#they just don’t want to learn how to use the goddamn filters

[soulless-bex]

“oh but they don’t fit in the dc universe”

considering the amount of bullshit that is somehow canon to dc, you do not get to draw the line at ghosts/magic jewelry

“mlb/dp x batman crossovers don’t make sense”

im sorry, in what world does bruce wanting to help the overworked adoption-bait teen hero with the weight of the world on their shoulders not make sense?

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Outsiders Prompt Fic #11- "This ain't my first rodeo kid"

This one was requested by @whitemanswh0re3 who requested prompt 10 for Tim Shepard. I had a lot of fun with this one, and got to include some Curly and Angela shenanigans so I hope y'all enjoy!

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

Tim should have known better.

His first mistake was forgetting to hide ma’s liquor bottles before she woke up that morning. His second was paying more attention to Manuel’s report on their business with the Brumly boys than to his pissed off little sister, and his third was leaving the twins alone for more than five minutes without adequate supervision.

This is his fault, but all Angela’s doing. She’s mad at him so now she's getting even, and shit he’s gonna have a miserable night isn’t he? He should have known better. She’s not one to mess with. He supposes it’s his own fault- he raised her to take no shit, but honestly, she's not supposed to turn his teachings against him. She’d wanted his attention before and he’d ignored her, so now she’d gone and made it impossible for him to ignore her a second longer.

“Timmy!” Ma’s eyes are jewel bright, the booze making her happy before the comedown makes her mad. That’s fine. That’s par for the course. “Carinõ, come sit with us.”

He takes in the scene in front of him. Bottles and powders- familiar evidence of Ma’s debauchery- covering every surface, his baby brother on the floor, half hidden behind the couch, his little sister bleary eyed and all but collapsed into Ma’s side. 

“Come sit with us,” he can hear the deadly disbelief in his voice, “Come sit with us? With you and my seven year old baby siblings you let get drunk with you?”

She scoffs at him. Actually scoffs. 

“They’ve only had a sip or two, they’re fine.”

He should have known something like this would happen the minute Angel started sucking up to Ma. Angela hates Ma. Of course she had ulterior motives. How could he be so stupid?

“They! Are! Seven! Years! Old!” He all but howls, “You shouldn’t have given them any! Jesus Christ woman, I know you decided not to be our mother but you could at least use some goddamn common sense! You don’t give children alcohol for fucks sakes.”

“Angel wanted some.” She’s petulant, like a scolded child, and Tim hates that he’s stuck raising her right along with his siblings. 

“Angel wants a lotta things, and at least half of them will kill her,” he levels a glare at his sister, who doesn’t seem to really hear him before turning back to Ma “she’s gotta learn the meanin’ of no and you bet your ass I’m gonna teach it to her just as soon as I make sure they ain’t gonna die of alcohol poisonin’ because of you.”

Ma doesn’t look ashamed. She never does, never once feels guilty when she should no matter what she’s done or how much she’d hurt them. Nothing is ever her fault, not when she didn't buy enough food to feed them when they were little, not when she forgot they existed and left for a week when she went on a bender, not when her boyfriends beat on him and Curly or got too friendly with Angela. To Maria, nothing is ever her fault. Letting the twins go hog wild on her Jose Cuervo won’t be any different. She’ll blame him or fate or her piece of shit ex husband, if all else fails she’ll call it an accident but she’ll never admit that it’s all her fault. Her fault for never getting to know her children as more than dolls to play with when she's bored, her fault for giving up on mothering when he was four and never trying again, even when she had new babies, her fault for being so pathetically broken she doesn’t know- or worse just doesn’t care- what giving free access to her poison of choice could do to children who are already too used to numbing their pain in any way they can find.

He hates her. He hates her so much. 

Curly is sprawled across the floor by the couch, glassy eyed and babbling to himself. The kid already never shuts up and whatever poison Ma had given him seems to have cut off his filter altogether. It don’t matter that no ones listening to him- Curly’s off in his own little world, entertaining himself. He’s a lonely kid, Tim’s seen it, seen how he’s always a bit too strange, a bit too callous, a bit too wild to every truly fit in- he supposes it’s good the kid has learned to entertain himself. Even still, he hates seeing it like this. 

“What did they have?” he grits through a mask of forced calm. He’ll deal with Ma later. For now, the kids have to come first, and per usual he's the only one around willing to recognize that. “How much did you give them?”

“Really Timmy, I don’t know what you’re all up in arms about, my mama got me started early-”

“-Look how well that turned out for you, huh?” He sneers, glad to see her flinch. “Now I ain’t gonna ask you again: how much did they have and what exactly did you give them?”

“They been sippin’ from my bottle with me,” she holds up her good old Jose Cuervo bottle that Tim wants to smash against the fucking wall, “and I think Angel stole a bite or two of brownie when my back was turned.”

“She got into the grass?”

“It ain’t my fault! They’re devils, both of them. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said it wasn’t for kids, she just wanted sweets!”

“Fuck!” He kicks the beat up coffee table sending empties crashing to the floor, “fuck!”

“If they get proper sick from this,” he whirls on Maria, jabbing a finger in her direction and she cringes back. He knows he looks like Pa when he’s mad like this, it’s why usually he fights so hard to keep his temper under control. RIght now though, he doesn’t much care if he reminds her of him. Let her be scared. He hopes she feels even half the terror he’s feeling right now. “If I gotta take them to the ER or Curly chokes on his own puke or Angel finds she’s got a taste for the good stuff at seven fucking years old- I swear to god I will kill you. So you better pray they’re alright.”

She swallows, suddenly quiet and the only noise in the room is Curly’s incessant babbling, but Tim doesn’t drop eye contact and she must know he means it because without another word she rises from the couch, and stumbles down the hall closing the door of her room behind her with a snap. 

Tim sighs. One problem dealt with, two to go, one of whom is having a conversation with the ceiling and the other of which seems fascinated by the feeling of the couch cushion against her cheek. 

Jesus Christ.

The twins have always been small, wiry and wild as any feral animal, and he fears it’s yet another disadvantage working against them tonight, as the alcohol and the weed is bound to do a lot more damage to their systems than it would to anyone actually old enough to be playing with substances. However, their is one advantage to them being small that Tim learned very early on to use to his advantage, and that’s this: he can still manage to pick them both up at once.

He scoops Angie up first, fixing her nightgown which has gotten twisted around her neck, and she rests her head on his shoulder, but apart from that doesn’t give any indication that she knows who he is or what’s going on. She gets like this sometimes anyway, quits talking and gets real blank looking so he can’t really tell if it’s the weed hitting her hard or not. Curly on the other hand, grins as soon as he sees him and doesn’t stop talking for even a second as Tim settles him on his hip and starts carrying them down the hall to their bedroom. They should’ve been asleep ages ago, and they’ll probably crash soon regardless, but it isn’t gonna offer him any sort of peace now is it, not when he’s gonna have to wake up every hour to check that they’re still breathing. 

“...an’ mama’s friend Mark came over for a bit an’ I think he’s mean but mama said we had to be nice or we’d have to go away again and then Angela stole her brownie and didn’t even share with me e’en though I gave her an easter chocklit and then mama got mad at us for fighting so she said I could have more of her special drink so it was fair but her special drink hurt my mouth but I got in trouble for spittin’ it out an’ Mark belted me a goodun’ so I had to swallow all of it-”

“Curly,” Tim cut him off firmly. That’s how he always has to do stuff with the kid. Firm. Otherwise Curly don’t pay attention long enough to listen to anything, “what do you mean that bastard belted you?”

“He hit me,” Curly told him simply, and Tim hated how matter of fact he sounded. No seven year old should sound so blase about being smacked, “a goodun’ in the back, but I didn’t cry ‘cause I know you wouldn’t an’ I’m tough like you so I just glared at him and called him a motherfucker like you woulda-”

“Curly, let me see your back.”

He eased the kid’s t-shirt over Curly’s scrawny shoulders, feeling a new spike of rage at the hand shaped purple bruise blooming across Curly's shoulder. That asshole. Tim was gonna hunt him down and give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d learn not to mess with a Shepard ever again, and maybe he’d learn a lesson about beating little kids too.

“You did good kid,” Tim told him, fixing Curly’s t-shirt, “that bastard ain’t gonna take a swing at you again, y’hear?”

“I’ll beat him up if he tries. You can help,” Curly offers magnanimously, “you’re real good at beatin’ people up. I bet me’n you could beat up anyone if we tried. Even a football player soc.”

“Even a football player soc.” Tim agrees, hating the softness that’s welling in his chest. He’s supposed to be angry at them- they’re big enough to know they aren’t supposed to talk to Ma if he isn’t around and he’s had the talk about not eating or drinking anything Ma gives them more than once- but it’s hard when the booze has made Curly so sweet, and Angel so cuddly, curled into his lap. They’ll be grumpy tomorrow, sick and sore, and hopefully that’ll teach them a lesson, but for now he figures he can afford to be a little extra nice to them. After all, it doesn’t sound like Ma or latest her boyfriend had been earlier.

“Angel’s bein’ real quiet doncha think?” Curly really couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it. Tim just hums, shifting so he’s leaning against the wall, Angela in his lap and Curly leaning into his side. “She says that brownie made her feel all floaty and thet talkings making her sick, but that drink made my head cloudy too and I don’t feel sick so I thought it was maybe an al-er-gic reaction like Saide Thomason had at school except I made her blow on my hand and  could feel the air so I guess she’s still breathing, which is good because I don’t want Angel to stop breathin’.”

He pats her cheek none too gently but Angela doesn’t seem to mind, offering him a dopey smile,far less guarded than her usual one. Yeah, she’s real out of it, but Curly’s assessment seems to ring true, and Tim thinks she’ll be ok.

“Angel’s my best friend, did you know?” Curly informs him, before looking down at his twin sister, “You’re my best friend Angel, even though you are plain old mean sometimes. It’s ok though ‘cause I am too sometimes, and usually you’re just mean ‘cause you're sad, and I figure that’s alright. Ponyboy says you should try not to be mean ever but he also called Dillon an asshole at recesss yesterday so he’s a hyp- hypo-critter or whatever it’s called when you’re a big dirty liar-”

Curly’s mouth was still spilling words at warp speed but his eyes were starting to droop, and Tim figured he’d talk himself to sleep pretty soon. Angel had already nodded off a minute ago, and the even breaths puffing out of her mouth between snores reassured him she was doing alright and wasn’t gonna overdose the way he’d been worried about since Ma let slip she’d got ahold of that brownie. Was he still gonna wait up to make sure? Obviously, but at least there wasn’t panicky tension thrumming under his skin anymore.

Curly dropped off to sleep exactly the way Tim knew he would, cutting himself off mid sentence and slumping against him. Tim sighed, waiting a minute to make sure he was truly out before carefully shifting him so he was curled up beside Angela, head tilted so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up in his sleep. Tim climbed off the bed, making sure not to jostle either of them lest he accidentally wake them up. Angel was blitzed outta her mind, and Curly had drunk himself into a near stupor, but he still wasn’t about to risk it.

He dragged Curly’s mattress across the room so he was right next to them when they inevitably woke up fussy, and quickly fell into a fitful doze.

He jerked awake an hour later, and after checking to make sure both kids were still sound asleep and triple checking they were breathing ok, fell back onto his own mattress.

The next time he wakes it’s to the sound of whimpering. 

Internally cursing and blinking blearily he sits up to see Curly twisted in the blankets, hair flat on one side and eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Tim?” Curly sounds very small, “I don’t feel good.”

“Ok kid,” Tim sighs, swinging Curly into his arms and carrying him down to the bathroom, “it’s alright. This is just what happens when you drink Ma’s special drinks.”

“I don't wanna be sick,” Curly whines, a dangerous wobble in his voice, “I didn’t even like her special drink.”

Tim really, really can’t handle the waterworks right now.

“It’s alright kid, just let yourself throw up and you’ll feel better.”

Curly does, managing to get the whole mess in the bowl and isn’t that a fucking miracle since usually the bathroom looks like a crime scene whenever the twins get sick. Tim rubs his back, pushing his curls out of his face until he’s sure Curly’s done, then wets a corner of the hand towel with water and uses it to wipe his baby brother’s face.

