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kafus · 6 months

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how to transfer your old pokemon to pokemon home before it's too late!!!

the wi-fi services for the nintendo 3DS and WiiU are shutting down in early april 2024, and while it specifically lists pokemon bank and poke transporter as being available post-shutdown, there is no guarantee of how long that may be for. there will likely come a time when these services shut down, and it could be in the relatively near future.

it is also pretty much impossible now to transfer pokemon to the switch's Home service with alternative methods such as PKHeX (popular pokemon save editor for the uninformed) due to the implementation of server-side Home IDs tracking pokemon at all times - the details of that aren't super important for this post, but point is, whenever bank shuts down, unless nintendo makes an offline way to transfer to home, it will be impossible to move pokemon from the old gens to the new, even with alternative/hack-y methods.

i write this guide with the intention of making this process easier for people since transferring pokemon has changed so much over the past two decades that it's a bit of a mess, and in a timely manner to give people time to finish the process. i'll be organizing by generation so feel free to skip to any part of the guide you need. (keep in mind that transferring is permanent, your pokemon cannot go back afterwards!!)

(by the way it would mean a lot to me if you weren't overwhelmingly negative of pokemon in the tags/reblogs. i get that pokemon transferring being an online service sucks but reading that stuff in my notifications constantly is really tiring </3 make ur own post to talk about that)

to walk you through, i'll be transferring this random shiny spinda i hatched in emerald version all the way up to pokemon home. her name is Moss :]

below the cut since this is long as fuck sorry LOL

GEN 1/2 -> 3 (aka RBY/GSC -> RSE/FRLG)

this is impossible! as for the Virtual Console releases of the gen 1/2 games on 3DS, more on that later in the gen 5 -> 6/7 section.

GEN 3 -> 4 (aka RSE/FRLG -> DPPT/HGSS)

what you need:

a copy of RSE or FRLG

a copy of DPPT or HGSS in the same language as the RSE/FRLG copy that has beaten the champion and has access to post-game areas, preferably HGSS because it lets you transfer unlimited times as opposed to DPPT's once-per-24-hours limit (unless you happen to have korean DPPT/HGSS, which is not language locked in terms of transferring)

either an original DS or a DS lite, the old ones with the GBA slot at the bottom

the steps:

#1. you can only transfer 6 pokemon at a time, so get whatever 6 pokemon you want to transfer up together in gen 3. if you're intending to transfer less than 6 pokemon, you'll need to catch some extras since you have to transfer the full 6 every time (i usually just catch a bunch of extra mons on the first route, which is what i've done here with the poochyenas/wurmples)

#2. put the gen 3 game into the GBA slot of the DS, and the gen 4 game into the DS slot. both games should appear on the home menu after turning on the DS.

#3. load the DS game and spam A past the title screen. before loading your save, scroll down. you should see a "MIGRATE FROM (GAME NAME HERE)" option. if you don't, either the GBA game isn't reading properly, or you have not visited Pal Park in your gen 4 game of choice. in HGSS, the Pal Park is located in Fuchsia City, and in DPPT, the Pal Park is located at the end of Route 221 below Sandgem Town.

#4. select the aforementioned migration option and pick the pokemon you want to transfer.

#5. navigate to the Pal Park and complete the Catching Show, where you re-catch your transferred pokemon in the wild. this does not overwrite what pokeballs they were originally caught in! you will need to bring a pokemon with Surf if you have any Pokemon that spawn in the water areas. you can check what location the pokemon you transferred will be in on bulbapedia.

#6. say yes to storing the caught pokemon in your PC boxes and they'll be there!

important things to note:

pokemon with HM moves will be blocked from transfer, so make sure to use the Move Deleter to remove HM moves from any pokemon you're transferring in gen 3 before trying to transfer. in RSE, the Move Deleter is in Lilycove City, and in FRLG they are in Fuchsia City.

gen 3 -> 4 is the only step in the transfer process where held items transfer up as well, meaning that if you attach a valuable item such as a rare candy, master ball, or TM to a transferred pokemon, you can take it off that pokemon and put it in your bag in the gen 4 game.

an aside about colosseum/XD gale of darkness on gamecube:

you can transfer pokemon from colo/XD as well! unfortunately you'll need to have beaten colo/XD, and then you will also need to beat the gen 3 game... in FRLG, you even have to complete the postgame ruby/sapphire quest on the sevii islands to unlock trading with the gamecube games. once you do all that though, you can navigate to the pokemon center basement in Phenac City to trade with your gen 3 GBA title. to do this, you'll need a gamecube or wii with gamecube compatibility, a GBA (or GBA SP), and a GCN -> GBA link cable to connect the two consoles.

GEN 4 -> 5 (aka DPPT/HGSS -> BW/BW2)

what you need:

a copy of DPPT/HGSS

a copy of BW or BW2 in the same language as DPPT/HGSS copy that has beaten the champion (or N in the original BW) and has access to post-game areas.

two DS consoles of any kind (3DS is also fine!)

the steps:

#1. get the pokemon you want to transfer together in your gen 4 game's PC boxes. you can only transfer 6 pokemon at a time. if you have less than 6, catch some extra pokemon, since you need to transfer the full 6 every time. save it and turn off the DS with the gen 4 game.

#2. turn on your gen 5 game and navigate to the Poke Transfer Lab. personally i just fly to Black City/White Forest and head west.

#3. talk to the NPC in the lab to start the transfer process. you will be prompted to turn on your other DS again and open DS Download Play with your gen 4 game inserted. do that and download the Poke Transfer app that comes up.

#4. select the 6 Pokemon you want to transfer when prompted.

#5. play the transfer minigame! just drag the... bow? (lol) on the bottom screen to aim your pokeballs. there's technically a time limit, but it's very generous, and your final score doesn't matter.

#6. say yes to transferring the pokemon once you're done and they'll be placed in your PC boxes!

important things to note:

pokemon with HM moves will be blocked from transfer, so make sure to use the Move Deleter to remove HM moves from any pokemon you're transferring in gen 4 before trying to transfer. in DPPT they're in Canalave City, and in HGSS they're in Blackthorn City.

the level the pokemon was obtained at and the date it was obtained is changed upon transfer to gen 5 - it will have the met date of your DS clock and the met level of the level it was at the time of transfer. if you'd like to preserve a pokemon's met date, make sure to change the DS clock to the proper date.

GEN 5 -> 6/7 (aka BW/BW2 -> 3DS TITLES/BANK)

what you need:

a copy of BW/BW2

a copy of any 3DS pokemon game (XY/ORAS/SUMO/USUM)

a 3DS (or 2DS, i'll just be referring to them all as 3DSes here) with the poke transporter and pokemon bank apps installed. these were free apps that were once downloadable from the 3DS eShop, but the 3DS eShop is no longer available, so if you don't already have them installed you will need to explore alternate methods, AKA hacking your 3DS and injecting them in. that's outside the scope of this guide but you can find more information here on 3ds.hacks.guide. (do not attempt to follow any 3DS hacking guide not on this website, they could be outdated and harm your 3DS!)

a nintendo network ID that your 3DS is logged into (also outside the scope of this guide but if you don't already have one, it will prompt you during the process to make one)

internet connection

the steps:

#1. poke transporter defaults to trying to transfer every pokemon located in Box 1 of your PC, so go into your gen 5 game and put every pokemon you want to transfer into Box 1, and take anything you don't want to transfer out. if you want to transfer more pokemon than you can fit in one box, you'll have to transfer multiple times.

#2. open poke transporter with your gen 5 game inserted into the 3DS' cartridge slot. after pressing A through some menus and selecting the gen 5 game when prompted, it should ask if you want to transfer the pokemon in Box 1, with a preview of the pokemon inside. confirm and let it do its thing. after poke transporter is finished, the pokemon you transferred will be in the special Transport Box in bank.

#3. make sure you either have a 3DS pokemon title downloaded onto your 3DS, or swap out your gen 5 cart for one, it doesn't matter which.

#4. close out of poke transporter and navigate to pokemon bank. at the time of writing this guide, bank is still online and is free for everyone without a subscription - the main menu has an infinite "free trial" period number.

#5. select "use pokemon bank" and pick a 3DS game to connect with when prompted. it doesn't matter which one, but if you're looking to see your pokemon in a gen 6/7 game right now, pick the one you want to move it into. viewing a pokemon in a gen 6/7 game isn't required to move to home later, though!

#6. the Transport Box is located one box to the left of Box 1 - navigate to it and drag your pokemon out into a normal bank box. now you can move them to any gen 6/7 pokemon game you want, or home later!

important things to note:

even though bank connects with both gen 6 and gen 7 games, once you place a pokemon into a gen 7 game (SUMO/USUM), you cannot transfer that pokemon back to a gen 6 game (XY/ORAS), so be careful!

an aside about the VC releases of RBY/GSC:

poke transporter can also be used to transfer pokemon out of the VC releases of RBY/GSC. these pokemon are changed pretty heavily, converting all their old gen data into pokemon's modern data structure. you can find more information about all the changes/conversions made on bulbapedia. these pokemon are considered gen 7 pokemon afterwards, and cannot be moved into XY/ORAS. pokemon with held items also cannot be transferred from VC titles and will fail to transfer.

if you want to transfer pokemon from cartridge RBY/GSC and have a save dumping device, it is possible to inject the cartridge's save file into the VC versions with Checkpoint on a hacked 3DS and then transfer that way. for GSC specifically, you'll need to edit your save slightly to make it compatible with VC GSC's save format. i personally made a converter for that here that you're free to use in-browser.

GEN 6/7 -> GEN 8+ (aka BANK -> HOME)

what you need:

a 3DS (or 2DS, i'll just be referring to them all as 3DSes here) with the pokemon bank app installed. this was a free app that was once downloadable from the 3DS eShop, but the 3DS eShop is no longer available, so if you don't already have it installed you will need to explore alternate methods, AKA hacking your 3DS and injecting it in. that's outside the scope of this guide but you can find more information here on 3ds.hacks.guide. (do not attempt to follow any 3DS hacking guide not on this website, they could be outdated and harm your 3DS!)

a nintendo network ID that your 3DS is logged into (also outside the scope of this guide but if you don't already have one, it will prompt you during the process to make one)

a switch with Pokemon Home installed, which can be downloaded for free from the switch's eShop. a nintendo switch online subscription is not required.

unfortunately, you WILL need a subscription to home's premium plan to do bank -> home transfers.

internet connection

the steps:

#1. open pokemon bank and make sure all the pokemon you want to transfer are in their own boxes, and any you don't want to transfer are not in the same boxes as the to-be-transferred pokemon.

#2. go back to the bank home menu and select the "move pokemon to pokemon home" option. when you get the notice about the transfer being one-way, you'll need to scroll down to hit "Begin".

#3. you will be prompted to select what boxes of pokemon you'd like to transfer, so pick all the applicable ones.

#4. you will then be prompted to put in the moving key from home, so turn on your switch, open pokemon home, and select the icon that looks like a 3DS on the main menu. when prompted, choose "Ready!" to get the moving key.

#5. input the moving key on the 3DS, submit it, and wait for both apps to do their thing. once bank goes back to its title screen, you can turn off the 3DS.

#6. home will go back to its title screen as well, and depending on how many pokemon you moved, you may have to wait a few minutes to get back into the app. once it's done, the next time you open home, it'll prompt you to choose how to organize your transferred pokemon into home. pick whatever you see fit.

