#Day 12 Prompt: Psychedelic

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - September 11, 2023

Sorry for not sending last week's issue as I got covid again :/ I passed it, so here's the best things that happened last week :)

1. The IRS plans to crack down on 1,600 millionaires to collect millions of dollars in back taxes

The IRS announced on Friday it is launching an effort to aggressively pursue 1,600 millionaires and 75 large business partnerships that owe hundreds of millions of dollars in past due taxes. The newly announced tax collection effort will begin as soon as October. “We have more hiring to do,” Werfel said. “It’s going to be a very busy fall for us.”

2. The NGO African Parks announced it would purchase the world’s largest population of privately owned white rhinos

Africa’s beleaguered rhinos have been thrown a significant lifeline with the announcement that nearly 2,000 semi-wild rhinos owned by South African rhino breeder John Hume will be “rewilded” into reserves across South Africa and other parts of the continent over the next 10 years.

3. Mexico supreme court decriminalizes abortion across country

Mexico’s supreme court has unanimously ruled that state laws prohibiting abortion are unconstitutional and violate women’s rights, in the latest in a series of victories for reproductive rights activists across Latin America.

Wednesday’s ruling came two years after the court ordered the northern state of Coahuila to remove sanctions for abortion from its criminal code, a decision which prompted a tortuous state-by-state process of legal battles. So far 12 of Mexico’s 31 states have decriminalized the procedure.

4. The first human organ created inside an animal opens the door to manufacturing ‘spare parts’ for people

It is a historic image. A team of researchers in China has successfully generated a blueprint of a human organ in another animal for the first time. The experiment, conducted with humanized kidneys in pig embryos, represents a step toward the still-distant dream of using other mammals as source of organs for transplants.

5. Study Shows a Single Dose of Psilocybin's Astonishing Impact on Depression and Could Change Medical Treatments of Mental Health Forever

Psychedelics are making a comeback, and this time, they're dressed in the respectable garb of clinical research. Recent studies have reignited interest in these substances, particularly psilocybin, the active compound in magic mushrooms, as a potent treatment for major depressive disorder (MDD).

6. Missing cat reunited with owner after it disappeared during Alaska flooding

Twenty-six days after he went missing, an adorable black and white cat named Leo has been reunited with his family. Brave Leo went missing after historic glacial flooding swept away his home and all his owner's belongings.

7. Dogs perform Mozart with orchestra in Denmark

A classical music festival in Copenhagen, Denmark, has opened with some canine additions to the orchestra.

---

That's it for this week :)

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[claudiam1962]

Classic E! Fic Recs - Day 12: Psychedelic

Living, by Wayfarer

Roy takes a little trip.

(TW: drugs)

General Info | Prompt List (Text) | Prompt List (Img) | Overview | AO3

Day 12: Psychedelic

Wildcard Prompts: Distraction - Reading Minds - River - Johnny's Hat - Broken Down - Zapped - Hollywood - Heartache - Mind Over Matter - "Of Course I Do"

[pedrostories]

❄️ PedroStories Secret Santa event 2023 ❄️

Thank you again for participating in PedroStories’ second Secret Santa event! We hope this event gave you some joy this holiday season! 💙

Special shoutout to our pinch hitters: @gasolinerainbowpuddles who jumped in later to help us out and @katiexpunk & @taro-666 for taking on two prompts! 🥰

Additional shoutout for Santa's little helpers who made sure this event stayed on track: @userdjarin, @wannab-urs, @chronically-ghosted, @oogaboogasphincter & @pedrorascal

You can find all the works published by the participants below the cut!

MASTERLIST

* - Mature/Explicit work

VISUAL ART

Joel Miller banners - from amongtlou to tempestuous-lush

Dieter Bravo fanart - from taro-666 to mysterious-moonstruck-musings

FANFICTION

Dieter Bravo

* Tear You Apart - from psychedelic-ink to dark-scape

* The Knight & His Queen - from mysterious-moonstruck-musings to booburry

Run Over By A Reindeer... - from blueeyesatnight to brandyllyn

A Thing for Angels - from miraclesabound to toxicanonymity

Din Djarin

* closure - from javier-pena to quinnnfabrgay-writes

to know the light - from burntheedges to lincolndjarin

* salt water - from 5oh5 to chronically-ghosted

Retrograde - from taro-666 to 5oh5

Ezra

* devour (the entire universe) - from frannyzooey to wannab-urs

* Floating in Space - from 0celesteisthebest0 to julesonrecord

the trembling willows - from sp00kymulderr to djarinmuse

Cross My Heart - from brandyllyn to oonajaeadira

Frankie Morales

Copilot - from frenchiereading to joelmillers-whore

* The Gift is You - from julesonrecord to the-blind-assassin-12

merry christmas, cariño - from joelsflannel to frenchiereading

A Little Christmas Magic - from the-blind-assassin-12 to something-tofightfor

* A love letter to Frankie - from fhatbhabie to prolix-yuy

* Gas, Grass or ASS - from katiexpunk to astroboots

* Routine - from endlessthxxghts to alwaysbethewest

Jack Daniels

* Under Your Skin - from wannab-urs to javier-pena

Stay Close to Me - from alwaysbethewest to iamskyereads

Snakebit - from blueeyesatnight to brandyllyn

Javier Peña

* Under Your Skin - from wannab-urs to javier-pena

* office party - from tieronecrush to flightlessangelwings

* Not So Secret Santa - from lincolndjarin to taro-666

* If We Make It Through December - from lucyeyelesbarrow to tieronecrush

Paperwork - from blueeyesatnight to brandyllyn

Mistletoes in the Moonlight - from 221bshrlocked to undercoverpena

Joel Miller

* it means something - from undercoverpena to joelsflannel

* Joel Miller fanfiction - from tempestuous-lush to sweetercalypso

i've got my love to keep me warm - from thetriumphantpanda to yeollie-plz

* Modern Day Hero - from flightlessangelwings to miraclesabound

* Snow and Mistletoe - from something-tofightfor to burntheedges

The Reason for the Season - from prolix-yuy to psychedelic-ink

Oh, the Wildflowers - from adora-but-ginger to amongtlou

Candlelight - from sweetercalypso to adora-but-ginger

a heart for melting - from joelscurls to thetriumphantpanda

Muffins and Jam - from noisynaia to katiexpunk

* freeze-thaw - from covetyou to oogaboogasphincter

Bookends - from djarinmuse to pascalispretty

Simply Having - from iamskyereads to talaok

* A gentleman - from talaok to lucyeyelesbarrow

* Joel Miller fanfiction - from booburry to fhatbhabie

A Very Miller Christmas - from yeollie-plz to joelscurls

* Nightmare Before Christmas - from katiexpunk to xdaddysprincessxx

* Love Shack - from pascalispretty to sp00kymulderr

* Visions of Sugar Plums - from dark-scape to covetyou

* twin peaks. - from toxicanonymity to endlessthxxghts

* Happily Ever After - from xdaddysprincessxx to frannyzooey

* Cinnamon and Sugar - from gasolinerainbowpuddles to thirtysevenodddogs

* a bowlful of joel-y - from oogaboogasphincter to lisadean

Marcus Moreno

Have Yourself a Moreno Little Christmas - from chronically-ghosted to noisynaia

Marcus Pike

* closure - from javier-pena to quinnnfabrgay-writes

* Procedures to Reach a Common Agreement - from thirtysevenodddogs to 221bshrlocked