“You’re real good at this,” Curly mumbles, already half asleep as Tim carries him back to bed.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the sleeping kid’s forehead as he lays him next to Angela, “this ain’t my first rodeo kid.”

Curly snuffles a little, loud even in sleep, and  Angela somehow managed to headbut him in the shoulder and toss an arm over his shoulders without waking up.

Tim regards them both a second longer, watches their chests rise and fall- breathing, alive, safe, if only for the moment, and drops back onto his own mattress for the night.

He'll be here when they wake up, but for now he’s gonna get some much needed sleep.

[bringthekaos]

Gunna take a break from Arcane for a moment to talk about Our Flag Means Death, because I am extremely disappointed and I have to put these thoughts somewhere. Putting it under a cut, because I myself forgot to filter the OFMD tag while I was working and got it spoiled for me. So ye be warned, OFMD SPOILERS AHEAD.

That ending was genuinely one of the worst I’ve seen in a long time. The only other time I can recall being this sickened and angry about a show’s ending was Game of Thrones. And it’s not because I’m sad or mad or confused by Izzy’s death, yes that’s partly it, but because a character who was experiencing massive change and character growth was ONCE AGAIN rewarded with death. I am so goddamn sick of rooting for people to do better, to be better, and then FINALLY get that catharsis only to have it thrown away for shock value.

What did this add to the story? Narratively, I mean. If this is indeed the end of OFMD, and it doesn’t get renewed, what the absolute FUCK kind of message does that send? Izzy was postured as some kind of obstacle between Ed and Stede in Season 1, but in S2, he was allowed to grow outside of that weird and fucked up love triangle (term used incredibly loosely, because his love was pretty much one-sided, and most of the time it was selfish and toxic). In S2, he went on an incredible journey of coming to terms with the fact that Ed would never be his again, not in the way he wanted. Even if it was never romantic or sexual (I do not see it), he wanted Ed to himself, and he had to accept that it would never happen. And he fucking DID, that’s the pisser. He learned to see the value in Ed’s transformation, the good that Stede was for him. And he learned to appreciate it and even start playing with it and teasing the two of them. And the worst/best part was that he embraced the crew, put them into that hole in his heart that Ed left. His speech to the Prince about them being family, and that you give up your wants and dreams for them, because being a pirate is bigger than any one person alone. GOD, his fucking character growth was incredible and heart-wrenching all at once.

And then to just throw all of that away, for what? To remove him as an obstacle between Ed and Stede? He already did that himself. To make the title of the show mean something (that the flag truly means Death?). That is just so fucking cheap and backhanded. Oh, Our Flag Means Death, but no one has died yet, better kill somebody; quick shoot Izzy Hands. How about you just make the word ‘death’ a symbol for change? The death of who you once were, the death of old biases, the death of toxicity and selfishness.

Because what would have been the problem with making Izzy the new captain of the Revenge, and letting Ed and Stede go off and do their thing? In the grand scheme of the narrative, why did two characters’ happy ending have to come at the cost of another’s?! It cheapens that happy ending, puts an asterisk on it. Especially when Izzy had JUST come to the realization that that crew, those people (no matter how ridiculous and soft they were) were his motherfucking family and he would do anything to protect them. He should have gotten to, and I just… I cannot forgive that. I’m not saying you can’t kill off characters, we shouldn’t expect anyone to have plot armor. But for god’s sake, at least make it make sense, give it a reason beyond shock value.

If OFMD gets a third season, I may or may not watch. It’s more than likely I won’t. And not because I don’t love the Stede/Ed story, or any of the other beautiful ones on that ship, I do. But because I’ve lost faith in the story.

[himbybimbybimbo]

I’m sick and tired of Korean webtoons (especially ones marketed for women which is a huge can of worms) not getting the praise they deserve for elevating the webcomic medium out of the fucking water for the amount of insane detail, incredible use of lighting to set tone and mood and Renaissance-esque composition they put into the digital medium

Manhwa artists really utilize the potential of digital comics like no one else fucking does and I’m sick and tired of pretending it’s like. Not an incredible achievement of creativity seen at such a huge and accessible scale before. Like artists are making cinematic, feature quality art that would take 10+ hours to do and they’re doing that for just like. One panel in a 50 page chapter of a 70 chapter series, inevitably to just be scrolled away in one second rather than just be APPRECIATED for what it is

Like these artists are utilizing everything in their arsenal of full colour, photo bashing, 3D assets and every repeatable texture and filter imaginable to effectively paint a scene in a time efficient manner that can only be replicated in this kind of medium compared to something like manga or traditional comics (which are respectable art forms of themselves and I’m not hating on them but they have constraints like everything else)

I just feel like digital art is amazing because of the short cuts you can take to achieve a piece in a quicker way and these artists are SMART and use everything in their arsenal and it’s so fucking admirable and inspiring to see

AND the creative ways they use comic composition for infinite scrolling?? It’s a completely different cinematic language to books that is so new and ever evolving and these artists are literally making a new language of how we consume media digitally through our phones and that should be fucking dissected and torn apart

and also the fact that all these incredible Korean artists (or fucking studios?? Because how the hell would one person be able to do such rich and detailed art) are so unknown and inaccessible to learn anything from them boggles my goddamn mind these people should be fucking rockstars but most just go by aliases when I want to know THEIR NAMES like I don’t give a fuck if it’s a collective of artists they should have a huge fuckin credit page at the end of every chapter so I can get on my fuckinf feet and cheer for them

And the fact that it’s a well known thing of these artists not being paid well makes me so fucking mad I would buy their art books and physical copies in a goddamn HEARTBEAT

Anyways everyone should read Secret Lady by BANANA and Fantasie of a Stepmother by OKRA or die

[flaresanimedump]

ok now that I've made my factual Ranpo post TIME FOR THE HEADCANONS IT SPAWNED.

So Ranpo being abused at the police academy.

This little wild child – who I can only imagine grew up pretty much just him and his parents in the country doing fuck all most of the day – stuck in a military institution that made him cut his hair, stand up straight, wear uncomfortable clothes, not speak unless spoken to, walk this way, talk this way. And if he didn’t he’d be punished. And he got punished a lot. Let's say it's relatively common procedure at the school to cane a student when they misbehave, which is basically all he does to a point that the administrative staff starts doing it “to build his character.” Rapping his knuckles for eating snacks, before he even talks when he opens his mouth.

Ranpo’s “people don’t like me” idea coming in no small part from the 18–30-year-olds who saw this child running circles around them and treated him like shit to make themselves feel better, so he didn’t have anyone to turn to.

And then they throw him out for being too good, really, and he’s on the street at 13 when Japanese law heavily restricts how much he can work. Ranpo was homeless and starving when Fukuzawa met him but he acted like everything was totally fine and dandy (as long as Fukuzawa didn’t try to leave of course).

Anyway Fukuzawa not finding any of this out until later. Maybe they’re interviewing an old schoolmarm for a case and Ranpo gets into something so she raps his knuckles as old schoolmarms are wont to do. And Fukuzawa expects a tantrum but Ranpo’s quiet after a little gasp of pain. But the quiet does not bring him the relief he thinks it should, it sets alarm bells off in his head.

Ranpo solves the case and as they’re on their way home he’s absently rubbing his hand. Fukuzawa asks gently if it still hurts that much. Ranpo jumps a little and drops his hands to his sides and says nope nothing wrong here, doesn’t hurt at all, just a hair too thinly for Fukuzawa to really believe him. So Fukuzawa catches up the hand in question and stops him. Ranpo’s eyes are tight and tense and he doesn’t look up at Fukuzawa so much as glance up at him without moving his head. Something is clearly wrong even if he won’t say what. Fukuzawa’s really trying to learn to handle Youths^tm and humans in general, he is, and words aren’t working, and Ranpo’s slightly hurt(?), and presented with these raw facts a solution presents itself. He brings Ranpo’s knuckles to his lips.

Ranpo’s breath catches at the kiss. Fukuzawa’s blushing a little when he lowers Ranpo’s hand, his thumb smoothing over the same spot. Ranpo’s looking at him with wide eyes (and he’s finally tilted his head back to look at Fukuzawa properly at least).

“Better?” Fukuzawa asks.

And Ranpo bursts into tears.

Fukuzawa still isn’t equipped to handle this. It isn’t the reaction he was expecting and this isn’t how it’s supposed to go right? Right?? He grabs Ranpo’s shoulder for something to do before Ranpo’s words filter into his panicking brain.

“Thank you.”

He’s not just saying it for the kiss. But Fukuzawa doesn’t find that out until later, when he’s once again given in and let Ranpo curl up in his futon and, by necessity of course, in his arms, and Ranpo tells him how they used to make the students put their hands on the backs of chairs and then crack a cane over their knuckles as punishment, or once a week just to build character, or because they felt like it.

And Fukuzawa has no goddamn idea what to do. He wants to erase them from Ranpo’s life but he can’t think of what words would accomplish that. So he tugs Ranpo closer, takes Ranpo’s other hand, already years from the pain, and presses another kiss into his knuckles. Ranpo’s breath shudders again but he doesn’t cry. Ranpo already doesn’t need words to read Fukuzawa’s thoughts. The band of Fukuzawa’s arm across his back, the weight of his hand on Ranpo’s hip, the softness in his eyes – they all say that Fukuzawa intends to keep him, to protect him. That Fukuzawa loves him.

[twig-gy]

I JUST THOUGHT I WAS CLEAN I WAS JUST TELLING MY THERAPIST AND THEN SUDDENLY I HAD TO CATCH MY HANDS EVERY 5 GODDAMN SECONDS. IT FEELS LIKE A CONTAGION. IT FEELS LIKE EVER SINCE THAT DAY THERE HAS BEEN SOMETHING INSIDE MY SKIN AND IT HAD BEEN LYING LOW BUT OF COURSE THAT’S A FREEDOM I DON’T DESERVE. OTHER PEOPLE GET THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING CLEAN WITHOUT TRYING. OTHER PEOPLE DON’T EVEN HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS. BUT NOT ME! WHY WOULD I GET TO DO THAT? JUST BECAUSE OF MY ONE MISTAKE I WILL BE RUNNING AWAY FROM SOMETHING OTHER PEOPLE DON’T EVEN HAVE TO MEET. LIKE YOU CAN LOOK AT PEOPLE LIKE US AND LEAVE THEM. ADDICTS ARE SO PATHETIC AND DISGUSTING AND INNATELY HORRIBLE, RIGHT? RIGHT? IT WOULD NEVER BE YOU. IT’S AS IF THEY ARE A DIFFERENT CLASS OF PEOPLE. DESTINED TO ABUSE. THAT YOU HAVE NEVER TOUCHED AND WILL NEVER TOUCH JUST BECAUSE YOU HAD NEVER MADE A SMALL MISTAKE ONE DAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW IT TRAPS PEOPLE? DO YOU THINK I DECIDED THIS? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO FEEL DIRTY ALL THE TIME? IT’S UNDER MY SKIN. AND I THOUGHT I WAS FINALLY CLEAN BUT I’M NOT. I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE OKAY. I COULD ALMOST LOOK AT BLOOD WITH A STRAIGHT HEART. I SEE CUTS AND THE DISGUSTING WANT SEIZES MY CHEST AND MY BODY HOSTAGE. IT’S AS IF MY THOUGHTS ARE THE CONTROLLER OF MY BODY AND NOT ME. HAD I SURRENDERED IT ONE DAY? I CAN’T STOP IT, THIS IS A FEELING THAT NEEDS TO BE FELT, ONLY I CAN PUT IT INTO WORDS, ONLY I CAN PHRASE IT RIGHT, IT HAS TO BE ME, I NEED TO SAVOR THE FEELINGS SO I CAN SPIT THEM OUT TO AN AUDIENCE WHO WILL NOT REMEMBER THE WORDS. I’M RECORDING SOMETHING BUT WHO WILL READ IT? WILL YOU UNDERSTAND? DOES THIS SOUND LIKE THE WORDS OF A MADMAN? HAVE YOU ALREADY DISREGARDED EVERYTHING I HAVE TO SAY, FIRST SENTENCE? I WROTE A LETTER TO NO ONE AND SLOT IT NEXT TO A DESK, IN HOPES ONE WOULD FIND IT, AND READ IT, AND UNDERSTAND. BUT DID THEY NOTICE THE SCRAP OF PAPER? DID THEY FIND IT? DID THEY READ IT? EVEN IF THEY DID, THERE’S NO GUARANTEE THEY WOULD UNDERSTAND. YOU CAN READ WITHOUT COMPREHENDING. YOU CAN COMPREHEND WITHOUT REMEMBERING. NOT EVERYTHING MAKES AN IMPACT ON YOUR PSYCHE, YOU KNOW, NOT EVERYTHING IS LEARNT FROM. YOUR BRAIN HAS A FILTER. SOME OF IT MUST BE DISCARDED. WILL MY WORDS BE DISCARDED? THEY AREN’T IMPORTANT TO ANYONE BUT ME, ARE THEY? HAVE YOU LEARNED? YOU KNOW I WILL NEVER LEARN. I THOUGHT I HAD BUT CLEARLY NOT. I’M BACK HERE AGAIN! AND I WANT TO FINISH THE JOB, WANT TO BECOME PART OF THE CYCLE. IT WOULD BE SO NICE. IT WOULD BE AS IF I HAD NEVER LEFT. IT WOULD BE A RELEASE OF TENSION IT WOULD BE MILES BETTER THAN PICKING AT MY SKIN. CAUSE THE SAME FEELINGS ARE ALWAYS THERE. THEY ALWAYS ARE. AND THEY HAD TAKEN MY FINGERS AND I HAD BARELY RESTRAINED IT, BUT IT WASN’T MUCH, BUT IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH, CAUSE I WAS STILL PICKING AT MY SKIN AND CAUSE IT WAS STILL SELF HARM EVEN IF BY TECHNICALITY AND THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS HAD TAKEN OVER MY BODY FOR ME, AS THEY ALWAYS HAVE, BECAUSE THERE’S NO ALTERNATIVE FOR ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? IS THERE SOMETHING I CAN DO TO MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND, FOR ME- YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND, BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT THIS IS ALL FOR, BECAUSE I AM CONSIDERING RELAPSING JUST SO I CAN PUT IT ON NOT-PAPER, BECAUSE THE WHOLE REASON I STARTED WRITING PROPERLY WAS TO TRANSMIT THE FEELING TO YOU THROUGH WORDS, TO MAKE YOU FEEL AN ECHO OF IT IN YOUR HEART, DOES IT WORK? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED WAS TO MAKE PEOPLE UNDERSTAND ME. TO UNDERSTAND MY FEELINGS AND MY THOUGHTS. PLEASE. BUT IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK, WILL IT? WILL IT?

