#Daaby

[daabytrch]

"Sátira el suicidió romántico" and "Fairy Dance".

[barkers-art]

Fourth of my Christmas gifts this year, and this one's for Noratcat on DA. It's some fanart of his TLK OCs Daabi and Retha, who are respectively the adopted daughter of Pumbaa and the daughter of Timon. Hope you like it!

[daaberlicious]

Ookami-San as drawn by Daab

I love seeing @wanda_yu's Ookami-san show up on my twitter timeline every time! A big hoodie is like some kind of character design cheat code. XD I couldn't resist putting my character Butter in there after seeing this girl share a hoodie with her friend- Maybe she did it for a social media bit? Also, I don't pretend to know Japanese, but Google translate is excellent for single words! More VHV: https://vhv.webcomic.ws For Mobile: https://bit.ly/3fPdBFK

[khemicaltv]

Daabi, ɛyɛ atorɔsɛm! Its not from God- Opambour d*scends on Prophet Ogya...

[dancehall-song-lyrics]

Safo Newman - Akokoa Lyrics

Safo Newman - Akokoa Lyrics

Akokoa Lyrics by Safo Newman FULL LYRICS Akɔkoa, me home rete Ɔfrɛ me sɛ, “Kwakye, bankye” Ne ba barima deɛ, ɛyɛ Sweetie Ɔmpɛ m’asɛm da, kankabi Nsuo ankorɛ mmiɛnsa, meretwe Efii a ɛwɔ fam, mɛtwitwi Ɛnneɛma adeɛ ma, merebɛsi Memposa nwieeɛ a, mennidi Daabi o   Nsonsonoeɛ wɔ mu Deɛ ɔyɛ me no, ɔnyɛ Joe Boy saa Ɔgyegye no so mmoroso mmoroso Ɔno deɛ, ne ba aah Adeɛ a merehunu no, ɛnyɛ me nko Ɛrekɔso…

[jamaica-song-lyrics]

Safo Newman - Akokoa Lyrics

Safo Newman - Akokoa Lyrics

Akokoa Lyrics by Safo Newman FULL LYRICS Akɔkoa, me home rete Ɔfrɛ me sɛ, “Kwakye, bankye” Ne ba barima deɛ, ɛyɛ Sweetie Ɔmpɛ m’asɛm da, kankabi Nsuo ankorɛ mmiɛnsa, meretwe Efii a ɛwɔ fam, mɛtwitwi Ɛnneɛma adeɛ ma, merebɛsi Memposa nwieeɛ a, mennidi Daabi o   Nsonsonoeɛ wɔ mu Deɛ ɔyɛ me no, ɔnyɛ Joe Boy saa Ɔgyegye no so mmoroso mmoroso Ɔno deɛ, ne ba aah Adeɛ a merehunu no, ɛnyɛ me nko Ɛrekɔso…

[rainsmediaradio]

Mr Drew & Mophty - Case Lyrics

Mr Drew & Mophty - Case Lyrics Number 1 Dodo do do do do doo Nana na na na na Naa Seeleey Them say hustler oh hustle for the paper Small boy dey hustle then somebody want to hate am Hmmm adwen fin bebrebe yi so how we go make am Wonyi mma y3n ah m3ns3e medin oh Eii bra panyin ei 3nka nea wonhuu da Wiase mu obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa Ahhn ahhn ahhn ahhn ahhn Eii bra panyin ei 3nka nea wonhuu da Wiase mu obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa Obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa ahh ahh ahh Nea mob3ka biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3y3 biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3ka biara 3s3 woa 3s3 woa 3s3 woara Mofti eiii Nea mob3ka biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3y3 biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3ka biara 3s3 woa 3s3 woa 3s3 woara Mese 3nka nea wonhu da firis3 ewiase mu obi my3 n’ade3 kwa (Wano p3 as3m) Hyia me na s3e me ho fin ny3 s3 bia menni bi nti na mahy3da oh Meho as3m ba ah susu ka firis3 ewiase mu de3n mpo na 3mbas da (daabi da) Shey you dey claim say you love me nso fa makyi ka meho ns3m b)ne nso mens3e da (wony3 !!!) Nti na medaa mes)re du mmienu B) mpae3 paa nka ebenya na mawu But I be that boy we dey give them fire give them fire ahh ah Peru Peru Medaa mes) re du mmienu B) mpae3 paa nka ebenya na mawu But I be that boy we dey give them fire give them fire ahh ah Peru Peru Nea mob3ka biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3y3 biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3ka biara 3s3 woa 3s3 woa 3s3 woara Mofti eiii Nea mob3ka biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3y3 biara 3s3 woara Nea wob3ka biara 3s3 woa 3s3 woa 3s3 woara I no do you I no do you wrong o Tell me why you dey treat me bad o Why you dey paint me black o I'm not perfect but I try my best Only God know ama.. Na my enemies to shame, to shame Oma ay3, ay3, ay3 The more people dey hate on me Nymae nhyira na kura me ey ey Oma aka ka ka ka The more people dey hate on me Nymae nhyira na kura me ey ey Eii bra panyin ei 3nka nea wonhuu da Wiase mu obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa Obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa ahh ahh ahh Eii bra panyin ei 3nka nea wonhuu da Wiase mu obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa Obi ny3 n’ade3 kwa ahh ahh ahh Number 1 Number 1 Read the full article