#7. congratulations, your pokemon are safe in home!!

important things to note:

unlike all pokemon games before the switch, pokemon can actually go backwards in generation on switch, so don't worry about transferring a pokemon into scarlet/violet locking you out of moving it to sword/shield, for example. (the exception to this is LGPE - nothing can be moved into LGPE and once a pokemon is moved out of LGPE, it can't go back.)

pokemon home actually has decent hack checks, so be careful when transferring hacked/glitched/otherwise illegitimate pokemon around.

pokemon from a gen 3/4 game will have their met location set to "Poke Shifter" - this is an alternative translation of the japanese name for the Poke Transporter.

pokemon on switch can only transfer into games that contain that pokemon in its dex, so not everything transferred can go into scarlet/violet, for example.

and that's it!!

there's a lot of other quirks to the pokemon transferring process at pretty much all steps, so if you run into an unusual issue or have specific questions about how pokemon data is changed in minute ways across the franchise, i would encourage you to do your own research, all of this stuff is pretty heavily documented by the fanbase. this is just meant to be a guide for casual users, and a quick reference.

this guide of course does not cover options for transferring in alternative ways, but it's worth mentioning that if you have a hacked 3DS and the ability to back up save files at any point from gens 3 -> 5, you can use PKHeX to transfer pokemon into the 3DS titles, then move them to bank and transfer to home normally from there. that's outside the scope of this guide and i'd also encourage you to do your own research for that.

happy transferring!

#pokemon #pokemon bank #pokemon home #long post #nintendo #of course it really sucks that we have to do this at all #ive been opposed to bank/home being online services since p much day one #but that's just how the cookie crumbles i guess #Sighhhh i have so much stuff to transfer myself lol #kiki was here #kiki.txt

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morallyinept · 3 months

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A full character analysis on SILVA from the film STRANGE WAY OF LIFE/EXTRAÑA FORMA DI VIDA

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

FULL CHARACTER STUDY:

Basic Details:

Full Name: Silva (full name unconfirmed)

Nickname(s): None mentioned

Appears in: Strange Way Of Life, 2023 (first appearance on screen riding in distance at approx. 00:41 and face shot seen at approx. 01:04)

Age (if known): Unconfirmed, suspected mid-forties, to even possibly early fifties based solely on the looks of the character.

Sexuality: Bisexual/Homosexual - it's never confirmed in the film which sexuality Silva actually is, although it's widely presumed the latter

Nationality: Hispanic, but unconfirmed from where specifically. 'Silva' is a Portuguese and Galician surname widespread in the Portuguese-speaking countries, such as Brazil. However the name is also commonly known in Mexico too. Silva speaks with a Spanish dialect. It is presumed he is living somewhere in the Wild West of America, possibly close to the border of Mexico, as he convinces his son to leave and ride across the border to Mexico which appears not to be too far away if Joe is simply riding on horseback.

Family: 1 Son, Joe

Spouse/Partner: No mention of a partner

Relationship Status: Presumed single as no mention or evidence of a current partner

Current Living Status: Alive

Languages Spoken: English, Spanish

Education: Unknown/not confirmed, however presumed educated based on intelligence and speech, however schooling in the Wild West was not common before the 1880s, so most were schooled in the basics at home

Occupation:

Job Role/Title: Previous gunslinger/gun for hire, currently a horse rancher

Special Skill(s): Tending to horses on the ranch, adept with firearms

Notable Colleague(s): Sheriff Jake

Distinguishing Features:

Tattoo(s): None

Piercings: None

Scar(s): None notable

Other Markings: None notable

Prominent Feature(s): Greying hair and facial scruff, moustache

Injuries: Silva mentions he has a bad back from tending to the horses all day on the ranch

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown/greying

Personality:

Traits: Ruthless, romantic, devious

The film is titled after a Portuguese fado song by Amália Rodrigues. The song was released in 1959 and sung by Brazilian singer Caetano Veloso, and lip-synced by actor Manu Ríos playing a singer in the opening scenes, as Silva arrives in town to see Jake.

Silva is a rancher. A rancher is someone who owns or manages a large farm, especially one used for raising cattle, horses, or sheep.

Silva mentions he was previously a 'hired gun' back in the day with Jake, which means he was potentially a hit man or hired killer.

Silva is adept with the use of guns and a skilled shot. He deliberately misses shooting Jake in any vital organs.

Jake accuses Silva of only travelling to see him to get information out of him and to convince him to leave his son alone, rather than see him specifically. However, Silva mentions he wanted to see Jake sooner, but wasn't sure what reaction he would get after all the time that's passed. The conversation between them, and subsequently what Silva says to his son, indicates that Jake was right.

Being homosexual in the Wild West was largely unspoken and frowned upon. Same-sex relationships/encounters, were often kept private between the consenting individuals through fear of persecution and arrest, despite them being fairly common. Silva references this when he states, "You gonna kill me while I’m half undressed? How will you explain that? A dead man in your bed still smelling of cum!"

Hispanic decor decorates Silva's home in bright colours like fuchsia, yellow, orange and green, and he also has a statue of what appears to be of Our Lady Of Guadalupe, indicating he possibly has faith.

The costumes were provided by fashion house St Laurent for the characters in the movie, with custom pieces made specially, such as Silva's green jacket.

Fashion/Outfits:

Outfit 1 - (Opening scene & majority of the film) Green jacket, red plaid shirt, orange/umber undershirt, dark pin striped looking pants, black belt, brown leather holster belt. Black neckerchief, brown hat, dark heeled cowboy boots

Outfit 2 - (Waking up in Jake's bed scene) Orange/umber under shirt

Outfit 3 - (Tending to Jake & final scene) Yellow/brown plaid shirt, dark pin striped looking pants, black belt, black neckerchief

Accessories: Brown leather gun holster belt that carries spare bullets and his pistol, red neckerchief (which Jake kept), multicoloured striped blanket, possibly a woollen serape, which he carried rolled up on his horse and used in the desert when resting

Weapons Used:

Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)

Silva has a six shooter pistol, worn on the right side of his body in it's holster, typical for the time period in the Wild West. His exact model is unknown, but from images seen, it appears it could be a Colt Frontier Single Action Revolver.

Silva also owns a rifle, kept in a chest in his home. The exact model is unknown.

Modes of Transport:

Vehicle(s):

Silva has a horse he rides across the desert to see Jake, which appears to be a dark brown stallion, and he has a whole ranch of horses that he tends to.

Dialogue:

🗨 See Silva's full dialogue from the film, including deleted scenes.

Further Character Links (if any):

Strange Way Of Life - A Review by Jett NYFF Interview with Pedro Almodóvar

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

#silva strange way of life #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #strange way of life #extrana forma de vida #pedro pascal character database #silva character analysis #pedro pascal character analysis

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inkykeiji · 1 year

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you’ll always be my white rabbit

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut, carnival AU

notes: aaaah he’s finally here!!! happy belated halloween everyone!! i hope you all enjoy carnival attendant!dabi and, as always, please heed the warnings below! | title credit: bad habits by delaney jane

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, dangerous sex, public sex, minimal prep, dubcon, drugs, reader has long hair, overstimulation, degradation/dumbification, praise, marking, fingering, size difference/size kink, dacryphilia

words: 8.8k

synopsis:

Because despite the fact that you’re in the middle of an empty carnival and on a moving ride, there is something distinctly intimate about the entire encounter, found in the way his hands hold you close, palms curled protectively around your waist, fingertips signing his name, staking his claim, in blossoms of blues and purples into your flesh as they grip you tightly; in the way his forehead stays pressed flush to yours irregardless of the vicious motions of the boat, kisses messy and inept as teeth clack and click and chip against each other, wild giggles and half-baked sobs sucked from one throat into another; in the way his eyes glitter with the lights of the midway, sapphire amplified by fuchsia and crimson, neons that bleed into his irises and tint them violet and periwinkle.

The sky is still a deep blue when you arrive, twined with wispy strands of candy floss clouds, suspended in the atmosphere and wavering subtly with the gentle breeze.

The wind carries the scent of buttersalt popcorn and hard candy on its back, weaving its way through the small carnival—all the game stalls and the rusting rides and the grumbling food trucks—and you breathe in deeply, letting the smell settle in your lungs.

“Hey, let’s go!” Your best friend threads her arm through your own and begins leading you towards the small ticket booth, jutting up from a grassy knoll like a crooked golden tooth.

It’s nearly night by the time the two of you end up in line for the ferris wheel—by far the longest line for any ride here—the last halo of weak coral light bleeding into violet-tinged onyx.

You can’t quite understand why the queue for this particular ride is as busy as it is, gazing up at the rickety structure with a scrunched nose. It isn’t all that impressive; a measly sixty-seven feet tall, with white spokes and silver booths dangling precariously between them, paint chipping and dirty, hinges tarnished with flakes of rust.

“God,” your friend grimaces, front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of her bottom lip, eyes glued to the ride attendant. “I hope he doesn’t do that to us.”

Curiously, you follow her glare, finding a man with inky tufts and low-slung charcoal jeans at the base of the ride, one hand wrapped around the safety bar of the current cart docked at the loading platform, the other clamping inconspicuously over the back of the seat before he flips the whole thing backwards, swift and sudden, the surprised squeals and shrieks of his patrons eliciting a loud, harsh, sadistic laugh from deep in his chest, notes of his amusement floating above the crowd.

“You should consider it a compliment if he does,” a girl behind you says. “He does it to all the pretty girls.”

The notion makes you snort a little—some compliment, scaring the Goddamn life out of your customers entirely without their permission—but it does nothing to soothe the wrinkles of worry written into your best friend’s forehead.

The moon has emerged when you make it to the front of the line, pale rays competing with the colourful glow of the midway, irregular clusters of stars embroidering the velvet night rendered dull in comparison to the twinkling neon lightbulbs encrusting the rides.

It is only when you’re on the platform, sitting down in the tottering seat, that you realize exactly why the line for this particular ride is the longest.

Smirking down at you with lidded sapphire eyes glinting in the flashing cabochon lights, he is breathtakingly gorgeous.

Scars—pink and puckered, edges shimmering silver in the moon beams—cover his arms, climbing their way up his biceps, under his blue uniform shirt, and back out over his collarbone. They inch up his neck and over his cheeks, curved edges etching an everlasting smile across his face. They look soft, the puckered skin glowing in the light of the night, casting a sort of ethereal halo around his form.

“Ladies,” he greets with a noncommittal nod as he secures the lap bar across the bench and over your thighs.

“Please don’t flip us,” your friend blurts, eyes wide and desperate, hands gripping the safety bar so tightly her skin is stretched taut and tight over her knuckles.

“‘Course not,” he says with startling reassurance, though you can see the suppressed mischief playing with the corners of his lips, head bowed while rough hands tug halfheartedly at the frayed seatbelt across your hips.

“Oh, thank you, becau—”

A sharp scream cuts her off as the whole chair abruptly tilts backwards, entire carnival flipped upside down for a split second before it’s right side up again, the man snickering to himself at your friend’s overreaction.

She’s saying something, voice shrill with terror, but you can’t seem to hear her, hands frantically smoothing back down your wind-blown skirt, ears tuned into the frequency of the man’s dark, smooth voice.

He’s only a few inches from your face now, palms still latched tightly onto your seat, blue eyes bright with mirth.

“Pretty panties,” he smirks at you, eyes raking over your body before he tilts his head forward to whisper in your ear. “But they’d look a helluva lot prettier in my back pocket.”

And then you’re off, ride lurching forward as your tottering little chair climbs the spokes of the wheel, higher and higher and higher until you reach the very top, then descending backwards, lower and lower and lower just to repeat the whole cycle again.

You can’t pull your gaze from the ride attendant as your cart passes him by the first time, leaning nonchalantly against the operating booth as his tongue pokes absentmindedly at his cheek, that permanent lopsided smirk welded to his face, his unblinking stare steadily holding your own until it can’t anymore, until the ride carries you away again.

Your friend is still babbling on, but it all sounds muffled to your ears, nothing more than an indistinct jumble of complaints until she’s nudging your elbow, snapping you from your stupor.

“Huh?”

“I said, why is he looking at you like that?” her voice is full of disgust, face screwed up with something sour as she glowers at the ride attendant, who doesn’t bother to toss her a glance.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what did he say to you?”

“What?”

“The guy! He whispered something in your ear before the ride started, didn’t he? What did he say?”

Heat seeps into your cheeks, slow and simmering, and you look down at your shoes, toes pointed inward, nearly overlapping.