Text Me Merry Christmas - from quinnnfabrgay-writes to 0celesteisthebest0

Max Phillips

I'll Leave a Light On For You - from oonajaeadira to artemiseamoon

Pero Tovar

* What the heart wants - from artemiseamoon to blueeyesatnight

* The Cross: The Spirit of the Season - from blueeyesatnight to brandyllyn

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💙

due to the less than ideal tagging system of tumblr all the participants are tagged in the reblogs

[boingodigitalart]

Duckvember 2024 Day 12: Psychedelic Duck

Got 1960s fashion vibes for this prompt because it fit the psychedelic theming. I had a lot of fun designing these outfits!!!

[ficsilike-reblogged]

A Lonely Heaven

Summary: The five times Robert gave you something and the one time he took. Pairing: Soft Dark!Robert Fischer/F!Reader Word Count: 7.2k A/N: Written for Day Three’s prompt from the Haunted Hoedown Challenge Hosted by inklore and psychedelic-ink. Today’s prompt was “inspired by your favorite Lana del Rey song + yandere.” The song I chose was “Say Yes to Heaven.” I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Gaslighting, isolation, drugging, kidnapping, general unhinged behavior, smut (unprotected sex, female receiving oral, fingering), reader calls him Bobby for reasons, minor character death (not described) ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED

Robert just needed a minute. Just a minute to breathe before the next meeting with men and women he’d rather never see again. But he was heir to the empire. He had a reputation to uphold and a company to run.

But still, he just needed a moment.

He slipped into the blessedly empty break room just down the hall and stared at the coffee maker for a moment. He didn’t need coffee. He didn’t need anything that the break room could provide except silence-

“Hey, I’m sorry, can I get to the coffee? If I don’t get my boss a refill, I’m fired.”

Robert turned at the sound of soft if not frazzled voice and saw you. He expected to see you flinch at the sight of him before apologizing—most people did when they spotted him. But not you. There wasn’t an ounce of recognition on your face.

You didn’t know who he was.

Robert stepped out of the way with an apology of his own and you were quick to fill up an abnormally large coffee cup with a faded company logo on the side. You also dumped three things of creamer into it and half a packet—exactly—of sugar. Robert must have been staring because you glanced at him over your shoulder with a small smile. “First day?”

“No. But I don’t think I’ve been in this particular break room before.” It was technically not a lie. He only knew of the room’s existence because he’d been shuffled by it each time he had a meeting in the conference room down the hall. He didn’t have to come in here. People brought him coffee. He didn’t get it himself.

You nodded. “I prefer the one on 12. They have better snacks.” You paused, drumming your fingers against the mug. “You look a little out of it. You okay?”

That was probably the first time this year that someone had asked about him. It was just a simple thing, really. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Your head cocked to the side, like you didn’t believe him but you still held your hand out to him with an offer of your name. Despite the coffee you held, your hand was cold as Robert took it. “I’m Robert.”

Your answering smile twisted behind his ribs. “Anyone ever call you ‘Bobby?’”

A sharp laugh punched out of him and he watched your smile widen. “No. No, never.”

“Well, if I ever see you again, we’ll have to try it out.” Again, you drummed your fingers on the mug. “It was nice to meet you. I hope your day gets better.” Then you were gone and Robert watched your hips sway until you disappeared, unknowingly taking his heart with you.

**1**

You hadn’t been the most sociable person when you took the job at Fischer Morrow. Actually, you could count the friends you’d made on two pathetic fingers and even then you knew they were hardly more than casual acquaintances. Moving to Australia was supposed to be a new start but instead it was the loneliness you had been running from compounded. Sure, you were paid decently. Your apartment was fine. But your boss was a dick and you weren’t even using your degree to fetch coffee and answer a phone.

God, you were lonely.

You picked at your sandwich as you sat in the park just on the opposite side of the street from Fischer Morrow’s building. There was a couple playing with their son under the shade of the tree. There was a small gaggle of women from the accounting department walking together around the perimeter, having traded their sensible heels for trainers. Then there was a small group of teenagers, probably skipping school, a little further into the park. They all looked happy and you continued to pick at your sandwich until it was just a mangle of bread, tomato, and cheese.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Your head snapped to the side to see Robert standing at the edge of the bench you occupied, holding a small paper bag. “O-of course! Please do!” You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Of course, it was an absurdly large building with a matching number of employees. It shouldn’t have been surprising that you didn’t see him again. But you had kept his pretty blue eyes and sharp features in the back of your mind anyway. Your lonely heart leapt when he settled beside you.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile,” he started, pulling a sandwich of his own from the bag.

“They keep me busy. And you? Did you find the good snacks on twelve?” You winced as soon as you asked. Your conversation skills were abysmal. It was honestly surprising that he wanted to sit anywhere near you after your awkward conversation weeks prior but you weren’t about to tell him to go away.

He nodded with a smile. “Yeah, thanks for the tip.”

You smiled, too, but it felt a little stilted and you turned your attention back to your mangled sandwich.

“You’re in IT, aren’t you?”

Your fingers stalled their shredding and you glanced at Robert for a moment. “What gave it away? Most people think I’m in Logistics.”

Robert shrugged but his smile remained. “Do you like what you do?”

You snorted and popped a bit of your sandwich into your mouth. “I got this job because I have a masters degree in my field and I’m fetching coffee and answering phones like a secretary. But it’s fine. It pays the bills.” You grimaced as soon as you finished. You never knew how to say the right thing; it was why you preferred staying quiet. You should know better than to sound ungrateful. “But, um, what about you? Do you like what you do?”

“It pays the bills.”

“What department are you in, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Robert’s sandwich froze just in front of his mouth before he cleared his throat. “I work for the Board.” He then quickly stuffed his sandwich into his mouth.

“Oh, you poor soul. That’s got to be so stressful. No wonder you looked so out of it when we met.” Then it was your turn to freeze again. “That was so rude, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, no it’s all right. It isn’t great, you’re right. But I’m thankful for it anyway.” He was quiet again as he took another bite and you felt a tiny bit of tension slip from your shoulders. Maybe he was as lonely as you were. “Who’s your supervisor?”

“It’s Reynolds. Why?”

“No reason. He’s the guy with the,” he waved a hand at his neck, “right?”