[heromuses]

"We're a month in... Where are you at? Do you feel like Daabi, or Touya? Is it a mixture...?"

Dabi, or Touya or whoever he was, just sighed. "I'm not sure. I'm still looking at myself and expecting to see half my body withering away. But instead I look at myself and I'm just what I looked like before." No staples or stitches pulling his skin with every movement. "And now I just want a life." He'd even started to let the dye grow out if his hair.

[philophi9999]

WAISE HII MAA BEHEN KAA KHAAL UTARNE LAGAA...BINAA DAABI KAA..😄😄😄

[momwouldyouwashmybackthisonce]

daaabi

[distinguishedlesbianyaoyorozu]

@todofammonth

July 7th, Reunited

The flames came in a rush. A wave of heat, a wall of suffocating air that choked her lungs and left the heavy smell of burning metal. She chuckled, covering the urge to cough with her mocking humor. She lifted her hand up and sent a wave of cold air against it, disrupting the flicking fire and opening a path between them. Her grey eyes stared down his turquoise blue.

"Dabi!" She called, her hands spreading wide as icy air rolled off of her. "You think I wouldn't recognize you? I grew up with these flames licking at my crib! Lighting up the dark of my bedroom when I was scared. I'm not so small, so scared now. I've killed heroes stronger than you could ever dream of being." She grinned, a cold delight spreading across her features as she watched shock register on his face as she pulled down the scarf that covered the lower half of her face.

To his credit, he didn't back down from her. Though many had in the past, bowing under her ugly fury and beautiful cold. "You're Lady Frostbite?" His words barely carried over the roaring of the flames now arching towards the buildings around them. Collateral damage of their story, just as houses and homes had always been. And then like a shutter closing sharply, his face went blank. "How long have you known who I was?"

She shrugged, stepping closer still to him. Her ice cold fingers came up and cupped his face, featherlight fingertips against scarred skin that instinctively pulled away from her firm grasp. A tempest of ice cold wind and an inferno of indigo flames roared around them, but in their private circle a tempered breeze ruffled their hair. "Oh Touya, how could I not recognize you?" She murmured softly. "These scars, this hair, nothing could mask you from your sister."

Fuyumi's grin was slight as she shook her head. "I've had a lot to think on after the death of the hero killer Stain. After your appearance at the training camp. It's true. There are many heroes who don't deserve the title, aren't there?"

"What are you saying, Fuyumi." He replied, pulling back, pulling away from her too tender touch. His eyes were cold, dead with barely the hint of thoughtful life behind them. "Or rather, what is Lady Frostbite proposing?"

Now her smile took on a sharp, shark bite of a grin. "It's our job now to tear down society, those of us who know it's evils so intimately. To recreate it with no shadows for pain to hide like we did."

[worldmets]

Bipradas Novel by Sarat Ch Chattopadhyay PDF

Bipradas Novel by Sarat Ch Chattopadhyay PDF

Bipradas Novel written by Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay. The novel Bipradas is written by Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay. The novel was reprinted in Bengali in 1367. This novel is composed of various real life stories. Author Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay is one of the leading writers of Bengali literature. He has written many stories on real life events in rural areas. Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay has…

[khemicaltv]

Oh daabi papayɛ asa! If I owe u, take it to cøurt!Why Kennedy Agyapong f...