“Nothing important,” you murmur, his smooth voice cascading through your mind like thick melted chocolate.

She doesn’t look like she believes you, but she doesn’t push any further either, receiving your answer with an indifferent shrug before returning back to prattling on about safety measures and respect and how the carnival will definitely hear about this incident.

You’re sure the carnival already knows about this guy’s behaviour, sure they don’t give a fuck if he’s been allowed to continue it, but you stay quiet, nodding along in an apathetic daze.

As the ride slows to a stop, you feel the unmistakable twinge of disappointment throbbing in the pit of your stomach, a vague sense of yearning sinking in your chest. It’s inexplicable, the sudden draw you feel towards this man—it’s magical, it’s magnetic; a moth to a light, an addict to a fix, a craving, voracious as it claws at your lungs—and you frown, lips molding into a pout, brain grasping for something, anything, to say to him, to soak up another ounce of his attention before he’s gone forever.

A calloused hand cuffs your wrist just as you’re about to step off the platform, fingers rough against your smooth skin, and you look back in surprise, a sweet little gasp hitching in your throat, unmistakable excitement glowing behind your ribs.

The man with the inky hair and the azure eyes says nothing as he stuffs a wad of worn tickets in your palm, gifting you a quick wink when you glance up at him in question, smirk grown into a grin.

Then he’s shuffling you forward, down the steps and off the platform as he welcomes the next round of guests onto the ride, the chain of tickets searing against your skin.

You’re unraveling them the moment you’re out of your best friend’s sight, breath bated and spine pressed against the back of the funhouse, eyes swallowing down the contents with starving curiosity.

The words U + ME TONIGHT glare up at you, written across the tickets in bright purple scrawl. Flipping the chain over, you find a time and location—11PM @ F. WHEEL—in the same messy handwriting; rushed, secret, just for you.

You and him, tonight. Eleven PM at the ferris wheel. You’ll be there.

✰ ✰ ✰

Murky golden lamplight filters through the dark autumn leaves, casting grotesque shadows on the candy-stained asphalt, constantly moving, shifting, changing as the wind jostles the branches.

Shivering a little, you tuck your hands beneath your arms, hugging your body tightly.

And you wait.

The carnival is vacant now, gusts whistling down the wide aisles, but the rides are still lit up, stationary and motionless, looming over you like massive metal monsters, laying in wait for their masters’ commands.

It all feels eerie, uncanny, like something is distinctly off, something you can’t quite find a word to describe, even as disquiet settles in your belly.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the wind-shivered leaves, curling in on themselves as they cling weakly to the branches and bark, desperate for one last moment of life before a gust sends them fluttering to their death.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You don’t know a thing about this man, you don’t even know his name, yet here you are: desperate, waiting for him all alone, unprotected and unprepared.

All due to a hazy feeling; dreamy and whimsical, exhilarating and terrifying, a curiosity starved for more.

Something tingles at the base of your spine, pinpricks of ice climbing vertebrae by vertebrae, forcing another shiver to ripple through your flesh, your head turning just as a pair of hands grab your waist, a yelp cracking high in your throat.

“You came!” the man is saying as he spins you to face him, large hands still on your hips, all bright smiles and brilliant eyes.

“I did,” you breathe out, words slightly trembling.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all, gaze glistening with the thrill of it all. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Yeah, right. You really expect me to believe that?”

To your surprise, he laughs loudly, head nodding with a shrug of his shoulders. “Ah, what can I say? People look the prettiest when they’re scared.”

That’s an odd statement, you think, dimly aware of a soft chiming at the back of your mind—a warning of sorts, instantly silenced by his voice.

“C’mon!” he’s grabbing your hand, tugging you along behind him. “Lemme show you around.”

“So, uh, what’s your name?” you ask as you stroll, arms linked, towards the heart of the midway.

“Dabi,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I already know yours.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” you snort with a smirk, expecting him to mutter some cliché term—angel or gorgeous or something of that kind—as his head drops, lips at your ear, sugary wisps of your birth name curling around the cartilage.

It sends a jolt of shock shooting through your veins—something electric, something tinged with terror—and you rip yourself away from him, breath coming in fast, uneven spurts out your nose.

He laughs again, echoes of his melody ringing out among the empty fairgrounds.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, residual notes of amusement sewn into his tone. “I heard your jumpy little friend say it earlier tonight, when she was tryna yank you off my ride. Remember?”

Did she say your name? You can’t recall, the moments after the Ferris Wheel ride nothing more than a whimsical blur, full of keenness, enraptured in his aura.

Skepticism shines in your narrowed eyes, body still leaning away from him. “Really?”

“How else would I know?” he gives you a halfhearted shrug, hands shoved in his pockets; easy, effortless, entirely disarming.

How else would he know? This is the only plausible answer, isn’t it?

“Dunno,” you say finally, mimicking his shrug as you begin walking again. “Guess I’m just not used to complete strangers knowing my name, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” he says through grinding molars, hinges of his strong jaw flexing with the motions.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a lollipop, swiftly tearing the whole wrapper from the treat in a singular gesture before shoving it in his mouth, candy clacking against his teeth.

Old fashioned carnival tunes crank through lofi speakers as you roam the fair, harmonies stuffed full of the pop and hiss of static bathing the grounds.

Dabi shows you around the place as if you didn’t spend a good chunk of your night here already, eyes sparkling with a special type of excitement, full of adoration and pride as he rambles on, words gaining speed the deeper into the midway you wander.

But you let him drag you through it all again anyway, nodding and cooing and giggling at the appropriate times, because it’s kinda cute, kinda sweet, how much he clearly loves this place with all of its worn booths and decrepit rides, speeches peppered with little known facts and personal anecdotes.

You’re in the heart of the carnival when you see it, little gasp of surprise cutting Dabi off mid-story—something about that one time he and his friend walked on the walls of the Gravitron while it was moving—feet slowing to a stop in front of a bright yellow stall, inadvertently pulling on Dabi’s hand.

On the highest shelf of the Ring Toss game sits a massive Tiffany blue stuffed lion, with fluffy navy fur and big glassy eyes and pointy felt teeth, grinning down at you.

“What?” Dabi asks, eyes following your gaze with mild interest. “You want one?

You look over at him, hand squeezing his. “Can you win me one?”

“Nah,” he waves a hand, dismissive. “Kei stopped teachin’ us how to beat the games ‘cause we were showin’ all the tricks to too many people and it was hurtin’ his business or whatever. But—”

He leans close, nose nearly bumping yours as his voice drops to a rasp, breath infused with sugar and notes of artificial cherry, so sweet you swear you can taste the sting of sugar on your tongue.

“—I can steal you one.”

His eyes glitter, a cheeky smile melded to his face, not waiting for your answer as he jumps over the booth’s counter with all the ease and grace of a cat, the buckles on his boots and the metal in his pocket jingling as his feet hit the floor.

He’s cradling the lion to his chest in fifteen seconds flat, having scaled the prize wall to yank it free from its hook, dislodging a few of the smaller stuffed animals in the process, boots smearing strokes of mud across the faces of fluffy pink bunnies.

“He’s gonna kill me for that,” Dabi says as he lands, as if it isn’t a big deal, voice void of the slightest hint of concern. “Anyway,” he turns toward you, offering the lion. “Here you are.”

“Thank yo—” you begin to say, reaching for the animal only to have Dabi swipe it away from your grasp, fast and sharp, a taunting little smirk on his face.

“Ah! But it’s gonna cost ya,” he smirks, eyes darkening as they search your face. “What? You thought I’d just give this away for free?” he snickers at your stupidity, and its mean, coated in a hard layer of condescension, humiliation pricking your eyes.

Behind him, a ride creaks under the weight of the wind, swaying menacingly with those harsh gusts.

“Wh-What’s the price?”

“A kiss, of course.”

A rush of relief floods your veins, breath held stagnant in your lungs exhaled in an airy little melody, his smile spreading at the sound.

“Gosh,” you giggle. “Could you be anymore cliché?”

“Hey,” he warns, suddenly serious. “I got no problem with upping the price, if that’s what your askin’ for.”

Desperate desire flares pathetically in your chest, clawing at your ribs, bubbling up your throat. “That’s alright,” you squeak quickly, swallowing past the urge. “A kiss will do just fine for now.”

“Suit yourself,” he’s saying as he crushes his lips to your own, a rough palm settling on your neck, holding you in place as a strong tongue pushes the shrunken lollipop into your mouth.

He tastes heady as his tongue drags across your own, depositing flavours of spicy nicotine and smoky hickory and sweet cherry. You suck on them, savour them, savour him, drawing his bottom lip into your mouth and catching it between your teeth, tongue laving over it in repetitive strokes.

It’s all so good, saliva thick and sticky and burning as you swallow it down, infused with little fizzing sparks that race down your throat to collect deep in the pit of your tummy, setting a small flickering flame ablaze. Dainty fingers tangle in the collar of his shirt and tug, vying for more, but then he’s pulling away with a teasing little chuckle, eyes sparking as his fingers curl around your wrist once again, giving a soft squeeze before he leads you away.

“My friend Jin runs this one,” he says as you reach the southwest corner of the carnival, tapping on the fence surrounding The Scrambler, head nodding at the ride in indication. “It was my favourite as a kid. I wanted to work it, but they stuck me with the good old Ferris Wheel instead.”

“Aw, but the Ferris Wheel’s a classic!”

“Sure,” he dismisses, rabid mind already latched onto something new, unfocused eyes fixing their blurry gaze on you again. “Did you have a favourite ride as a kid?”

“Of course,” you nod, a faint fondness tainting your smile. “The Carousel. That was always the ride I made my dad take me to first.”

“We got one of those,” he says as he pushes away from the barrier with enough force to leave it teetering. “Wanna see?”

The carousel is tiny, adorned with blue and gold lights and a mirror-panelled center, ivory horses, turned yellow and grey from years of use, skewered on poles of twisted gold. Dabi hops onto the platform and hoists you up, placing you on the nearest horse, sidesaddle.

He doesn’t take a horse for himself, opting instead to lean against one of the saddles, elbows perched on the curved edges as he stares at you. The giggle that bubbles up your throat at his penetrating gaze is girlish and uncontrollable, an automatic reaction to having all of his attention directed at you.

Something gnaws at the pit of your stomach, a sort of yearning that burrows deep in your flesh, starved for more of him.

“So. Where are you from?” you ask after a moment of silence, your feet dangling from your horse, swinging absentmindedly, toe colliding with the gilded pole.

“Take a guess,” he teases, the glint of a challenge in his eyes.

“Uh,” you hum to yourself, thinking for a moment, squinting a little as you do so. “Japan?”

“Ding-ding-ding!” he hollers. “What gave it away, huh? My name? My accent?”

“Your accent,” you respond. “It’s—I really like it.”

“Oh? Is that so?” His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise.

“Mhmm,” you nod quickly. “But—Wow. I mean, Japan? You sure are a long way from home.”

“I am.”

“What brings you overseas?” you ask, looking down at your stuffed lion as your fingers twist in its mane, nervous the question may be too invasive, too personal.

“Ran away to join the carnival.” he says simply with a single shoulder shrug.

“Sure you did,” you roll your eyes, but a smirk toys with the corners of your lips. “Hey, look, if it’s too personal—”

“You think I’m kidding, huh?” he taps out a cigarette, placing it between his teeth.

“Well, I mean—That’s such a famous trope, I didn’t think—”

“I’m telling ya the truth, y’know,” he speaks around the cigarette, filter sticking to his lips, dirty hands coming cup the flame of a silver Zippo. “Ran away when I was thirteen years old.”

“My gosh. Thirteen? That’s so young.”

Dabi hums, puffing out a cloud of thick, tangy smoke.

“Why?” You ask before you can stop the word from slithering off your tongue, curiosity swelling in your voice, clawing at your irises.