“Neckbeard. Yeah. That’s him. Very particular about his coffee.”

Robert hummed but didn’t say anything else for a stretched moment. Perhaps he liked the quiet like you, too. “You think they’re skipping class?” He asked, tipping his head toward the teenagers.

You laughed. A big belly laugh. That wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. “Oh, definitely.” And the conversation was easier from that point on. You spoke about your favorite cafe downtown and he suggested a running path he was fond of along the coast after you mentioned that your “favorite” treadmill at your gym broke. Was it earth shattering conversation? No. But it lessened the ache in your chest.

As you packed up your lunches, noting the time and how your lunch hour was nearing its end, Robert turned to you with a small smile on his face. “You know, last time we talked you said something to me.”

You squinted at him, as if that would help you remember, and it did, washing over you with a fresh mortification. “Oh no.”

“I was hoping you’d actually try it out. See if I like it.”

You were about to broil in your skin. You were sure of it. “It was a joke.” (It wasn’t.)

Robert’s obscenely blue eyes didn’t leave your face and he smiled. “Try it anyway.”

You rolled your lips into your mouth for a moment before saying, “thank you for spending lunch with me, Bobby.”

His smile widened a fraction. “I think I like it.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it, if we see each other again.”

His head tilted to the side just the slightest bit and the new angle had the sharp planes of his cheeks growing dark shadows. “We will.” It sounded like a promise before you parted ways as you neared the lobby.

You had a smile on your face for the rest of the day, even when Reynolds berated you about putting too much sugar in his coffee. You didn’t care. Why? Because maybe you made a friend.

Your smile only faltered when you were called into HR the following morning. Had you done something wrong? Had Reynolds really reported you for getting his coffee wrong? But the smile came roaring back when the stern looking man on the other side of the desk said, “Reynolds is no longer with Fischer Morrow. I’m officially offering you his position. We can discuss salary and benefits, of course. And…”

The rest of the conversation was a dull roar in your ears. Of course you would take the position. You couldn’t wait to tell Bobby.

**2**

“I like the new office.”

You leaned to the side, tearing your gaze away from your computer screen, just enough to see Bobby walk into your office with something tucked beneath his arm. You were quick to stand and welcome him in before glancing at the clock and gasping. “It is nearly midnight! What’re you still doing here?”

His dark brow arched as he moved you both further into your office with a hand on your lower back. “I could ask you the same thing, you know.”

You chuckled nervously, wiping a hand over your mouth. “Um, well, with the reshuffling of the department, some of the tickets fell through the cracks. I’m just making sure no one down here gets in trouble right when I’ve taken this job. Wouldn’t be a good look.” You leaned against the leather couch as he looked around your office. It was nice, truly. You could see your park out of the window and you had enough room to hang a white board so you could work through problems on your own, too. But it had taken a week for you to get moved in after your impromptu promotion and were still getting settled. It was surprising that Bobby knew about your new office at all but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe he learned about it from the board meetings he had to sit in on.

He held out what was in his hand and you gasped when you realized that it was a bottle of exceedingly expensive champagne. “It is just a little something to say congratulations on the promotion.”

That single bottle could pay for several months of your rent. “Oh, this is too much, I couldn’t-”

But he still pushed it into your grasp with a shake of his head. “I insist. You’ve more than earned it and you’re obviously taking your new duties seriously.”

You turned the heavy bottle over in your hand as you bit your lip. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do,” he said with another smile.

“Then I must insist that you share a glass with me. Deal?”

There was something in Robert’s gaze that had you nearly shivering. It was too heated, too calculating. But as soon as you saw it, it was gone and he was smiling again. “Deal.”

You handed the bottle back to him. “Can you open it for me? I’ll grab glasses from the break room.”

You heard the pop of the bottle as you hurried down the hall. When you found no clean glasses, you settled for two mugs and hoped that you wouldn’t offend him with the choice. And it seemed that your trepidation was unfounded because he laughed as he spotted them and then poured you both a large serving. He held out his mug toward you. “Cheers, to you and your new job.”

“Cheers!” You clinked your mug against his with a laugh before taking a sip. The champagne tasted expensive and bubbled all the way down. You had to “Thank you so much. This was really kind of you, Bobby.”

He waved it away. “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to swing by earlier.”

“No need to apologize,” you said after taking another sip. “I know the big wigs keep you busy. I think you’re the only person who has actually congratulated me, anyway. So, this means a lot. Thank you, truly.”

He looked at you over the edge of his mug as he took a sip, too. “Well, they don’t know what they’re missing.”

You bit your lip–a terrible habit you were only now realizing how often you did it around him. “I kinda like it just being us anyway. I get nervous around too many people.”

“I don’t mind not sharing you.”

You laughed.

**3**

It was a little strange, how long it took you to realize that you only saw Bobby while you were alone at work. It was like he only appeared when everyone else was gone for the day or you were in your little corner of the park for lunch. You didn’t mind it, really. But your friendship seemed tinged with secrecy. You followed his lead and kept the details to a minimum when anyone asked about who you were having lunch with or who your late night meetings were with. “Oh, just my friend Bobby.” You also tried to ignore that you didn’t know many things about him, including his last name. You weren’t about to ask though, afraid that you’d ask something he didn’t want to divulge and he’d leave you alone.

You sent a smile to your assistant from across the room when she locked eyes with you. She waved when you raised your half-filled champagne flute in her direction, silently telling her to enjoy the holiday party. She was new and lovely and so helpful. She was also overjoyed when you actually let her help with the work your department handled. She also teased you goodnaturedly whenever you would go have lunch with Bobby at the park and asked her to hold your calls for the hour. “Can’t hide him from me forever, you know. I’ll figure out who this man is!”

You glanced down at your watch. It was a quarter to eight. You’d been here for a solid two hours and talked to half a dozen people who really only wanted to double check that their tickets would be resolved before Morning. It was fine–it seemed like most everyone still pretended you didn’t exist. Maybe they’d heard about how awkward you were, or they were wagering about how you got Reynolds’ job. Whatever. At least you got to attend the party–the last time you attempted to do so, Reynolds had you running around the city to grab the gifts he “forgot” to pick up after ordering so he could give them to the rest of the IT team before the end of the party (you did not receive one).

Staying until nine would be acceptable, right? You showed your face, thanked the catering team for their hard work, and watched the party slowly get rowdier at the hours trickled by. Then, you could be asleep before 10 and finally try that running route Bobby mentioned tomorrow morning.

Solid plan, right?

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

You turned, already smiling, to see Robert leaning against one of the pillars of the hotel’s ballroom, nearly hidden in shadow. “I didn’t think you’d be attending. I thought the big wigs would be having their own party.”

“They are,” he said with a nod. “I escaped.”

You frowned at that, anxiety gnawing at your ribs. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Bobby.”