[halleehalfgallon]

every Sunday night my youth pastor would say “let’s prepare our hearts and minds for worship.”

thank you to my good friend Daaby Tingle for trusting me with her creative genius.

🌞

[plush-rabbit]

Avaricious

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: Not necessarily what was asked but,,,, Sorry for the late response!!

It’s late. Or early, depending who you ask. The sky is blue, the world covered in a soft blue hue, rays of sun creeping past the horizon and shining the edge of the line in a pale green. Birds tweet and boots step on a fallen leaf, the crunch of it echoing across the empty streets. It’s empty and silent, the world frozen and not a car is in sight, not a single breath of a person and Dabi is sure that if he were to voice the comment aloud, it would all come to ruin- the tranquility of it all would be ruin and he would be forced to do something twisted about it.

The key fits perfectly in his hand, warm and the base of it slightly burned, metal that has a darker shade to it due to high emotions and unclear thoughts. It slips into your lock and with a soft click, the door is shut behind him, the blue gone and chirping birds silenced.

Your home is silent. The soft ticking of the clock is the only thing to break it and Daabi removes his boots, putting them against the door where dirt has fallen and stains your floorboards. It’s a mess he can clean up- something that he will promise you but end up forgetting and leaving, leaving you to clean up after him.

He steps quietly through the hallway and ends in front of your closed door. It creaks as he opens it, but you don’t stir from your rest. He slips through the small crack that he made and perches himself on the edge of your bed. He smells of soot and mahogany, his hands coated with a thin layer of dust and dirt resides under his nails. Your hair is disheveled and his hand hovers over to brush it away, to soothe the stray strands but he catches himself. His skin burns and he smells of burnt flesh. He’s dirty and rough. He pulls away and lifts himself from the bed, a frown etched upon his strong features and he walks over to the dresser where you have prepared a space for him. His clothes life there- some that he brought, some that you bought for him- things that were new and had tags, receipts thrown away before he can have a chance to witness how much you had spent on him, things that smelled like your laundry detergent.

The bathroom is cold, the floor underneath his feet chilling him, and he stands in front of your mirror, a hand coming to brush against his scars, following the trail of staples lifting away at the final piece- he stands and studies himself.

There’s an ache in his chest- dull and throbbing like an approaching headache, one that will last hours no matter the amount of medicine taken, no matter the amount of sleep or food eaten. He tears his gaze away and the shower handle is dirty with dried water stains, and he turns the knob, a spray of water splashing against the tile and spilling down the drain. Steam rises and he steps inside, his clothes in a neat pile with a soft towel placed above.

Hot water hits his skin. It stings and soothes the aches away in his bones. It leaves his skin in a pale red, the purple scarring burns and he grits his teeth, reaching over to grab at a shampoo bottle- honey, milk and vanilla. The water turns cold, fresh and light in the air and sweet in his lungs. The scent invades him quickly, it fills the bathroom and it pools in a soft golden on his palms. He lathers and suds falls ond pool around his feet, the white suds stained with faint pink and light gray. He scrubs at his body, scented with citrus and and champagne- it’s sweet and soft against his skin, warm and welcoming on him.

The water runs cold against him, soft and refreshing, bitter and sharp and he lets his eyes close, the water encasing him and joints aching in and legs aching in protest the longer he stands. His body is soft, scars tender and sweet smelling.

The water stops, dripping off the faucet and his hand loosens around the handle and goes limp at his side. Water drips from him and his hand reaches past the curtain to grab at the towel. It’s soft and he pats his skin softly until dry. The towel ruffles his hair, dripping down his neck and onto his chest and back. He steps out and looks under the sink cabinet, grateful that you have body cream under- white citrus and he gives a crooked smile at the theme of citrus going around.

Dabi is dressed and cleaned, dirt and dried blood gone from him and the citrus scent mixes in with his natural mahogany scent. He walks to your bedroom, soft, yellow rays peeking through the blinds and suddenly his eyes are heavy, body growing heavy and limp as he falls above the covers, laying next to you.