“That’s another story for another time,” he says lightly, though his eyes swirl with something dark and heavy, a secret that weights his soul, a collection of shattered memories that he drags with him everywhere, inescapable no matter how far or fast he runs. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, anyway. The point is, I’ve been here ever since.”

“Here? With the carnival, you mean?”

“Yep!” He pops the ‘p’ enthusiastically, eyes suddenly brilliant and shining with adoration again, any traces of melancholia instantly eradicated. “They took me in, y’know? They weren’t worried, they didn’t ask any questions—knew it was none o’their business, anyway—they just accepted me as I was: a homeless little foreign kid, looking for somewhere he could perfectly snap into place.”

“And that space ended up being Shigaraki Amusements.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s more of a home than I’ve ever known—a real home, a true home.” A wistful mist settles in his gaze, hazy and dreamy and full of love. “Us carnival people, we may look like a bunch’a mismatched puzzle pieces, but, in actuality, we fit together so snugly we might as well be airtight. No gaps, no empty spaces, no janky bits that don’t quite lock together…”

“That’s…” Beautiful, special, real. “That’s really magnificent,” you flounder, struggling to piece you feelings into words.

“We all have different stories, different reasons, and yet…” he trails off, reflecting. “Guess all that trauma and bullshit we each seem to lug around does help at least a lil, though,” he winks. “Hey,” he says suddenly, eyes focusing on something over your shoulder, glazed with want. “You wanna go take some pictures?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, yanking you from your horse with such force that your stuffed lion tumbles to the ground, a whine of protest sounding in your throat.

“Wait!” you cry, but Dabi doesn’t stop, deaf with determination as he all but drags you along behind him.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s cramped in the little yellow photobooth, the seat so small that your legs tangle with Dabi’s—ankles twisted, knees hooked, thighs overlapping—as you wedge yourself in front of the flickering screen.

The pixels dances with static, the interface so basic it must’ve come from the 80s, colourful buttons prompting you with a bunch of selections, a disgruntled little sound falling from your lips as Dabi begins squirming, hands pawing at his pockets for what you’d assume to be money.

The surprise must show on your face when he pulls free a small baggie of white powder—the glinting edge of a razor blade peeking out from beneath the pile—because he laughs, shaking his head a little as he pours out a tiny mountain of snow white cocaine on the ledge in front of the screen.

“You want some?” he asks as he taps out three fat lines, already bent over his work, glancing at you through thick lashes and strands of ink.

“Oh, I—No. Thanks, though.”

“A good girl, huh?” he snorts the first line, fast and sharp, head thrown back and eyes squeezing shut for a millisecond before they snap open again, blazing stare turned on you. “I like that.”

A good girl?

Eyebrows pushing together, you look down at your hands in your lap, a little pout on your lips.

Is it really that obvious?

The question brands your tongue, sucked to cinders as you observe him, mesmerized.

He takes it like a fucking pro, inhaling the last two lines in such quick succession it almost looks as though he snorted them both at once.

Licking the tip of his finger, he drags it across the surface, gathering the excess before sticking it in his mouth. Scarred cheeks hollow as he sucks it clean, pulling it free from his lips in one slow motion, knuckles gleaming with spit.

“What?”

“Nothing, you’re just—you’re so cool.”

He flashes you another one of those dazzling smiles, all sharp teeth and red lips, stained cherry from the dye.

“Glad you think so, princess,” he says before he claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the tiny booth, startling you slightly. “Alright! You wanna take some photos or what?”

Yes, your head is nodding, eyes wide and eager. Yes, you do.

“Let’s do two rounds,” Dabi says as he struggles to pull a worn leather wallet from one of his pockets. “So we each get to keep one full strip,” he explains before you can ask why, reading the question shimmering in your gaze.

You suppose that’s fair.

Dabi insists that you go first, allowing you to dictate the content of each shot, instructions called out rapid fire, sticky with giggles and heavy with grunts as you both hastily attempt to rearrange yourself for each shot, failing miserably every time.

“It’s still cute,” you say as you hold the strip between your fingers, a line of four photos displaying ridiculous faces, blurry from movement and cut off by the borders.

“Of course it is,” Dabi rolls his eyes. “I mean, it’s you. Anything you do is gonna be cute, no matter how silly.”

Heat seeps into your cheeks at his words, his compliment somehow both sharp and sweet, little pinpricks buzzing across your skin. His voice is raw with honesty, entirely unaffected by his own candidness, the comment so blunt it’s almost offensive in tone, as if you’re stupid, as if you should know this already.

“But it’s my turn now, and there’s only one type of picture I want on my strip,” he continues, lips curling up into something sinister, a glint of wickedness in those gorgeous, gluttonous pupils.

You aren’t spared a moment to inquire as his thumb punches the START button, because then he’s surging forward, large hands enveloping your face, calloused fingertips hooking behind the hinges of your jaw as he drags you toward him.

A yelp rattles from your mouth into his as sharp teeth clack together, the edge of his incisors catching on your top lip and splitting it open. But he doesn’t let up, undeterred by your noise of pain, undeterred by the coppery taste of your blood saturating his tongue, and he sucks the wound into the heat of his mouth, eliciting another one of those beautiful little squeals from deep in your throat.

The first flash goes off just as your fingers knot in the inky tufts curling at the base of his skull, twining the strands around your knuckles before yanking harshly.

He laughs at the pain, a loud, warm sound that spills down your throat, liquid fire that ignites a blaze in your stomach, simmering low and dull.

The second flash goes off just as he shoves his tongue against your own, a domineering presence that overtakes your mouth as it laves over your smaller, weaker tongue, slick muscle pressed flat to slick muscle as they grind together.

Stringy spit, so interspersed it belongs to neither of you now, belongs to both of you now, clings to teeth and lips and chins, slippery as they slide together. Drool oozes from the corners of your mouths, so much that it’s obscene, dollops of it drizzling down your face to collect along your jaw, sticky and sweet.

The third flash goes off just as razor teeth slice into your collarbone, your features crinkling in pain-tinged ecstasy, a gasp of his name cracking in your throat, fading into little ghosts on your tongue.

You can feel his fingers creeping under your skirt, taking the hem with them as they climb up, up, up to reveal dainty pink lace, clinging to supple skin and soiled with arousal.

“These are in my way,” he growls into your skin, the only warning you’re given before he’s tearing through the frail material, ripping it from your body in one swift motion.

The fourth and final flash goes off just as two slim fingers plunge into you, the sudden intrusion forcing an airy whimper from your lips, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulder, piercing his skin through his t-shirt.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, clouds of sugary air wafting across your damp skin, his forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. “You’re already so fuckin’ wet for me.”

A peculiar type of awe infuses his tone, and he peers up at you, cavernous pupils outlined by the thinnest ring of blue, shimmering in the dull yellow light. His digits curl without warning, almost vicious in their unexpected movement, two knuckles pressed tight against that plush spot buried deep inside you.

One gentle nudge has you whining out a distorted version of his name, full of fractures, edges of the broken letters catching in your throat.

And he smiles.

It’s nothing but a sharp curve upward of his mouth, teeth sealed behind his stretched lips, and something dark, something dangerous, glimmers in his eyes.

One hard shove has you crying out loudly, eyes snapped shut so tightly your entire face crinkles with the force, words barely discernible on your tongue now, nothing more than a mash of vague sounds that might’ve, once upon a time, been his name.

And he laughs, the melodic sound heavy and harsh in the air around you, notes of amusement threaded through diluted malice.

“So easy,” you hear him murmur to himself, voice rumbling in his chest. “So fucking expressive.”

He gives a few experimental pumps, knuckles rolling over that swelling spot with each plunge into you, unblinking eyes fixated on your face.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you?” he coos, nuzzling his face into you. “Because good girls get nice and wet when they’re supposed to. Christ,” his eyes drift to the apex of your thighs, a little lethargic in their movement, his arm turning a bit to reveal the slick collecting in his hand, staining the lines of his palm as crystalline dewdrops stream down his wrist. “You’re making such a fucking mess, baby.”

A mechanical hiss sounds suddenly, inhibiting you from replying, the machine spitting out Dabi’s photo strip a moment later.

With his fingers still buried in you, his free hand snatches the strip from the tray, eyes scanning it quickly.

“Fuck,” he nearly moans, shoving the strip toward you. “Look at yourself.”

Slowly, your gaze skims over each tiny photo, taking a moment to digest each one. It’s incredible; you’ve never seen yourself more beautiful. Pure primal ecstasy encrusts your features, face warped with pleasure and cheeks shining with sweat, each picture exuding passion, sensuality, authenticity.

“You look gorgeous, but oh, the real thing is so much better,” the hand between your thigh twists, knuckles grinding circles into your g-spot, and you mewl, eyes snapped shut, hips rolling into his palm.

It’s so good, and if he keeps this up you’re going to cum right here, right now, despite the fact that your aching clit hasn’t been paid a shred of attention, only granted a few teasing grazes of the heel of his hand.

Trembles skitter up your thighs, pleasure dousing the fire he had lit deep in the pit of your tummy, flames flaring, furling into a tightly concentrated coil, each stroke of his fingers twisting the blaze into a knot of sunshine.

Except then he’s ripping you from ecstasy’s grasp, untangling his body from yours and sliding out of the booth.

Lids fluttering, you stare at him dumbly, chest heaving and eyebrows drawn, slumped against the booth wall. A gentle breeze caresses your skin, chills erupting in its wake and you shiver, winding shaky arms around your torso.

With a tut of his tongue and a roll of his eyes, Dabi reaches into the booth, hand latching onto your elbow and yanking you out from the tiny booth, calling out an enthusiastic C’mon! as he throws you a breathtaking grin.

Still uncalibrated from the sudden whiplash of his actions, you stumble along with him, breath exhaled in short, uneven pants. Pretty pink lace, soaked and mangled, hangs haphazardly from his back pocket, bouncing against charcoal denim with each of his steps.

“Where are we going?” you rasp out, the toe of your shoe catching on the concrete in his haste.

“You’ll see,” he hums out in a little sigh, eyes bright with mischief, giving your hand an enthusiastic little tug.

He winds through the fairgrounds effortlessly—past the food trucks, between the game stalls, looped around the Starship 3000—finally coming to a stop at the base of a mediocre pirate ship raised on a faded blue platform, decorated with pieces of warped plywood painted with crashing whitecaps.

It’s one of those pendulum rides that swings to-and-fro, gaining speed with each whoosh past the axle until it reaches a maximum—crests, climaxes—before it gradually slows to a stop again. Dabi leads you up the steps, metal groaning beneath your feet, rubber soles whining against the pebbled surface.

“What are we…?”

A loud laugh catches in the thick atmosphere, heavy and suffocating and entirely different from the laughs that have come before it—lighthearted laughs that had rung with innocent amusement. The maliciousness infused in the melody slices through your cheeks, haunting whispers that caress your skin with icy fingers, that promise to know something you don’t.

“Sit down in the middle row,” he instructs as an answer to your question, jutting his chin at the stationary ride as he climbs behind the control booth.

Without moving, your eyes dart between Dabi and the ride, questions leaving your mouth slow and cautious, heart beginning to race. “What? Why?”

“Why not?” he shoots back, though that easygoing, liquified grin is still present on his lips, dopey with manufactured ecstasy.

Despite his seemingly carefree nature, chills crawl over your arms, blood turned frigid with inexplicable dread.

Something isn’t right.

“Oh, come on,” he goads at the incredulity molding your features, beginning to solidify, tight and tense. “You really think I’d do something to put you in danger?”

The question shimmers in the air, cushioned by silence, your tongue turned sluggish in your mouth, saliva collecting in pools at the back of your throat.

“Nah, princess,” he continues, though his voice quivers a little, struggling against the force of restrained irritation. His smile twitches, stretched abnormally large across his cheeks, so wide it looks as though it’s been carved into his face. “I would never.”

And although his tone is still perfectly playful and pleasant, something buried deep within his words glints, something hard and sharp that warns you best do what he says, something that assures you this isn’t a request, it’s an order.