His hand gently skirted up your arm and you tried to ignore how he left goosebumps in his wake as his long fingers pressed like firebrands into your skin. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

This was a new habit of his: touching you. You never minded. You had gone so long without more than a friendly pat to the shoulder or a brief handshake that you nearly cried the first time you felt Robert’s fingers trailing along your spine on the bench you still shared at lunch. “Promise?”

“I swear.” His blue eyes flashed with that strange gleam again–after all these weeks you still couldn’t decipher it. “But, I do have ulterior motives.”

“Oh?”

“I got you a present.”

Your grip immediately tightened on your champagne. Shit. “I-I didn’t know we were going to exchange gifts. I-”

“I am not expecting anything in return,” he said, thumb swiping against your arm with a smile. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“Bobby. You know I’m going to have to take you to lunch or something as a thank you and then still give you a present. I feel awful.”

His grip tightened just a fraction as he shook his head. “Don’t. I actually get more joy out of giving gifts than receiving them.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I’m the same. You’re not getting out of this.”

“We can debate this later.” He pulled the flute from your hand and drained it before grimacing as you laughed. “The stuff I got you was much better. C’mon, I don’t want everyone else to see it.” He then set the empty glass on the nearest table and tangled your fingers together to lead you out of the ballroom and into one of the unlit side rooms. It was filled with folded tables and rows of unused banquet chairs but you could still hear the music coming through the doors. He only let go of your hand when he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet box with a distinctive HW logo on the lid.

“Bobby…” There was no way you could afford something like that. How were you supposed to reciprocate?

“Open it.” He gently pushed it into your hand and nodded with a smile when you glanced at him again.

With shaking fingers, you did and gasped when you saw the necklace carefully draped across the velvet padding. On a delicate platinum chain was a diamond pendant. Well, it was several diamonds set to look like a flower. It was the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen and probably the most expensive you’ve ever held. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can accept this.”

Robert stepped closer, expensive shoes knocking into yours. His cologne, leather and musk and money, slowly filled your every breath as his hands once again found your arms. “You being in my life has been my lone bright spot in a long time. This necklace is just a fraction of what I owe you, all right?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Bobby. I should actually be thanking you. You have been my truest friend. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You were telling the truth–he was your closest friend. Your only friend, if you were being completely honest with yourself. “This is-this is still too much.”

You tried to hand it back but he only pulled the necklace from its hooks and swept around to stand at your back. In one fluid motion, he was fastening it around your neck and his fingers trailed down your arms. “It suits you.”

You looked down at the necklace and a shaky sigh pushed through you. “Fine. You win this round.” When you turned to look at him, you were rewarded with another one of his smiles. “Don’t think I won’t try to pay you back.”

A new song started, something slow and soft, and Robert turned his head to hear it better for a moment before looking at you again. “Well, as a start, would you like to dance with me?”

“Here?” You asked, a giggle coloring your tone.

“Yeah. Just us.” He held out a hand, long fingers angled toward you.

This felt like a step toward something new. Something different than the quiet friendship you’d carefully protected. It would be a lie to say that you hadn’t thought of him in that way–he was beautiful. And kind to you. And funny. So, you put your hand in his and laughed as he hauled you close. His other arm wrapped tightly around your back as he held your hand close to his chest and started to lead you in a dance that had your heart racing despite the slow movements.

Without even thinking, your other hand inched its way up his arm to settle at the nape of his neck and your fingers absentmindedly pushed through his hair. “Thank you, Bobby. For everything. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out. I promise.”

**4**

This was embarrassing.

So embarrassing.

How did you not connect the dots? Your Bobby was Robert fucking Fischer. Successor to the Fischer Morrow empire. You had been palling around with a billionaire heir apparent. You had complained about how the board was fucking up to him. You had said that you couldn’t imagine being a Fischer because, “it just seems miserable.” You had literally said you felt bad for Maurice’s son because “that old man seems like an asshole.”

Wonderful.

Fantastic.

You wanted to walk out into the ocean and swim to the nearest uninhabited island to escape your shame. But you couldn’t because you were watching Robert give a speech to the entirety of Fischer Morrow about the future of the company because his father’s health had taken a sharp decline in the last handful of weeks. You had tucked yourself into the back of the assembled crowd, wishing you had just watched it online in your office instead. How could you miss it? His suits were tailored and designer. He was always perfectly put together. You had once vaguely recognized the Hermès logo on his watch and had thought it had been a holiday gift from the board.

He’d probably bought it on a whim–the tens of thousands it cost wasn’t even a drop in the bucket to him.

Robert finished his speech and nodded his head in response to the applause he earned before stepping away from the podium so CFO could take over, giving further explanation to the expansion planned for Fischer Morrow. You didn’t hear any of it. You were too focused on Robert moving at the edges of the crowd.

Right toward you.

Your fingers fiddled mindlessly with the diamond pendant around your throat. You had worn it every day since he had given it to you. You should have known better.

Before you could even think to do anything at all, Robert’s fingers were circling around your wrist and you were being pulled out of the room. He was quiet as he led you into an empty conference room and shut the door with a soft snap as soon as you were inside.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, tugging your arm out of his grip and folding your arms over your stomach protectively. “I’m sorry I said all those things.”

“What?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“All…all the things I said about the company, about your father-”

“They needed to be said. I like that you felt comfortable enough to say that to me.”

You scrubbed a hand over your mouth as you started to pace around the table, a million and one thoughts racing through your brain and all of them landed on one conclusion. “Was this just some game? To see what the little worker bee thought of the hive?”

A short breath pushed out of him as he rounded the conference table and grabbed at your hands again to pull you to a stop. Your poor heart hiccuped when he laced your fingers together. “It was never a game. I sought you out because you treated me like I was my own person instead of someone who only stood in my father’s shadow. You saw me, not my last name.”

“Robert-”

His grip tightened, near desperate. “No. No, I’m Bobby to you, remember?”

“I never would have called you that if I had known who you are.” The words were small, as small as you felt in his presence now. But still, you couldn’t pull away from him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. I’m still your Bobby. Nothing’s changed.” His voice was soft. Almost pleading. It cracked at something behind your ribs you had tried to ignore for the sake of the friendship.

“Everything’s changed! You are so far up the corporate ladder above me I shouldn’t even be on your radar.” You finally pulled your hands from his and hated the look in his clear blue eyes. It was unbidden hurt. But your mind jumped to something else. “You had Reynolds fired.”

Robert’s answering silence was answer enough.

“God. I didn’t even earn this position did I? You just felt bad for the stupid, lonely girl in the park-”

Robert was on you in a flash, crowding you against the table without even needing to touch you. “You earned it. I looked into your work history. I saw your credentials. Reynolds knew you were better suited to his job and stepped all over you because of it. I only gave you what you deserved.”

