#this is the second fucking old man doing awful shit to me in two weeks. the first one was a email saying im asking to be sexually assaulted

[alieinthemorning]

Strawberry Mint Lemonade [Getou Suguru | Gojo Satoru]

Content: Meet-Cute, Indirect Kiss, Gojo Satoru Being Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru Being Getou Suguru, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Kisses, Café AU, No Curses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Crying, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Second Person, Suggestive Themes

Pronouns: None

Note: THIS IS MY 200TH WORK ON AO3 AAAAAAAAAA (Also UTC because it's 2500+ words)

Header: @/nikki101pistar on Twitter

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Your favorite drink was a simple strawberry mint lemonade. Not too sweet, not too sour. It was made the same way every single time which made sense since you'd had been coming to this hole-in-the-wall café for about three years now. Every employee, new and old knew your name and order, so when the familiar drink was placed in the completed section on the counter, you didn't look twice at it and immediately took a sip.  

"What the fuck is this shit?" It was as if your straw was made of sugarcane, the strawberry and lemon pieces were formed from sugar cubes and the liquid itself was pure syrup.    

"Ew...what is this?" Someone from beside you, whined.  

Looking over, you found an incredibly tall man with stark white hair and—oh, you couldn't see his eye color behind the dark, round shades. You were about to turn around and talk to an employee about this...horror from hell, but your eyes drifted to the drink in his large hand.  

You eyed your own drink, frowning at the name written on the side.

Satoru

You looked at the man again. "Are you Satoru?"

He nodded, then said your name. "I'm assuming that's you?"

You sighed, shoving his drink toward him. "Thank god—hand me my drink. I can't drink pure sugar."

"Awww, come on! It isn't that bad! " He pouted as he switched drinks.

You took a long swig of yours before you replied. "It was like drinking the three states of matter. Solid, Liquid and Gaseous Sugar."

"How would it even be gaseous?"

"The air from the straw."

He laughed loudly, startling  the other customers.

You flushed, grabbing him by the elbow. "Come on, let's sit and talk."

The Goliath of a man let you drag him to a secluded corner, where the two of you talked each other's ears off. However, despite ordering another drink of your own, you noticed that he still hadn't touched his own.  

"You gonna let the ice water down the sugar?" You grinned, "Was I right about it tasting like shit?"

He balked at you. "No way!"

You nodded toward the drink, "Then drink it."

He looked at you, the drink, you again then finally swiped the drink off the table, guzzling it down in mere seconds.

"There! Are you satisfied?" His head was swiveled to the side, tucked into that weird high collared jacket of his, but you swore the tips of his ears were flushed red.

"How are you alive?" You asked in slight awe.

That got him to look at you again, all smiles too. "Must be my impeccable genes."  

You raised a brow. "You a citizen of the Candy Kingdom or something? Built like Candy Wife?"  

He just smiled at you. "I have no idea about what you're talking about."

The two of you chatted for longer than expect, leaving just an hour before closing.  

"Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe so."

And he did, the two of you ending up seeing each other at least once a week for a few months. And of course, you learned a lot about Satoru during that time.  

You learned that he had a very unhealthy obsession with sweets. That, despite the goofy look that he basically always had plastered on his face, he was quite intelligent. Oh, and that he had really bright blue eyes (like limpid tears) and the reason why he wore shades was because his eyes were really sensitive and without them, he was prone to awful migraines.  

You also were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on him, but you were sure someone has beautiful as him had to already be taken. So, you decided to stuff the feelings in the deepest part of your heart.

And today you learned—

That he was bringing someone else with him today.  

The person Satoru brought with him was a stark contrast to him (except in clothing—they both wore dark-colored clothing). He was maybe only a few inches shorter than him with long dark hair that was in an up-down style with a bit of hair draping the left side of his face. You watched that as Satoru pointed at you, the man's eyes slid to you and his lips turned upward. Then Satoru headed toward the counter while the man made his way to you.  

He called your name and you raised a brow.

He chuckled. "Satoru told me your name." He slid into the seat across from you, "My name is Suguru. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

You leaned back in your chair, a bit uncomfortable with his familiarity with you. "Oh? Has Satoru talked about me that much."  

Suguru leaned in closer, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his intertwined finger. "Oh, you have no idea."  

Before you could question him further on the subject, Satoru placed their drinks on the table, alongside a few sweets.  

"Seems like the two of you are getting along." He said with a hum as he pulled a chair over to complete your little group.

"Yeah, sure—Satoru, what exactly have you been telling Suguru here about me?"

His brows shot up to his hairline as his head swiveled to Suguru.  "What did you say?"

Suguru just smiled. "I haven't said too much." The unspoken yet at the end of that sentence was very loud.  

You sighed, nudging Satoru's foot. "So, you gonna properly introduce me or am I supposed to keep thinking of your friend here as a creep?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," He placed a hand on top of Suguru's, "This is my boyfriend, Suguru. We've been together for a few years now, and been best friends for longer."  

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and you felt your lips dip downward. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand, raising a brow. "Oh? We've been talking for so long, and you just now tell me about your significant other? I thought we were closer than that, Satoru."  

You knew you didn't play that off well, you knew that Satoru knew that what he had said hurt you.

And Suguru?  

Suguru just smiled.

Despite the rocky first meeting and sudden revelation, you, Satoru and Suguru continued meeting (after you had bullied Satoru into inviting Suguru again).  

Slowly yet surely, you learned more about Suguru and their relationship. Suguru was the one who did the majority of the cooking (while Satoru baked to quell his late night sweet cravings). He was really sweet and caring despite the shit eating grin that was etched on his face. He also was a pretty big flirt.

Which...was very unsettling to you. Since it seemed like he was very open to doing it in front of Satoru, who didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.  

"You look very beautiful today."

"Oh, um, thank you..."  

"I especially like the lip color you've chosen today."  

You balked at him, face becoming warm as you looked between him and Satoru.

Satoru continued to sip on his drink and scroll through his phone.  

And Suguru—

Just fucking smiled.

And later that night, you knew you were screwed.

You were in love with both Satoru and Suguru.

So, you did what you did with your feelings for Satoru and shoved your feelings for Suguru down alongside his. Instead of running away from them and saving your heart, you hurt yourself even more Getting closer and closer to them to the point where you had visited each others homes and you've met each others other friends (Shoko and Nanami were your favorites among them).

Today you were over at Satoru and Suguru's very nice house (another thing you learned about Satoru is that the was stupidly rich). You were simply lounging around, not over for any specific reason, just to be in their presence, when Satoru suddenly stood up from his relaxed position on the couch.

"I need donuts." And without another word, he snatched his keys off the kitchen island and was out the door before either you and Suguru could utter a word.

Now, you had been alone with Suguru before—plenty of times, when Satoru had suddenly broke off from the two of you to take a closer look at things (see: recklessly spend money). But that was usually when you were out in public, where you could go and run to Satoru if you needed.

You'd never been alone with him like this—trapped within four walls.

And of fucking course, he did what he always did and—

"Why are you always smiling like that?" The question came out rougher than you intended, but your nerves were very quickly becoming frayed.

"Smiling like what?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Like you know everything—I don't know." You crossed your arms with a huff.

"You mean like how I know that you like Satoru and I." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Your arms grew slack, hands falling into your lap.

He nodded to himself, "Another tell-tale reaction. This is good…"

"How is this good?" You snapped at him. "I'm in love with the two of you, who are already in a committed relationships."

He had the audacity to look surprised for a moment before his smile widened. "You love us? That's even better."

"How can you—" You sniffled, feeling the hot tears quickly race down your cheeks. "I have been selfishly spending time with the two of you. Despite how I feel, and knowing that I should just stop associating with you. I've instead decided to intruding on your relationship, just so that I can experience the tiniest fantasy of something that will never be." You were somehow able to make through your entire confession before you broke down, curling in on yourself.

You heard Suguru sigh then a bit of shuffling before the couch dipped and you were pulled into his warm embrace, which made you cry harder.

"I'm sorry for pushing you, Darling." His whispered above your head. "I should have been more upfront."

You shoved him back, looking up into his brown eyes. "Been more upfront with knowing good and well about my fucking inner turmoil."

"No," His hands slipped into yours." I should have just told you that Satoru and I feel the same way."

Your heart stopped.

There was no way that that was true. There was no way that Satoru and Suguru both felt the same way about you—and even if they did there was no way that you could choose one over the other, and you definitely wouldn't want to be the reason why they broke up either.

"Please." His voice was strained, "Just give me one chance to show you."

"I don't want to do anything behind—"

"And we won't. I'll wait until he comes back and then I'll ask for permission to kiss you. In front of him."

You sighed deeply, finally resigning yourself to your fucked up fate.

You leaned into him, "If this all goes to shit—I'll hate you forever."

"If it does go to shit, I'll accept your rightful infinite hatred."

The two of you were quite as you waited for Satoru to return. You were too exhausted to speak. Suguru was fine with that, perfectly content with rubbing circles onto your hands to help soothe you.  

And then the front door was unlocked, and your anxiety spiked.

But Suguru wasn't going to go back on his word.

"Can I kiss you now?" Suguru asked the moment Satoru stepped into the room.

Your eyes were wide, frantically looking between the two of them, while your lips opened and closed like a fish.  

Suguru placed a hand on your cheek, guiding you back to him.

He said your name, soft and sweet. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." You said it so quietly that you weren't sure that he heard you, but he very quickly assured you otherwise as his lips met yours.

Right in front of your close friend—his boyfriend, Satoru.

It was as soft as a rose petal, acutely aware of your fragile state.

"Yes—finally!" Satoru slammed the box of donuts on the kitchen counter then rushed over, reaching out for you.

Suguru intercepted him. "You need to ask first, Satoru."

He nodded furiously at his partner before turning to you, blue eyes bright. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

You blinked at him a few time before nodding. Satoru wasted no time and grabbed your cheeks, pulling you forward to meet him half way.

While Suguru's was soft, Satoru's was rough and rushed. Like he couldn't get enough of you now that he had you.

It didn't last long though became Suguru was quick to yank him off you.  

"Slow down, Satoru." He flicked his forehand, shaking his head at his pout (your eyes kept finding his lips—they were red and shiny). "All this is new and we haven't even been given an answer yet."

"We just kissed? Isn't that enough of an answer?" Satoru asked Suguru who just gestured to you. Those blue spotlights turned on you.  "Isn't it?"

"I mean—" You bit your lip. "I haven't actually said yes or no yet, but..."

"But...?"

You pursed your lips as you glared at the two of them. "...you both better not make me regret this down the line."

Suguru smiled, and despite it being the same know-it-all smile, you felt completely and utter secured by it. "We promise, Darling."

"What? You've already got pet names? No fair!" He paused. "Wait, what exactly did the two of you do while I was gone...?"

Your favorite drink was a simple strawberry mint lemonade. Not too sweet, not too sour. It was made the same way every single time, which made sense since you'd had been coming to this hole-in-the-wall café for about six years now. Every employee, new and old, knew your name and order, so when the familiar drink was placed in the completed section on the counter, you didn't look twice at it and immediately took a sip.  