“You can trust me, pinky promise. I just wanna show you a good time, okay?” he pauses, allowing his question to marinate into a soothing salve, softening your features, sincerity restoring some trust. “Now, sit down.”

Your body reacts immediately, automatically, prey instinctively responding to predator, and you slide into the middle booth, a sinful flicker of pride fluttering in your stomach as he purrs out that you’re such a good girl for him.

Dirtied fingers, nails uneven and framed with grime, crawl across the control panel, expertly flicking switches as they go, each one another razor ripping through the air before his palm slams down on a glowing green button, a tired beep responding in affirmation.

The ride creaks to life, rusted metal screeching as the motors whir and the boat begins to rock, slow and steady, back and forth, speed increasing incrementally with each repetition.

Dabi hops over the operating rail with ease, big black boots landing heavily against the platform, the entire floor trembling beneath his weight.

Then he’s bounding towards you, a twisted smile that’s all teeth plastered across his face, and launching himself onto the moving boat with practiced ease, slim body slinking almost gracefully into the middle row, slotted right up against yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, equal parts terrified and impressed, breath tangling in your throat. “You’re a total madman!”

He joins in on your laughter; loud, shrieking, inhuman, amplified by the roar of the wind, notes elevated with the gusts, carrying far across the midway. Large hands curl around your waist as he continues to snicker, yanking you into his lap with sudden strength, your thighs padding his hips.

The unexpected movement has a startled scream clawing at your chest, panicked eyes finding his instantly as he presses you close to his body, maniacal laughter still spilling from his lips, spoiled syrup encasing you in its sticky embrace.

“Dabi!” you squeal, voice high with terror. “Dabi!”

“Relax, I got you!” his fingers flex on your hips, accentuating his point. “Hold onto me!” he instructs, words twined with the whipping wind. Your body obeys, dainty fingers knotting in the jersey material of his shirt, skin stretched tight and taut across trembling knuckles.

And then he’s kissing you again, warm bubbles of glee spilling into your mouth, popping on your tongue before they buzz down your throat, sugary sweet and full of acid.

It burns, but they keep coming, and you keep swallowing them down, willingly, greedily, drowning in him from the inside out.

It’s already so much, throat raw as he keeps rushing down it, senses overwhelmed, senses overridden by it all—the rapidly accelerating sway of the boat, the calloused fingers bunching your skirt around your waist, the hard lump buried in rough denim, hot and throbbing as it grinds against your bare cunt—yet your soul’s starved for more, desperate and woozy and please, please, please!

Your fingers are already sore and stiff from being clenched so tightly, the muscles in your thighs already aching from tensing around his hips, a futile attempt to keep yourself from slipping off the ride, his bones digging into your plush flesh.

“This ride is set to last for five minutes and thirty seconds,” he breathes into your mouth as the boat climbs higher, forehead resting against your own. “Think you can be a perfect little girl for me and cum on my cock before it ends?”

“Uh-huh,” you’re nodding, motions vigorous, eyes glazed with desire as they search his face, vivid, voracious.

“Yeah?” he breathes, the tip of his nose nudging yours, gaze glittering as it sears into your soul. His eyes search your own for a moment, almost as if he’s confirming something unseen, unbeknownst to you, before he nods once, stare darting downward. “Then get my cock out.”

Delicate fingers wander to the heavy chrome buckle and pick viciously at the leather laced through it, clawing at the brass button of his jeans before shoving the waistband down just enough to free his cock while his hands keep a firm, secure grip on your waist, safe.

You don’t get to admire it, not even for a second—nothing more than a glimpse of a pretty pink tip and a glistening glaze of pre-cum—Dabi lifting your hips with one hand as the other wraps around the base of his shaft, holding it steady and lining it up with your cute little hole.

A hiss catches on your teeth as he shoves his cock into you, harsh and fast and sudden, features twisting in pain and fingers flexing tightly, nails piercing through the thin fabric outfitting his shoulders and gorging on his flesh.

“That’s it,” he soothes, though his voice is rough around the edges. “Be a good little whore for me, take my cock.”

It feels as though he’s ripping you in half as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug against your cervix, cunt struggling to accommodate his girth as delicate flesh tears itself open for him, keen and eager and oh-so-desperate.

“Shh, shh, baby,” he hums over your pathetic little whimpers, the term of endearment drenched in condescension, a mocking pout molded to his lips. “Aw, you’re doing good so far, c’mon, give me the ride of a lifetime, yeah? Make this a ride to remember.”

Fierce determination ignites behind your sternum, head nodding as you blink bleary tears from your gaze, desperate with the desire to please him, to prove yourself to him, to be the best he’s ever had.

The pace is merciless right from the start, imposed by the rapidly declining time limit, hips relentless in their pursuit as they rock hard and fast against his own.

He meets you with just as enthusiasm, grunts vibrating in his chest with each rut up into you, large hands gripping your flesh as he forces you to bounce on his lap, flame-hardened fingers kneading your ass, blunt nails marring soft flesh with purple-tinged indents.

For a moment, you’re lost in the sensationalized pain, time slowing as the seconds dribble on by, slow and thick like saccharine syrup, bouts of pain shooting through your gut with each slam against your cervix, pleasure chasing it high and fast with each drag of his cockhead against that spot, pussy fluttering desperately around his massive cock, repeatedly gorged with it.

But then the boat falls again, whooshing past the axel to swing high on the other side, gaining speed, gaining height, and a scream shatters in your throat, hips slowing to a sensual, stuttering grind.

Dabi laughs at your startled reaction, nuzzling your cheek with his own just before the boat falls backwards.

“Time’s ticking, baby,” he shouts over the bellowing threads of the wind, eyebrows lifting in enticement, strings of ink flying up from his face as the boat swooshes again.

And, truthfully, you want nothing more than to make him proud, to make this the best ride of his fucking life, want it so bad you can feel your own slick leaking all over your inner thighs and down your ass.

But it’s fucking terrifying, blocks of lead dropping in your stomach as the boat swings again, splashing acid up your throat, toxic and mixed with desperate desire.

Tears of fright, of frustration, shield your eyes, thick and gleaming as you hiccup on your words, smashed to shards in your throat. Your whole body trembles in his arms as thorns of ice claw up your spine, knuckles cracking as you readjust your grip on his shoulders.

Dabi’s hips are still moving, calloused fingers digging deep bruises into your skin as he forces you to keep riding him—galaxies in the shape of his fingerprints, full of swirling violets and dark navys that will take weeks to fade, blood vessels bursting under his grasp, signing his name into your body in the prettiest mini masterpieces.

“Look at you, huh? Acting as if you’re so scared,” he’s spitting, flecks of saliva smattering across your cheeks, sick little freckles that cool and dry with the next whoosh of the boat, his features curled in a sneer. “Acting as if you aren’t fucking loving this, you little bitch.”

A palm stings your flesh, stark and sudden, prickly warmth spreading through your ass at the impact. It forces a strangled squeal from your throat, and your eyes shut tightly, body cowering into his, a reflexive response.

“But that’s alright, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me,” he continues, sharp glints of malice in his eyes, slashing through the artificial euphoria swirling in sapphire. “No, your precious lil pussy does that all on it’s own, ‘cause a whore’s cunt will always give away her true feelings.”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks, burning hot as it unfurls under your skin, hiccuping out pitiful little cries.

“Yeah, that’s right, princess. I can fucking feel the way that sweet cunt flutters and gushes all over my cock every time I do this,” he grunts as his hips push up with vigorous determination, hands keeping you still and pinned to his body, cockhead grinding into your favourite spot, holding the motion with the boat as it freezes in the air, suspended for only a moment before it’s dropping again, whirring past the axel to swing up, high and fast, on the other side.

You’re crying harder now, sobs that rip through your lungs and crack your ribs, fear burning in your throat, each ragged gasp of air another mouthful of nails scraping past the gummy walls of your throat.

But, oh God, it’s so fucking good, pain and terror only working to compound the pleasure, elevating your senses and you can’t stop: can’t stop weeping, can’t stop chasing it, can’t stop wanting so much more.

“Yeah,” he breathes, almost whining it out, head nodding with the timbre of the word. “Fucking cry harder for me, more, more. God, fuck,” his voice breaks on the curse, eyes rolling in his skull. “Little fucking crybaby, you look so fu-fucking pretty with those tears on your cheeks.” His tongue flattens against your face, dragging from your jaw to your bottom lashes, mopping up salt water and leaving behind a thick gleaming trail of saliva. “And all for me, huh? All because of me.”

He sounds almost proud of himself, chest heaving against your own as gluttonous pupils gobble down your expressions, gaze searching your face with such vigorous obsession it almost feels as though he’s attempting to swallow you whole, down those big black holes ringed with blue that devour everything they touch, and you’re suffocating, you’re suffocating.

“What if I let go of you, right now?” he questions with airy enthusiasm, sadism gleaming in those voracious eyes, the question a slap of reality, bringing you back. His fingers loosen a little, tapping with teasing, with warning, against your hips. “Do you think you’d fall to your death?”

He looks almost morbidly fascinated by the question, a sick haze misting his eyes, wondrous and full of awe.

“Wouldn’t that be something, huh?” he continues in that same faraway lilt, dreamy and floating on grotesque fantasies. “To die right after I stuff you full of my cum? You’d die happier than ever before, I bet…Should we give it a try?”

“No, Dabi!” you’re screaming, the protest high with panic and heavy with spit, clutching him so hard your nails break through his skin, stuffing themselves full of flesh and tissue, blood staining the lines of your nailbeds.

“Oh?” he blinks, pulling back a little, genuinely surprised. “Did I startle you, baby? Are you scared?”

“Please, please, please,” you’re sobbing as you smush your face into his neck, whole body clinging to his. “Please, don’t let me go! I’ll do anything, just—Don’t!”

“Alright, alright,” he’s saying, voice suddenly soft with pacification, like he’s soothing a child. “I won’t let you go. But if you don’t make me cum by the time this ride is over, I’m gonna make you do it all over again.”

Your ribs shiver beneath the erratic beating of your heart, your head nodding in jerky little movements as sticky affirmations spill from your lips.

Your hips begin moving again, uneven little bucks that are guided by his hands, hushed praises spilling from his lips, nearly drowned by the wind.

“That’s it, baby, yeah, just like that,” he encourages you, a hint of patronization garnishing his words. “Look at you, huh? Being such a brave little girl for me, fucking yourself on my cock.”

The metal safety bar, purposefully left up so he could fit you onto his lap with relative ease, grinds against the notches of your spine with every roll of your hips, uncontrollable whimpers streaming from your lips.

Strands of your hair whip around your cheeks with each rush of the boat, Dabi’s face so close that your locks embrace him, too, twirling around his neck and tangling in tufts of ink.

Your combined thrusts gain speed in tandem with the boat itself, each rock forward forcing you to accelerate, desperate to keep up with the ride’s pace, desperate to cum as its speed crests.

Your stomach swoops as the boat plunges downward again, gasp exhaled into Dabi’s mouth, his slick tongue curling greedily around the sound. Howling gusts mimic your cries, high and broken, taunting in the way they coil around your forms.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” he breathes, stare shimmering with a sort of twisted admiration, looking at you in a way unlike anyone else ever has, with those azure flames licking at his monstrous pupils, a stare that makes you feel as if you’re drowning and floating all at once.

But he’s right, you do look gorgeous, the carnival lights glittering in the tears caught in your clumped lashes, rendered endless versions of themselves; gleaming trails of salt staining your smooth cheeks, hair crusted to your skin; chin and lips shining with translucent pink, slicked with spit and oozing blood, victims of his teeth.

Another hiccup stutters in your chest, whole body trembling in his arms, but you push yourself to keep fucking, to keep tugging those gorgeous sounds from deep within his chest, soft whiny moans and guttural grunts puffed out into your mouth, melting on your tongue.