“So, you admit it-”

“I admit that you were better suited. I admit that your department is better for it, too. I admit that I did it because I just wanted to see you smile again.”

Your next breath stalled in your throat and you hated that you felt your chin wobble. What was he saying? “Robert-”

“And it wasn’t pity. It was selfish of me. I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to give you something no one else could. So I did.” Slowly, so slowly, his hands skirted a familiar path up your arms until he was cupping the back of your head and pressing the pads of his thumbs beneath the hinge of your jaw. You could feel each breath he took against the sensitive skin of your lips. “I want to give you everything because you have given me more than I could ever repay. You were lonely. So was I. And we found each other, doesn’t that still matter?”

“I-”

“Let me be your Bobby again. Nothing’s changed, I promise.”

You searched his perfect blue eyes and wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that he felt what you did. That it was okay to feel this, that it was okay to keep him tucked in the confines of your heart where he had burrowed. “You know this has changed, Bobby.” You watched his shoulders sag in relief at the sound of the nickname. “You know it.”

He agreed, nodding just once. “I can’t hide it anymore. You’re right. But I’m still the man sitting next to you on the bench. I’m still sipping champagne out of mugs with you at midnight. I’m still dancing with you in empty rooms. And I’m hoping all that I am, all the charade and everything behind it, is enough for you. I am asking you to have me because of it all, in spite of it all.”

“What will I be to you?” You asked, your voice little more than a whisper.

Robert paused and you watched his pupils start to blow, black eating blue. “You’d be mine.” And then he was kissing you, plush mouth pressing against yours and stealing your next breath. Your hands scrambled to find purchase in the fine fabric of his suit jacket as he hauled you closer, like he was trying to devour you.

You would happily let him.

When he pressed at the seam of your lips, you readily gave in and let him lick into your mouth, searching and wanting. One of his hands fell to your hip as he swallowed a whine building in your throat and he hauled you onto the edge of the table, knocking your legs apart so he could slot himself between them, like he’d always meant to be there.

Maybe he was. Maybe this was inevitable. It certainly felt like it.

Your shaking hands pushed at his jacket and he hurriedly shrugged it off, never moving his mouth from yours and not caring when it hit the floor. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured against your kiss-bitten lips. “And all mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you whispered in return, tugging at his tie next.

A sharp knock at the door halted your next breath. Robert froze, too, lips still pressed to yours.

“Mister Fischer, you’re needed upstairs,” came a stressed, tinny from the other side.

Then you were giggling against him, feeling like a teenager, and you moved to press your face to his shoulder to try to quiet the noise. But then he was laughing, too, and stealing another kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”

**5**

Robert’s father was dying.

There was no more denying it. You watched Robert waffle between heartbreak and resignation and tried to help him through it all, even though what he was feeling was foreign to you. You’d been alone your entire life, growing up at an overrun group home for kids who couldn’t find a foster family to take them and then shuffling from empty dorm room to empty apartment after aging out. But still, you let him burrow his head into your chest when he needed just the world to be quiet. It had been only a handful of weeks since he’d kissed you, asking you to take him for all that he was, but it felt like you had been with him for years, settling into a domestic routine that felt like something out of a romance novel. Something you had only ever wished you could have. You just wished you could ease the ache he was fighting.

You were in his office, the rest of the building having long been deserted at the end of the work day, pushing your fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Tell me what you need,” you murmured.

“I just need you.” His words vibrated as he spoke them into the fabric of your shirt.

“Bobby,” you started, pressing your hands beneath his chin so he looked up at you. “I am always going to be here, okay? But let me lighten your load. Want me to grab dinner so we can try to knock out some of that paperwork Browning saddled you with?” You smoothed your finger over one of his eyebrows and watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“He means well. He wants me to really know what I’m doing before I officially take the reins.”

“I think he’s being lazy and then schmoozing the rest of the board while you’re in here, working your fingers to the bone,” you said with a smile to try to lessen the blow because you knew how much his ‘uncle’ Peter meant to him. You, however, thought he was a snake.

Robert was quiet as he looked up at you and you felt him squeeze you a little tighter before he stood and pressed a firm kiss to your mouth. “I have a better idea.”

“What could possibly be better than shitty takeout and monotonous paperwork?” You teased, earning a pinch to your side.

“How about you, me, and a bottle of that champagne you like and we just lock ourselves away at my house for the weekend?”

Your agreement was on the tip of your tongue. You could feel it. But he’d played this card before. “You’re going to say ‘after I let you finish this paperwork,’ aren’t you?”

His smile was tired as he danced his fingers down your spine. “God, you’re perfect.”

“You’re not getting out of this, Bobby. Let me help you.” The next noise out of you was an undignified squeak as he grabbed at your hips and hoisted you onto the top of his desk. “What’re you doing?”

“Convincing you to let me do my work.”

“It is Browning’s wor-” Your words halted when his warm hands slipped beneath the hem of your skirt and deftly pushed it up to your waist, exposing your silk stockings and lace garter belt. “You’re fighting dirty.”

Robert only smirked and sank back to his knees as he pulled your underwear down in one swift motion. He licked a bold stripe up your folds that had your head immediately tilting back with a gasp. Again and again, he did it until he closed his warm, wet mouth around your clit and sucked until you were keening, sinking your fingers into his hair again. He always knew just how to turn your spine to jelly with a few flicks of his tongue but his real talent was-

“Oh my god!”

Robert sank his teeth into the dough of your thigh as his long fingers slid into your wet heat and easily found that spot inside you that had sparks bursting behind your eyes. If your mind was capable of doing more than pleading pleasepleasepleaseBobbyplease, you may have felt his lips press a smile into your thigh before his mouth descended on you again, working in tandem with his excruciatingly wonderful fingers.

Your thighs clamped around his head but Robert was undeterred and kept licking and sucking and pushing. Wet, sloppy noises filled the air, punctuated by your whimpers and pleas, until you were crying out with your abrupt release and your entire body felt like you’d been dipped in molten heat that fizzled down to your fingers. You collapsed onto the desk in a heap, thighs sagging open as Robert gave a few last kitten licks to your clit until you pushed him away with a whine. When he pulled his fingers out, you could feel your slick puddling below you and you spotted a damp spot on the cuff of his shirt. Damn.

Robert, however, was unfazed and licked his fingers clean as you tried and failed to catch your breath.

“I know just how to get you to cooperate.” His fingers danced over your thighs, still shaking with aftershocks. “Look at you now. All soft and compliant.”

“Not my fault,” you said between labored breaths. “You don’t fight fair.”

Robert smiled, all teeth. “Not with you.”

**+1**

You hadn’t slept on the flight to Los Angeles. Sure, the first class seat was comfortable and food was delicious, but you weren't able to get comfortable. You knew tht Robert had said you didn’t need to come to the funeral but you weren’t about to let him go through this alone and had used the card he had put in your name to book the next flight out to be at his side.