"Oh, what the fuck—Satoru, take your shit ass drink." You shoved the drink into his waiting hand, taking your own and immediately taking a plate cleansing sip.  

Suguru chuckled. "I'm surprised that after all these years, the two of you are still getting your drinks mixed up."  

"Who is we?" Satoru pointed at you, "This is the one who takes a sip without looking at the name on the side of the cup."

"That wouldn't matter if you didn't drink straight sugar—and then have the damn audacity to eat sweets with it." You eyed him, "Is your body okay?"

He smirked. "Oh, you know my body is absolutely perfect, but I'm sure we can—" Suguru flicked him in the cheek.

"Not in public."

Satoru balked at his audacity (and you to a lesser extent). "Says the one who literally—"

You lightly kicked his shin and hissed, "Not in public!"

"I can't believe my two partners are bullying me like this." He slumped in his seat. "I can't believe I have to deal with this for the rest of my life."

You shrugged, snatching one of his sweets. "You're the one who decided to put a ring on it."

"Now you're stuck with us forever." Suguru nodded in agreement.

Satoru watched the two of you fondly, a wide smile stretched across his lips.

"Yeah, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

I've finally done it.

For my 200th work, I finally gave you all the Sugu/Sato/Reader fluff you all deserved.

IT'S ALSO MY FIRST ONE-SHOT THAT'S OVER 2500 WORDS????

I really popped off for y'all (wipes away a tear).

Now time for me to binge the anime and get back to our regular scheduled programming of Tear Jerking Angst.

Please be excited :)

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[4th-make-quail]

happy WIP Wednesday, zamasian lovelies! this week i bring you more snips from the ongoing sequel to push me hard! the first two screens are earlier in the fic, then the second two are a little later, with a good chunk between!

the full text is below the cut as usual! and last week's snippet from the same fic -> here

A: [FUCK I forgot I said I’d go for drinks with Jacob and Sam after wrap…]

E: [Aw shoot, guess you’re gonna miss out then.]

A: [:(((((]

E: [Does more faces mean more sad? What even is this.]

A: [cruel cruel man. I’m gonna be stuck drinking cocktails and god knows what else and you’re just poking fun at my millennial typing habits when you could be doing anything else more fun!]

E: [Oh yeah? Like jerking it on camera for you? Sending it like a mini porno straight to your phone?]

A: [...] A: [fucking hell eric]

E: [Oh, you like that idea? Your own little movie of filth you can jerk it to when you’re on your own?]

A: [is this sexting? are you sexting me right now?]

E: [You tell me. Is this sexting?]

A: [depends. what are you wearing?]

E: [Kid, you know what I’m wearing. The same shit I was wearing all day after my shoots were done.]

A: [no fun!!!]

E: [Jeans. And I have a grey shirt on, I guess? Black undershirt, black briefs. Socks. Shall I go on? Is it too sexy for you yet?]

A: [NO FUN!!!!!!]

E: [My hand’s down my pants you know.] E: [Thinking about what we said last night. Your mouth instead of my hand.]

A: [yeah?]

E: [Yeah. You’ve got real pretty lips, I bet they’d look amazing round my cock. But since you’re busy, I guess I’ll have to entertain myself, so hand it is.]

A: [eric…]

E: [You got a hard on, baby? Thinking about being on your knees between my thighs?]

A: really fucking inconvenient hard on since i just got my coat on and now we’re off to the fucking pub. It’s a good job it’s dark.] A: [tell me more though…]

Hah. Eric palmed his cock again, rubbing down between jeans and briefs, surprised at how much this was actually starting to get him hard. He always loved to talk dirty during sex, so he figured maybe it stood to reason he’d enjoy sexting too, even if just thinking the word made him feel a hundred years old.

- - - * - - -

He sent both to Assad, then sighed. For all his grand ideas about jerking off for Assad now then having fun again later on, well. There came a point where you had to be realistic, and if he was honest with himself, Eric would much rather come in Assad’s mouth than in his own hand.

His cock twitched, and he tucked it away, fastening up his fly. Well, nothing to say he couldn’t keep texting the guy. Didn’t need a hard on for that; just his way with words.

A: [that’s really fucking hot…….]

E: [That’s your last pictures babe, don’t waste them. Tell me about your drink, and I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to you later.]

A: [last pictures? What happened to the grand porno you were gonna shoot?] A: [drink’s really good btw. STRONG. Too much absinthe for me, i got a different one. See]

A photo of a different drink was attached this time, this one in a tall, quite plain looking glass, a twist of lemon peel hanging over the edge and half of it missing.

E: [Looks good, what is it? Just wondering what you’ll taste like when I kiss you tonight.]

A: [Autumn in Chicago! Not sure how it measures up to the real thing in Chicago, but it tastes nice. Pears! And ginger too.] A: [what else are you gonna do tonight?]

E: [Pears and ginger, huh? Sounds wonderful. I was thinking about what I said last night, do you remember?]

A: [like i could forget. Pretty sure i dreamt about it, actually. I mean, you already kinda did suck my dick last night too. It was nice.]

E: [Oh, only nice? Well, guess I gotta try harder. I don’t know though, not sure I’d call that properly sucking your cock, babe. That was just an appetizer.]

A: [what’s the main course? Eric Bogosian Deep Throat Special?] A: [.....actually that sounds pretty good. I’d eat at that restaurant]

E: [It’d cost you - expensive restaurant. Four Michelin stars, you know.] E: [But yeah, pretty much my plan. Hold you close, suck you off until you cum in my mouth. Wonder if it’ll taste like pears.]

A: [wow okay. god. That’s hot. Although still pretty unfair! When do i get to suck your dick?]

E: [How about afterwards? When you’re all soft and pliable, get you on your knees and fuck those pretty lips of yours.]

A: [...] A: [...fuck]

E: [Oh yeah, you like the sound of that?]

[gren-arlio]

You guys voted Something Random, I love and hate you at the same time.

In that case...Y'all know about JUMP HERO? Welcome to...well, rambles about some random things.

(Da Satan Plant. As of writing this I just hit 51 followers. Wow.)

Hey all, Gren here. I know its been a bit since I've properly posted, and frankly, you're not wrong at all. Life's been busy, and with the rate I'm going at (going to college and whatnot, middle of the school year shenanigans,) there's no way in hell I'll be able to keep the once-a-week posting that I've done. Maybe for summer, but I dunno yet.

Also, life's been hitting me HELLA hard recently, so motivation is also not there. If YKYK.

Which leads to an announcement that I made before: I won't exactly be posting weekly anymore. I'll just... post whenever I feel like it nowadays. Adds a lot less stress for me, and I'll be able to send dumb shit about Puyo and Madou here. Ya know, like a normal blog. You might get 3 posts in a week for all you know.

But enough on that. I'm here to ramble. This won't be a Waku Puyo Extras thing or whatever, literally just things I wanna show and explain some nonsense. There's no formula. Enjoy.

----

I've been working on this stuff since April of last year, and it's been going decently well, people partially know my works. Now, what in the world do I want to show y'all this time around, since I got free will?

Well for one, I'd you've been following my work for a bit, you'd know about the pain that was finding Madou Sugoroku content, that game was so elusive to me that I was convinced it wasn't real for a period of time.

Uh, yeah. It's real. Very, very much real. And man do I love the style of the game. It's so dang pretty. I'll mention gameplay some other time, I'll cover it another time, but today's not that day.

Also. Arle's fit.

It's basically Schezo's clothes but it looks so damn good. No complaints here. Though I do wonder how she got it.

I do want to mention the Pairs though. Arle/Satan is fine, Witch/Draco have been paired since like Saturn, Schezo/Incubus at least have Waku Puyo, Minotauros/Rulue is obligatory, but what the FUCK is going on with the pairing of Sasori Man/Zoh Daimoh? The fact they got two word names?

I do wish that Draco just had a little bit more than what she has currently. I love her, she's a funny person and whatnot, I just wish there was...more, you know?

She's been a character I've been wanting to cover for god knows how long, it's just I've never had enough unique things to talk about with her. Lotta the stuff is things we do know, or Puyo Puyo Tetris [2] sorta just making her beauty obsessed.

Least in Waku Puyo, she has some comedic scenes, canonically being able to make 5 chains and confusing Schezo at least 3 times. And in the manga, she bounces off Rulue and Minotauros decently, her fight was fun to read.

(Don't ask how Rulue learned Shadow Clone Jutsu)

And for a second, let me say that the designs in this manga are top-notch. Witch's redesign is nice, Rulue's looks really good, Draco's design is great, Schezo consistently has the best clothes, and Lagnus... somehow looks even better.

Oh yea, speaking of Draco, let's look at someone who sorta kinda maybe perchance looks like her but is actually from JUMP HERO.

... I'm awful with transitions. We're talking about the series. Sorta.

So, JUMP HERO. Series made by Compile, unknown to a lot of us.

(Nexus image)

Frankly, I want to cover this game sometime. It seems so...interesting. The characters, the gameplay, the story, it all seems so interesting to me.

People like Billie Be Babine, Margarita Linda, (the black and red folks in the front), Sugar & Oligo, they all seem so damn cool. Oh, and that Penguin is some fella named Ivan. He has a reeeeeally long last name.

Oh and that robot guy is like 2 years old canonically. Needed to mention that.

This is Sugar and Oligo btw. They seem fun to talk about sometime.

(Nexus image)

The game feels so heavily unexplored. I want to see it sometime. When? Whole other story.

But with that, I think this'll end my small ramble about nothing. Thanks for reading.

Adios.

[stormcrow513]

Disposing Of Baneful Material

Ok couple things first one I'm coming off a cold and my heads still a bit fuzzy so if anything is incoherent opps my bad,

second use of general you ahead so if you're not doing what I'm talking about them this is not aimed at you,

I am not looking for an argument here,

I'm writing my own post cause I didn't want to possibly start shit with someone on another persons post,

Ok so some of y'all might know my mama is on Tumblr now @silverphantom72 she's slowly learning the ropes and slowly learning to follow people and such,

She came up to me yesterday morning, about this post that scared the crap outta her, the op was asking how people get rid of used magic material, all fine till ma got to where one person said they dump baneful material at the gas station,

Ma works at a gas station has worked at a few, understandably this freaked her out,

I couldn't really reassure her given the more thought I've given it the more it's freaked me out, let me break down my problems with this,

I'm not a love and light do no harm type, cause that's not possible that's not the world we live in, someone is always going to get hurt, but I prefer to be a sniper over a bomber, I try always to do the least harm, and putting baneful shit in a volatile area is not the least harm,

Most people likely don't get just how dangerous gas stations are so let me explain, and by dangerous I'm not only talking robberys,

People are awful at gas stations, their pissed off, and they are never paying attention to what their doing,

When COVID first started it became clear to my ma and her manager that the higher ups weren't going to put screens across the registers the way they did in the main store for those cashiers, so they asked for permission and then rigged up one themselves, and people went ballistic over it, 'whats that here for?!' they'd demand, and as soon as the word COVID left ma and here coworkers lips the person would spit on the covering and slam out the door yelling about how they hoped the workers there would catch COVID,

A man not long ago demanded ma give him free gas and she was like I literally cannot do that he started coming over the register at her til another costumer (big guy) yelled at him to knock it the fuck off, ma worried for weeks that he'd come back with a gun,

Or as she worries every day that someone will be pissed enough to follow her home,

Speaking of guns there was the time a shit ton of cops surrounded a murder suspect right on the street in front of her station and she hit the deck as they all took aim at this guy,

Or

there was that time in her old gas station job where two guys got into a knife fight inside the station and she had to run out the side door,

The coworker who got hit by a truck (she lived and is mostly ok, last ma heard)

The amount of people who run over cones sectioning off a down pump then come running in to scream about the pump not working,

All the people who pull out with the pump still attached to their car

Ect.