Even flying through the wind, with the background rendered nothing more than an indistinct blur of dribbling colours, he is still so breathtakingly gorgeous, eyes bright with manufactured euphoria, pupils gaping and voracious for you, for your pleasure, devouring every single change in expression—the quirk of your bow, the crinkle of your forehead, the pucker of your chin—as his hair clings to his face, spikes of ink dripping with sweat, lips slicked sheen with your spit and licked ruby-red raw.

Sparks of adrenaline sprout in your veins with every rock of your hips, surging through your blood and leaving your body hypersensitive; overwhelmed by the harsh embrace of the wind, by his teeth on your flesh, scraping his essence into your skin and sealing it with his slow, sticky laves of his tongue, by each drag of his cock against that spot, starbursts of fire exploding in your tissues, tiny supernovae that disperse star stuff to collect in your gut, melting into one massive roiling ball of fire that wreathes tighter and tighter and tighter until it finally bursts, cunt clenching almost violently around his cock, his name a shattered scream on your tongue.

“Ah, f-fuck,” he gasps, hands guiding you to keep riding him. “You’re being so fuckin’ good for me. Yeah, yeah, that’s it, cum all over my cock like the good girl that you are.”

It’s so much, too much, and you can feel it gushing from your cunt, smearing across your inner thighs and dribbling down to soak the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, praises still falling from his lips, grip brutal as he forces your hips to keep moving, hard and fast, ass rubbed raw from the coarse denim clothing his thighs.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he’s nearly growling now, teeth clenched, jaw flexing, eyes blazing. “Fuckin’ take it.”

So you do, eager to be his good girl, quivers shooting through your body with each catch of your swollen clit on his slick pubic bone, sore cunt fucked raw and pulsing weakly, wrecked voice grating your throat.

Only three more drags of your hips and he’s cumming with a vicious snarl, pelvis jerking as his cock throbs, stuffing you full of thick, burning cream.

But he doesn’t stop, even as the boat begins to slow, still rutting against you pathetically, forcing tremors of pain-tinged pleasure through his veins as he chases residual flares.

And despite how unbelievably painful it is, you let him.

You let him, because he’s the best drug you’ve ever taken, the highest high you’ll ever reach, the most beautiful collection of art you’ve ever witnessed—a living, breathing painting; a walking, talking symphony; a constantly morphing storybook full of tall tales and folk myths, each glimmering with shards of truth—and he’ll be gone just as quickly as he appeared.

Because he’s like wisps of thick smoke curling through the night; soft, potent, entirely ungraspable, slipping through the cracks between your fingers, settling into the lines of your hands. He’s a shooting star flaring through the void sky, brilliant, beautiful, burnt out in an instant, never to occur again. He’s a singular spark from a sparkler, caught in your palm, singeing your skin with a blistering heat for a mere moment before it disappears, forever.

He’s gone by the next morning, the whole carnival and your stuffed lion gone with him, the only indication that he even existed at all stuffed securely in the pocket of your jacket; a strip of four pictures, colourless and grainy, full of ink and ivory.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw:dubcon #tw drugs #tw dacryphilia #WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAH #pls enjoy!!!

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cyanoticfireflies · 6 days

Text

Hazbin Group Chat Fic, pt 4

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

* CharChar added KingofDucks to “Hazbin Hotel’s Home for Imaginary Friends” *

CharChar: Hi, dad!

SeXXXySpider: Short king in the house.

SeXXXySpider: Hotel?

SeXXXySpider: Either way ;-)

KingofDucks: Hi Charlie! And the others.

* Alastor left “Hazbin Hotel’s Home for Imaginary Friends” *

* CharChar added Alastor to “Hazbin Hotel’s Home for Imaginary Friends” *

CharChar: Alastooooooor.

Alastor: Hmph.

KingofDucks: Oh. He’s here too.

KingofDucks: What’s wrong? Did the guy stuck in the 1920s not figure out how to change his username?

CharChar: Daaaaaaad.

* Alastor changed his name to CharliesBetterFatherFigure *

CharChar: Alastooooooor.

WhiskeyWhiskers: The non-sexual version of your daughter calls me dad too….

PurpleFemale: Alastor. Change it back.

CharliesBetterFatherFigure: I suddenly understand the fun of usernames and intend to keep this one.

PurpleFemale: No.

CharChar: Come on, Alastor. Pleeeeeease?

CharliesBetterFatherFigure: Ugh. Fine.

* CharliesBetterFatherFigure changed his name to RadioFiend *

SeXXXySpider: Gasp!

SssirP: Gasp!

NaNaNaNiff: Gasp!!!

SssirP: Alastor actually changed his username.

SeXXXySpider: And it’s not awful(?)

RadioFiend: I told you from the start that I knew how to.

RadioFiend: I just didn’t care.

CharChar: Still, this is a nice name for you, Alastor. Well done.

RadioFiend: Hmmmm.

PurpleFemale: So, Mr. Morningstar, what’s up? Did you just come to hang around with us?

KingofDucks: You’re the one that’s Charlie’s girlfriend, right? You don’t have to call me “Mr”….

SssirP: Aww. That’s sweet.

KingofDucks: And I popped in because I told Charlie I’d use some of the good old *alakazam!* to help everyone decorate their rooms.

SeXXXySpider: Serious?

CharChar: Actually, you were the one who kind of inspired me, Angel.

CharChar: All the pictures that you have posted on your door are soooo cute, and so I thought we should let everyone decorate!

CharChar: Make everyone’s space feel more like home.

WhiskeyWhiskers: But isn’t the whole point of your little experiment that everyone will leave eventually?

CharChar: I mean… I hope so, but then I can just ask dad to do the thing again.

WhiskeyWhiskers: Yeah, fair enough.

KingofDucks: All righty! So who wants to go first?

CharChar: Oooh! So mine and Vaggie’s room is actually fine, but can everything just get… an upgrade? Nice big soft bed, maybe something with a canopy? And a bigger dresser so that there’s more room for both of our stuff?

CharChar: Vaggie, what do you want?

Vaggie: Um. I mean, a normal bedroom is fine?

SeXXXySpider: You’ve got the king of the place writing you a creative blank check. Take advantage of it!

Vaggie: I don’t want anything too wild. A room is supposed to be a place that’s comfortable and relaxing to be in, right?

Vaggie: Um. Oh, maybe some built-in bookshelves next to the window seat? Since Charlie likes to read there, it would be handy.

CharChar: You’re soooooo sweet, Vaggie!

NaNaNaNiff: Icky, romance!

RadioFiend: Truly.

KingofDucks: Well since *I* support Charlie and her girlfriend, I’m more than happy to give everything an upgrade for their room.

CharChar: Thanks, dad!

CharChar: Ummmm, Angel? How about you?

SeXXXySpider: Any limits?

KingofDucks: I’m me, so

SeXXXySpider: Sold. So I want the walls to be gray, but not like a dark and dreary gray, kind of a more light silvery gray but the baseboards have to match.

WhiskeyWhiskers: This is going to become a whole thing, isn’t it?

SeXXXySpider: And really fluffy white carpet, not the cheap stuff but the good kind, and it can be a little long but not more than a little so it doesn’t get all tangled around Nuggsy’s feet.

PurpleFemale: We’ve unleashed something unto the world….

SeXXXySpider: And I want a circular bed, not one of the square ones, but it’s gotta be minimum 10 feet across because I want to be able to stretch out across the bed and not have my legs dangling off the ends. Soft pink – not fuchsia! – blankets with a big pile of white and light pink pillows in different textures and sizes.

SssirP: Oh my….

CharChar: Pentious, why don’t you just, um, take your turn while Angel is… doing his thing.

SeXXXySpider: And you know those foldable screens? One of those but metal, not the flimsy kind, and if it can be rose gold with an actual rose pattern that would be soooo sick! And it can go next to a little dressing area – I would need at least five drawers plus two standing clothing bars for my clothes but you don’t have to bother with closets or anything. Two mirrors in that area might be enough.

SssirP: Ummm. A large bed for me too, actually – the one Angel described does sound nice. The Egg Boiz sleep with me, so we need plenty of room, and my tail does dangle on smaller beds.

KingofDucks: That’s fine!

SssirP: Could I also get a drafting table? That I can use to work on schematics for some of my inventions?

PurpleFemale: No building weapons in this hotel!

SssirP: I won’t, I promise!

SeXXXySpider: And a vanity mirror, one of the ones that’s desk height and has a chair, and the chair needs a comfortable seat because I’ll spend a while there. Include the lights all the way around the mirror, but soft lights so it’s not super duper bright, and some side drawers and plenty of space on top for all of my stuff.

CharChar: I think we can trust Pentious, Vaggie.

PurpleFemale: Fine. You can have your fancy table.

SssirP: Thank you!

CharChar: Are you getting all of this, dad? I know it’s kind of a lot.

KingofDucks: Anything for you, Charlie!

CharChar: Awww!

PurpleFemale: Husk, Niffy? What about you two?

SeXXXySpider: And can Nuggs have a little pet palace? One of the fancy ones that has, like, multiple rooms in it. Something white or soft pink to match the rest of the room, and it needs to be carpeted so it’s soft when he’s laying down, and at least one platform that just open air so he can climb up and still see, and it will need a ramp for him to get up because he’s kind of a porker. Ooh, and two little spots for his food and water bowls.

WhiskeyWhiskers: I’m easy. Maybe a nice red, black, and gold color scheme? Add a little table and a dart board or something?

WhiskeyWhiskers: (He’s still going by the way. This is getting hilarious.)

CharChar: Is that all?

WhiskeyWhiskers: Actually. Can I have one of those wall-mounted bars? Enough for just a couple of bottles and a little fold-out table?

CharChar: Sure!

WhiskeyWhiskers: Thanks, Princess. And Princess’s dad.

SeXXXySpider: And fairy lights! In both a nice soft white and pink, all over the ceiling so that it makes the whole ceiling glow, but also set up so I can have only one area of the room on at a time if I want it, and they can be all haphazard – it actually looks better if they’re not all laid out in neat lines.

PurpleFemale: Do you think Angel is aware that the rest of us are still here?

RadioFiend: My goodness, he certainly has a very clear vision, doesn’t he?

CharChar: I think it’s good that Angel is getting to express his creativity.

SssirP: I want to see his room when it’s done, actually. It sounds nice.

WhiskeyWhiskers: Very soft and fluffy.

SeXXXySpider: And then in the bathroom the walls should be the same as in the room but a slightly lighter shade of gray so that they don’t match completely, and the sink and tub and stuff should be light pink too so that they keep the same color scheme going.

SeXXXySpider: (@Husk, hell yeah I am! You can pet me any time, baby~)

RadioFiend: Ah, so he is aware we’re all still here.

WhiskeyWhiskers: No.

KingofDucks: That is certainly a detailed set of instructions.

KingofDucks: It’s fine, though!

NaNaNaNiff: Ehehe, I actually want a smaller room! Everything is too big! I have to climb up the bed to sleep in it! Can you give me a room that’s my size?

PurpleFemale: Oh. Why didn’t you say anything before, Niffty?

NaNaNaNiff: It’s fiiiiiiiiiine

NaNaNaNiff: But if we can have anything we want~~~

CharChar: Of course you can.

NaNaNaNiff: And lots of storage! For my things!

SssirP: Do you have a lot of stuff, Miss Niffty?

NaNaNaNiff: I currently have 62 dead roaches!

PurpleFemale: Ew….

SeXXXySpider: Can the water itself be made pink too? Ooh, and bubbly, but obviously only in the tub. And can it be scented to smell like strawberries without actually adding any oil or anything too the water because I don’t want it to get gunked up on my fur but it would be soooo relaxing. Oh! And a shelf in the shower to hold all of my stuff because I have way too many bottles of wash and shampoo and conditioner.

KingofDucks: All right, so once the spider one is done then that should be everybody!

CharChar: Wait, dad! You forgot about Alastor.

KingofDucks: Haha

KingofDucks: That wasn’t an accident.

KingofDucks: That was on purpose.