you see i’m clean but i’m not “clean”. or maybe it’s that i’m “clean” but not clean

[x0401x]

may you please elaborate more on the kaisei part you just mentioned im so eager to read the LN now hh

By God, I sure as hell can. I’m just gonna dump the whole scene here under the cut, because I’m sure not everyone would believe me if I just wrote a summary of it. Even I couldn't believe my own eyes when I read this shit for the first time.

Just to give some context, the scene takes place at a theme park where people could interact with dogs and cats. The whole club was there, including Masaki, but they scatter to enjoy the attractions in small groups. Masaki tags along with the first-years to keep an eye on them. Minato, Ryouhei and Nanao go straight to the first circle and dive into a sea of puppies. The girls head to a corner with trained dogs, where Yuuna takes a video of Rika petting one of them. And then there’s Seiya and Kaito, who decide to go see a dog runway for large dogs. One of the dogs gets cozy with Seiya and that’s where this bullshit begins.

Ayano Kotoko really knows how not to give a single flying fuck.

“That one sure is clingy. Ain’t it heavy?”

“I’m used to it, so it’s fine. But I’ll have to take a shower before going home. Kuma will find out that I was getting friendly with other dogs if the smell stays on me.”

“Where are you gonna take that shower?”

“Minato’s place. I’ll go in from the back door so that Kuma won’t notice.”

“You’ll be mistaken for some buglar.”

“This always happens, so there’s no problem.”

Someone blew a whistle. The dogs sled to their feet and went into their hut. The song was “Greensleeves”.

English lyrics: Alas, my love, you do me wrong Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight

Japanese translation: Ah, my love, you're such a cruel one Greensleeves, you were my joy Greensleeves, such merry days I was happy just being by your side

Invited by nostalgia, scenes that one both would and would not want to remember came to mind. The two went into the shade to avoid the sun. Heat-haze rose from within the grass.

“I just recently learned something; the Bernese Mountain Dog has a short lifespan even in comparison to other dogs, and apparently, there’s a Swiss proverb that goes, ‘Three years a young dog, three years a good dog and three years an old dog... all else is a gift from God’. The Ainu people call bears ‘kamuy’ – ‘gods’. I accidentally named a short-lived dog ‘Bear’ and kept it by my side. This had me thinking that ignorance is such a scary thing.”

“There ain’t any problem with that, y’know? Some grade school brat gave his pet a name that sounded strong. The Ainu people saw strong bears as gods. Isn't that all there is to it? Unlike in the past, medicine is advanced now. You’re just overthinking too much stuff.”

“Fuh, you’re right. Hey, Kaito.”

“Hm?”

“Ah... it’s almost time for lunch. Let’s go back to the meeting spot.”

Under the sunlight filtered through foliage, red shoes chased after blue ones.

I don’t know if it’s okay to catch up to you, since you’re so full of secrets. Is it selfish of me to want to know what’s burdening you, or to hope that you’ll share the load with me, even if just a little bit of it?

A cool breeze blew past the two, who at some point started walking side by side.

Okay, this scene needs a break-down.

On one side, you have some very obvious stuff, like Kaito’s thoughts about Seiya. His actions have been screaming “rely on me, goddamn it” since volume 1. No news here. Did I ever imagine we’d get it thrown in our faces word by word, coming from Kaito himself? Absolutely the fuck not.

Now, the rest leaves a lot of questions. Why did Seiya bring up the topic of Kuma’s name all of a sudden, and why at a moment when he’s all alone with Kaito instead of when everyone’s together? Why did the song in the background have to be Greensleeves? Why

the fuck

did it have to be such a suggestive part of the song?

Ayano. Fucking answer me, Ayano.

The first thing that got me about this moment is that there’s a Japanese version paired to the original English. Although I wouldn’t call it an accurate translation, I think the Japanese one hits closer to home when it comes to the author’s intention in picking this song (or else, it wouldn’t even be here). These specific verses wouldn’t be used without purpose in the first place, and literally all of it matches with the story.

“You’re such a cruel one”? Yeah, Seiya is indeed a cruel person. Not in the sense that he’s ill-intentioned or mean-spirited (far from it, actually), but in the sense that he doesn’t have any mercy when it comes to protecting what’s important to him. He doesn’t play fair and ends up hurting people in the process (even the very people he’s trying to protect), but he’s fully aware of that. It’s a price he’s willing to pay.

“I was happy just being by your side” reminds me a lot of volume 1, when Kaito was a hair’s breadth away from uncovering the whole truth about what happened in middle school and Seiya’s real intentions, but decided to leave it alone because it wouldn’t be of help for anyone if he knew. Back then, it really felt like just being by Seiya’s side and watching things unfold was enough for him.

But then again, even the English version of the lyrics hits bull’s-eye, ‘cause let’s be honest, Seiya did do Kaito a lot of wrong at the beginning. From blatantly ignoring Kaito to lying through his teeth with a straight face and throwing shade at every opportunity. We really saw it all, lol.

So yeah. Without a doubt, “my love” refers to Seiya. From Kaito’s point of view.

And like.

Why. In the fuck.

Why in all the nine fucks would you use that term for two guys who are supposed to be friends?

ALSO, WHAT THE FUCK WAS SEIYA GOING TO SAY. WHY DID YOU CUT HIM OFF THERE. WHY DOES EVERY SCENE IN THIS GODFORSAKEN SERIES CUT OFF WHEN IT REACHES PEAK GAY.

I just wanna talk, Ayano. I just wanna fucking talk.

This book feels like the author channeled everything the readers have been thinking into one volume and then added some more juicy stuff to it because why the fuck not.

I just... love the way that there’s literally nowhere else to run? Like, no matter how you try to look at it, Seiya is the one “my love” is referring to, and the rest is about his and Kaito’s relationship. It’s not even debatable at all.

Am I saying that Kaito is in love with Seiya? No. But can I say for sure that he isn’t? Also no. This is the magic of Tsurune. The gay is heavy as fuck and the author doesn’t let you find excuses for it.

What I mean by this wall of text is that we now can associate a sentence as straightforward as “alas, my love” with Kaito and Seiya. In canon.

Thank you, Ayano. Fuck you, Ayano.

But mind you, this isn’t the worst of all. There’s a lot going on in volume 3. A whole fucking lot.

“That’s every volume of Tsurune” NO YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND

[get-shiggy-with-it]

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

[howdoyousleep3]

where’s that hc about bucky learning to touch 🤲

I was hoping someone would notice that tag and hit me up. Thank you, sweet pea. This one is special to me, one of many. ❤

Bucky doesn’t say much about what happened to him after the fall and before Steve was miraculously given a second chance at a life with him. Steve is thankful for that. The details he does know come from Bucky’s therapist and from files that have been scrounged up over time, ones Steve can’t stomach through, ones he hands to Natasha and asks only for the information she finds pertinent.

Steve is sure he’d die of a goddamn broken heart if he knew every detail of Bucky’s 70+ years of brainwashed torture.

What he needs to know about Bucky is constant and will never change: this is James Barnes, the one in the same Steve spent his entire life falling in love with, Steve loves him now more than ever, and he is going to live every day he’s gifted with in this life for Bucky.

There are things Steve expects after Bucky joins him and the others back at the Tower, things Bruce has helped him comprehend in such a volatile predicament.

“It could take months, years even, for him to come back to you in full. And honestly, Steve...I would be ready for the possibility of him not returning to you in full. This may not end up being the Bucky you knew and grew up with. He needs therapy, needs patience, needs reminders of his life before, of who he was and is. This won’t be easy, Steve.”

Anything for Bucky.

There are things Bucky took to right away and other things that took much longer for him to enjoy or remember. Steve is with him every step of the way.

Sleep was one thing that Steve thought would be a struggle. After only one month of sleeping on the floor in the corner of his bedroom, Steve able to hear him tossing and turning and breathing heavily through his own bedroom wall, it took one afternoon nap on the couch to make him want to move to his new bed. While nightmares continued, Bucky slept albeit in small increments and sometimes through the day, but he slept.

Steve thought that would take years.

Crowds were another story. Crowds came with trust and Bucky rightfully didn’t trust others easily. He barely trusted Steve at first. It took time to get him out of the apartment, baby steps, one step forward and two steps back. They started with walks at dawn, fewer people, gave a shot at stopping for coffee on the way home a few times.

“It’s a Venti here, Buck,” Steve had tried to explain and Bucky huffed. “Why are things so goddamn complicated now? Just want a coffee, a—”

“I know— a black coffee with too much sugar. I got it.”

They’re working on interactions with others and the anxiety that comes with crowds. That one will take time.

What hadn’t taken time, and what startled everyone in the tower beyond belief, was Bucky and affection.

Steve may not know much of what Bucky has spent most of his life enduring but he at least had the assumption that what Bucky went through shouldn’t make him want any kind of touch from another person. Steve wrongfully assumed that any sort of gentle or soft touch wasn't something Bucky would like.

Bucky had spent the past 70+ years walking this earth as a killer, a robot, a machine, an assassin. He surely spent decades thinking he wasn’t worthy of anything, let alone love. He had been touch-starved, void of the tenderness and closeness Steve knows Bucky deserved and craved underneath the brainwashed parts of him.

It took time for Bucky to remember who Steve was to him. While he had recognized him immediately, remembering him but not how, it took months for Bucky to remembered the capacity in which he did so.

And Steve waited.

And waited.

Steve was gifted with small moments along the way, on this journey of Bucky remembering both himself and who Steve was to him:

“You...you were real small once,” Bucky said, factual with no trace of a question, hands in soapy water as he handed Steve a plate to dry. Steve had merely hummed. “Yeah, was...was maybe half the size I am now. Real small.”

“Could fit both’a my hands right around your middle…”

It had been a long while since Steve blushed like that.