Gas stations are highly volatile spaces putting baneful magic scraps into that is in my opinion asking to kill someone,

Now onto the more mundane side,

Do you know who collects that trash from the trash cans, the cashiers themselves, and at least where my ma works they don't have gloves, they have to pull those bags out bare handed and trag them to the nearby dumpster,

Often ma has to push bulging trash down into the bag, or because people empty their whole car into these trash cans, beer bottles, full bottles of water, full Starbucks coffees, she often has to pull some of that trash into another bag because she can't lift it out because the bags are too heavy, (ma's almost 70 btw)

If I put something into a bag then put it in there that bag WILL get ripped open and then people like ma WILL be touching it with their bare hands, meaning any poisonous to the touch herbs? congrats you just poisoned someone, glass shards/ mirror fragments? just shredded someone's hands, a poppet with needles in it? now there in a persons hand,

When I brought this to ma's attention she gasped and told me lots of kids tend to squish the top of the trash down when it's bulging up so they can shove their trash on top, that lots of people do,

so throwing anything poisonous or slicey in the trash is very fucking likly to hurt someone.

I can't tell y'all what to do, but maybe think twice on what you're doing, just like how people have brought up don't put salt on the ground because you're killing the environment, I'm speaking up for gas station workers who, trust me, do not want to be there,

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 12: Crossover

Audio Transcript of I Don’t Get that Reference, Episode 148: When a Stranger Calls

[IDGtR intro music]

Castiel: Welcome to I Don’t Get that Reference, a pop culture podcast that analyzes beloved movies, television shows, and the occasional meme that I have never heard of before. On today’s third annual Halloween crossover episode –

Dean: Fuck, don’t hype it up too much; it’s just me. Shit, can I swear?

Castiel: – episode my guest is, once again, Dean Winchester. Dean is the host of American Nightmare, a podcast that looks at a different urban legend every week.

Dean: Cas?

Castiel: [Sigh] Yes. Like you ask every year, you can swear on this podcast.

Dean: Fuck yeah.

Castiel: Dean, do you have anything else to add to your introduction?

Dean: Nope, you covered it. My brother is a true crime freak, and I love horror movies, so we figured urban legends would be a happy medium.

Castiel: Do you have a favorite episode to promote, for people who have never listened to your show before?

Dean: Uh… oh, right! Our Killer Clowns episode. Sam nearly shits himself halfway through ’cause he’s scared of ’em.

Castiel: It’s a pretty common fear, to be fair.

Dean: Yeah, but most people can watch a Ronald McDonald commercial without hiding behind the couch.

Castiel: But he is very… humanoid for a fast food mascot. During my Star Wars series with Charlie Bradbury, we discussed the uncanny valley phenomenon, and I’d say it applies here. I can see how Ronald McDonald would be alarming to any child.

Dean: By “child”, are you including 17-year-old juniors in high school?

Castiel: … no.

Dean: [laughs] Yeah, so in that episode we talk about John Wayne Gacy, Poltergeist, and Plucky Pennywhistle, of course.

Castiel: I have heard of John Wayne Gacy.

Dean: Alright, that’s just tragic. You listen to me, we’re gonna do a Halloween lightning round next year: Nightmare on Elm Street, Saw, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre... shit, it won’t be a proper education without Hell Hazers, I, II and III and All Saints’ Day. You’ve gotta see All Saints’ Day and my favorite, All Saints’ Day 4: Hatchet Man Live, plus Hatchet Man V: The Search for David Yaeger since it's so fucking weird.

Castiel: That seems like a lot of content to cover for one episode.

Dean: You have a lot of catching up to do.

Castiel: That’s why I have this podcast.

Dean: We could do a two-parter?

Castiel: I think you’re vastly overestimating my interest in horror movies. If it wasn’t for people’s inexplicable obsession with Halloween, I wouldn’t watch them at all.

Dean: Aw, are you scared?

Castiel: No.

Dean: I think you are!

Castiel: I simply refuse to let you bait me into watching a dozen hours of fake blood sprays and jump scares.

Dean: C’mon, you know it’s more than that. Don’t make me bust out my horror movie conspiracy theories.

Castiel: Dean –

Dean: You asked for it!

Castiel: [indistinguishable muttering]

Dean: Horror movies are all about economic anxiety. I got the idea from Sammy, but here’s the gist: the classic horror movie protagonists are all white middle class kids or grown-ups. The movies are set in their “safe spaces”, like summer camps or suburbia –

Castiel: Like in When a Stranger Calls and The Sixth Sense.

Dean: Exactly! [pause] Hell, you watched The Sixth Sense without me?

Castiel: I watch most movies without you, Dean.

Dean: Dude… that’s cold.

Castiel: It’s a plain fact. You talk too much. I’m there to watch the movie and not listen to your commentary, especially when we have a podcast to discuss it later.

Dean: Ouch.

Castiel: But, I’m more than happy to watch a movie for the second time with you! I already know what happens, so I’m less worried about missing crucial plot points.

Dean: I guess that’s fair.

Castiel: Good. I hope you’re not offended?

Dean: [pause] A little. Y’know how you can make it up to me, though?

Castiel: Oh no.

Dean: A horror movie marathon!

Castiel: I can’t believe you just did that.

Dean: Better believe it, sweetheart.

Castiel: [a long pause] Will you talk over the scary parts?

Dean: For you? Of course.

  ★★★★★ CemeteryBoysGB, 09/15/22 Love this podcast

I discovered this podcast a week ago, and I am hooked! Castiel asks such good questions and his voice is so easy to listen to.

★ Potoooooooo, 09/18/22 Waste of time, probably fake

The host can’t really be this clueless. Who has never heard of the Sopranos before?

★★★★★ Spoopys_of_Love, 10/01/22 Favorite

As a newcomer to the USA, this podcast is a lifesaver! I especially liked the series on Steven Spielberg’s movies.

★★★★ Deanspie, 10/17/22 Awesomest  

I came here from American Nightmare, and the vibes are great, but wayyy different. Dean’s normally pretty flirty when they have guests on (shoutout to Lisa!) but this was off the charts. Are Castiel and Dean a thing? Their banter is A+

Skip to 15:18 if you want to hear them talk about the actual movie, lol

[sqtorux]

🫁 hello friend! i only have one (1) thing due tonight so i fully caught up on your works as a means of procrastinating <3 this ask is only about your two most recent posts for the sake of brevity + not spending too much time since i promised myself to get back on the grind after sending this lmao

‘fuzzy menace’ … my favourite thing is asking you to guess my fav parts even though 1) you’re never given an opportunity to guess and 2) it’s always the same characters. anyways it’s nanami and toji. 

“what’s this gentleman doing on my side of the bed i wonder?” fdkshfds ,,, great start tbh and it’s SO NANAMI. nanami tends to be (understandably!) portrayed very seriously, so seeing a more playful (albeit still stoic) side of him here was a pleasure <3 he sounds a little teasing too ?? my lord. the first line is obvi my fav but “absolutely. how outrageous.” is a close second !! short but sweet, and his voice is so strong through out it <3 look at my man watch him go!

toji is the complete opposite in energy and i fw it so much. reader and toji are always giving each other soo much shit (even if on this occasion it’s predominantly him). the switch from toji to bald toji is so … it’s so him but it was truly awful to witness. i have 1 (many) fear(s) and it’s my fav character getting hit with the jason todd special (ugly haircuts. usually a buzzcut.) toji is realising my worst nightmare rn.”fuck does he think he is smirking like that on your bed” he’s so dumb LMAO. look at that little hypocrite go.

‘look at you go’. guess my fav parts. one day i’m going to make you guess and not tell you and comment on every individual piece. it’s suguru and toji.

now is it any surprise i’m in love with suguru … “can you dance again for me princess?” i’m not even big on pet names but lordy lord hello saviour. fun fact but i LOVE dancing even though i haven’t taken lessons since i was 13 (i’ve been considering picking it back up ?? i’m not sure though, i feel like since i’m an adult it’s too late to get back into old hobbies i’ve fallen out of and take lessons, yk? plus it's so expensive ...) having that shit recorded would be mortifying i don’t blame reader in these pieces at all. “you’ll keep asking if i give in just once” to “then you can give in again and again yeah?” kill me RIGHT NOW. oh my lord. i would give in too.

sorry i would write on toji but !! ugh my brain is fried. you can probably tell since there’s a lot of personal interjections this time ,,, also suguru has been haunting my brain the past week. i want to write something for him so bad but i’ve had no ideas ?? it’s so annoying. also i’ve been too busy with schoolwork to sit down and write anything

looking back. god this ask is so long.

RAHHH ITS LUNG ANON

you're ... reading,, my shit.. during a break... THATS A HUGE HONOUR GR breaks are for only the most enjoyable stuff bc it's limited and the impeding doom of working awaits but you chose to read the stuff here omfg i will scream at your face (lovingly).

if you made me guess your faves id always go with the big three (suguru, nanami and toji) bc i know you like wdym anon we've known each other since our uterus debutation obviously.

ALSO YOU DANCE let's gooo!!! i do too and just like you, i haven't danced in a while but im broke as fuck so im self taught filming covers back in those days ah. hobbies as an adult are so hard for real, adulting is hard where is the return ticket i would like to be a tween again i know what to do this time. i think.

maybe when your workload becomes a little lighter you could type out the suguru thoughts plaguing your mind ;)

[shivunin]

Not sure if you’ve gotten Cullen yet but I will for the character opinions ask game - also Morrigan and Vivienne! <3

Hey, Saif! Thank you for asking <3 Nobody has asked about Cullen yet, so you've rounded out the collection of all my romances very nicely c:

(oh man this went long lol sorry in advance)

(Character Impressions thing)

(And: to add context, I started Inquisition first, so my first impressions of all three of them were from that game and not Origins for Cullen and Morrigan)

Cullen:

First impression: Ah. This must be the intended romance, the bland white guy everyone is into, the one the game expects you to romance. No thanks.

Impression now: I said something similar about Fenris, but like....I have thought about Cullen so much that I have no idea how to summarize my feelings lmao. He is deeply flawed and deeply hurt, but he is still trying to fix what he's done as best he's able.