A chauffeur was waiting for you when you landed and whisked you away to the gated Fischer mansion in one of the more exclusive enclaves outside the city. You’d been to Robert’s penthouse a few blocks from Fischer Morrow. He’d offered to let you use his Venice apartment when you offhandedly mentioned needing a vacation but also told you that his family owned an entire island near St. Barts if you wanted something a little more private. But this mansion was truly something else. Perhaps a better term to use would be Manor or Palace. You thanked the chauffeur as he handed you your single bag and told you that ‘Mister Fischer’ was waiting for you inside.

Your heels clicked against the solid piece of marble of the entryway but you hardly noticed when the butler (oh, you hoped you were using the right term) took your bag and told you that Robert was waiting for you in the library. Of course there was a library. You followed his directions and pushed the door open, unsurprised with its silence or its wait.

Robert was leaning against the fireplace mantle, nursing a glass of cognac. The crystal clacked as he set it down when he spotted you. You were quick to meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around him as he pulled you tight against his chest. The pair of you was quiet for a moment as you tried to press every ounce of love you had into him.

“Tell me what you need. I’m here for you.”

Robert’s next breath rumbled through him and he pulled you even tighter. “Just need you.”

“You have me.”

He was quiet again for just a moment. “I’m dissolving the company.”

You went to pull back but he held firm. “What?”

“I’m going to build something better. I don’t want to be a miserable old man like him. I don’t want to devote my life to a company when I have a family who needs me.”

“A family?” You prodded softly.

“I want a family with you. I want it all with you.”

The simple words had tears forming in your eyes and you just held him tighter. “I want that, too.” You pulled back, finally able to do so when his grip loosened, and pressed a hand to his cheek. “We can talk more about it after the funeral, okay? Emotions are running high right now. I don’t want you to think that you have to make any big decisions immediately. I’m not going anywhere.”

Robert’s eyes searched for something in your face but he seemed to find what he wanted as he smiled. “I know.”

You stood at Robert’s side during the wake and funeral and tried to keep him out of the spotlight when the photogs descended on him before the reception. He held your hand in the back of the limousine that took you back to the house after the coffin was buried and didn’t let go until he was pressing you down into his bed.

You sighed as he sank into you, hot and thick. He was always so good to you. Always stuffed you full and left you gasping. Every drag and pull of him was sending new sparks up your spine and you clung to him as he dragged you closer to euphoria. “Take what you need, Bobby,” you whimpered. “Take it.”

And he did. His hips snapped to yours, hard and strong, as his hands pressed you down into the mattress until you were only able to hold onto him, letting out choked whines and whimpers into the flushed skin of his neck.

“You’re mine,” he said, words in time with each thrust.

You could feel him in your throat.

“Yours.”

Robert bared his teeth and the next thrusts knocked the air from your lungs and you wailed as you felt him come, warmth blooming and spilling. His deft fingers found your clit and rubbed vicious circles until you were keening with your own release that he swallowed with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue.

Both of you were quiet as he led you to the bath and filled it with near-scalding water and some sort of floral oils. He held you tight against his chest again and you tried not to be embarrassed when he sent one of the (many) maids to fetch the bottle of champagne he’d apparently set out for this moment. Realizing that it was the same champagne from that night in your office all those months ago did make you smile. Robert turned and poured two glasses and pressed one into your hand. You settled back against his chest and sipped, frowning when it didn’t quite taste the same. Maybe it was a different year. Oh well.

By the time you finished your glass, you were exhausted and blamed the sex and hot water. “Take me to bed, Bobby?”

He wiped you down with a warmed towel and wrapped you up in a plush robe before leading you back to bed that now had new sheets. You were too tired to care about someone being that aware of your bedroom activities. You’d be back in Australia soon enough anyway.

Your eyelids were fighting to stay open by the time your head hit the pillow and Robert settled beside you. His warm hand cupped your cheek and his thumb smoothed a gentle arc beneath your eye. “My lonely girl.”

“Yours,” you mumbled, eyes closing.

“Mine.”

You woke the next morning with a raging headache and a strange cottony feeling behind your tongue. Robert wasn’t beside you and you assumed he was probably already downstairs, eating breakfast and answering emails. You would have to convince him to take the day off.

Work could wait.

You walked to the closet in search of your bag and…couldn’t find it.

Your purse was missing from where you had left it on the bedside chair, too.

Your passport wasn’t in the lockbox.

“Bobby?” You called out as you walked down the hall, trepidation with every step. Something was wrong. “Bobby?”

The house was silent. Unnervingly so. You could almost hear the blood roaring in your ears. You were almost relieved when you spotted the butler near the front door. “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but do you happen to know if one of the maids, um, moved my stuff? I can’t seem to find anything.”

The butler nodded, quick and sharp. “Mister Fischer has made sure everything you will need is delivered by noon. I will have the maids bring it to your room when it arrives.”

That…that didn’t make any sense. “I…have you seen Robert?” You asked, just wanting to see a familiar face. Your Bobby.

“He’s returned to Australia, miss.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet. “What?”

“He said he left a note in the bedroom explaining the situation.”

That was dismissal enough and you turned and walked back to the room, metaphorical tail tucked between your legs. You did find the note and braced for an awkward break up or something of that ilk but what you found instead had your veins turning to ice.

I’ll be back for you. We can begin our lives together as soon as I finish dealing with the board. You’ll want for nothing, I’ve made sure of it. And you can finally settle into the life I’ve always wanted to give you. Learn the house. Pick out a nursery.

This had to be a joke, right?

Right?

But the windows were on an alarm system and a man with a gun would yank you back into the room before you could even get halfway out. The doors were guarded. The landline didn’t work. The computer in the office didn’t connect to the internet.

You were alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone until Robert came back three weeks later and placed a diamond ring on your finger as he kissed away your tears. You weren’t sure if you were crying out of anger or relief to finally have him back.

“Why’d you do this, Bobby?” You whispered into his chest as he held you close. You didn’t have the energy to fight him.

“Because you’re mine.”

A/N: please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[rainbowfic]

You can:

use either or both prompts as given

use either or both lists for prompts

use the name of either or both lists as a prompts

complete as many or few days as you want

write, draw, craft, or anything else!

There's no deadline and this is just for fun. I'll reblog this with links to the lists if you want to explore.

What's RainbowFic? We're a community of original fic writers on Dreamwidth using prompt lists named after colors (for a very VERY loose definition of color). Our lists range include song lyrics, quotes from books and tv, themed words, contrasts, and a whole lot more (we have over 400!)