Bucky standing over Steve’s sleeping form, heaving chest visible by only the filtered moonlight, Steve mumbling out a, “Buck, wha—?” before Bucky whispered, “You...you’ve been inside of me.” Steve sat up.

“I have,” Steve breathed, on cautious ground, shakier when Bucky then whispered, “But you like it better when I’m inside’a you.”

When Steve had swallowed audibly, nodded his head wordlessly, Bucky had turned and left the room.

It took months of moments like those to compile together, to form the picture of what Steve once was, what he yearned to continue to be, to Bucky. All of these moments, these memories, came to a head so unpredictably during yet another movie night. Knees knocking, fingers brushing, small touches that Steve absolutely soaked in, had gotten used to, had relearned.

When a glance towards Bucky had the wind knocking its way out of Steve’s chest, the familiarity of that look a bone-deep ache—

Bucky was going to kiss him.

A look full of determination and want, lips parted, eyes a bit glassy. Steve didn't dare move, had let Bucky come to him for fear of scaring him away. The moment their lips touched was the moment Bucky started crying. It had only been a short brush of their lips but Steve barely breathed, barely moved. Bucky had pulled back with wide, wet eyes, shaky breaths. “Buck, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart,” are the words that easily slipped from his mouth, unable to stop them in a moment of progress that satiated his entire being.

That was the moment that changed everything. It was a startle to everyone involved. Steve had been ready to wait years, this entire life, for the moment he could touch Bucky again, could show him that physicality he knew his Buck craved. After that night on the couch it was as if the floodgates had opened—

Bucky remembered and wanted.

Regardless of where they were or what was happening, he wanted to be touching Steve: soft kisses on the cheek and lips, laying his head in Steve’s lap as he read, lacing his fingers between Steve’s during meetings, an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist between bouts of sparring. He’d trace patterns onto Steve’s thigh as he watched Steve draw, press against the line of his back while he cooked dinner.

Steve was floating on a cloud, was in heaven, never happier. It was perfection.

But what Bucky wanted, Steve couldn’t provide, couldn’t meet. Steve was only one man, couldn’t provide Bucky, whom touch had been stolen away from for decades, with everything he wanted. And that was okay, something Steve accepted, because there were other people Bucky could turn to that Steve trusted.

“I’m sure you all know why I asked you to meet with me,” Steve started, choosing a time Bucky was napping to meet with the rest of the group that either lived in or frequented the Tower. “Bucky has shown us a new side of him, has made some progress I think it’s worth discussing with everyone, since we’re all...we’ve all been affected...”

“Uhh, yeah— your Barnes-y boy has been all over me lately. I’m almost offended that everyone else is here to talk to Cap though. Thought he was just comin' onto me.”

“I have to tell you, I didn’t...I know we talked, Steve. But I’m honestly shocked at Bucky’s progress. It’s baffling.”

“I haven’t minded it. He lets me braid his hair.”

“Wait— y’all are getting touches?”

It was a group effort, supporting Bucky in this way. It was an adjustment, Bucky never prompting and questioning before touching or requesting touches— he just went for it. He was quiet still, not shy, merely observant. And just like he nudged at and leaned against Steve until his hands were on him, he did the same to others.

“I just ask that you show Bucky grace during this time. It’s a delicate situation. I need to know if you don’t want his touch or don’t wish to give him any kind of touch. I think it would be best if it came from me instead of from you in the moment.”

Natasha was who Bucky went to for scratches. Steve thinks it’s the nails. Steve also thinks Nat is Bucky’s favorite to go to for touches, even over him, but Bucky refuses to admit it.

When Bucky wants mindless touches, when he wants tickles and scratches, he goes to her. She naturally took to Bucky’s need for touches, the first occurrence one that came without hesitation. She’ll braid his hair, let him turn his head right where he wants her head scratches, naturally reaches for his back or shoulders to run her nails across when he saddles in close to her.

Thor is one of Bucky’s favorites too. Steve isn’t sure if it’s because of his strength or because of his warm and accepting demeanor but Bucky gravitates towards Thor often, mainly for neck and shoulder rubs. One, “James, my friend. You musn’t be afraid of asking for touch with me. I will always be willing to assist,” and that was all Bucky needed to feel comfortable walking over to Thor and nudging at his hands.

He puts his head on Bruce’s shoulder as soon as he can, likes sparring and playing hide and seek with Clint, enjoys putting his feet in Sam’s lap. Tony took some warming up to, but even then Bucky spent many hours in Tony’s lab, Tony guiding his hands, showing him what to do and how to work different machines, the two of them tinkering on his own arm.

Bucky kinda turns into the Tower kitty cat, wandering around quietly, napping in the sun, snacking, demanding affection from anyone he crosses paths with and trusts.

Everyone had their form of touch they shared with Bucky and Bucky absolutely blossomed under this form of support. Steve is forever grateful to be surrounded by a group of understanding individuals.

And every night when he lifts the comforter and feels the solid line of Bucky’s warm form against his side, the arm that now easily and inevitably slips around his waist, the familiar lips that always press against his temple, shoulder, and cheek, Steve is reminded this day was for Bucky and that the one they’ll wake up to will also be for him.

"I love you, Buck."

"Mhmm love you too, pal."

Steve doesn't even mind that Bucky spends his nights snoring in the crook of his neck, hot breath wafting over Steve's skin, hands grabby even as he dreams—

This is heaven.

[thunderheadfred]

🦈Kirishima HC’s🦈

Absolutely no one asked for this i just like him a lot

He’s an adult in all of these. 20s-30s at least. Some NSFW because I’m a big perv. Minors do not interact. Shoo.

- - - - -

General:

He is in the dictionary under Himbo, right next to Kronk.

Works part-time as a fitness instructor before making a name for himself as a pro hero. Most of his clients are middle-aged women, because he makes people feel safe. Before long, word gets around and he amasses this like. Loyal army of jacked housewives and older ladies who are his biggest possible fans. They mother-hen him like crazy.

Has a large and complicated extended family. Lots of cousins. You will never learn all their names, don’t even try. I have no idea if his parents have canon occupations but no matter what Horikoshi says, they actually own a mountain onsen. Kirishima went to the city by himself to go to middle/high school, his family is all off in the country somewhere and he gets homesick a lot but never admits it. He’s broke for a long time even after making it as a pro hero, because he sends most of his money back home.

He’s a dog dad. You cannot, WILL not convince me otherwise. Big dogs. Small dogs. Fancy dogs. Ugly dogs. He has a whole pack. He calls them all baby, sweetie, pupper, the worst and most embarrassing baby talk. Tells them about his day. All of his furniture is wrecked. He’s an active member in online dog groups, where he is careful to use a pseudonym and never show his face, but eventually people are going to figure out that Red Riot’s dogs look an awful lot like this one user’s....

He’s in a casual taiko group, always on the o-daiko. Loves participating in festivals and parades. He has never, ever, not once, worn a shirt while drumming. Probably has been gifted at least one antique taiko drum for his hero work, and he keeps it in his house but is too afraid to play it because it’s scary valuable “uhh it’s definitely haunted”

Regularly goes out drinking. Socially and responsibly, like clockwork, always with the same people. He’s a goddamned lightweight, and no one understands why. Will mope if he has to miss a night out at the izakaya.

So he’s clean, but sloppy. House looks like a tornado ripped through it, and nothing he owns matches. Not a single thing. I mentioned the dogs.

Will absolutely use “manly” as a replacement for “awesome,” and will constantly tell you how manly you are. Your actual gender is a non-issue. If you hang out with him for more than five minutes you’re manly as hell now.

He cries a lot? Sometimes it’s for show but he gets genuinely misty-eyed over the dumbest things. Do NOT show him pictures of puppies.

He’s good at braiding hair. His or yours. When his hair isn’t hardened, he likes doing all kinds of wacky stuff with it. He usually keeps it long enough for braids, ponies, buns, quirk-assisted faux-hawks, whatever. Mina has given him many bad ideas. He will definitely steal your hair bands and accessories, if you use them.

His fridge is just like, meat and beer. He will, if forced, consume perhaps one single vegetable. Unfortunately, his B.O. reflects this. God bless him - he showers and bathes daily, because he works out a lot and is just generally hygienic. But don’t ever touch his socks barehanded.

He wears the cheapest, most predictable cologne you can imagine, the kind that comes in an aerosol can and punches a hole in the ozone every time he sprays his pits. It smells stupidly good on him. How. so fucking manly. you kind of hate him for getting away with it.

- - - - -

And now, the 🌶 Spicy Ones 🌶

Does not date or hook up much; wants a serious relationship.

Has a tough time getting dates, weirdly. He’s still secretly insecure, but mostly he’s got rocks for brains and never knows how to flirt. He ends up friendzoning most of the people interested in him, because he is, in fact, a little too chivalrous for his own good and can never make the first move. He’s an emotional open book, but clueless romantically. I recommend being extremely straightforward. Draw him a map if you have to.

Is afraid to kiss you too deeply because of the teeth. Will take a lot of gentle encouragement to get him comfortable, but once he knows you’re safe, he’s going to be kissing you all the time. Like, too much. People are gawking, Kiri, for God’s sake.

He radiates massive doses of husband/dad energy. Will immediately marry the hell out of you. If you are capable of and willing to have his children, you are going to get extremely pregnant. Very quickly. Not necessarily a breeding kink (though why not), he just really wants to start a family with you.

He’s Big. Just huge. Tall and broad, and also... his dick is a summit and you will need to prepare for the climb. He’s had problems in the past because no, not everybody wants ALL THAT inside them. That said, if you can handle it? Woof.

Hard as a rock is No Joke with this man. Can and WILL use his quirk on his dick. If you don’t think that’s the first thing he mastered as a teenager I dont know what to tell you. Ever used a glass dildo? Well buckle up cuz it’s like if a massive glass dildo whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held you close in big strong arms and fucked you till you cried. It’s a sometimes thing. Otherwise you’d simply pass away.

He loves your brains. Your smarts and wit are a huge turn on, and he gets a boner when you use a word he doesn’t know. He also loves fucking your brains completely out, so that you cant use any words at all.

He’s a devout church-going body-worshipper. He’s so jacked that’s it’s constantly intimidating, like, how dare you stand next to this chiseled statue of a man?! but whether you love power-lifting with him or would rather die than exercise, he’s gonna treat you like the prettiest fucking piece of cake on planet earth.

Size kink ahoy; he gets his big grabby mitts on you... and you psychologically lose three feet. Doesn’t matter how tall or small or fat or thin you are, you are getting groped, squeezed, and manhandled. You didn’t even know it was possible to get thrown around like that; always onto something soft.

Not dominant. Not unless you ask very, very nicely. had a brief pushy phase at the peak of his teenage manliness obsession, unconsciously trying to be more like Bakugou, but he quickly realized controlling people wasn’t really him. It certainly isn’t very manly. Doesn’t want any toxic masculinity in his love life, even as roleplay.

That said, he can and will be a soft dom, if that’s what you want. After some practice, he’d get pretty good at it too. But his natural sexual groove is goofy, a bit awkward. Usually finds a non-sexual excuse to touch you at first; prepare to get tickled a lot. If you sit in his lap it’s all over.

If you get dominant with him, even a little, he’s gonna turn to putty in your hands. Go ahead and boss that big dumb puppy around. Nothing turns him on like seeing you get exactly what you want.

You’ll have morning wood pressed up against your ass. Every damn day. He might hump and grope you in his sleep, moaning a little. Usually it just wears off. If you wake him up to fuck, he’ll have no idea what’s going on but will be like “hell yeah i guess this is happening”

Gives oral like a starving man. Has absolutely zero reservations, because he knows his tongue and hands can’t hurt you. Will be as loud and messy as possible. If you get embarrassed or shy about it, he’s going to mumble sweet talk directly into your junk until your teeth fall out.