Cullen was given every opportunity to take the easy road and pretend that he'd never done anything wrong; he could have taken off and chosen not to help Hawke at the end of the game, he could have chosen to join the Red Templars or stay out of the conflict entirely, he could easily have chosen to go through withdrawal in the comfort of his sister's home....and instead he chooses to be the Commander of the Inquisition.

I mean. I think playing the other two games has given me more scope for how much shit he's seen and done and that's still my conclusion: even after everything, he is still trying to be a better person and right his wrongs and I think that is deeply admirable.

(idk---maybe this is just me projecting as someone who often feels like a fuck-up, but I'll take a guy who still tries, over and over, to fix a mistake over someone who doubles down and pretends he was always in the right) (not referencing anyone specific, tbc)

Favorite moment: Anytime he falls all over himself and gets tongue-tied haha. I especially love the first kiss scene; I love that he admits that he wants something for himself, I love that after the interruption he just goes for it, I love the little mannerisms he has as a distraction from trying to find something do with his hands, and I love how fumbly he is. My second choice would probably be the scene where a romanced Inquisitor comes back to Skyhold after killing Corypheus and he bows first, then rushes to hug them. He's so relieved I just !!!

Idea for a story: *gestures to small mountain of wips* haha. But! I think my favorite one I haven't written is my No Exalted March AU/the arranged marriage AU, in which the Dalish largely dwell in a sovereign land encompassing the Dirthavaren/Halamshiral and Cullen is a marriage candidate to seal the compact between the Chantry and the Elvhen government. It's set about a year before the Conclave, so Cullen is still straddling the divide between being a Knight-Commander in Kirkwall and being the Commander we meet at the beginning of Inquisition.

(It's a really interesting fic, but it requires a bit more worldbuilding than I put in up front, so I am ~76k words in and like....ahh yes I need to actually describe what the capital city looks like. Shit. And here we are. But it's still a really cool fic idea.)

Unpopular opinion: I don't think what Cullen says during the Broken Circle quest should be marked up as proof that he's a horrible terrible person. I really can't imagine anyone being tortured psychologically and physically for weeks to months handling the stress better, tbh. I think it's awful and sad and not like, a kind thing to say, but again....he's a 19-year-old who just watched most everyone he knows be tortured to death so.

Favorite relationship: I mean, I feel like it's a given but Dorian and Cullen's friendship is really interesting to me. If I had a better handle on Dorian's voice, I'd definitely be exploring whatever led the two of them to have regular chess matches. Because ostensibly at least they don't have much in common.

Favorite headcanon: Oh man. I have so many. He and the other advisors are actually friends. He's bi (obviously). He's the shortest Rutherford. I saw art forever ago of baby Cullen fighting an inert Shale in the town square and that one lives close to my heart.

Morrigan

First impression: Holy shit she's hot, but that dress is awful. Why is the game acting like I should know her already?

Impression now: Loooooove her, it's a crime that I cannot romance her as a female Warden. She's a bitch, she's fantastically competent, she didn't really want a kid but she's a great mom, she is breaking a trauma cycle with her own mother, she's funny as fuck, she can turn into a variety of cool things, and also she's like really hot.

Favorite moment: The confrontation between her and Flemeth in the eluvian. I love that she's cast as this very mercenary, heartless character, but she chooses her kid over power pretty much without hesitation. I think it's a really beautiful moment.

Idea for a story: I have a half-written thing with her and Wen (my Tabris) bonding over animals c: Also, at some point I want to write them during Witch Hunt, because Wen adores Morrigan (she was her first friend, in many ways) and misses her horribly.

Unpopular opinion: The Dark Ritual is not a betrayal. Also...I really wish the writers had changed her dialogue in Mythal's temple if she's speaking to a Dalish elf. I understand that she represents an information source for the player, but it's a really frustrating conversation if you're playing a Lavellan.

Favorite relationship: Her and Kieran tbh. I wish there'd been more of them.

Favorite headcanon: Hmmm I like the idea of a romanced Warden raising their kid with her in the eluvians somewhere. I don't know if this is canon or not.

Also that she chose that dress during WEWH exclusively to piss Leliana off.

Vivienne

First impression: O.O wow...please...tell me she is romanceable

Impression now: I adore her. Again, I like that she can be very calculating. I also think her position on so many things (the Chantry, the Circles) is more nuanced than she's given credit for. Her personal quest breaks my heart every time and the scenes with her in Trespasser are delightful. I really, really enjoy traveling with her (oh my god, walking around with her, Dorian, and Solas is just....they are so mean to each other and I love it) and though I don't love the way she treats the other companions sometimes (specifically Cole) I think her characterization is very consistent and compelling. Honestly one of my favorite DA characters. Her intro scene is one of the best in the whole series.

Favorite moment: Her intro scene is so good, but also when she says goodbye to Bastien....ugh. it kills me every time. She has so much power and so many resources and she still couldn't save the person she loves most in the world.

Idea for a story: Hmm I've been thinking about doing a piece about her and the Inquisitor during Trespasser, because I really love a lot of her dialogue during the DLC. Also, she and Elowen have an interesting relationship and it's...mostly contained in a wip I'm not sure I'll finish T.T

Unpopular opinion: I think just liking her is an unpopular opinion lol. Or at least, that's how it seems.

Favorite relationship: Vivienne and Bull. Whaaaaat is going on there, guys???

Favorite headcanon: Hmm I can't think of anything specific right now, but I do believe that Bastien was the one person she could truly be herself with, without thinking about the benefits or angles. You know, to make his death hurt worse

[aprillikesthings]

s3 ep5 remember

I've read the synopsis of this one and I will once again attempt NOT to just describe the whole plot lol

I somehow fit all of this one into one post, huh

oof

*cries* I know this isn't real

:(

Anyway shit is already weird--she's having flashes of her Real Past, a door appears and disappears

(Also, the affectionate play-fighting they do here is part of why I tend to headcanon that Adora likes things a little rougher in bed and just has NO idea that's not the norm lol. But also, like. Catra has claws. They're not entirely retractable. And I mentioned in another post that I think her tongue is somewhere between a human's and a cat's.)

this is both so sweet and so sad

augh

is there something you're forgetting

D:

"yay I'll be in charge of a horrible polluted disaster site full of orphans trained to fight to the death!"

Scorpia knows SOMEthing is off

(Adora starts having more flashes of the real past, sees Madame Razz for a split second, has a freakout, and takes off)

Catra has a hint of what's going on and does not like it at ALL. And slaps her.

lol

stop saying that!

It's my own design It's my own remorse Help me to decide Help me make the Most of freedom and of pleasure Nothing ever lasts forever 🎵Everybody wants to rule the woooorld🎶

(On a related note, I've gotten to the point with these two where my brain tries to twist literally every song into being about them. As the old joke goes, any song can be about your OTP if you AU hard enough.)

Me, a person who has seen this entire show before: oh god

She had a whole week disappear on her

She goes to Scorpia and rants at her and man you can hear the panic in her voice, but of course to everyone else she just sounds COMPLETELY UNHINGED. But she mentions Catra and then Scorpia starts having the same flashes of memory/jumping around in time

awwww

Aaaand Scorpia disappeared

I hate it when that happens

At least this time her confusion about the timeline makes sense under the circumstances

I feel like Catra knows and is just denying it to herself

lol yeah

OH SHIT I forgot that Adora zaps Catra with one of those cattle prod things and just fucking bridal carries her out of the Fright Zone

Reality is collapsing in on itself and people keep disappearing and who does Adora insist on taking with her ;_;

she crash-landed a skiff in the Whispering Woods

:(

man how many times does poor Catra ask this added up over the whole show :(((

BUT IT'S NOT REAL

aaaaug they did a flashback to that scene of them as BABIES where Adora says "you look out for me, and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other," and Catra replies "you promise?" and then Adora says it again in the current time and begs her "Help me fix this!" but it's just too late aaugh

aaaand now we know Catra knows exactly what's going on

Adora: "you're going to destroy everything!" Catra: "I don't care! I won't let you win!"

Catra falls into the void, Adora runs off

Anyway she runs into Madame Razz and I won't go into her little speech about how it's not too late and it's all happened before, and how Mara saved the world "and so will you!", she just needs to "go back to the beginning" and find the sword

SO SPEAKING OF SHIT THAT MAKES MY HEART RATE GO UP

AW YEAHHHH god I love how fucked-up she looks

(and episode over! I only had to delete one image to get it all in the same post.)

[uni-writes-things]

I've decided to start this with the first fic I've ever posted. It's not the best but...meh. The first chapter of the fic is under the cut, but if you're interested in the rest, the ao3 link is there.

Time's POV

“Not another portal! We just got here!” Wind groaned.

I couldn’t help but agree, Lon Lon Ranch was the only break we have in between fighting monsters. “Alright everyone, pairs.” I ordered.

Legend and Sky hopped through, and then shortly after Wind and Warriors followed. Soon everyone was through. “You okay there Old Man?” Twilight asked.

“Yes. Is Four conscious?” I glanced at a pale Four.

“Mmmph.” Four moaned to confirm he was still awake.

“How are you feeling?” Hyrule immediately raced to his side.

“Guys...” Wind whispered.

“I’m a little nauseous and I have a headache.” Four sighed.

“Guys!” Wind urged louder this time.

Nobody seemed to notice him though. “Just rest smithy okay?” Hyrule nodded.

Phew, Four was good. I had always offered to carry him when he was unconscious but it was tiring. “GUYS!” Wind yelled alerting everyone.

“What?” Warriors stared.

“Who’s Hyrule is this?” Wind huffed annoyed at the chain.

Choruses of ‘not mine’s’ from each of the chain were heard. “So, it’s none of ours?” Twilight asked confused.

“Seems to be the case pup.” I shrugged.

“Wait does that mean there’s another Link out there?” Sky blinked.

“We can only assume. Should we try and find a place to stay?” Warriors asked me.

The land was vast and untamed, it was beautiful. I nodded, it was really our best chance at finding a Link. The chain started walking again. “This Hyrule is so huge and beautiful. It reminds me of my Hyrule.” Twilight sighed happily.

I realized it had been weeks since we had been to Twilight’s Hyrule. “If this Hyrule means walking even though my feet hurt like shit I’m gonna quit.” Legend complained.

“Can’t take hikes Vet? Don’t tell me your turning into the Old Man.” Warriors teased.

“NO!” Legend spluttered with an offended look on his face.

Honestly, those two could spend days bickering. “Guys, there are these...ruins here.” Hyrule brought everyone’s attention to the utterly destroyed ruins.

Everyone, including me seemed to be at unease with this sight. “Well fuck.” Legend commented.

“Language.” I reprimanded him... as usual.

“Let’s move on.” Warriors grabbed Wind and started dragging him away.

“Wars, what are you doing?!” Wind wailed as he tried to escape.

“Getting out of here. These ruins aren’t exactly a place to stay.” Warriors deadpanned.

For hours, all of us walked. “My feet feel numb.” “Shit did we go in circles?” “Damn this place is massive.”

“We better set out camp. Who’s cooking tonight?” I asked.