Text version of the list under a readmore

Text version:

Day 1: Royal Purple #11 Further beyond / Iceberg #12 Snowman

Day 2: Lilac #25 Freesia / Opera Mauve #20 Curtain call

Day 3: Lavender's Blue #2 Mermaid / Periwinkle #14 Enamel heart pendant from a garage sale

Day 4: Caramel #8 Gummies / Vert #16 As the lord/lady asks

Day 5: Midnight #6 Furtive / Psychedelic Purple #15 I know I'll never be the same

Day 6: Lotus #19 Truthfulness / Ignition Yellow #10 There are some nights I wait for someone to save us

Day 7: Green Go #21 Rideshare / Gold #12 The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it

Day 8: City Street #4 Highway / Greenstick Fracture #9 I got the velocity and now all I need is the mass

Day 9: Paprika #8 We've got something kinda funny going on / Harvard Crimson #14 Library

Day 10: Danish Red #2 The Snow Queen / Amaranth #5 Stars

Day 11: Pull Me Over Red #1 Parking ticket / Daffodil #5 Flowers

Day 12: Fluorescent Pink #19 It doesn't matter who they are, I won't forgive anyone who tries to stand out more than me / Parrot Green #13 Call

Day 13: Crane White #18 Tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight / Spirits of Saturn #15 Overgrowth

Day 14: Cherry #12 Grapes / Skylight #4 Smoking on the fire escape

Day 15: Calcite #4 Soft/Hard / Burgundy #2 Varietal

Day 16: Yellow Submarine #17 The long and winding road that leads to your door will never disappear / White Opal #2 Dream

Day 17: Tigers Eye #8 Eerie empty spaces / Moonlight #1 Liminal

Day 18: Baby Blue #4 Sling / Red Dress #5 You need to find a new solution, adaptation or retribution

Day 19: Gunmetal #14 Crossbow / English Violet #3 Since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain

Day 20: Heirloom Silver #2 Heirloom / Brown #5 Brown bagging

Day 21: Coomassie Blue #1 Repressor / Folly #14 Relax, I saw it on TV

Day 22: Fuzzy Wuzzy #3 Hugs /Alien Green #6 This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass

Day 23: Fawn #4 Cat / Grand Ink #20 With a mug of hot tea and some Vicodin in my bloodstream, I look up from my book to watch the bugs outside the windows

Day 24: Royal Blue #2 Queen / Spirit Purple #19 Screw the binary gender system

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 14 "Flare"

Dying is shit, honestly. But coming back is hell.

A flare of intolerable pain had rebooted Sherlock’s brain with a kickstart. An elephant apparently had jumped onto his chest and landed there on only one foot, crushing bones. Everything hurt.

Great, another rib broken. Maybe two. Would that make three or four in total?

Memory of being choked to death surged up. Struggling in vain against Smith. Unable to breathe. Sherlock automatically inhaled, finding himself surprised that he could fill his lungs with air. It was excruciatingly painful.

Not dead then. Obviously.

With the unfailing ability to disassociate his mind from his transport if necessary, Sherlock deduced himself and concluded that his heart had been restarted via electroshock.

Whoever came up with the notion that returning from a supposed afterlife was a peaceful stroll over a meadow back into some diffuse source of light, accompanied by birdsong and happy childhood memories must have been the greatest idiot of all times.

Sherlock groaned in pain. He was being rolled around on the hospital bed, getting poked and pricked and prodded like a lump of meat. Undoubtedly getting hooked onto all sorts of machines and infusions and needles.

This moron should have remained dead. At least have kept his mouth shut and spared the world his asinine psychedelic nonsense.

Dying had been loud and hectic, blinding light and stars exploding in his eyes. The smell of burning meat when his brain got shredded into razor-sharp shards and dissolved into grey goo afterwards.

Now I have been catapulted back into a sea of pain. I reckon they won’t give morphine this time to alleviate it. My own fault as well.

He drifted back into unconsciousness.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

chapter 3 is up now (prompts 12-14)

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @inevitably-johnlocked @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221

[sleepygamerotaku]

i'm bored so here's a ✨Halloween✨ drawing prompt ig (i'm bored lmao)

day 1 - Skeleton

day 2 - Wendigo/Cryptid

day 3 - Organ(s)

day 4 - Ghost/Apparition

day 5 - Candy

day 6 - Horror Movie Character

day 7 - Character/OC as a Classic Monster

day 8 - Tim Burton art style

day 9 - Pumpkin/Jack-o'-lantern

day 10 - Crime

day 11 - Body Horror

day 12 - Candy Gore

day 13 - Stitches

day 14 - Reaper/Death

day 15 - Grimoire

day 16 - Voodoo

day 17 - teeth

day 18 - Vampire/Coffin

day 19 - Graveyard/Cemetery

day 20 - Enchantment/Magic

day 21 - Eyes

day 22 - Hanahaki

day 23 - Drowning

day 24 - Chains

day 25 - Puppet

day 26 - Spider

day 27 - Base off of a Steven King book title

day 28 - Balck Cat

day 29 - Mushroom/Psychedelic

day 30 - Bugs

day 31 - Pills

feel free to use!! tag me if you do i love seeing others people's art

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 3: Relax, Unwind, Old Friend

Summary: Wilford thinks that Dark works a bit too hard. He wants to do something about that.

A/N: No Darks were emotionally or physically harmed in the making of this fic. For once.

Prompt: Drink

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Wilford was in the kitchen, normally a terrifying experience for everyone in the Manor. Wil’s usual, non-confectionary exploits tended to end with setting the stove on fire or flooding the floor, or some other damage to the area.

But for today, Cookie the Chef and the various Lost One children of the Manor didn’t even notice him slip into the kitchen to grab a couple glasses. He was already heading into the wine cellar by the time anyone saw he had taken the glasses.

And by then it was damage done.

But Wilford was grabbing some bourbon. In one second he was standing in the cellar grabbed a bottle, and then in the next as he was turning he was walking into Dark’s office in a separate area of the Manor.

“Yes, Wil, what is it?” Dark let out a long suffering sigh.

Wilford casually sat on Dark’s desk, his bubblegum pink aura lightly brushing some scant papers out of his way. He was not stopped as he lightly set down the glasses. “Can’t a man come and visit his boyfriend?”

“Mayhaps,” Dark leaned back and looked at Wilford. “What do you want?”

“A drink, old friend, can’t two old friends have a drink.” The madman picked up a glass and gently held it out to Dark. “You work so hard.”

Dark slowly reached out with his aura and took the glass. He tilted his head and looked at Wilford’s smiling face.

Wilford’s bubblegum pink aura flooded the room, an invitation. “Come now, old sport. You need to have a little fun. Let loose, unwind a little bit.”

Looking one final time at the desk, Dark tipped back his drink. A cocktail of bourbon and the slightly unintended effect of being near Wilford and his psychedelic aura.

At first, Dark only felt the burn of his drink. Sipping a bit at it to pace himself for what was to come. Wilford was droning on about some wild hunt where he was chasing some hero in a white and gold outfit and red cape and mask. Someone with a myriad of boyfriends. That he’d borrowed the dogs, and they were fine.