He’s vocal in bed. Growly. A moaning groaning disaster. He says the sweetest, gentlest things... has the cleanest dirty talk you’ve ever heard, but tenderness filtered through his bourbon-barrel chest comes out all dark and rumbly, especially when he’s close. you feel his “I love you” in your bones

He thinks making his partner cum is the manliest thing he can do. Any orgasm is good, but if you cum untouched on his dick, he’ll be riding that high for days

[drabbles-mc]

(I don’t know if you’re still doing these or not so please feel free to disregard. Also, all my submissions are always for whoever you are vibing with, not all characters. )

SOA/Mayans - Never Have I Ever

Who asks the best/worst questions, who’s always out first, who’s always left standing, who lies and gets called out and gets butthurt and starts asking targeted questions, who admits their darkest secrets with no shame, who refuses to play, who uses it as a way to brag, who only asks questions about food instead of sex stuff, etc

Cricket you can send me anything any time don’t even worry about it. This blog is for you. 😌💛

SOA:

Jax, a man who has done and is up for doing anything, always gets out quickly. Does he use it as an opportunity to brag?? Absolutely. He will exaggerate even if the core story is based in the truth, and he’ll do it with that cocky little smirk on his face.

Happy originally thinks it’s a dumb idea and says that he won’t play, but he ends up putting his two cents in anyway. Mildly scaring for everyone involved and they try to make sure that if they play it again, they don’t play it around him. No disrespect but the man is about it and he has no filter so they all learn a lot about him in a short amount of time. No amount of alcohol can prepare you for that.

Tig brags almost as much as Jax. He will also use the opportunity to zero in like a goddamn heat-seeking missile on whoever he is beefing with at the time. He doesn’t get heated about it, and he’s usually out pretty quick too, because it’s Tig, but he lives for making other people uncomfortable.

Opie hasn’t played since he was a teenager. He doesn’t want people knowing him like that and I respect that.

The drunker Chibs is, the more into it he gets. He will also blow up the spot of anyone he catches lying and he will not be kind about it. He will not hesitate to air out anyone and everyone’s dirty laundry, especially after a few drinks.

The idea of the game petrifies Juice. But he also knows that if he doesn’t play, it’s going to make everything worse for him. So he goes along with it and divulges as little information as possible. Tries to steer the conversation in new directions with out of left field questions but he’s never successful. Bless him.

Half-Sack, my beloved. He outlasts them all and I truly love that for him.

Piney doesn’t play but he is more brutal than Chibs if he catches someone in a lie. Chibs will at least try to be funny about it but Piney will make you hate everything about yourself in the process of telling everyone your business.

Mayans:

The idea for the game almost always starts with Angel or Coco. And they are ironically two of the boys who get out the fastest.

Angel tries to use it as an opportunity to show off. And sometimes it works. But he is also one of the first to go on the offensive if he thinks that someone is trying to get after him about something. Touch the wrong nerve and suddenly everyone is going to know everything about you that you never wanted them to. And he’ll shoot you a shrug and a sarcastic, “Oops.”

Gilly is the other one who gets butt-hurt super quickly. You know there’s a lot of shit going on underneath the comedian exterior. But he also asks some of the best questions. Sometimes they come about because he’s going in on someone, but he’s also just there to have a good time and it works out for everyone.

Coco stays telling everyone more than they need to know. He’s way far past being embarrassed about anything. You might get a dissertation or two along the way but trust me he’s down to play and you won’t ever catch him in a lie about it.

EZ plays but gives up as little information as possible if anyone presses him further about his response to a statement. Angel will go after him hard because that’s just how he is. And every now and then EZ will drop a strangely specific statement, but he does it so nonchalantly that everyone except Angel just chalks it up to EZ being...EZ. After a few rounds, though, people start to realize that perhaps Golden Boy and Boy Scout aren’t really the most accurate names for him anymore.

Taza and Bishop start off on the outskirts of it, just wanting to listen to the guys dig themselves into something that they can’t dig themselves out of, but they do eventually get roped into the game. They’re also the ultimate pair of lie-detectors, but after a few drinks Bishop is the only one out of the two of them who will savagely call out any of the guys on their bullshit. Taza sits back and watches with a laugh.

I think the game would be utter chaos with either club and I think that’s amazing. 😂

[obeymeluv]

Cute + Awkward Headcanons (SFW/NSFW)

Trying to turn a bad day around, so I thought of these

Lucifer

Sometimes you can��t tell if he’s giving you bedroom eyes or if he’s actually angry. Lucifer has spent THOUSANDS of years glaring at his brothers and doesn’t know if he’s just staring or glaring

I think he’s super out of practice with romance so he’s hella awkward but when he gets that first positive sign that you’re into him, the charm and pride wakes up and suddenly he’s smooth AF

Flirts so formally he misses his shot 8/10 times

Has a habit of trying to police you like one of his brothers and it’s a knee-jerk, 1000+ year reaction to looking after 6 man-children of various difficulties. Always owns up and apologizes

Has accidentally almost made you pass out from kissing too long. Forgets you don’t have the same lung capacity

BRUISES YOU TO HELL! FORGETS SO MUCH! FEELS SO BAD!

That’s why he has the gloves, to soften his grip because he was one of the strongest in the Celestial Realm and that translates to power in the Devildom

Only complains to you about his back pain from long nights burning the candle at both ends. You find it cute and sad at the same time

Is probably physically very heavy given his stature and the weight of his wings, so if he falls asleep on you, you’re trapped

Rare midnight snack dates when he MUST finish papers by the deadline.

You may or may not have had a Demonus date in his study when a particularly bad batch of paperwork was finally done

You’ve probably cracked at least one (1) antique wood chair

Quickly learned he CANNOT spank you because that shit seriously bruised your ass. You either need a strengthening charm or he has to re-learn how to use his strength around people

That caused one awkward visit to the infirmary because you didn’t know if you were just sore, pinched, dislocated, or cracked. Turns out you were fine. There was no mistaking that hand print, though

It was the second time he’d apologized so profusely in his life. There was no pride left in this man.

You had a special cushion to ease the pain and it looked top of the line (hella fancy. Could probably resell it as fake Gucci in the human world.)

Lucifer gives me big dom vibes and orgasm denial/over-stimulation kink because of his pride basically demanding you beg for him. You passed out at least once from over-stimulation.

When you first start dating he wouldn’t want to own up to any awkward boners so if you sit in his lap while he’s taking a paper break, he’ll make every excuse under the sun (”That’s my belt,”, etc.)

Mammon

This boy is nothing but awkward moments, are you kidding me?

It’s a lot of ‘open mouth, insert foot’ because he can’t be upfront with his feelings. It’s partly not wanting to lose any ‘cred’ he has with people, but also because he’s embarrassed and can’t be honest

There’s lots of tracking you down to sort out things you might have overheard (that he didn’t honestly mean if they sounded bad)

Super sentimental about anything to do with you. You once kissed a piece of Grimm as a good luck charm for his exam and he’d kill someone over it. Always has it on him.

This lovable doofus just assumes you’re dating because you’re always together and you’re perfect and he’s your best man so who’s better?!

When you actually ask him out (with something silly, like ‘I think us dating would be pretty cash money’), he’s so confused. (”But we’ve been dating for, like, a month! Right, human?!”)

He talks big but he’s weak. You’ll always be able to fluster him

Wanted to make love to you on some Grimm and quickly realized that it’s uncomfortable. Porn lied to him and the idea’s ruined. You guys cut the session short to find every piece of Grimm so you can actually lay in the bed

 Tends to plunk his head down on your chest and demand scratches/cuddles and has bruised you several times.

Accidentally fought you once or twice for his glasses while half asleep. Levi, Asmo, and Satan used to take them and hide from him

You learned he’s actually hella blind (contacts with non-prescription sunglasses or prescription yellow glasses) and have walked him around the House of Lamentation several times when his glasses went missing

He’ll complain about his brothers having it out for him and getting back at him, but it turns out they just wanted to make an excuse for you guys to hold hands. It’s like a date!

Made you hit your head on the headboard once when he was doing missionary style. Had to stop and check on you, then it got awkward. He cuddled and kissed you the whole time, though. Even got you an ice pack!

The type to flirt with you, try to lean on something, and take himself out on the way down

You’ve had a few of those cliche ‘trip and fell on each other’ moments

Has accidentally swung you into doors and walls trying to scoop you up and run/march out of a room

Levi

This boy is also super awkward

When you’re alone, he’s an absolute sucker for any kind of affection you can give. This boy will literally slither across the floor to make himself comfortable in your lap so he can game.

Pet his hair. He loves that.

Will also have to re-train himself on how to be with you in public. With him, it’s not making fun of a ‘normie’ as much.

Not big on PDA but will definitely hold your hand. How ELSE are people going to know you’re together?!

You get cute matching shirts or jewelry with the ‘Player 1, Player 2′ theme

Does a lot more snake-like things with his tongue. Especially when frustrated. Rub his jaw and chin to see it come out a little bit. It’s like a happy floppy dog tongue, just not as long or wide.

Craves a soft, warm thing to sleep on. You will be his new bed.

The first time you had sex, he broke out his demon form because he looked at you and loved you. He knew he’d get jealous if anyone ever saw you.

Was a little clumsy but determined. Sank in and started going at it, but wanted to look down and watch. He got his horns stuck in your hair and had to stop.

Is #1 fan when you’re naked. (”Ugh. Smother me.”) Boy can’t stand it. He needs it.

Tries to dress a little nicer (even if it’s casual) when you guys go out on dates.

You pack little snack bags when he stands in line for midnight releases and GODDAMN he’s gonna marry you?!

If you’re napping together and someone comes to wake him up or needs you, he just glares at them from underneath you, tail swishing threateningly. No one takes his human, okay?!

He has over-the-ear headphones but I bet he carries earbuds and has probably done that ‘share an earbud’ thing to hold you close and listen to music

Do you need to get up while he’s still sleeping? Untangle yourself and tuck your pillow in his arms. He’ll be fine. Bonus: you get to see the snuggling in action.

Between all the anime and centuries in the Devildom, he’s gotten used to using tails as another way of expression. They act subconsciously based on what the demon’s thinking. He’s surprised both of you several times by accidentally wrapping you up in his tail because he doesn’t want you to leave.

When he gets visibly uncomfortable in social situations, slip him something with your scent on it. It’s comforting. If you make up an excuse to get him out of there (he’s your escort and all), he’s over the moon.

Satan

Had more awkward moments than he’s willing to admit, but he’s more open about them than Lucifer. Basically, if someone guesses it happened, he won’t deny it.

BOY HAS A BOWTIE KINK. PLAY WITH HIS. STEAL ONE AND WEAR IT!

Has probably tripped over books walking you through his room or rushing to answer the door (not that you’d know how happy it makes him).

There’s a 50-50 chance that he’ll steal a glance and act like he didn’t, hiding behind an upside down book or something

Has definitely dropped books on his head after charming them down from the shelf. Your voice just sucks all his concentration up. You get bonus points for checking on him because some of those books are HELLA HEAVY

Say the right thing during a quiet tea session and you might hear him choke

Has probably been outed by one of his friends. Satan always seems to make friends without trying and gets invited to tons of stuff. What didn’t seem like a date turns out to DEFINITELY be a date (according to the friend).

Plan some silly treasure hunt/detective date and this guy is yours for life (especially if you’re the prize at the end).

Isn’t the most upfront about the disdain for his demon form, or how he feels weird about not being a true angel (just an extension of Lucifer), so expect a lot of raw, near-tears conversations in his demon form.

Hold him, run your fingers along the inside of his wings and the tips of his horns and Satan hugs you like there’s no tomorrow. He’ll cry, but he doesn’t regret these tears because they’re healing.

Weak for hand kisses. Smooch them hands.

Not super into PDA, but he’ll do other things to show he cares like carry your books and make sure you know what the weather’s like before you leave

Satan still hasn’t lived down the time Lucifer and the others broke down his door because they smelled blood and thought he’d hurt you. Turns out you guys were having sex and he just bit too hard.

Wouldn’t talk to any of them for a week. He swept you up on an impromptu hotel vacation and you continued to avoid everyone by shopping and eating at cafes.

The type to hold your panties hostage or like a trophy. Gives them back eventually, and enjoys watching Mammon almost have an aneurysm as he tries to figure out why his room smells so strongly of you.

Tea dates, cat cafe dates, and plenty of couple pictures with cat filters. Satan’s Devilgram activity goes up substantially when he’s dating.

You’re not his lock screen, but you’re his background. 

Asmo

When you two start dating Asmo is literally the happiest demon in all of Devildom. Yeah he’s smug and cute like ‘how could they NOT fall for beautiful me?’ but boy is literally so stoked. All of that babble’s just a cover for how sickeningly happy he is

Thinks the world of you.

