as Dally always called it.

A thin cardigan tossed around her shoulders, a single silver button clasped in the middle across her brassiere.

Too-tall-heels that hurt her feet, and a single little purse held in both hands.

She tries a smile and a pathetic little twirl. Bleached, burned curls fall against her shoulders when she slows, carefully reaching to her eyes but smudging her makeup anyway.

Tim thinks she looks like a filly. Can't keep still, eyes moving back and forth too much. He tries to calm her, through the haze of cigarette smoke curling between them.

“Don't you have a dance to be at?”

“I can't believe we used to fit on that bed.”

The mattress sags. Sylvia pries open her clutch, hastily pulling out a small flask. It's done in a few gulps, rim stained red, and shoved back into her momma’s white clutch before she speaks again.

“I graduated today.”

“I know, I watched. Had to leave after your turn though—, business.”

She nods. “I wouldn't wanna stay the whole time either. Kinda had to though, bein’ in the middle ‘n’ all.” She scoffs. “Sylvia Jackson.”

Curls crumple when she lays her head on his shoulder. Neither move for a while. It's a warm evening, June of 1966. Tim tries not to get ash on her dress and Sylvia tries not to cry.

“I wish you didn't drop out. We could've done it together—, graduatin’. Hell, you coulda been my prom date… don't think they’ll let me drag you ‘long this time.”

Tim exhales, a careful arm around her frail shoulders. His chest rumbles when he speaks; sounding gruffer than he meant to.

“Do you even wanna go to this dance, doll?”

“I wanna get out, Tim.”

Out of Tulsa. Hell, maybe out of the fucking state. He can't blame her— he can barely get a word of common sense in before she’s off on a tangent, tounge that used to cut boys like him to ribbons in their youth.

They're not kids anymore.

“We could leave tonight, while everyone’s busy with the party. Wouldn't even have to tell anyone—, well, we could leave a note for the kids ‘n’ one for Buck. Hell, we could just bring Curls ‘n’ Ang with us—,”

Something in his chest tightens when he lays a scarred hand on her knee. “I can't leave, Sylv. You know that.”

“I know that,” she chuckles through quick tears spilling over her bottom lashes. “I was just-, just thinkin’. I've been doin’ a lot of that these days.”

Thinking of what she’ll do now. She was never an A+ student, college or anything after was out of the question. Not to mention the financial aspect of it all.

Thinking of that gymnasium. The walls done up in streamers, fruit punch and class cupcakes to be enjoyed by all.

She thinks of the Prom Court. King and Queen was no contest; who a better candidate than some dead Soc and his mourning girlfriend?

Sylvia wishes bitterly in her mind for them to move on as she imagines Sherri Valance dressed to the nines, twirling delicately with that plastic crown held to her chest, a match if tiara placed atop her bombshell hairdo.

She thinks of the warm black earth in front of his headstone. It's his birthday carved there. It's his name staring back at her. It doesn't seem real; it never does. She still thinks there’d been some kind of mistake. Some other hood torn apart by bullets under harsh street lamps that brutal night in August.

Dally could always out run the pigs. Always.

Dally never left her for this long.

Never.

“I dunno what to do.”

“You're gonna go to your prom, Sylvia. ‘N’ you're gonna be the best lookin’ girl there.” He tucks hair behind her ear, wipes the pad of his thumb under her eye where mascara had begun to run. “You're gonna call me in the mornin’, alright? We’ll go for coffee. Like old times.”

”I’ll call you tomorrow,” she parrots shaikily. Tim nods, Sylvia smiles. “I should get goin’… I don’t wanna miss my prom.”

“Go get ‘em, cowgirl,” Tim calls. He can hear her heels click against the floor the whole way through the hall and down the stairs, all the way to the front door. It slams back into place as quickly as it was thrown open. He stands. Just enough to watch his oldest friend teeter down the sidewalk in her too-tall-heels.

Sylvia will miss her prom. She’ll empty her change into the hand of the bus driver, taking her ticket and watching Tulsa pass by. The sun dips below rooftops, and she’ll make her way into a seedy little bar on the other end of greaser territory. She’ll meet a boy there; her age, another relic from years ago. William— Billy, as he always preferred, Dawson.