You turn on your side and your eyes flutter open, a soft smile on your features, your hand raising up and resting against his face, brushing along the scars. You sigh softly, and your hand falls and rests between the space of you and him. “I thought I heard the shower running,” you mumble.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says quickly, licking his lips. He turns his head towards you and lifts himself from the bed, running a hand through his hair. He raises a brow when you frown. “What is it?”

“I saw the news.” You tug on his forearm and he lays back down, drops of water cling to the ends of his hair and wet the pillow. “Are you okay?”

Turquoise eyes flicker to your hand and he closes his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired is all.” He feels his heart stutter, a soft stop and choking feeling in his throat when you press your hand against his face and slide it further up, knitting through his hair and scratching at his scalp. “Mind if I spend the day here?”

“Your friends won’t miss you?” His brows furrow when your hand lowers and thumb brushes against his lower lip.

Friends is an odd word. It’s heavy and thick on his tongue, it’s overly sweet and bitter and sour. He doesn’t know if he can consider them friends. If they consider him a friend. He doesn’t want to linger on the thoughts for long- doesn’t know if he can handle the thought that no one cares for him, that he is utterly alone in the world.

“Dabi?” Your hand slides away from him and curves around his neck. “You awake dear?”

Dabi rests his head on your chest, his weight heavy and suffocating and his hands creep up to your biceps, fingers curling around, his soft skin leaving phantom touches above you, soft and fleeting that makes your skin burn with his touch; his scarred skin scratches against you, while rough, it presses the most against you, the skin warm beyond compare, and you feel the softness that lies hidden in patches. He lays above you, silent and the smell of citrus wafting in the air, his hair wets at your chest and your shirt clings to your skin but you keep him above you, your chin resting on the top of his head. Your hands reach above and cradle his head, palms curving and fingertips scratching at him, running through his hair and tugging at the soft knots that come loose in an instant.

His lips brush over your collarbone, the metal that decorates his skin is warm against you, the edges of it pressing into your skin and creating soft indents as he buries himself against you. He lifts himself and for a brief moment, your eyes meet his, a glance that lasts for a moment and far too long, eyes that hold secrets within them, eyes that soften only to turn away and rest his back on the bed, chest exposed and a tightness in his throat.

“Are you hungry?” He nods. “I’ll go make us something to eat, okay?” He feels your lips against his temple and your hand is gently against his chest, fingertips feather light above his scarring. “And then we can relax for the rest of the day.” The bed creaks as you leave the bed and he feels cold.

He lays still, palms over the blanket and he sighs. Faint clinking sounds in the kitchen and despite the exhaustion, he misses you. He lifts himself up from the bed, running a hand over his face and he walks to the kitchen. Your life flashes against him, pictures of loved ones, chipped paint that peels at the edge, and paintings that brim with color and hang in frames. He stands by the doorway, leaning with arms crossed as he watches you move along the kitchen, giving him a soft smile and wave with a skillet in hand.

He wonders if he’s allowed to love you, to hold you so close and let himself feel again. He sits on a dining chair, worn and soft under him from years of wear, years of where you allowed people to come into your home and share a cup of coffee, eat leftovers from the night before- you gave your love to others, whole and warm, sweet and soft.

He hates the ugly feeling that grows in his chest, that makes his stomach ache and mouth turn into a sneer. He didn’t know you in the past, probably wouldn't have given you the time of day if circumstances hadn’t been just right; he doesn’t have a right to jealousy, doesn’t have the right to sit in your home and watch as you flutter around in the kitchen with the sweet scent of vanilla in the air.

The coffee pot beeps, and his attention turns towards it, his hands cease the tapping, and his arm reaches forward, lips parted and your voice rings out. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it.” You give him a soft smile that turns cheeky. “I know how tired you get when you finish a mission.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “How considerate of you.” He’s met with silence and he watches as you pull out his mug- round and matte black, the inside a light shade of blue. It’s his mug- a mug you bought for him, placed in a pink paper bag with tissue paper poking above as you eagerly watched for his reaction. He watches as you pour him a cup, the first cup of coffee that you save for him and hold it carefully, hand hooked around the ear and the other curved loosely, careful with the burning warmth. The mug is placed in front of him, black coffee that ripples softly, steam rising above and you kiss the side of his mouth, lips meeting his soft and scarred skin. Your hand rests on his shoulder and it slides away, leaving him cold. “Can you-”

“Four creams and three sugars, I know,” your voice is playful and you turn to give him a smile, one that flashes by and shines onto him.