Wants to spend all his free time with you, be it napping and cuddling, shopping, getting pampered, or just doing your nails.

Now that he has that real, true love he doesn’t want to be without you.

You trend on Devilgram at least once

SO MANY PICTURES

Took you shopping for perfumes and has the tester strip you used to pick your perfume taped to his vanity. Then he can smell it whenever he likes!

Gives you a small thing of his cologne for when you get lonely or want to smell like him

Boy is super, super extra. Probably has matching shirts that say he’s yours and you’re his.

The type to get couple’s pillows, cups, and pajamas. You also get couple’s massages.

If you wear lipstick, he’s definitely made you a custom one at some exclusive-invite Devilgram event. He put your initials on the base of the tube and thinks it’s the cutest damn thing. His pride and joy--it’s basically a child.

There’s no shame in the bedroom with this one. I really doubt he’d have awkward moments because he has a lot of experience and has run into a lot of things that he’s handled one way or another. It’s gentle coaching and some sweet teasing.

The most embarrassing thing he’s ever done is probably moaned/whined at the wrong time. Or said something semi-naughty at a bad time. He’s not easily shamed so that doesn’t really matter, either.

He melts at the gentlest touches and will be SO dramatic about it, like half fainted into his bed.

Is easily hypnotized by jewelry. He’ll massage your ears if you have earrings in, cooing over them and wanting to look at them. If he’s laying on you and you’re wearing a necklace, he plays with it the whole time.

Beel

Smart but distractable. Beel’s love language revolves around protection and food so pack him a lunch for practice or bring him something from a town date with one of the bros and he’s super excited

He means well but forgets his own strength so there’s a lot that can go wrong in the bedroom

Has probably broken his bed several times

Had sex on the kitchen counter and the bros only found out because one of them was setting up dinner prep and one of the legs just gave out

Big, snuggly bear. Best hugs.

Hardest to wake up because he tends to sleep well and easily. It’s a side effect of being connected to Belphie. Will hug you to him and keep snoring. You have to get someone else to wake him up because he’ll just snuggle you the more you move around and talk

I headcanon that Beel does a tongue thing like Levi, mostly because his cardinal sin is gluttony and that helps get the food in his mouth faster. It’s not as slender or serpentine as Levi’s, but it definitely moves.

Has licked you in his sleep as an affectionate thing.

Loves to snuggle into your hair when he sleeps.

Bite mark king. He’s so affectionate and earnest when he makes love that he just ends up leaving all kinds of signs on you--mostly bite marks but when he’s conscious of leaving too many, they turn into hand prints.

Makes the purr sound when he’s inside of you. Purrs very easily.

Most of his awkward moments come from being oblivious. He’s the kind of guy you have to out-and-out tell you’re flirting with him, that you like him and want to date him.

Beel’s also very shy with flirting. He thinks you’ll just understand that he’s flirting when he shares food or wants to hug, or just anything. It can be missed because he’s generally chill and friendly.

Was royally embarrassed by Asmo (on accident) when he didn’t eat as much at dinner one night and you were ‘too tired’ to come down. Beel went to carry your food up and Asmo somehow found out he’d eaten you out right before. He was filled up on the human energy and you couldn’t walk to come down.

If you ride his face, grab his horns to hold on. It does something for him and his hands go crazy and he really eats.

Scratch his back and he’ll be your forever heater.

His PDA is carrying you because why not? It’s a workout AND you’re close. It makes him give that big, nice smile.

Belphie

The biggest issue is that he falls asleep on you all the time. He doesn’t mean to but he’s TIRED, okay?

Has a name for the cow pillow. Calls it ‘my moo.’ You are one of seven people that know that. Apparently it’s been a thing since he was little.

Has accidentally called you ‘my moo’ when he’s sleep delirious. It means you’re highly thought of. Beel used to be his moo, too, and now he’s been replaced.

This sloth will smother you. He’s like a koala that demands total contact to sleep

Gives you back rubs and massages. Sometimes he stays awake through them, sometimes you get sleepy and that makes him sleepy so he ends up falling asleep on your back.

Not big on PDA, but his version of caring for you is making sure you’re not bothered by annoying people. Wants you to sit with him at lunch though, and he’ll sulk if you don’t.

His favorite kind of dates are where you stockpile food and drink in the room and just feed each other while lounging in cozy blankets

If you make him any kind of pillow or blanket for a birthday, it’s at the top of his collection. Everyone will see it when they walk into his room.

You’ll plan dates in the star room where he just holds you and points out constellations until you fall asleep. Knows a lot of the mythology/stories behind them and shares that.

No matter the size, Belphie likes to cuddle between your boobs. He says it’s for your heartbeat and that they’re comfy like pillows. His tail wags like crazy when he does this.

Also big on physical contact due to his time in the attic. You just have to be alone.

Brush and play with his hair. That’s what he likes most.

Just hold this boy, okay? He needs it.

If you guys are trying to nap and the other brothers are being noisy, he’ll do the demon scream thing to tell them to shut the hell up. He’s an absolute angel to you though. You’re tired too, he knows.

If you get a little purple streak or something in your hair, he’s smitten.

Get him a kanigiri and the boy is super stoked. He’ll wear it all around the House of Lamentation. Bonus points if it has a hoodie or something he can throw up to annoy Lucifer.

Might get you a little stuffed cow toy so you have something to hug if you have to go away or can’t be with him.

The type to be restless if he can’t sleep with you. Will come to your room in the dead of night and ask to snuggle. It’s the only time he’s nice about it (and vulnerable), so say yes.

You get to be a human body pillow. He loves it very much.

[circethegoblin]

STAYING ALIVE MASTERPOST, FROM A BROKE TEEN WITH ADHD

here you go. some down to earth tips on how to not die metally nor physically.

tired of those "drink three liters of water everyday uwu" and "wake up at 5 am" and "buy a bath bomb and a fec mask and some other things you don't have the money for" shit? i'm here for ya.

1. NOT DYING

eat at least three meals a day, one of which m u s t be warm and above 300 kcal (it can be istant ramen with an egg added if you have to)

you technically should shower everyday, but we know how it is. A change of clothes is sometimes enough.

DRY SHAMPOO AND BABY WIPES!!!

keep bottles with water everywhere. On your desk, near that spot on the floor you always end up sitting on, near your bed, basically whenever you know you spend a lot of time. No need to get up and go to the kitchen will help. Obviously change the water in the bottles as often as you can.

Get some form of physical activity. It doesn't have to be much, you can for example replace scrolling on tiktok by walking around your room and scrolling on tiktok! Brilliant, isn't it? Obviously, running or doing those 10 minutes workouts from youtube is better, but you are still getting like an hour of walking.

Buy blankets. Steal blankets. Summon blankets from other dimensions. Just make sure you have a lot of warm, soft blankets in your house. You will thank me when you won't have the anergy to wash your sheets (just take them off and throw some blankets on your bed), or when the power goes out.

If you have pets, ALWAYS keep spare food that'll last for a week for them.

things to always have in the kitchen: milk, eggs, flour, rice, pasta, yeast, cheese, oil, a leafy vegetable, onions, tomatoes, apples, patatoes, some flavourful sauce, sugar, salt, spices and an emergency chocolate bar. You can make a lot of food with those. Just make sure you won't eat the chocolate too fast.

Have a lot of spare batteries. A lot.

Get urself a flashlight, a lighter, and a pocket knife.

Remember the apples? eat one a day. if you don't like apples or you can't eat them for any other reason, you can take a kiwi, banana, orange, basically something that will give you vitamins and non processed sugar.

do the dishes before your sink starts developing it's own ecosystem

drugs from that one guy around the corner = very bad time

2. NOT DYING INSIDE

Open the damn window.

Don't watch so many commentary videos. You are probably not even checking the sources, so you can easily make unjust judgement, and like. did you even hear of half of those people before?

make a discord server just for yourself. get into the habit of writing little things that happened to you there. rant about the fanfics you read. or the movies. vent there if you don't have anyone you can vent to. write your ideas there, write e v e r y t h i n g. make a section for passwords, for quick ideas, for your to do lists. you won't lose it as you do with sticky notes or notebooks. there is no risk anyone will see it. oh, and when you'll have a strong impulse to tell emily that you hate her? write that message in your private server and list all ur arguments. look at tat the next day and decide if you really mean that.

life sucks. come to peace with it.

cuddle ur pets if you have them

1 hour a day without a lot of sensory input. if you have to, reduce to half an hour.

if you find yourself scrolling endlessly through social media, make sure it's pintrest (just don't compare urself to the people here; if you have issues with that, tumblr may be better)

delete. twitter. from. your. phone.

influencers are lying to you; maybe not even intentionally. remember when you were watching that cute-aesthetic-productive morning routine, and you were wondering why your life isn't that pretty? why your room is a mess? why you cannot for the life of god be aesthetic 24/7? its the filter. don't worry about it, their lifes arent that nice either.

realize there's actually nothing stopping you from screaming as loud as you can right now. like there is no physical barrier. think about it. realize there's no actual physical barierr to many other things.

your body is your body. you can decide how it looks like; just remember it's in your greatest interest to keep it healthy.

3. BEING A LITTLE BETTER THAN JUST ALIVE

If you wear make up, take it off before you go to sleep.

moisturize your body; everything is better when your skin doesn't feel dry

have a one brand of cosmetics that you love and buy things mainly from it. they often have sets of products that complete each other. i like ziaja. it's a polish brand, it's surprisingly cheap and has nice quality

cleanser, moisturizer, face mist

of you can, change your sheets once every two weeks

do the dishes before your sink starts developing it's own ecosystem

do a deep house clean once a month (don't beat yourself up when you don't tho)

keep your workspace organized (it doesn't have to look organized to other people, remember)

sunscreen

cook your own food

keep a calendar

no money for scented candles? got ya. make a simmer pot: throw some apple peel, a couple of cinnamon sticks and whatever spices that smell good you have into a pot, add some water and simmer. boom. your house smells good, and you haven't spend 20 dollars.

If you really like candles, buy scented wax melts. it's cheaper.

Buy urself scented mists. they're pretty cheap and will make you feel A LOT better.

keep your clothes clean. if you aren't sure if that shirt thats on your chair is dirty or not, throw it in the washing mashine anyway. better be sure.

if you can, make your bed right when you get up

wear clothes that make you feel good. put some effort into your outfits. really.

4. OTHER PEOPLE

be nice to essential workers.

if you have money, give tips.

remember, you do not owe anyone love; it is not something you can force. even if they saved your life. even when they helped you in your darkest time. if you don't love them, you don't.

you don't have to be in a romantic relationship to be happy.

if you want to, date! date everyone! date girls, date boys, date nonbinary people! date people completly different than you, date people from different countries, date them!!! just make sure they're kind and won't kill you. even if you don't end up in a relationship, you can learn a lot.

don't be afraid to piss off people that deserve it

smile to strangers :)

5. NOT FAILING SCHOOL

heard of dark academia? check it out

romanticize the heck out of studying

do not let your studying be just reading the same partagraph over and over again. it won't work. believe me.

seterra for geography, quizlet for everything else

try to make yourself intrestet in whatever you are studying (watch veritasium, listen to podcasts about weird history facts)

notes are for you and you only; don't worry about them looking pretty. doodle on margins, make weird metaphors, squeeze in as much info as you can.

when you're studying, listen to music without words/in a language you don't understand.

chew gum while you study

get the forest app, get attached to the trees, focus.

don't feel guilty for taking breaks

grades aren't everything, but they are important.

eat something in school

don't just use the cheapest pens. invest a couple dollars in something that will make writing enjoyable and smooth

those study with me videos? they're great

if you like to argue with the teachers, take care of your grades becouse. they may not like you afterwards.

be nice to your classmates and help them with homework. if you don't do your homework they'll help you

executive dysfunction won't let you study? been there. sometimes it's better to wake up ealier tommorow and do that homework then.

don't feel guilty for failing a test

go to the goddamn class

don't pull all nighters oh my god don't especially on weekdays

6. OTHER LIFEHACKS

don't get involved in the crime, and if you do always have a believable explanation why you were doing it

have different alarm sounds for every day of the week

set a daily limit of money that you spend

great hobbies that don't require a lot of money; urban exploration, writing, hiking and learning other languages

thrift stores

don't eat grapefruits while on meds

nail polish removers dissolve most strong glues.

if you have a cut on your skin, desinfect it. do it. please just do it.

always have pads with you. even if you don't get periods, at least one of your friends probably does

sign up in your local library. its free

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: Kevin Tran For President by glovered

fandom: Supernatural

pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

word count: 11k

Is it explicit: no

Bottom line: what if the S8 opener was a coffeeshop au

I don’t think we as a fandom (spn generally, and samdean specifically) are really built for coffeeshop AUs but goddamn does glovered deliver. It’s mostly down to the ensemble cast—Castiel and Meg don’t have a ton of scenes but what lines they have are high-impact, and then there’s Kevin. Kevin has 1) the worst case of imposter syndrome an Asian-American overachiever has ever come down with and 2) a mega-crush on Sam. Dean is fresh out of Purgatory and here to help. It’s not toothrotting fluff but it’s not not toothrotting fluff iykwim.