“I think it was my turn. And I found...” Hyrule trailed off.

“NO WAY!” Wind shrieked as he tackled Hyrule.

“Yeah the last time you cooked traveler, you practically killed everybody.” Four laughed.

“I’m not that awful at cooking! Sky’s way worse than me.” Hyrule accused.

“I don’t poison everybody!” Sky shot back.

“Yours was basically alive!” Hyrule snorted.

“I can cook some of my Grandma’s soup?” Wind suggested tentatively.

“It’s okay sailor you’ve cooked enough.” Twilight gagged.

“You just don’t like the broth! Everybody else said it was decent.” Wind accused.

These boys were going to give me a headache. “Your cooking sucks! Everything is dry and burnt to a crisp!” Wind cried.

“What?! Nothing is burnt.” Twilight growled.

“Even I can agree with Wind.” Legend snickered.

“Oh like your any better.” Twilight snarled.

“Fuck off rancher.” Legend hissed.

“Language.” Sky grunted pausing his bickering with Hyrule for a few seconds.

Soon the only ones who were calm and collected were me and Four. Albeit Four was beside himself with laughter at the insults that were shot, his eyes a royal blue. “BOYS!” I yelled.

Everybody paused and looked at me expectantly.

“We all know our opinions on this group’s culinary skills, however we still have a Link to find and a place of civilization to also find. Not only that but we all need food and rest. It will not be achieved by arguing like this.” I sighed exasperated.

“Sorry Time.” Wind apologized.

A few other apologies were sent my way as well. “I can make something, the rest of you can make yourselves comfortable.” I mumbled.

“Okay.” Warriors nodded.

The tension decreased almost instantaneously. “Did I tell you how I got to the Forsaken Fortress?” Wind asked nonchalantly.

“You told us that Aryll was kidnapped and that you went to go save her.” Twilight recalled.

That was true. I felt so bad, Wind had lost his sister and then was dragged into a Hylia forsaken quest.

“Well, back on Outset Grandma was so sad that Aryll was gone. I felt like I had to do something, so I searched the island for a way to go and find her. That’s when I met Tetra and her gang. Eventually I said my goodbye’s to everybody on Outset and then left with her. We had made it fairly close and then realized patrol boats were guarding the Forsaken Fortress. So at the last moment she revealed to me her ridiculous and sinister plan. She promptly stuck me in a barrel and launched me off of a catapult! When I got back to her I gave her the most terrifying glare.” Wind explained.

“She launched you off a catapult without warning?” Sky looked rather alarmed.

“Yeah. I did make it to the Fortress though I was a little shook. Nothing I can’t handle!” Wind put on his brave face.

“Jeez.” Four muttered.

“That reminds me of something Sun did.” Sky recalled wistfully.

“Pray tell.” Legend snarked.

“It all started when we were training for the Wing Ceremony. It was to prove that we could move on to being seniors. It involves racing on a loftwing. So Sun shoved me off Skyloft waiting for me to call Crimson. She thinks Crimson will appear. I try 3 times and yet no loftwing comes to catch me. Sun noticed and she got on her blue loftwing and rescued me. She was honestly sorry.” Sky told them.

“Wait what happened? Why didn’t Crimson come?” Hyrule asked.

“It turns out that Groose happened to be a bully back then. He loved Sun and saw me as competition. So he sabotaged me and trapped my bird somewhere in Skyloft so I wouldn’t be able to join the ceremony.” Sky sighed.

I stirred the soup I was making carefully. ‘So Hylia’s incarnation was just as clumsy as her.’ I thought bitterly. I never held any respect nor honour for Hylia. “Well, we should come up with a plan for tomorrow.” The Captain proposed.

“We’ve been wandering aimlessly for hours so doing that again won’t do anything.” Twilight grunted.

“Does anybody have a way to fly? They could scout what’s up ahead.” Legend suggested.

“Not without Crimson.” Sky grimaced.

“Nope.” Wind shrugged.

“Not in a millennia.” Four chuckled.

“No.” I answered.

“I don’t fly.” Warriors snickered.

“Okay, Pretty Boy but your ego does doesn’t it.” Legend mocked.

“No flying for me.” Twilight shook his head.

“I don’t have the magic to fly.” Hyrule groaned.

“Do you know how to fly Legend?” Wind asked.

“No otherwise I would have been fucking airborne already.” Legend scoffed.

“So no to that plan. Can I climb a tree? Please?” Hyrule begged.

“Only if you promise to come to us right after.” I agreed albeit a bit reluctantly.

“Yes sir!” Hyrule saluted and then started his climb.

He was out of sight when I noticed my soup was ready. “Dinner’s ready.” I informed the chain.

I handed out the soup to everyone including myself and sat down. I’ll admit my soup was not that good. But it wasn’t bad either so I counted that as a victory. “HYRULE?” Four yelled after a few moments.

“YES?” Hyrule called from above.

“COME HERE!” Four demanded.

A few seconds and Hyrule was back down with a bowl of soup. “So, did ya see anything?” Wind asked excitedly.

“This Hyrule is massive! And we’re on what looks like a plateau, with huge cliffs. The only one who could go down the cliffs is Sky with his sailcloth. There’s no civilization and the castle...the castle is in ruins.” Hyrule reported.

“The castle is in ruins?” I was very concerned.

“Yeah. Also get this, there were four weird mechanical looking creatures. One was a lizard on what looks to be Death Mountain. There was an elephant on a very shiny mountain. A bird on a tall cliff, and a beast with a long neck in a canyon.” Hyrule shrugged.

“How big were they?” Legend raised an eyebrow.

“Enormous!” Hyrule replied.

“And they were mechanical?” Warriors tilted his head.

“Well, they weren’t alive that’s for sure.” Hyrule affirmed.

“This is odd. So do we search this plateau assuming there’s civilization?” Twilight wondered.

“That’s probably our best bet if we hope to find this Link.” I guessed.

“Who’s taking first watch?” Four asked.

“I can.” Twilight offered.

“I’ll take second.” Warriors claimed.

“Anyone want to take third watch?” I asked.

Four threw his hands up to stretch probably. “Smithy can take it.” Legend snickered.

“I-uh didn’t-”

“Good idea, Four is on third watch.” I interrupted Four.

The Smithy sat back and glared at me. “I can tell you guys another story!” Wind bounced.

“I think we’ve had enough sea shanties. Am I right?” Legend interrupted.

“Leeeeeegeeeend.” Wind moaned.

“Wiiiiind.”

“How bout everybody tells the scariest thing they’ve fought?” Twilight recommended.

I internally thanked Twilight for the save. “Redeads are really creepy but if I had to say the scariest, it would have to be the Cubus Sisters. They wear masks and they were on this...this...” Wind suddenly went from excited to dreaded.

I did not like that haunted expression on his face. “It’s okay sailor you don’t have to finish.” Warriors comforted.

Although Warriors seemed worried too. “Yeah, I can tell you mine. I fought the moon.” I deadpanned.

It was true. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Legend snorted.

“Is he serious?” Hyrule asked puzzled.

“I-I don’t know. I can’t tell!” Twilight whined.

I was enjoying this, watching the befuddled chain. “I fought this thing called a Blizzeta.” Twilight shuddered.

“Enough scary talk! I’m tired.” Four demanded.

“Alright well it is time to sleep. Twilight you’re first watch.” I reminded him.

Everybody yawned and crept to their bedrolls. I noticed Wind was crying as quietly as humanely possible. Maybe the Cubus Sisters thing really scared him? Hopefully Twilight or somebody would help Wind sleep, because I was already being pulled into sleep.

[the-supernatural-rewatch-project]

s1e2 "Wend*go"

supernaturals second episode, and its first (and certainly not last) to feature a monster of the week taken and bastardized from indigenous mythologies or folklore... why am i rewatching this again? let the records show that i am white, and all the indigenous voices who i have heard / read have lead me to make the decision to censor the name w*. okay with the housekeeping out of the way, what's sloppy sam and daddy issues dean upto this week.

aw man the recap made me angry again that jess died. i miss her. all three minutes of screentime she had.

oh boy i wonder whats gonna happen to these poor campers

brooo they got the ds local play!!!! takes me back

how do they still have battery in thier cells/ds's on day SIX OF CAMPING???

cory monteith :')

and they are dead

okay so how long has it been since the events of the last episode? the existence of the monster of the week as an episodic style implies a quick succession between episodes, but the fully completed gravestone for jess implies that it has been a quick minute since she dies (also apparently she dies november 5th 2005, i didn't know the exact date was know so thats interesting!)

like gravestones take a hot minute, especially the fancy kind with the pictures.

BUT there still isn't grass over her grave,and cemetery gardeners are QUICK with the sod after someone is buried... so like... did jessica already have a grave with her name and birthdate engraved, and it just needed date of death and the picture??? (not unheard of but unlikely for someone her age)

wait, im dumb as fuck. she died on the cealing of a suspicious house fire, she has been in a coroner or medical examiners office for a while, she was just buried but its been a bit since she died leaving time for the engraving.

^^^ this nerd almost became a funeral director.

oh yeah, i like the nod to carrie.

WAIT IT WAS A DREAM. it means nOTHING. and even if it was a dream it was written by someone who wouldn't think about the amount of time to engrave a toombstone

of okay so its been atleast a week since jess's death.

oh yeah, its john who is sending them to blackwater ridge, i forgot about his whole sending them on hunting trips shit he did at the beginning.

"i think i know how you feel" the first and last time dean shows emotion and it feels genuine.

forgot how 'old' the tech feels, and how magical it was.

magical laptop nand its magical ability to solve any problem dads journal cant solve.

the way they describe the w* is quite nice, you cant see it its too fast, it unlocked the door. it really brings out the unsettledness of a monster you cant see.

does dean really think ''corporal' is too fancy??? like girl

oh god i forgot the creepy cave.

aaaaaand cory is dead :(

okay, nvm deam had two (2) genuinely tender moments in the episode.

"not even crickets"

oh god i forgot about it using the voices to lure them.

this is one of the episodes that i cam remember a lot of, but god its still creepy.

okay it taking the packs was smart

oh boy dads journal, i wonder what magical answer it will have this time

"no body likes a skeptic roy", just fuck him dean!! its not gay if you are camping!!! everyone knows that.

"saving people hunting things, the family business" god i hate that line. there was once a time where i genuinely wanted that tattooed on me. thank fuck you cant get a tattoo at 14.

its really interesting how they are coping differently with johns disappearance, dean see's it as him giving them a job, whereas sam sees it as him being in trouble.

once again, i can see why wincest was the big ship, not for me... but i can see why.