Sometimes it’s too much to be around you. To watch you be the loving partner and make him his coffee- a domestic piece of life that he was robbed of, something soft and warm that was taken away, that he ran from and forced himself to grow cold over. And yet you stand in front of him, stirring the sugar in, humming a soft tune that he can’t put the name on and it makes his throat too tight. He doesn’t want to leave this room, can’t force himself to pretend that he doesn’t want this. He wants it all, he wants to sleep in your bed and share your blanket, wants you to run your hands and lips over his scars and confess your love to him. He wants to do the same to you, wants to lie in bed and pretend for just a day that the outside world doesn’t exist, that he’s safe in your arms and your safe in his.

You bought him his own mug. You serve him first, give him the slice with the most frosting and let him shower first, use your strawberry scented body wash and massage cream on him and onto the spots that he cannot reach, your love with him is soft and tender, refreshing and leaving him aching for more. He leans to your touch and holds you with rapacious hands. He wants you and only you, he can’t stand the thought that you had someone before him, that you smiled and loved others.

You set his breakfast on a plate, pancakes stacked neatly with fresh fruit cut and prepped and you gasp when his arms snake around you and his chin rests on your shoulder. You’re delicate under him, soft and fragile and he pulls you closer to him.

Your head nudges against him and he can see the grin that grows. “You’re being awfully soft. Did I do something to warrant this?” Your hand lets go of the skillet handle and you turn around slowly in his arms, hands coming up to cusp his face and he swallows tightly, apple bobbing and stuttering. He stares at you his hands reach around to turn off the stove, and you press your cheek against his chest, hands sliding and wrapping around his chest, holding him tight against you. “Your breakfast is going to get cold.” Your hands clench his shirt, and you press yourself closer against him.

“Let it,” he mutters, inching backward, hands flat against your back, pulling you away from the stove, “I can reheat them later.” He feels you nod against him, leaning towards him, your weight leaning against him. “You woke up too early.”

“You need energy.” You press a kiss against his chest and he lets his eyes flutter close. “I haven’t seen you in a while, I want to make the most of it.”

He frowns at your words and his brow twitches. “Yeah, I guess so,” he mutters, letting his hands wander and hold you by the waist. He peers over your shoulders and the skillet is empty, bits of batter cooked and left over but not enough for you to make a full one for yourself. “You aren’t eating?” He pulls away and interlaces his hand with yours, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips when you frown at the loss of contact. “Come on, let’s share.” You leave his grasp and sit down in the chair next to his.

Dabi wants your love. He wants the attention and the life that comes with it. You wash away his pain, you hold him and cradle him as if he were delicate, fragile as porcelain, you treat him as if he were gentle, not as a murderer. There’s no raised voices, no shouts, no fear of your being taken away and no anger that leaves him fuming. He stays next to you and does not care if he is unworthy- unworthy of love, of gentleness, of forgiveness. He’ll hold you close, nuzzle and lean into your touch, watch you sleep and let his fingertips ghost over you skin, shudder when you do the same, when you lips press against his scarring and untouched skin with the same amount of love, no disgust, no recoil, pure and unfiltered love that makes blood replace his tears. He wants to cry and press his face against your stomach, repent and sob, clutch at you like a child crying to their mother, a child terrified of the world and the coldness from it. But instead, he sits next to you, blood that peeks and makes a light trail, lips that curve as you dot and fret over him, a quick kiss that turns intimate, hands clutching at your side as he kisses you with passion, lips brushing over you soft skin, open mouthed kisses that leaves you mewling and if he can’t say the words, he’ll press his lips against your skin and sear his love onto you.

[ao3feed-hawks]

Call It Heaven

Call It Heaven by illicitminthe

Daabi didn't know what he expected when he summoned a demon, but an angel wasn't it.

That was an amateur mistake, or was it?

A story about trying to get what you want, and maybe getting it but in a very round about way.

Words: 2247, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Takami Keigo | Hawks, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Magic Replaces Quirks, to some extent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Witches, Angels, Demons, Witch Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Angel Takami Keigo | Hawks, Rating May Change, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Implied/Referenced Suicide

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35167717