This fic was like a pump of caramel syrup injected directly into my veins. I wouldn’t want, like, five pumps of it in a single latte, but the S8 rift between Dean and Sam really hurt me and this story was a balm. On a basic canon-divergent plot level Sam didn’t quit hunting and therefore Dean, when he returns, doesn’t take Sam’s rejection of the lifestyle as a rejection of Dean. On a meta level it eases my heart to see that the Winchesters are not radioactive to absolutely everyone they care about: Kevin’s most pressing concern right now? Passing macroeconomics. Castiel is not, thank fuck, auditioning to be the next Winter Soldier. Meg and her smart mouth are the light of my life.

Sam is a barista because Kevin is attending Princeton, and Kevin is Sam’s responsibility. Sam isn’t carrying around all this baggage of “I hung Kevin out to dry—yet another way I let Dean down, ugh,” and that allows Dean to come at being in love with Sam circuitously rather than devouringly (the way he does in canon). Dean comes at being in love with Sam through Kevin’s attraction to Sam:

”Does he seem..." Dean looks back to his paper. "No, you know what? Never mind." He's reading about some football game he didn't used to care about, when Kevin speaks up. ”No." ”Huh?" ”No, he doesn't seem." ”Really?" ”Really." Kevin screws up his mouth, watching Sam, too. "Of course not. He was worried sick."

In fact we learn that Sam went slightly berserker. I think “I went at the remaining Leviathans with the machete you gave me for my twenty-third birthday” is just as believable a reaction to losing Dean as “I quit hunting cold-turkey and clung to my grief like a liferaft.” I mean, just because it’s fluff doesn’t mean it’s weak on characterization:

”You didn't even tell anyone you had a brother," Dean says. The thought comes out of nowhere. Sam stills and then finally lies down again, but he rolls into Dean's side a second later so his face is close, breathing Dean's breath. "I couldn't even talk for three months. Let alone talk about you."

Dean is just so nakedly relieved to have his brother back:

Sam follows close behind him down the stairs and falls into step once they're on the street. They don't talk because talking before five in the morning has never been their thing, but Dean does look over once, three times, when they're not under streetlights, and Sam catches him at it. There's a lot of eye rolling, and it makes everything in Dean hurt that hurt of hope, of being alive and back and wondering where they're going to go now. He knows if Sam doesn't want to go he's going to have to stay here, learn to deal. They'll be together either way, no matter what.

Looking at S8 through the soft-focus filter of a coffeeshop au makes me wonder how much of Dean’s disappointment in Sam is disapproval he’s left the life, and how much is anxiety that he left (will leave) Dean. Dean’s never been able to separate his self-self and his hunter-self. He also—hilariously and very much in-character—has this pathological drive to ensure Sam’s physical safety that is in no way equalled by insight into the inside of Sam’s noggin. What I mean is: Dean thinks Sam wants to settle down in suburban New Jersey, when actually Sam gave his two weeks’ notice the minute Dean reappeared. Dean thinks Sam doesn’t know how Dean feels about him, when actually Sam probably knew before Dean did. Dean is an idiot.

This is Dean being blindingly jealous of some girl Sam casually dated at some point:

Kevin glares at the girl as she passes with a free drink. "She seems great and all. I just...don't like her."

Dean remembers that Kevin's the victim here. He feels a sudden, uncanny sort of compassion for him. Imagine being in love with a dude, only to watch him fall for some caffeine junky.

”You and me both," he says, and watches Sam go about his business like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. "Kevin, I got your back."

We all know Dean Winchester is the king of repression and denial but glovered’s light touch here is just. Everything.

They go on a vision-quest in the desert:

"Chill," Sam tells him, stopping to examine another plaque-style map on a wall.

”Don't tell me to chill, I spend months navigating the stump swamps of Purgatory to come back here and get lost in a—" Sam turns and puts a hand over his mouth.

”What's a stump swamp?" Meg asks.

”It's a swamp with many stumps," Cas tells her.

”I’m not dismissing your PTSD," Sam tells Dean in low tones, and doesn't let his hand up when Dean tries to deny it. "But I'm letting you know that you're overreacting."

”Mmph."

”Okay?" Sam asks.

Dean licks Sam's palm, but Sam remains unmoved.

”Cute," Meg says. "Are you going to give him a kiss or—?"

Lmfaoo

Did I mention that Kevin’s ex-girlfriend is alive and well and not attending her safety school??

”She broke up with me," Kevin says. "After the whole, you know. Kidnapping and mental break and stuff. She went to Stanford, anyway. But yeah, it bugged her sometimes."

”But you were into her?"

Kevin shrugs.

Dean's aware he's being a dick. He's just trying to figure out if the kid knows he's gay for Sam. "Probably wasn't First Lady material, anyway."

And like. Kevin’s ex not being dead or possessed, Kevin’s mom likewise being alive and not-possessed—it opens the door for Kevin to want things for himself beyond bare survival. The throughline of this fic is Kevin’s dream deferred to be president of the United States. Kevin thinks he got into Princeton because Dick Roman pulled some strings for him. Team Free Will has to hack into his admissions records to prove that this is not the case. I’m…not crazy about the meritocracy-is-not-fundamentally-broken assumptions embedded in this maneuver, but as a storytelling choice it’s A+

”I know how you feel about him," Kevin says, and actually has the balls to look sympathetic, like it's anything Dean regrets.

Dean glances at Meg and Cas, but they're having some random conversation, so he looks back to Kevin. Kevin leans back under the force of Dean's frown, but still says, "I mean, I guess with the way you two grew up, it makes sense. And I get it, believe me, I do."

”You know what," Dean sneers. "It's cute you have a crush on my brother. But you're already a prophet. If you want to be president, you can't be a prophet and gay. You have to choose one."

”It's probably true," Meg says.

”Only historically," Cas tells him.

Sam, who seems to selectively notice when Dean calls people out, shouts over, "Don't listen to him, Kevin. You can be whatever you want."

Kevin freezes. "What?"

”You can do it," Sam says, and then goes back to frothing milk to pour into a paper cup.

”I know," Kevin says quietly, getting all mouth-breathey.

”No, but, you're already a prophet," Dean tells him, just in case Kevin missed his point. "You can't have Sam, he's mine."

YOU CAN’T HAVE SAM HE’S MINE that’s it that’s the ticket

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 290: It’s Touya Time

Previously on BnHA: Iida and Hadou showed up like a couple of Pennsylvanias and Georgias to bail Shouto out at the last minute. Ochako and Toga had an exceptionally strange fight which consisted of Toga being all “guess what Ochako, I used your quirk to murder someone, how do you feel about that”, and Ochako being all “I do not like that”, to which Toga was all “:(”. There was some doll-stealing and some bookcase-yeeting, and then Toga left in tears because Ochako was all adamant that murder has consequences. Anyway so I have absolutely no idea what Toga is thinking now, but I guess we’ll have some time to stew on it, because we ended the chapter by cutting back to the Iida+Hadou+Shouto VS Afomura battle, which was interrupted by Gigantomachia and the LoV showing up like a bunch of Floridas to ruin everyone’s nice day.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi hands the mic over to Dabi and is all “take it away, kid.” Over in Room 315 of Musutafu General, Rei is all “may I please watch some TV” and the hospital staff is all “sure”, and so she tunes in just in time to catch Todoroki Touya’s Peabody Award-winning documentary “Number One Hero, Number One Fraud: The Todoroki Enji Story”, which is being broadcast nationwide courtesy of Skeptic and his magic laptop. Meanwhile in Jakku, Dabi is all “I’M TOUYA, BITCHES”, and Shouto and Enji are all, “(゜◇゜ )”, and Dabi is all, “anyway so just to sum it all up, because of how much of a jerk Endeavor was, I am now Evil.” Everyone continues to be all “(ﾟoﾟ)” except for Dabi, who is all “└(˘▾˘┌ )≡ ( ┐˘▾˘)┘≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛≡┏( ˘▾˘)┓≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛” for pretty much the rest of the chapter. Idk. Just let the man have his fun, guys. He’s waited a long time for this.

y’all I have a confession to make. I am technically not spoiled for this chapter thanks to my robustly paranoid system of spoiler-tag-filtering, which is extensive enough that it pretty much will catch whenever someone so much as breathes something even remotely new-chapter-related. that being said, I like to think that I am capable of making basic logical inferences! and so the fact that for the past 36 hours, my dashboard has pretty much nonstop consisted almost entirely of this...

...has led me to conclude that MAYBE, POSSIBLY, PROBABLY, BUT ALSO DEFINITELY, a certain someone is finally going to reveal his ~secret identity~ woop woop. lmao

anyway so everyone, please remember to act surprised though, as we would not want Dabi’s feelings to be hurt at all. he has been planning this moment for the last decade or so and I wouldn’t want him to feel like all of that effort was for naught. so just play along, okay. OH MY, IF IT ISN’T THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS’ MYSTERIOUS DABI. WHATEVER COULD HIS ARRIVAL POSSIBLY BE HERALDING, I JUST DON’T KNOW

“Dabi’s Dance” lmao. I’m sticking with Touya Time myself. ngl I had this recap title planned out for at least the past year or so. just waiting for that day to finally come

anyway so some people in some building somewhere are all “TURN OFF THE TV IN ROOM 315” and idk. I’m guessing the LoV is hacking the airwaves to livestream the reveal, as predicted

-- oh shit. UHHHHHHHH

did she always have this TV or did she get it just recently?? jfc of all the times for the hospital staff to finally loosen up

um... so that’s... (・＿・；)

well but I mean, she was gonna find out one way or the other at some point though. like you can’t really just keep her locked up and isolated from all news of the outside world forever and ever and ever. granted, this isn’t exactly the ideal way for her to learn this particular bit of information, but it’s not really ideal for anybody else either! EXCEPT DABI, THAT IS. have yourself a day you funky little terrorist

oh shit what is this?? it’s not live???

over in Jakku, a red-faced, sputtering Dabi makes a frantic grab for Skeptic’s laptop. “WAIT, NO, JESUS, NOT THAT TAPE!”

lol. but seriously Dabi are you even wearing a shirt. like I’m not one to slutshame anyone bro, but it’s just, exactly what type of mood were you looking to set here??

anyway so we really are cutting back to Jakku now, and Gigantomachia is all, “MASTERS”! which, I wonder if he really did use the plural? that’s right Machia, both of them in one place now! that sure is convenient for you huh

lol what is this with all this AFO monologuing. you’re really gonna make me read through this when I’m sitting here all sleep-deprived from election week. JUST GET TO THE TOUYAS. WE WERE PROMISED TOUYAS!!

sigh

“tee hee it’s fucking hilarious how goddamn powerful I am now lol”

alas, in spite of myself I do have two serious takeaways from this. one is that AFO is still controlling most of Tomura’s body behind the scenes, which both does and doesn’t bode well for Tomura (like, at least he’s not dying, but the long-term implications of this for his free will and such certainly are not Good). and two is that this confirms that Ujiko did give Tomura at least one powerful mutant quirk, which explains why he was still so deadly and indestructible even when Aizawa was using Erasure on him (since Erasure doesn’t work on mutant quirks, just emitter and transformation ones)

MEANWHILE ON TODAY’S EPISODE OF “TODOROKI SHOUTO’S TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD LIFE”

I like how he doesn’t actually say that he can’t take on Gigantomachia. just that he can’t take on him and Afomura at the same time. that’s confidence, baby. that right there is why you always draft Todoroki Shouto in the first round for your fantasy team

HADOU!!!!