OH NO ROY IS GONNA DIE!!!!, anyways

vey well timed body dropping from a tree

also does kripke have like a thing for brod dripping on poeple because uhhh... two episodes in and we are at three instances of blood dripping on people.

if the saddle club has taught me ANYTHING its that you defo shouldn't go down an abandoned mineshaft

its too dark i cant see

magic flareguns, why were they in the cave??? just to solve a problem the writes wrote themselves into???? yup!

deans first thought of how to lure it out was to start yell flirting. okay gayboy.

it just looks like... a gargoyle?? i feel like they could have done "human turned into a monster better" then just, paint them grey and give it strange ears. to be fair i have a very high standard of what a good 'human turned into a monster' should be because the s2 of the x files finale where mulder and scully are in the train car with the 'alien's' that are actually humans, deduced from their smallpox inoculation scars is peak television. PEAK TELEVISION!!!

also, i am now requited to start a tally of how many rewatches i can bring up the x files in.

the actress who plays Haley (Gina Holden) looks so familler to me, but i looked at her imdb and noting is ringing a bell

sam drives the impala.

okay, well that was an episode. asides from the butchering of the wend*go story/mythology to fit the show. it wasn't a bad episode. its pretty hard to fuck up a monster of the week episode. again, i didn't like the prosthetics that they used for the wend*go. but asides from that... its fine. its okay. its a solid episode. it's not the best, and its not the worst. sam and dean have a nice heart to heart. yeah. very mid episode.

[deweydecimalchickens]

I've been at Whitby Folk Week with my mum and there's this guy there, Reg Meuross, who's inexplicably hot shit. And I've decided I don't like him. I think he uses other people's tragedies to hawk some mediocre songs that all sound the same and are mostly about promoting Reg Meuross Political Songwriter Social Historian.

Last year we went to see his 'Stolen From God' show about the transatlantic slave trade, and I wanted to like it, and I was cutting it some slack because I think going to a rural sea port full of white people that's lost most of its industry and saying A Lot Of Sea Trade Was Bad Actually is a worthwhile and brave thing to do. But for a white guy collaborating with two black guys on a show about the slave trade, he was doing an awful lot of talking and getting an awful lot of the sympathetic POVs.

But yesterday we went to see his show 'Fire and Dust' about Woody Guthrie and fuck me it was bad. I mean I don't know if they were all hungover or didn't wanna be there or what but they were on stage for two thirty-minute halves with a thirty-minute break in between. And I literally learned more from reading the Wikipedia entry afterwards. "Well Woody Guthrie was just some guy, you know?" just about summed it up.

So much interesting stuff they could have talked about and didn't:

What the Dust Bowl actually was (about a decade with a very terrible combination of drought, Great Depression, soil erosion and dust storms affecting agriculture in Oklahoma and nearby areas, causing mass migration to California) and why it mattered, and how unwelcome "economic migrants" are still fleeing for their lives

The labour and communist organisations he was associated with, and the whole labour-history context in the US at that time. End the myth of the lone visionary!

His relationships with Pete Seeger, Lead Belly, Ramblin' Jack Elliott, and various others (boiled down to "Dylan liked him and visited him when he was dying")

How he got from being the N-word-using son of a Klansman to the man who wrote 'Old Man Trump' and 'Deportee'. That's not a natural progression in 1930s-50s America.

What it means to have an autosomal-dominant late-onset condition like Huntington's Disease in the family when nobody understands the genetics, you have eight kids with three different women (it seems like only two inherited it, but another three died too young from other causes to tell), disability is seen as a moral failing, there's no treatment, and getting committed to a lunatic asylum in the first half of the twentieth century is Very Bad Times. Your actual family curse.

Maybe he's angry drunk and traumatised because of his life, maybe the psychiatric symptoms of Huntington's kicked in early - he clearly wasn't any fun to live with. When he was much too young to be getting sick, his first father-in-law still tried to recruit Pete Seeger to get Guthrie to treat his wife better.

His second wife, Marjorie Greenblatt, what a woman! Professional dancer and daughter of a famous Yiddish poet. Has four kids with him including Arlo. Divorces him because he's impossible to live with. But then she comes back to nurse him through his final years (he's already got through a third wife by then), sets herself up as the archivist of all his papers, and starts what would become the Huntington's Disease Society of America.

Also he played two whole Woody Guthrie songs ('So Long it's Been Good to Know You' and 'This Land is Your Land', one of them twice, and forgot lines to both. Okay maybe he wasn't expecting that encore request but come on. This is supposed to be a culmination of studying his life and you half-know two songs? I reckon I could manage a half-decent rendition of 'Deportee' on five minutes' notice. Especially if I knew I didn't have enough songs to fill the set list with my own stuff and had an internet connection in my pocket. "Some of us are illegal and some are not wanted" is hella relevant right now. We saw Melrose Quartet later and Nancy Kerr explicitly said it was folk music's job in these times to say migration is normal and good.

[ratslapper]

An Uncomfortably Goofy Movie

Goofy opened his door slowly. He could smell cigarettes and cat piss so he knew Max was home; he’d have to be careful. He tiptoed down the hallway holding the towel closed with both hands. Sweat came off of him in rivulets. His guts gurgled with every drawn out step.

Ever since Pete had clogged the master toilet Goofy had had to use the half bath off the foyer any time he needed to shit. This had been going on for fourteen months now. Everything was fine when Max was at college but this pandemic had shut everything down and Max had moved back home prematurely.

“Dad?”

Goofy froze. His bowels rumbled a threat to everyone in earshot. “Y-yes, Maxie?”

“Where are you going?” Max asked.

He knew perfectly well where Goofy was going, but the acting was his second favorite part.

“Aww, c’mon Maxi—“

Max crossed the hallway in two strides and delivered a fierce jab straight into Goofy’s stomach, but Goofy held on. He had been through this too many times now.

Max said, “oh, dad... you’re so cute when you try to defy me.”

He grabbed Goofy’s towel and yanked as hard as he could. Goofy’s naked, awful body spun through the front wall of the house like a giant’s beyblade, leaving a perfectly Goofy-shaped hole. He landed in the yard, whimpering.

Max strode out the front door onto the lawn. He was shirtless now and the sun glinted off his perfectly toned pitch-black torso. His abs were so well defined that cars drove off the road, their drivers transfixed. He approached Goofy and leaned in close. “What do we say, Dad?”

“F-fuck you, Maxie.”

“Oh dad... it seems you may have some balls left after all. We’ll fix that.”

He kicked Goofy as hard as he could in the pelvis. Goofy threw up, but he still held on. “Wow dad, I’m actually kind of impressed. Have you been training?”

“Maxie, I’m an old man. Just leave me be.”

“No dad, you know I can’t do that. Not after what you did to Roxanne.”

“Maxie that wasn’t me a-God dammit!”

Max clenched everything. “LIAR!” he roared. Glass shattered all around them for miles. Next door Peg started seizing, but Pete was too drunk to notice.

Max pulled a baton out of his cargo shorts. “WHEN WILL YOU LEARN?!”

He flicked the baton to extend it and raised it above his head. He brought the baton down on Goofy’s collarbone over and over. The first hit landed with an upsetting crunch. The next dozen landed with wet grinding sounds. Goofy threw up again.

“ARE YOU READY TO ADMIT IT YET?” Max screamed. His anger had burst so many blood vessels that the sclera of his eyes were completely red.

Goofy could barely breathe, let alone answer. Instead he just raised his middle finger to his son. Max looked to the sky and raged. The sound of his hate sent cracks through the moon. Peg had just recovered, but she was once again sent into convulsions.

Max finished his screech and looked back down. He had had enough of this game. He was finally ready to kill his father once and for all.

But Goofy was gone.

“Nothing personnel kid, a-hyuck.”

Max whipped around. Goofy’s raw asshole was aimed squarely at his face. Goofy let go. A stream of piping hot liquid post-food roughly the diameter of a hotdog issued forth hitting Max right in his open mouth. Max fell to the ground pawing at his face trying to wipe away the shit but Goofy just kept letting go. He had held this in for a week.

Max screamed and bucked. His mind accelerated beyond his control and multiple thoughts and memories vied for attention. He was losing two battles at once.

Finally, Goofy stopped. Max lay in the puddle of feces exhausted. He didn’t even have the energy to try and clean himself off.

“I’m sorry Maxie,” said Goofy. He sat on Max’s face, making sure to line himself up with Max’s mouth. He let go again and began to fill Max’s stomach like the world’s worst mama bird.

His son’s stomach inflated rapidly. It distended so that his belly button poked out like in a cartoon. When he was finally done, he grabbed a piece of glass from the lawn and drove it into Max’s formerly perfect abs. The pressure of its contents caused his entire torso to rupture as the shit desperately sought freedom.

“Gorsh,” he whispered.

Goofy got up, not even bothering to look at his son. He hobbled inside and called his best friend Mickey. He had a lot of cleaning to do, and Mickey owed him more than a few favors.

[freshwitchgladiator]

hm

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy has a nightmare, and enderwalk!Ranboo is of the opinion that grass blocks make everything better.

(word count: 1,413)

----------

Tommy jolts out of a nightmare that he doesn’t want to remember, and a few seconds later, finds himself hyperventilating outside on the grass.

It’s not on, is what it is. He hardly asked for this, for these awful dreams and this inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time at best, for this creeping certainty that Dream is breaking out, is going to come for him, and that it’s only a matter of time before something awful happens. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he has it, and he’s not moving out of his house, because that would feel like a concession, but on nights like these he wakes up and the dirt walls press in around him and he can’t breathe, and it is completely and utterly the worst.

So. Outside. Grass. Hyperventilating.

Calming himself down is old hat, by now. He figured out how to do it a long time ago, around the time when he realized that there wasn’t going to be anyone holding his hand anymore, that he was well and truly on his own, without a friend in the world. Other than—but no, he doesn’t go there. He knows better, now, even though his brain still tries to play tricks on him sometimes, tries to convince him that Dream is the only one who actually has his best interests at heart.

The point is, he knows how to do this. He’s used to it. And frankly, he’s glad that he is, glad that he can do this on his own, because he doesn’t want anyone else around him when he’s like this. Doesn’t want anyone else to see, doesn’t want anyone else to know that this happens, doesn’t want anyone else to be able to point at him and go, look, the great TommyInnit brought low.

So when he regulates his breaths and swipes the tears from his face and unclenches his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he looks up and most definitely does not expect anyone to be crouched in front of him. When he sees that there is, he scrabbles backward and lets out an incredibly manly scream, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed for it, because what the fuck?

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, “holy shit, you can’t just—” And has to stop, because it’s not just any weird crouching person. It’s his fucking—what’s the word for when a very irritating and terrible person marries your best friend? What’s the title for that? Annoyance-in-law?

In any case, it’s Ranboo.

“What,” he says, “the shit are you doing?”

Ranboo makes a sound that is not words at all. In fact, it sounds very similar to an enderman vwoop, which, alright, the guy’s half enderman, that checks out. Except, his eyes are also purple, and he looks rather taller than he normally does, even crouching down, so something is weird here. Something is very, very weird.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Go and, go and raise your shitty child or something. Sing ‘im a lullaby. Go on.”