CharChar: Daaaaaad.

RadioFiend: How… charmingly petty.

SeXXXySpider: Oh, and a second vanity set-up in the bathroom, kind of like the first one but this one can be right next to the sink and be standing height so we don’t need to add an extra stool in the bathroom – same thing with plenty of space and instead of drawers a couple of shelves for me to put stuff on and outlets for a hair dryer and stuff like that.

KingofDucks: I just think that if he’s sooooo wonderful that he should be able to take care of himself.

RadioFiend: Maybe I can.

KingofDucks: Then maybe you should.

PurpleFemale: Can’t you two just get along like adults?

PurpleFemale: For Charlie’s sake, at least?

PurpleFemale: It stresses her out when you two are fighting.

KingofDucks: Hmph. Fine. I suppose I can do that for my daughter

RadioFiend: By all means.

SeXXXySpider: Oh, and can the bath towels also be white and soft pink and fluffy? And the extra large towels, not the regular ones, because the regular ones are way too short for me so I end up wrapping up like a towel monster. Like the sheet towels that you can totally burrito someone in. *Gasp* And a towel warmer!

KingofDucks: What do you want, then?

RadioFiend: Hmmmmm

RadioFiend: Nothing

KingofDucks: … what?

RadioFiend: I’m perfectly capable of doing my own room.

CharChar: Are you sure, Alastor?

RadioFiend: Of course!

KingofDucks: … Leaving.

CharChar: Thanks again, dad.

KingofDucks: Anything for you, Charlie.

KingofDucks: Let me know when that other one finally finishes. Just… send it to me, I guess.

CharChar: Will do!

* KingofDucks left “Hazbin Hotel’s Home for Imaginary Friends” *

SeXXXySpider: And now that I think about it, I didn’t even mention the windows yet! For the bathroom, I’d like a circular window over the bath, just low enough that I can see out of it when I’m standing up in the shower, about the size of a plate, not a big one, but in the design of a wheel so that it’s done in the multiple sections, and make it clear glass instead of the frosted or wavy glass so I can actually see outside if I want to.

WhiskeyWhiskers: He’s still going

SeXXXySpider: And a big window in the main room, like the bay window that Charlie and Vaggie’s room has, but without the seat cushion since I wouldn’t really use it, and can the upper corners of the two smaller side windows be made with white, pink, and red stained glass in kind of a random pattern, but just in the upper outside corners?

SeXXXySpider: (@Husk, I can go all night, baby)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angel dust #sir pentious #husk #niffty #alastor #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #I realized that I have no idea where in the timeline this is #after episode 8?#but Sir Pentious is still in hell with them?#*shrugs*

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lovebillyhargrove · 11 months

Text

***

"I got uh .. I got a gift for you, pretty boy."

Steve thought he'd heard Billy's steps. He was right.

Steve's turning around and there he is, fiery and electric, wrapped in the gold of his hair, tanned cheeks a bit pinkish as if he's .. embarrassed?

Billy's holding something behind his back, eyes cast down.

"Do you want me to guess what it is?"

Billy scoffs

"Never thought that autumn would be so dorky, wishing to play silly games and all."

Billy's drawing lines (or are they hearts?) in the warm dust on the road with his big toe.

"Here. It's the last summer flowers. They'll stop blooming soon."

He's holding out an enormous flower crown made of simple white daisies and little yellow buttercups, timid sky blue, pink and indigo cornflowers, tiny field carnations bringing splashes of bright fuchsia colour into the mix, baby blue eyes shyly peeking through the lush green of leaves and stems and stalks, carefully and neatly interwoven into a summer work of art. Soft and elegant red anemones. A couple of scarlet poppies, bigger than any other flower in size but petals still so tender and fragile. Delicate wild pansies in a palette of colours, sweet heavy clover heads, gentle melancholic bluebells, light-pink cuckoo-flowers, bright blue sprinkles of meadow gentians .. all exuding the subtly intoxicating aroma of hot and sultry summer meadows,

Glowing, as if entwined with the dreamy rays of sunshine.

Bumblebees busily buzzing and humming all around it.

Billy waves his hand a couple of times

"Shoo!"

Bumblebees remain undisturbed.

"Thought you'd look even prettier in it."

Steve's still looking at the heap of flowers, noticing some fragrant white china roses among the other flowers

"Are these also from the meadow?"

Billy's cheeks become even pinkier.

"I uh .. I might've raided that old lady's garden where you always hang out with the birds at the back fence?"

Billy's pausing

"So .. you want it or not?"

"I would love to have it. It is beautiful and such skillful work."

Billy's cheeks are definitely red now, mixed with that tan.

He shoves the flower crown to Steve's hollowed-out chest and runs away.

***

Some time later

Steve grew a small flowerbed of billy buttons.

He invited the summer to come take a look.

"It's nothing fancy. But they look like little suns and remind me of you. And they've got your name."

Harringrove seasons au by the amazingly talented @akioukun which remains the source of inspiration 💖

@dragonflylady77 thank you for your kind help ❤️

#harringrove #harringrove seasons au #billy x steve #summer billy x autumn steve #harringrove fic

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owlpellet · 3 months

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Hi I saw your post about having 12 species of birds in your backyard so now I’m genuinely asking: what’s your advice for bird watching? And getting those birds into my backyard?

so i'm not what anyone would call a comprehensive resource but i can offer a few tips, yeah!

for making your yard attractive to birds:

birds do not like open space, as it makes them vulnerable to predators. they need lots of foliage to hide, so place any feeders or other features in places that aren't wide open. if you do not have a lot of plants in your yard, change that if you can!

diverse plants will also attract nectar-feeding birds and insect-eating birds, and are sort of your "natural" feeder setup. you can check if your area offers grants for pollinator gardens.

a non-stagnant or regularly-changed water feature (fountain, bird bath) is also very attractive to birds. in hotter climates, i would say it's an essential addition.

different types of feeders and food attract different types of birds. you can draw hummingbirds with nectar and bright flowers (they love fuchsia), most songbirds with black oil sunflower and safflower seeds, a whole variety with different suet, corvids with peanuts; doves and juncos and corvids prefer tray or ground feeding, little songbirds like something they can cling to, etc. research what kind attracts what you want to see, or make a diverse setup if you have the space. you can usually avoid feed that has millet, most birds will just hurl it everywhere.

don't feed birds bread; it's empty fluff and just fills them up. seed is boring but fine, they don't really have a concept of food being "boring"

clean your feeders every time you refill them (and change hummingbird feeders every few days regardless); there are several contagious avian diseases and you want to avoid outbreaks. your feeders will become known as foul and the uninfected will move on.

if you live in an area that has them, figure out a way to rodent-proof your feeders, like squirrel baffles. they'll destroy your whole setup and scare away all the birds (you can try to set up a special squirrel feeder, but they do not respect borders).

consider nest boxes! make sure they can be opened for cleaning, and don't have any harmful materials in their construction.

check if your town has a backyard birding store, like wild birds unlimited or a locally-owned equivalent. there will almost always be an old woman who may or may not work there willing to dispense advice about your local birds.

keep your cats indoors

for watchin them birds:

get the merlin app on your phone; it's kind of like Bird Shazam and can help you ID based on its song

if you want to get more serious, you can also get eBird and report your findings/keep a checklist

if you don't have a fancy zoom lens camera, get a pair of binoculars! they're good to have even if you do. you can even take pics through them with your phone.

the best time to watch birds is from about sunrise to late morning

don't interact with the birds, save for outlier circumstances (rescue, one lands on you, etc)

yard-watching and trail-watching are pretty different when it comes to ethics and how much humans and birds should be interacting. in general it's frowned upon to feed birds in wilderness areas to attract them, whereas urban birds are already accustomed to human presence. it's also frowned upon to play mating songs to attract birds.

don't go off-trail trying to find birds you can hear. it's dangerous for you and upsetting to them.

your area might have local birding meetups, or online groups where people report sightings and good spots.

there's uhhh probably a lot more i'm forgetting to add but i think this covers the basics!

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dnpbeats · 2 months

Note

No but actually on the topic about the fuchsia phone case joke. I sometimes find it so hard to reconcile the images and videos of them then, with a)the two idiots we know now, but also just the two people we now understand them to have been at the time.

I see dan making a slightly off colour joke about phils phone case looking gay, and then i think the scared closeted 20yr old, trying to desperately figure himself out, and qhen i try to match them up, in some ways it makes so much more sense and in others it feels like my brain is short-circuiting.

I guess I just always wonder what those jokes and comments actually meant to them at the time. When I first started watching them, way back in 2015, I always understood the jokes they made as being in the same context as when my straight peers/friends made them. Misinformed but not malicious. As coming from the perspective of a straight person who didnt really think about what they were saying. But now obviously we have context, and now im a full raging lesbian myself, who similarly made gay jokes/comments when I was still in the closet, and I'm just starting to realise what mustve been going on in their heads. Like, im not saying the fuschia phone case comment was some desperate desire to be free and open or whatever, it was a joke and it wasnt a particularly deep one, but there is an added layer to it. Dnp laughed for more than just the fact that the 'fuchsia phone case looks gay'. They laughed bc they knew who they were, they were making fun of the whole 'having a purple phone case means your gay' concept in the first place, and they were just two closeted 20-somethings, existing in a world that wasnt ready for them yet. And yeah it was just a stupid joke, but thinking about it too much has made me a little emotional so here we are.

Hi!!! I totally understand this. It’s been wild going back and watching their content with the knowledge we have now. Like I, as most people did, presumed they were queer before they came out. But it’s absolutely a different experience thinking that and knowing that. While I was watching ditl it hit me that like. They were a closeted couple while filming that, and that’s not speculation, Dan confirmed that. And it kind of hit me in a way I can’t describe, but honestly part of it did make me sad. Just like, knowing what it must’ve been like for them. And I totally get what you’re saying about the gay joke. Like for them obviously part of it was like “oh haha making a gay joke when we’re gay!” But it’s also like… making a gay joke because you’re closeted and that’s as close as you can get to publicly being yourself. And even then, whatever the exact joke was, they cut out part of it. Which honestly was probably a good call lmao but, yeah. I agree that specific joke wouldn’t have been some like grand moment in their lives or that it’s that deep at the end of the day. But it’s just knowing that things/jokes like that were probably a regular occurrence and for a while that was like what they had yk? Making gay jokes and then cutting them out, because they didn’t want them to be misconstrued but maybe bc they hit a little too close to home

And now look at them. Joking about eating jizz on the gaming channel for all the world to see

#dan and phil #ask #anon

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anonymousewrites · 7 months

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One Hell of a Love (Book 1.5) Chapter Twenty

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Twenty: One Hell of a Loyalty

Summary: The final battle of (Y/N), Sebastian, and Claude.

Mouse Note: Final chapter of Book 1.5! Let me know what you guys think, I'm super proud of this chapter!

As (Y/N) fell, they pulled the other glove from their hand and extended their claws. Claude’s hands pressed them close, but (Y/N) sunk their claws into his skin, raking down his arms. His suit jacket’s sleeves were left in tatters as splatters of blood whipped through the air. Claude’s grip faltered, and (Y/N) pushed away from him. They both hit the ground hard, crushing maze hedges. (Y/N) gritted their teeth as the collar suppressed their natural healing abilities, but they flipped over to their feet instantly, instincts and reflexes intact.

Claude stood and shed his suit jacket, leaving him in his undercoat and vest. He turned to (Y/N), eyes fuchsia. “You will regret that, Felis.”

(Y/N) bared their sharp canines. “Make me, Aranea.”

Claude’s grin was what could only be described as wild, crazed. “I will make you do a great many things, Felis. But feeling pain will be the first.”

He lunged, but an impact of flying rocks and hedges forced him back. Sebastian had landed and driven Laevateinn into the ground where Claude had stood a moment before. His scarlet eyes turned on Claude.

“And pain shall be the final feeling you experience,” said Sebastian, words dripping in demonic darkness.