He’ll buy her a drink, she’ll repay him with a dance or two. He’ll buy as many drinks as it takes to keep her happy, clinging to his arms as she slides out of her heels and against his chest. She’ll thank him for the fun, planting a quick, deep kiss against his lips.

When he invites her to his car, she’ll follow.

His hair is brown rather than white-blonde. His eyes, every other colour than that pale, lifeless, blue. But tonight, he smells of tobacco and night. Her nails dig into his leather jacket just right, and the way he holds her.

So tightly, so warm, so possessively.

In a way so sickeningly familiar, Sylvia can only push herself closer against his bare chest the next morning, her sorry excuse of a prom dress pushed well past her thighs.

Tim will understand, she tells herself as she settles into his grip. Tim always understands.

i knew where we were going, i knew, and you still had me sucked into the story and gasping when she met up with billy. that’s the sign of a wonderful storyteller-

[theblob1958]

people are saying do it scared, but you also gotta do it alone. you'll miss out on so much you want to do if you wait til someone will do it with you. do it scared and do it alone.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny mixed up FNAF Help wanted with Digital circus,,

[zaahvi]

dark grows the sun, and in summer soon come mighty storms...

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

christ sometimes I just wanna. steal a time machine & go back & sit down next to my 9-year-old self and just like. let them pull out their pokemon card binder & gush about their holographic gyarados or whatever. I'd just smile & ask questions about motherfukcing bulbasaur & tell my kid self that I thought they were a neat person, & someday they'd find other people who thought so too.

like i'm a grown adult who honestly finds most kids stuff boring, but. damn if i could go back & hang out with my baby self & listen to them ramble...just so they knew someone was listening. i would in a heartbeat. thinking about u kid

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

[ ID in ALT ]

he giggles

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way

[nori-no-name]

If Blue Diamond ever fused, I think Garnet should be at least a little petty about it

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[noxious-fennec]

Snapshots of simpler times..

[fosliie]

It is time to actually explain that one vague Sam and Max au! Calling it

Take me out Noir au

first off, you have to know, this au is essentially a hypothetical fanfic Sam and Max write together with their “totally not me” ocs. I feel like they’d be the kinda guys to write self fulfilling fanficfion (they’re terrible at it)

The gist is that it is a gritty noir detective drama starring Samantha and Maxine, their fem counterparts. It’s the same vibes as a noir detective pulp fiction novel in the 1950’s, so VIOLENCE!! DRAMA!! TENSION!!!

With a disheveled detective and her ex-partner turned performer/singer (with connections to the mafia..?), they often cross paths and usually end up fighting, reminiscing longingly, or a mixture of the both

[slymanner]

God dude these two scenes and how roxie moves hurt my heart so so bad 🥹

it's like a mix of anger, feral, emotional breakdown, and complete sadness that just fucks me up soooo fucking bad.

it's like she's a pet who got abandoned by their owner but they see them again after years of sadness and depression of them being gone and leaving them like that and all that anger and sadness just manifest's into one bundle of emotion's towards them they cannot control.

roxie baby ur gonna be okay u deserve better :[

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo!!💙💗🤍💗💙

[heartorbit]

happy valentines day... 2!

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya, despite being a sickly and gentle child, was his own kind of nightmare for Crepus and the other Dawn Winery staff.

See, Diluc is prone to mischief and chaos, dragging along his younger brother and a couple of other children into his plots and messes.

But Kaeya? Kaeya is the type to end up in the most random, and I do mean most random, of places. He would vanish for several hours, only to be found in an unexpected location such as, oh let's say that one time, he was found eating fruit with some friendly hilichurls...IN LIYUE.

He was such a curious soul that would easily get distracted by the wonders of Teyvat, but since he is so silent in both words and movements, whoever is watching over him would lose sight of him just as quickly.

He has caused several search parties in his youth, only for people to find out he was following a seelie to a treasure chest or napping with a young wolf cub in Wolvendom.

Crepus swears that Kaeya and Diluc are competing on who can give him gray hairs the fastest (so far, Diluc is winning, but Kaeya sure is catching up with every scream of panic from a designated babysitter and Diluc)