He makes shooing noises with his hands, like one might do to a dog, or a persistent crow. Ranboo tilts his head very slowly, like a complete fucking weirdo, and then rises in one fluid motion, and goes walking off somewhere. Tommy stares after him, because he hadn’t really expected that to work. But alright, he’ll take it.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Just fucking, fucking leave, go on.” He stares down at the grass, running a shaking hand through his hair. He is, maybe, not quite as recovered as he’d like. He’s usually not, after the initial panic, usually can’t make himself relax until the sun has crested the horizon and the sky has begun to lighten. He’s ruined for sleep tonight, that’s for sure.

But it’s alright. It’s alright, he’s used to it. He can do it. He can do this. He’s a big fucking man, and he can survive on a few hours of sleep a night, and he can avoid looking at himself in the mirror and remembering another face, eyebags just as dark, hair just as wild, eyes only slightly more desperate. He doesn’t have to remember things. Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s great at not remembering things, him.

Footsteps. He jerks, looks up again, and Ranboo is standing over him, and why is he so fucking tall?

Ranboo makes another vwooping sound. And then a little trill, almost like a bird, if a bird gargled gravel and then turned into an eldritch monstrosity. He crouches again, and then holds out his hands, and there is something in them, something that he is offering him, and—

Tommy squints. It’s a grass block.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Could you just stop being so fucking weird?” he demands. “For five minutes? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really. God, you’re just. The worst.”

Ranboo shifts a bit closer, still holding out the grass block. Like he wants him to take it.

“I’m not taking your stupid block,” Tommy says, and accepts it.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Why would you even—” he says, burrowing his fingers into the dirt. A bit of it crumbles to the ground. He doesn’t understand how endermen manage to do this, keep these blocks in perfect shape, grass and all. “Why would you even give me this? What are you trying to pull on me, eh? It won’t work. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, pal. You’re up to something. Why are your eyes all purple?”

Ranboo vwoops.

And then—Tommy remembers something. Something he wasn’t particularly trying to remember, and usually, that’s not such a great thing, but it’s not so bad this time. Because this memory is from just a couple of weeks ago, in Snowchester, one of those times that he was trying to hang out with Tubbo, but Ranboo was just there and wouldn’t leave, and Tubbo wouldn’t make him leave, so Tommy spent the entire time being vaguely pissed off. And he was trying not to pay attention to Ranboo, really, he was, except he remembers him saying something about how he gets anxious, and how holding blocks of things and putting them down places helps him. At the time, he made a point of not acknowledging him, because Tommy’s not an idiot. He knew what he was trying to do, and he didn’t appreciate it.

But—

He stares at the block in his hands. And then back at Ranboo.

He wants to be angry, at the idea, at the presumption, because who the fuck does Ranboo think he is, trying to patronize him like this? But Ranboo keeps up his soft warbles, and he finds his eyes filling with tears instead.

“Are you,” he says, and his voice is not choked, it’s not, “are you trying to help me?”

Ranboo vwoops. Chirps. And then reaches out, slowly enough that Tommy doesn’t feel the urge to flinch, and runs gentle clawed fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Tommy says. And doesn’t lean into the touch. He doesn’t. But if, hypothetically, he does, that’s between him and Prime on high. Or at least, it would be, if all his muscles didn’t go lax a few seconds later, and if he didn’t accidentally on purpose tip forward against Ranboo’s chest.

The dirt slips through his fingers. But that’s alright, because one of Ranboo’s arms wraps around him, and the other keeps carding through his hair, like Wilbur used to do when they were younger and things were better and they were two halves of a whole rather than puzzle pieces that got bent out of shape. The way his head is, he can feel vibrations running though Ranboo’s chest, like the purr of a cat, and it’s going to lull him to sleep if he’s not careful.

He can’t let that happen. He has more dignity than that.

Except he’s very tired. And Ranboo is clearly—sleepwalking, or something. Not all there in the head at the moment. So maybe he won’t remember this in the morning, if Tommy makes sure to wake up first. And that would be alright.

“You’re still terrible,” he mumbles, but the words are slurred, and Ranboo’s arms are very warm and comforting, and he’s drifting. He can feel it.

So he lets himself. Ranboo’s warbles follow him into sleep, and he dreams of stars.

[kats-baku1999]

Hidden Secrets, Part Two.

wait I can’t believe you guys actually like part one (read that here) I was so insecure about posting it. I’m glad, I’m so glad. Everyone was asking for Bakugo’s suffering so here it is…

READ PART THREE HERE

warnings: I won’t even lie to you all, I have father problems, so this writing hit a little close to home. if in any way you think it’ll hurt or upset you, please don’t read any further okay? mentions of cheating and sex too. also there is some momo slander. I am so sorry.

It was as if the entire world stopped spinning for a second. Kirishima took a step in front of you and Haru, standing chest to chest with Bakugo. Bakugo glared at him, before looking at you. Every ounce of anger you felt towards him began bubbling up. There was so much you wanted to say. So much you wanted to scream at him. You couldn’t yet though, not in front of Haru.

“Kirishima, will you take Haru to your office? I know how excited he has been to see it since the renovation,” You forced a smile, and looked at your son who’s middle brow was creased, which was a for sure sign he was worrying about something, “It’s alright Ru, I will come meet you in there soon,”

“Yeah, come on little monster, I have a huge TV in there now!” Kirishima’s tone did not match the glare on his face, “The conference room is open you two,”

“Thank you Ei, have fun sweetheart,” Haru released himself from you, and let Kirishima take him. He perked his head back over Kirishima’s shoulder and gave you a small wave with his tiny little hand. You forced another smile and waved back, before turning around to face your ex boyfriend. His face was still frozen in shock, as he watched his old best friend walk off with the tiny little human.

“Please tell me what the fuck-”

“Go to the conference room, now.” You snapped and stomped away from him. Bakugo followed after, the boots of his hero costume echoing on the floor of the lobby. He clicked the door behind him as soon as he was in the same room as you.

“So did you just plan on never fucking telling me I had a kid?!” Bakugo yelled, his voice echoing. You turned around and glared at him, “When the fuck did you even find out you were pregnant?”

“Oh, I found out a few days before I found out you were cheating on me,” You laughed dryly, “I was going to tell you that night, but I got a little side tracked,”

“Bullshit absolute bullshit, you should have told me!” Bakugo yelled, not backing down, “Four fucking years! Four!”

“Cut the bullshit Bakugo, I came to your office two weeks before he was born, I ran into Momo and she said you would call me, that night I get a simple text that says you wanted nothing to do with him,” You yelled, jabbing a finger into his chest, “Then you just mysteriously move away with Momo, and no one hears from you, and now you are in Kirishima’s office demanding to know things?!”

“What the fuck are you talk about?! What text?!” Bakugo yelled, grabbing your hand and moving it away from him, “I just found out about the kid today! You still haven’t even confirmed that he was mine?!”

“Take one fucking look at him and tell me he isn’t yours, the only thing that even convinced me he might be from some magical conception is that he is so sensitive and caring!”

“(Y/N) what fucking messages? We haven’t talked since the night you left?” Bakugo’s voice lowered, “I promise you, if I would have known about him I would have, I would have-”

“What? Come back to me? Be with me?” Your voice was monotone and cold, he felt like he was talking to a stranger. A stranger that hates him.

“I mean, yeah maybe, or at least I would’ve been there for his first steps, words, breath, just anything,” Bakugo’s anger was subsiding for the first time in years, “Momo, that day, I know what you’re talking about, because she told me that her and I would never be happy as long as we were here,”

“Oh wow, so the person who you cheated on me with was also a liar, what a shock,” You scoffed, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I heard about her and Todoroki, and their affair,”

Bakugo paused for a second, shocked by your apology. Also by the fact that you even knew. It wasn’t public knowledge yet, considering it just happened two weeks ago. That was the one reason Kirishima was even acknowledging his presence again. He was the one who found them together, and despite his anger towards him, at one point Bakugo was his best friend. So he called him, told him to come to the bar he was at. When Bakugo got there, he found Momo practically on top of Todoroki. A poor, still oblivious, Todoroki who was convinced that Momo had left Bakugo. That she had called off their two year engagement.

“I didn’t realize Kirishima told you, still don’t know how he failed to mention my son-”

“Hey, don’t do that okay? Be mad at me for not trying harder, but don’t be mad at Kirishima, he knew if he would have said anything he wouldn’t have been able to see Haru anymore,” You sat down in one of the chairs, “To be honest, I had just planned on you never finding out,”

“That isn’t fair (Y/n), he is my son.” Bakugo’s tone of voice was frustrated and angry. He didn’t want to be mad at you, he knew he couldn’t be mad at you.

“No, he is my son, mine, I’ve done everything, I was there for all of the bruises and scratches, for when he got into my hair gel to try and make himself look like Kirishima, for his birthdays and Christmases, you weren’t there,” You snapped, “Sharing his genetics does not make him your son,”

“No but you don’t get to hold this shit against me, it wasn’t my fault,” Bakugo fired back.

“You’re the one who fucked her,” You sneered. Standing up again, running your hand through your hair, “You cheated on me with her, you chose her over me, you don’t get to be the victim here either, I don’t even get to be the victim, the only person who deserves to even act like the victim is my son,”

“I’m here now, I know now, and I want nothing more but than to get to know him,” Bakugo looked at you with pleading eyes, “To be apart of his life, of your life,”

“I don’t know, I can’t just tell him that you’re his dad, he has been asking for the past year, and he has so much more going on already,” You laughed, “He doesn’t have his quirk yet, it’s becoming evident that he might not ever have his quirk, so how do I tell him that his dad is the number one hero, and a person he idolizes?”

“So you’ve faulted me because my ex fiancé was a psychopath who didn’t think I needed to know about my son, and now because I’m the number one hero- wait, he doesn’t have his quirk?”

“No, no he doesn’t, that’s why we are in town, for Denki and Hitoshi’s wedding, and to see a doctor,” You explained, the tears finally spilling over, “I can’t just dump this on him too Bakugo, please, you have to understand,”

“I do, okay I do, but please I can’t just let you walk away today with him and not do anything, I have to know him, but I don’t want to make this a problem bigger than it needs to be,” Bakugo grabbed your shoulders, “Please don’t make me villain here, okay I don’t want to be,”

“As much as I want to, I can’t, I know I can’t it wouldn’t be fair to him,” You grabbed his hands off your shoulders and held them for a second, a small sob threatening to escape your throat, “But please don’t take him from me, he’s all I have,”

Bakugo stopped and tightened his grip on your hands. Forcing you to look up at him. His eyebrows were creased, furrowed up exactly like Haru’s always did. The same look of concern Haru’s always had on his face when you said something close to sad.

“I wouldn’t think about taking him away, so get that shitty ass thought out of your head right now,” Bakugo sighed, “He doesn’t even have to know I’m his father right now, not until your ready, but I would like to be your friend, your friend that comes around him, your friend that he gets to know like he knows Kirishima,”

“Okay, okay,” You mumbled, nodding your head, “You can pick us up and take us to his doctor’s appointment, then we can all go out with Kirishima after so he feels more comfortable, we can start there,”

“Okay, let’s start there,” Bakugo let go of your hands slowly, “Does he you know like anything?”