OOOH, TOMURA’S ALL “MAN, THIS GIRL’S WAVE POWERS AND THIS KID’S ICE POWERS ARE A SUPER-STRONG COMBO DAGNABBIT.” YESSS I LIKE THAT, TELL ME MORE ABOUT HOW COOL AND POWERFUL THEY ARE

HOT DAMN LOOK AT THAT

um but not to take away from this exceptionally cool moment or anything, but why is Endeavor dying and shouting “RUN” down there in the corner um

oh

excuse me. not to take away from How Bad This All Is, but!!

just a little, smol, IidaBaku for everyone. Iida, who apparently doesn’t know a damn thing about first aid and is all, “hmm that’s a pretty bad-looking puncture wound he has in his left shoulder there, I think I’ll just let his arm dangle freely like that and I won’t bother taking off his heavy gauntlets either. I mean. he’ll be fine, probably.” smh. at least Shouto probably cauterized the wounds

EXCUSE ME WHAT

TIME FOR MORE OF THAT GOOD OLD FASHIONED SHOUNEN RIDICULOUSNESS I GUESS LMAO. KACCHAN YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO. THERE IS A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, AND YOU LOST LIKE FOUR GALLONS OF BLOOD, BUT SURE. “PUT ME DOWN” HE SAYS. FIRST OF ALL, PUTTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT YOU ABSOLUTELY SHOULD NOT BE CONSCIOUS, THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO DO, LIE DOWN AT THEM?? LISTEN, YOU SWEET IDIOT. TAKE HEED, BELOVED DUMBASS!!

ah well. I guess he gets to watch the Touya Show now too then lol

LMAOOOO now Machia’s lifting Tomura carefully in his palm like a broken action figure and Spinner is all “THE FUCK, YOU LOOK LIKE DEATH WARMED OVER”

“oh hey there Spinner. well let’s see, I woke up from my three-month coma and destroyed a city, had my body incinerated, and am currently being possessed by a diabolically evil potato. but please, tell me more about everything you've been through”

AW YISS AND THE FOCUS NOW SHIFTS TO THE TODOROKIS. EVERYTHING IS PROCEEDING EXACTLY AS WE HAVE FORESEEN

Endeavor my dude. it’s as if you want to die here. also holy shit, that bit about his lungs definitely does not bode well for him either

MOTHERFUCKER

GO AHEAD AND SIGN YOUR OWN DEATH CERTIFICATE, WHY DON’T YOU!! FLAGS UPON FLAGS. JESUS CHRIST

meanwhile Dabi’s just waving at ‘em

lmaoooo please oh please Caleb please keep this ‘EYYYYYYY’, it’s fucking perfect kdlshk;hg

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: so as you will see very shortly, I completely missed this detail in my first read-through because I was so anxious to get to the reveal page, but THIS MOTHERFUCKER LITERALLY DOUSED HIMSELF WITH INSTANT HAIR DYE REMOVER THAT HE’S JUST BEEN CARRYING AROUND IN A LITTLE HIP POUCH APPRENTLY SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. MOTHERFUCKER. I HAVE NO WORDS.)

IS THIS THE TIME. IS THIS THE MOMENT?! HERE IT COMES SLKFHS BRACE YERSELVES LADS

EYYYYYYYYYYYY

OKAY EVERYONE JUST LIKE WE PRACTICED!! SURPRISED FACES ON THREE! ONE... TWO... (•̪ o •̪) !! okay how was that

LMAO ENDEAVOR

at least Shouto looks properly stunned. Enji just looks like endeavor.exe just straight up stopped working

meanwhile Deku’s out here trying to do the math on this latest surprise family reveal! first Tomura is related to Nana, and now this. what’s next. who are you related to, Spinner. he rips off his boots to reveal engine legs and declares himself Iida’s long-lost uncle

oh shit Touya

it’s as if a million fanworks suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly jossed. who knew that all this time he was secretly sporting a crop top scar

also, THIRTY?! holy shit son you been busy

la la la two-page spread of Touya casually driving the dagger into Endeavor’s hero career and rocking the foundations of hero society as we know it la la la

la la la!!!

OH IS THAT THE END OF THE STORY THEN

almost got confused for a sec. there’s two monologues happening at once here. Endeavor doesn’t even know that his dirty laundry is being aired out nation-wide as we speak ffffff

btw while I appreciate the close-ups of Enji and Shouto here for sure, ngl I would also really love to see everyone else’s reactions right now. SHOW ME BAKUGOU AND THE LOV YOU COWARDS

is his hair actually turning white all of a sudden?? your hair dye just reacts on command??

(ETA: in all seriousness though, the hell kind of hair dye was he using? all he has to do is pour a bottle of that stuff and not even lather it in and it’s just gone just like that?? what the fuck would have have done if it ever rained lmao.

and this motherfucker just goes and leaves the dye remover in afterwards, too. I have never dyed my hair in my life and even I can tell you that’s probably not a good idea, Dabi.)

is this it. is this the legendary Dabi Dance in action. lmfao

oh hey what the fuck

so you figured you’d just murder your innocent younger brother to get revenge on dad, huh. well that’s nice

is that really all there is to the origin story though?? feels like we’re still missing a huge chunk of it. what was it that finally sent him over the edge? or was the trauma of being created as Endeavor’s perfect little hero tool and then being subsequently rejected by him enough on its own? because I’m still kind of confused on the part where he goes from “abused and discarded by his father” to “killed thirty people and was plotting the murder of his own brother” to tell you the truth

(ETA: lmao the initial fandom reaction to this did not disappoint. listen guys. people can be traumatized and shaped by awful circumstances that are completely out of their control, and grow up to be people they wouldn’t have grown up to be if things had been better, and all of that absolutely sucks, but. it doesn’t mean they get a get-out-of-jail-free card for all of their future actions, either! the tragedy of this situation is that terrible things happened to Touya, and he then went on to do terrible things himself. the tragedy of it is that this is exactly how the cycle of abuse keeps repeating itself on and on and on. maybe one of the people Dabi killed had a child who will now grow up traumatized themselves, and potentially go on to pay it forward themselves when they grow up. the tragedy is that the eye-for-an-eye justice that Touya is seeking out won’t actually make anything better in the end. the tragedy is that we understand why Touya is so angry, but that anger has basically warped him into the gleefully sadistic dancing figure we see in this chapter who has stopped caring about anyone else’s pain or suffering and just wants his own revenge.

anyway. basically what I’m trying to say is that it’s possible for the concepts of “Todoroki Touya was an innocent child and a victim of abuse” and “Dabi is a grown-ass motherfucking adult who killed thirty people and PROBABLY NEEDS TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THAT” to coexist lol. like, y’all wanted your moral grey, well HERE YOU GO lmao, eat up.)

lol but LOOK AT THAT BOY DANCE HIS LITTLE HEART OUT though

Todoroki Touya confirmed not a fan of the Endeavor redemption arc huh. well we all saw this coming lols

anyways here’s a sexy Touya for y’all

you really are the most theatrical bitch I s2g lmao

also for real though, what is happening with his hair? anime team in shambles here. they’re probably just gonna double down and keep it red. too bad though cuz this is a surprisingly good look on him

SO MANY CLOSE-UPS OF THE TODOROKI FACES

friendly reminder that Dabi without a doubt REHEARSED this speech like a thousand fucking times. LET US FALL TOGETHER!! COME DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL. apparently if you fake your own death in middle school you will never mentally age past that point and will remain a permanent chuuni

OH LMAO THAT’S THE END

we really just gonna end on “DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL”, huh. very well then. you know what song to play, Horikoshi. one, two... YOU ARE MY DAD. YOU’RE MY DAD!! BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE

[yikesharringrove]

Okay episode three let’s gooooo

Thesis statement: this is, so far, the scariest season, and I say that as a compliment. Vecna has interesting character design, although I’m pretty over cgi monsters. Give us some practical effects. Get Doug Jones in that slimey lil suit. That’s what was so good about the first season. I like the horror movies vibes, but I said this in my evaluation of ep 1, I miss the low budget monster mash that was season 1. They’ve gotten too big for their britches by now. I like how we’ve kind of switched for el always being the center of it all to Max being the center of this. Not that El isn’t still important to the story, I just like that it’s not something coming to kill el AGAIN. If they are teasing Steve and Nancy I’m gonna freak out. Then breaking up and both moving on was major character development for them BOTH. don’t ruin it like this I’m begging please.

Okay, here are the notey notes:

SAM OWENS SAM OWENS SAM OWENS

“She was trained for this very thing. Remote assassinations” sooooo, maybe vecna is one of the kids? Like one that survived that weird attack that should’ve maybe been mentioned before now in a weird flashback?

Okay this is the first time I’ve ever really liked Jonathan and it’s bc he’s High and Weird.

“Hi Murray 😄” “you kids like risotto?” “Yeah 😄🤪”

“She didn’t look fine” mike literally fuck off

Okay el has killed a lot of people and monsters and things angela took a skate to the face she is literally going to be fine and also never bully you again just chill.

Yeah the upside down is connecting to vecna, I really don’t think he’s an upside down guy.

“We’re not killers like Eddie” literally shut up Jason I wanna attack YOU with a skate.

Steve doing his fruity little wave somebody FUCK this man.

Dustin: there’s nothing to worry about

Eddie: *is wanted for murder* ??????

Nancy’s hairpin is the trans flag colors happy pride

Everyone getting out of Steve’s car like they’re the fucking Scooby Gang.

El pulling out the receipts of mike only saying “from” love that gal.

Jonathan saying he’s el’s brother and then saying stepbrother is amazing on all levels. He IS her brother but also his mom DID marry hop so he IS her stepbrother. Love it.

Steve saying “we’re at the trailer park. should we not be here?” When they’re figuring out what connects Fred and Chrissy is why he’s the first bimbo to survive the first act of the horror movie.

THEY BETTER NOT WITH THIS STEVE AND NANCY BULLSHIT. THEY BETTER NOT.

Steve: wipe your feet

Dustin: *aggressively wipes foot inside car”

Steve: oN tHe OuTsIdE nOt On ThE iNsIdE

Steve: always the babysitter. Always the GODDAMN babysitter

(Someone has been wound a lil right since their bf died. Long time no dick, huh steve?)

How can I join the weirdo garage band????? PLEASE. The drummer. I want gemder. Gimme your gemder 🔪🔪🔪

Sorry these cops interrogating this CHILD without speaking to a parent????

“Did you wanna kill her?” BRO WHAT

“We’re her brothers. And we’re family.” YES YOU ARE YES YOU ARE WILL

I spy a Volkswagen thing. My mom’s first car was a 1973 red thing and we still have it. It’s how I learned to drive stick lol

FINALLY they gave Joyce the hair she deserves. Sis got a full blowout.

Jesus, hop is really doing anything to get the fuck outta here

“So he’s a grandpa murderer who can turn invisible and lift people into the air” Robin STOP Nancy so clearly wants to claw her skin off this is amazing what a duo.

“I don’t really have a filter or understand social cues” bro. neurodivergent robin for the WIN.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes” STOP DUSTIN

“When you basically threw yourself at Nance” if this season ends with Steve and Nancy I’m cancelling my whole Netflix subscription. No more Netflix for the whole family. FUCK THAT.

This whole Steve and Dustin car chat made me witch cackle. “I’ll punch you so hard in the face that your teeth will fall back out” literally brothers. BROTHERS.

Max looked her shrink dead in the eye and said fuck the police.

Oh el is going to JAIL jail.

Actually nevermind rip to these guards about to be killed dead.

I LOVE a woman who wears pantyhose under slacks. Queen.

Meanwhile Hopper is cutting off his foot like it’s the first saw movie.

Steve and robin get along so well because they’re both the most annoying people alive I love them.

“Bigfoot is absolutely real” okay big time weirdo robin is EXACTLY what I needed

The basketball team avenging Chrissy like I did NOT sign up to watch riverdale on this night

I’m not saying stranger things has directly copied tremors. But that’s exactly what I’m saying.

GO LUCAS GO LUCAS GO

Sam Owens wins #1 dram queen award