Claude straightened, and his body distorted as shadows swirled around him. His limbs seemed to lengthen, his entire body flickering between demon and human as his true form shifted partly into reality. Shadows of multiple limbs and phantom eyes flickered amongst the darkness.

“I will tear you apart, Corvus.” Claude’s words echoed slightly, glitching as Hell and Earth collided around him. “You cannot keep Felis for yourself. And once you’re gone, I’ll teach them what it means to submit.” He smirked, and his long tongue licked his lips. “It seems you skipped that lesson as their mentor. I won’t be so lenient.”

“The only one who hasn’t learned their lesson is you.” (Y/N)’s eyes blazed fuchsia with slit pupils. “You keep fooling yourself into believing I would ever submit, and I keep proving that I won’t.”

Sebastian smirked. “You see, Aranea? I taught them well. They know another demon holds no power over them.” Though they have always been this strong and determined. I suppose it is one of the reasons I love them.

Claude’s eyes narrowed at Sebastian. “You are a waste of a demon. All that power at your fingertips, and you let Felis walk away.” He smirked. “I suppose I should thank you, though, since it gives me a chance to steal them.”

“Unlike the pest you are, I don’t find it necessary to grow my own power by attempting to use others’.” Sebastian’s eyes flashed fuchsia. “But I suppose a weak little demon such as yourself has no power of his own, does he? Tell me, Aranea, how does it feel to be lesser? I’ve never been below anyone, so I have no idea.”

“The only lesser here is you, Corvus,” spat Claude. “You are the one who lost his own Master’s soul and allowed Felis to be taken.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “And then I freed myself and Corvus’s Master’s soul. We are the victors, Aranea.”

“Not yet,” hissed Claude, eyes landing on (Y/N) with devilish intensity. “You are helpless without your true power. You are well within my grasp. And I beat Corvus once. I can beat him again. I have waited too long for you to lose now, Felis.”

He lunged at (Y/N), faster than the human eye could see as his true form merged with his human one. (Y/N) dodged back, and at the same time, Sebastian stabbed at Claude. The spider demon moved, but Laevateinn cut a shallow wound into him. His eyes narrowed as Sebastian smirked. Feathers floated around Sebastian, his tailcoat melting into pure darkness. As Sebastian shifted to attack again, stilettos pressed into the ground. His own true form mixed with his human figure.

“You will not have Felis,” said Sebastian, voice ancient and heavy with demonic power.

“I will have them in every way imaginable,” crooned Claude.

The demons moved at each other in a blur of darkness and feathers. Sebastian swung Laevateinn, but Claude dodged, grabbing his wrist and redirecting Laevateinn towards him. (Y/N) moved in, still trapped in complete human form but they weren’t letting that stop them, and grabbed Laevateinn as well, keeping Claude from pushing it towards Sebastian. It moved and swing with the combined momentum towards (Y/N). They leaned back with practiced precision.

It sliced through the collar around (Y/N)’s neck and nicked their collarbone. The demon collar was broken by a demon’s sword and fell to the ground below (Y/N). They stumbled back. Sebastian’s head whipped to them, searching them for wounds but, to his relief, finding only the cut on their collarbone. Claude’s eyes narrowed in on the blood tracing down (Y/N)’s neck.

(Y/N) straightened, eyes blazing fuchsia as all their demonic magic came rushing back to them. “That’s better.” Their gaze met Claude’s as darkness swirled around them. Their kitten heels turned to stiletto boots wrapping up their legs as their maid’s uniform disappeared as their demon form came out in traces of shadow. Their black tail lashed behind them, and their cat ears flicked in annoyance. “Now, Aranea…” (Y/N)’s voice was a purr of sin. “Do you still think you can take me?” They traced a hand up over their exposed collarbone, collecting their blood and licking it from their fingers. “I don’t think so.”

Sebastian’s grin was devilish. That was the demon he loved, power and death in a sinful form. “No. Aranea has no hope against you, Felis.”

“My thoughts precisely, Corvus,” said (Y/N), smirking at him, and the feathers around Sebastian flew faster as his true name left their lips. Their eyes turned to Claude. “Now, pest, how about I teach you a lesson?”

Aranea’s glare at (Y/N) barely disguised the lust in his gaze as he took in their demon form, a figure of power and sin incarnate. “You’re as arrogant as your teacher.”

“Because I’m powerful like Corvus,” said (Y/N). “But I admit, I do lack his patience. So how I about I start this Danse Macabre? We can dance until your death, Aranea.”

They darted towards Claude. He reared at them, phantom limbs grabbing at them, but (Y/N) twisted and turned, escaping his grasp and lashing Claude with their claws. Claude gritted his teeth and forced his shadow limbs to grab (Y/N), pulling them closer.

“I will see you beneath me as mine,” hissed Claude. “You are mine, Felis.” He drew his tongue along their collarbone, moaning as he tasted their blood.

(Y/N) tore down with their claws, ripping through Claude’s phantom limbs, sending shadow-like blood splattering across the lawn. They pushed away from him. “You are a leech, Aranea,” they spat. “And I would never lower myself to associate with the likes of you.”

Claude opened his mouth to reply but was forced to dodge as Sebastian swung Laevateinn at him, landing beside (Y/N).

“You are a deluded pest,” said Sebastian, voice low with anger at Claude laying his tongue on (Y/N)’s skin. “You have nothing. Felis is not yours.”

“They are not yours, Corvus,” hissed Claude, attacking.

“I do not seek to own them,” said Sebastian coldly, blocking and tossing Laevateinn to (Y/N) to stab from behind at Claude, who dodged and caught Laevateinn with a phantom limb. Sebastian sought to belong to (Y/N) as equally as he wanted them to belong to him. “Felis is not something to be kept.”

“I am not going to be owned!” declared (Y/N), slamming Laevateinn down at Claude. It lodged in the ground as he moved and reached for (Y/N). They raked claws down through shadow limbs as they attempted to trap them. With speed that Aranea the spider couldn’t match, (Y/N) destroyed his phantom limbs with pure demonic power and slammed him through hedges, landing on his chest. They smirked down at him, a panther with its prey caught. “But I would allow myself to be taken by Corvus. He’s a true demon, not a pathetic pest like you.”

Claude’s eyes were enraged fuchsia flames as he lunged up for (Y/N), pure fury shooting through him as the demon he wanted outright declared their desire for his rival.

Sebastian was on him in a moment, cutting through the night in a whirl of shadows. He would not have Claude touch (Y/N) again. He had made a vow to himself, after all. Claude’s phantom limbs struggled to reform, but even as they reached to block Sebastian and Laevateinn, (Y/N) was destroying them with the hellish magic that pulsed through their very veins. Claude was unable to defend himself

Sebastian drove the sword through Claude. The ground cracked from the force. Sebastian ripped the sword back out. Claude coughed, and blood leaked from his lips. His phantom limbs faded as his demon form faded slightly, unable to be supported as life drained from him.

(Y/N) smirked and stepped forward to end him properly, but Sebastian raised a hand. “Corvus?” They raised an eyebrow.

“I have a promise to make good on,” said Sebastian.

(Y/N) stepped back. They had heard that tone very few times in the past millennia. It meant Sebastian’s mind was completely demonic, nothing else but thoughts of hell and pain and bloodshed on it. They wouldn’t interrupt whatever he had planned for Claude.

Besides, (Y/N) was a demon themself, and watching Sebastian torture the man that had dared to put his hands on them sounded entertaining. And attractive.

Claude growled as he looked up at Sebastian, trying to force himself to sit up but unable to move as his blood poured out across the crushed hellebore flowers he had fallen into. Sebastian knelt over him, close enough that any words would be between them only, but ensuring (Y/N) had a clear view of Claude dying. Well, before Sebastian let him die, he’d make him suffer. He had made a promise.

Sebastian raised a clawed hand. “First, your hands, for daring to touch what didn’t belong to you.”

He sliced down, and Claude’s hands were amputated at the wrist. Blood spilled across the ground as the limbs fell away uselessly. Sebastian smirked. Never again would Claude touch (Y/N) and stain them with his desires.

“I’m going to kill you,” spat Claude angrily. “I’ll destroy you, Corvus! And then Felis will be mine, and you’ll be writhing the knowledge that you faile—”

Claude’s words turned to useless babbling. “Second, your tongue, for daring to speak so lecherously of what didn’t belong to you.”

Sebastian threw Claude’s tongue to the side. He leaned over Claude, watching the blood leak down his chin. His eyes were alight with sadistic pleasure. Never again would Claude speak of his lewd desires towards (Y/N).

“Third, your eyes, for daring to look at what didn’t belong to you.”

Claude’s golden eyes widened as Sebastian’s form eclipsed him in shadow.

“Remember your last sight well. I am your undoing, Aranea,” Sebastian damn near purred as Claude’s eyes betrayed actual fear. “I am your Hell, your sins coming to drag you away. So remember me, and remember true power.”

Sebastian’s claws hit their mark, and Claude’s screams were just bloody babbles. He pulled back and watched a tear of blood fall down Claude’s cheek. Sebastian leaned towards his ear, all feathers and pure evil as he spoke sadistically with piercing fuchsia eyes.

“Felis is mine.”

Claude didn’t move as the words sunk in, and Sebastian stood up in satisfaction. Feathers swirled around him, and his eyes glowed malevolently. He turned to (Y/N), who watched with perfect calm.

Sebastian extended a hand. “Would you like the honor of ending this, Felis?” Dear Felis. My dear Felis.

(Y/N)’s features slipped into a grin, canines sharp, and the cat ears flicked to attention. “I’d love to.”

(Y/N) stepped up to Claude and stood over him. “What a pathetic, powerless pest.”

And those were the last words Claude heard as his heart was ripped from his chest and skewered on Laevateinn.

Silence rested in the air as (Y/N) and Sebastian looked down at the moonlight bathing Claude’s dead body.

(Y/N) waved a hand, and shadows swirled around them, pulling the blood from Claude’s heart from their skin. Their tail curled up at the sight of the corpse.

“I prefer him like this,” said (Y/N). “Don’t you, Corvus?”

“Yes,” said Sebastian, smirking.

“No eyes, tongue, or hands, dead in the dirt like the insect he was,” said (Y/N), nodding in approval. They stole a glance at Sebastian. They had enjoyed his show of savagery, but they didn’t understand why Sebastian had been so furious at Claude. Perhaps because of Ciel, but it had seemed even more personal.

“I had to ensure he was properly punished for touching you, speaking to you, looking at you,” said Sebastian, words dripping with deadly intent as if he wanted to bring Claude back to life to repeat his torture.

Corvus did it for…me? (Y/N) couldn’t help as their tail flicked in confusion.

Sebastian turned to them fully and stepped closer. “You understand, don’t you?”

(Y/N) didn’t. They couldn’t. How were they supposed to interpret Sebastian’s actions? A demon being so protecting of another demon was unheard of.

Sebastian’s hand met their chin, tilting their head to him, sharp claws tracing their skin as the two demons gazed at each other. “Just as you are loyal to me, I am loyal to you. Never doubt that, Felis. I would never have let Aranea have you.”

“I know,” said (Y/N), feeling the darkness around them swirl at the knowledge that Sebastian was loyal to them in some way, cared. “I know, Corvus.”

“No, Felis,” said Sebastian. “You don’t.” They had no idea how deeply Sebastian was loyal to them, how deeply he loved them. “Aranea was never going to survive this encounter. If he had escaped, I would have hunted him to Hell to destroy him.”

“I would have joined you,” said (Y/N), leaning into his hand. “I am with you until the end, Corvus.” They glanced up at Sebastian. “Even after this contract, if you’d have me.”

Sebastian could have grinned in pleasure. Oh, yes, Sebastian would have (Y/N) if they desired it, in any way they wanted. Sebastian would have (Y/N) with him until the end of time if he could.

“I would have you by my side with pleasure, Felis,” he said.

“Then I am with you, Corvus,” said (Y/N).

“No. We are together, Felis.”

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