“Yes, Bakugo he likes things, heroes specifically, are you going to blow up this office if I say Deku is his favorite?” You wiped the tears off your face, and finally bust out laughing at Bakugo’s groan that followed, “I’m going to grab Haru, I’ll have Kirishima send you my number okay?”

“Okay, thank you, let me know about the doctors thing.”

You gave him a small nod and walked out of the room. Stopping the bathroom to rinse off the tears. When you opened up the door to Kirishima’s office, you found Haru staring at the large tv completely awe struck by the footage of Midoriya fighting alongside Bakugo. One of their earlier fights, they were just barely pros. You remembered it because that was when he and Shinso agreed to work together. That was the fight that introduced you to him.

— a few days later

“Momma, you’re doing your upset walk,” Haru whispered, as if he was telling some kind of secret. Shinso snorted into his coffee, and earned him self a dirty look from you.

“Your mother is just nervous over seeing her friend small human,” Shinso called you out, and earned another dirty look.

“Momma is friends with Dynamight, Uncle Toshi! She has even met Deku!” Haru’s eyes were sparkling as he said it, waving around his Deku plushie.

“You know, I’ve worked with Deku before, almost beat him-”

“In the sports festival, yes Uncle Toshi we knowwww,” Haru groaned, having heard the story at least fifty time. It was your turn to laugh. Haru loved Shinso, but when it came to his favorite heroes, being ranked under his own fiancé was a bit of a sting.. So poor Shinso tries to impress the kid every chance he can.

“You’ve told him the story at least ten times,” You backed up your son, shrugging your shoulders.

“You know, I was in the room when you came into this world little man, I deserve some props as a hero,” Shinso groaned, and Haru just laughed, taking another bite of his cereal.

“I know, but you’re a hero like you know a dad would be,” Haru said casually and both of you froze. He was trying so desperately to figure out what it meant to have a Dad. The last time Kirishima came to visit, he had even asked him if he was his dad because of their red eyes, and how Kirishima is always there for his big moments. Then he asked you if Shinso was his dad, because they both liked cats.

“Haru, our ride is here, we better go outside okay?” You smiled, changing the subject, “Give Toshi a hug!”

Haru jumped down and gave Shinso a quick hug. You grabbed your things, and your files about Haru’s past doctor’s appointments. After he grabbed his backpack you walked over and kissed Shinso’s cheeks, mouthing a quick apology. He waved you off.

“Let me know how it goes,” He smiled, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the doctors appointment.

You picked up Haru and carried him outside. Bakugo waved at you both, and Haru hid his face again. Although he was excited to get to meet one of his heroes, he was also terrified. Bakugo pouted a little bit, and you gave him a small glare. He straightened up and forced a smile.

“I just need to grab his seat!” You forced a smile, trying to avoid how awkward this was. Bakugo shook his head.

“Nope, I bought one, it’s got all the things,” Bakugo sounded proud of himself, you raised an eyebrow but walked towards his car. He opened the door and you saw a seat, one of the ones with a cup holder, and in it was a collectible Deku doll that Haru had wanted for months. Along with a signed picture of him.

“Haru, look,” You whispered, making sure to tell Bakugo later that he can’t just buy his love. Haru’s face lit up though, and he quickly jumped down out of your arms. He grabbed the doll and picture, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Thank you Mr. Dynamight sir!” Haru grinned, before climbing in his seat so you could buckle him in. Bakugo stood behind you, and you could practically feel the grin radiating off of him.

“Call me Katsuki kid, all of my friends do,” Bakugo smiled, and got in the drivers seat. You walked over to the other side, and climbed into the passenger seat.

The ride was quiet, just the sounds of Haru playing with his new toy in the background. Neither you or Bakugo knew what to say to one another. So you just sat in comfortable silence, looking through Haru’s main doctor’s notes. Then Haru needed to blow his nose, and out of habit you opened up the glove box to grab a tissue as if you were in your own car. Inside it though you found Bakugo’s necklace that had matched yours, that you gave back to him when you left. You grabbed a tissue and handed it back to Haru.

“Yours is hanging up on the rearview mirror of my other car,” Bakugo mumbled, his eyes not leaving the road. You studied the side of his face, just nodding in response. It was odd that after all of this time he still had that dumb thing. You two had gotten them on your fourth time of hanging out, he had found them at a festival he made some appearance at. They were cheap, but you both wore them all of the time. The necklaces meant something to both of you, the day you took yours off was the day you knew it was over.

The rest of the ride felt tense. You felt silly over thinking the necklace. You figured he would have thrown them away at this point. When you finally got to the hospital, Bakugo went and found a parking spot. He went to walk in with you two but you shook your head.

“I’m not ready for the rumors to start surrounding Haru, so would you mind just hanging out here?” You whispered.

“Oh, yeah no you’re right, I’ll be here,” Bakugo nodded his head, looking a little disappointed. You climbed out of the car and grabbed Haru, who waved a tiny hand at Bakugo as the two of you walked towards the entrance.

You weren’t in the waiting room for long till you were called into the exam room. They did a few X-rays, and tests, on Haru. Then after about an hour you were sitting in the Doctor’s office as Haru played with his toys on the floor. The doctor say down across from you and showed you all of the test results.

“Well the good news is, Haru will most definitely have a quirk, his body is already adjusted to what his quirk would be,” The doctor smiled, “I’m guessing his father’s quirk has something to do with nitroglycerin?”

“Uh well we don’t actually know much about his father,” You lied, knowing Haru was paying attention now.

“Well Haru has high levels of it in his sweat glands according to the tests, but my only concern is that I think he has some kind of mental block keeping him from using his quirk,” The doctor explained, “You’re quirkless correct?”

“Uh yes sir, I am,” You nodded your head. Haru walked over to you and grabbed your hand. So you put him in your lap.

“Maybe he just won’t use his quirk because he doesn’t want to be different from you, since you are his sole provider,”

“No that’s not it,” Haru interrupted and you both looked at him, “It’s not Mommy’s fault, I just want to use my quirk when Dad comes back for us,”

You felt your heart break into a million pieces.

“Haru sweetie, have you known about your quirk?” You whispered, and he nodded his head sadly.

“I accidentally blew up Mira’s doll at the playground, but made her promise to not tell her parents so you wouldn’t know,” Haru hung his head, and avoided eye contact. Like he did whenever he thought he was going to be in trouble.

“Haru you could’ve told me, then we wouldn’t have had to do all these tests, why didn’t you-”

“I just wanted dad to be the one to help me,” Haru cut you off again, his eyes watering. You let out a sigh and pulled him closer to you. The doctor nodded his head, smiling softly at you.

The two of you walked out to the car again. Bakugo’s head perked up at the sight of you both. He jumped out of the car and opened the door for you to put Haru in. Bakugo raised an eyebrow at the sad look on his face, and then looked at you.

“Tell me he has his quirk? Or at least a hope of one?” Bakugo asked, and you closed Haru’s door. Glaring at Bakugo, before walking over to your door. You climbed in the car and didn’t say a word until you got the park where Kirishima was meeting you guys.

“Hey, Haru why don’t you go with Uncle Ei and play while I talk to Katsuki?” You smiled at Haru, who climbed out of his seat and went to Kirishima who had opened the door for him. Kirishima closed the door and walked away with Haru. Bakugo looked towards you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why did you do it?” You whispered and Bakugo just looked even more confused, “Why did you fuck all of this up?”

“What do you mean?” Bakugo’s tone was proof enough that he was annoyed. Not necessarily at you, but more so at the fact he could see Kirishima playing with his son so effortlessly.

“Cheat on me, leave me alone to raise him, leave him confused and upset because all he wanted was his dad,” Your eyes started water, tears threatening to spill over. Bakugo turned his head back towards you, your words stinging a little bit.

“I didn’t leave you alone, I didn’t know.” His voice was stern, “You can’t make me out to be the dead beat father in this situation (Y/n) I would have been there for him if I would have known he was alive,”

You let out a sigh of defeat, making eye contact with him. Bakugo felt his heart break at the look in your eyes. You looked.. Defeated.

“I know, I know it’s my fault okay?” You whispered, “I should have never kept him from you, I should have told you I was pregnant but I was selfish, and hurt, and-”

You were sobbing now. Your words falling off. Bakugo unbuckled your seat belt, and pulled you over the center console so you were sitting on him. He hugged you, tightly. Letting you let out every single sob, as he rubbed your back. You cling onto his shirt as you buried your face in his shoulder.

“I know why you were mad, and I don’t blame you but (Y/n), I would have been there for you both if I would have know,” He whispered against you, you pulled your head back and looked at him.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I still hate what you did to me, to our relationship, but Haru deserves to know his father,” You sighed, Bakugo reached up and wiped some of the stray make up on your face.

“So we’ll tell him?” He smiled hopefully, and you nodded.

“Eventually, eventually we will tell him, but for now I just want you to get to know him, ease him into it,” His smile faded a little but he knew you were right.

Bakugo stared at you and it settled in for him that it was never Momo. It was never once her for him, it was you. Back then, he was too scared to let himself admit it. Despite how long you two had been together when his affair with Momo started, he was scared. Scared of how much he could love a single person. Then he felt guilty because he had no reason to have that fear. He grew up watching his parents have that kind of love. It was his own selfish mindset that pushed him to that decision.. That pushed him to losing you.

You crawled back into your seat, flipping the visor down. Bakugo watched as you wiped the make up off your face. You turned back to look at him, smiling a little.

"I have a proposition for you, if you want to spend more time with him?" Your voice sounded a little nervous, and Bakugo grinned a little nodding his head, "Go to the wedding with us to the wedding? I mean you and Denki were friends right?"

"Are you sure? I mean I know how all of them must feel about me?" Bakugo laughed a little, and you shook your head looking back at Haru and Kirishima.

"They all love Ru, so much, so I think they will understand why I want you there, and besides Hitoshi does nothing but tell me to get back in the dating game," You rolled your eyes, and Bakugo laughed at you a little bit.

"How long has it been since you've been on a date if Dead Eyes is making jokes about it?" Bakugo was half teasing, and half curious what the answer was.

"Oh don't you start asshole, I have been raising our kid," You laughed, a genuine laugh. A laugh that made Bakugo's heart do some kind of internal flip. He smiled softly at you.

"You said our kid," He whispered, and you blushed a little.

"Our kid who is staring in here trying to figure out what's wrong," You laughed, pointing towards Haru who now had an adorable pout on his face. You climbed out of the car and ran towards him, picking him up and spinning him all crazy like. Bakugo smiled as he watched you two together. Realizing that all he ever wanted in life was right here, and in his reach again.

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

tagging all of the people who replied to hidden secrets part one <3

there is going to be a part three, and i promise for everyone who asked for bakugo suffering.. it is coming because i am feeling evil >:]

@girl-who-likes-cold-bois , @leximoron , @shyonigirichan , @tspice283 , @heyomie , @beigeunburdened , @xoxo-teddybear , @silentw-lkr , @semhal , @justmewoo , @jazzylove , @nolimitsam , @da1chisjuicywatermelons , @ayoooooooooooo

[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.”