Someone completely unrecognizable to Dark, as usual he had no idea about half of what Wilford was saying.

But that didn’t matter to Dark, and it certainly stopped mattering as the light haze slowly began descending over Dark’s mind. Wil’s aura snuggled comfortably around Dark’s brain.

“That’s it, old boy,” Wilford crooned as his hand gently cupped the bottom of his cheek. “Let’s have a little fun, Darkling.”

Dark managed a little half smile as Wilford leaned down and his lips met Dark’s.

The next passage of time . . . hours, minutes, lifetimes . . . it was sometimes hard to tell where time divided or ended when Wilford’s magic took over. And Dark did what he did best, just move along with Wilford.

All he knew were bits and bursts. Lips against his. His fingers twisted around in Wilford’s hair. His back against his desk as clothing was pulled and tugged.

And then after the private bliss of them together, peaceful as things were meant to be, Dark was standing on a random street in his city, his suit coat catching the light breeze of the night wind. His aura twisting around his body as he was emboldened and empowered by Wilford’ aura still coursing through him.

Silver was rushing towards him with desperation in his moment.

Dark’s aura moved for him, thankfully. If it didn’t he would be useless under the effect of Wil’s intoxicating aura. In fact, it became even stronger under his influence.

Dark used his aura to whip Silver past him and continued moving in his hunt. He had a town mayor to murder. He was bored with this human sitting in Damien’s chair. Maybe it was time for his blue soul to reemerge in Egoton again.

Post A/N: Wilford was referring to him hunting Roman on a previous Egotober.

[mushroomresercheshop1]

The Benefits of Psilocybin Treatment

Psilocybin is a naturally occurring psychedelic compound found in certain mushrooms. Recent years, there has been a growing body of research into the potential benefits of psilocybin treatment for a variety of mental health conditions.

When it comes to treating depression, Nichols pointed to psilocybin’s speed and efficacy as 2 of its most attractive qualities. Psilocybin’s effects are observable soon after administration (days) compared to standard antidepressants, which, when they work, can take weeks to fully kick in. The antidepressant effects can also last for a while—from 4 weeks up to 6-12 months, depending on the study.Someone might have to take a standard SSRI daily for months or years, they might receive just 1 dose of psilocybin every few months, or even once per year.

Psilocybin’s Path Forward

Already, states like Colorado and Oregon have legalized therapeutic psilocybin use. There are, however, basic questions about psilocybin that lack solid answers. Clinicians are still finding how psilocybin works, who it works for and when and how often it should be used. Answering these questions will require completion of more clinical trials with a greater number of participants

BY funding for such studies is a challenge—the stigmatization of psilocybin has prompted governmental funding bodies to avoid projects involving the compound. However, Nichols thinks that, as trials demonstrating the potential benefits of psilocybin keep coming out, there may be a greater push and incentive for investment. He and Nayak believe this will depend, in part, on a “reeducation process” to help people disentangle historical connotations about psilocybin from what emerging scientific data show—that psilocybin-assisted therapy can, in some cases, be a beneficial thing.

both researchers highlighted that working out the therapy’s scalability and affordability will be of utmost importance. In experimental trials, psilocybin-assisted therapy can cost tens of thousands of dollars.

[melodical]

What does the bible say about cannabis?

As of late, Americans have started to analyze questions with respect to maryjane use and which job, if any, it ought to have in their lives. At the point when weed was completely unlawful, most Christians accepted that utilizing the substance was plainly off-base on the grounds that the Book of scriptures encourages per users to submit to the public authority. Now that utilizing CBD oil has become better known and cannabis even casually is at this point not unlawful in a few expresses, its profound quality appears to be somewhat dinky to some.

Weed in the Holy book

Individuals have been involving cannabis for restorative and sporting purposes for millennia. The pot plant is quite possibly of the most established crop. Archeologists have tracked down cannabis stuff as far back as a long time back in China, India, Africa and Assyria. As a matter of fact, there's even some proof that cannabis was utilized for its psychedelic impacts in old Israel.

Cannabis use was logical a contemporary issue when the books of the Book of scriptures were composed, yet the sacred writings are quiet on the subject.

Does this imply that utilizing cannabis casually is a philosophically strong practice? Most likely not. The Good book may not express anything about getting high; however it has a lot to say regarding comparable indecencies like liquor. These alerts against becoming inebriated and losing the capacity to make good decisions would presumably apply exercises like partaking in pot too.

Maryjane Can Be a Strong Bad habit

From the get go, the rising prominence of weed recommends that it is habit-forming. In any case, truly around nine out of 10 individuals who use weed don't foster a dependence on it. Especially among the individuals who didn't start utilizing weed until adulthood, stopping cannabis is simple contrasted with stopping harder medications like cocaine or heroin.

Dependence on clinical maryjane might be intriguing, yet around 30% of the people who utilize weed have some level of cannabis use jumble. This is like reliance, which is the point at which a singular encounters withdrawal side effects when they're not utilizing a medication.

The people who use maryjane routinely report side effects and medical problems, for example,

Peevishness

Rest disturbances

Trouble managing temperament

Diminished craving

Food desires

Discouraged mind-set

Nervousness

Apprehension

Anxiety and actual distress

Stomach related issues

These side effects can endure as long as about fourteen days subsequent to stopping weed, making it undeniably challenging to avoid. Especially as cannabis turns out to be more focused, weed use problems might turn out to be more pervasive.

In 1 Corinthians 6:12, Paul says, "'Everything is allowable for me' - however not all things are useful.’Everything is admissible for me' - yet I won't be dominated by anything." The Book of scriptures doesn't explicitly specify compulsion or weed use jumble. Notwithstanding, this stanza can apply to sporting weed and the hold that it can have over somebody. While sporting weed may actually be admissible as indicated by the New Confirmation's law of elegance, its advantages might be problematic, contingent upon the circumstance.

Pot versus Liquor

Just like with numerous cutting edge discussions, the Book of scriptures doesn't list maryjane among indecencies to stay away from. Therefore, Christians should utilize analogical thinking to make determinations with respect to whether partaking in weed is a wrongdoing. All in all, it's important to draw standards from sacred writing and consider how they apply to weed use.

While the Holy book expresses nothing about sporting utilization of weed, it gives a large number of alerts about the risks of tipsiness. Ephesians 5:18 alerts that tipsiness prompts indulging, and Sayings 23:20 exhorts against encircling oneself with the individuals who are tanked.

Weed can welcome on a brain changing high that is like inebriation. Both can cause weakened judgment and mental working, anxiety and coordination and reflex issues. In view of that, it's doable that the Holy book's alerts against tipsiness can likewise apply to pot inebriation.

The Risk Is in the Portion

Clearly, there is certainly not an immediate association among liquor and pot. An individual can drink a modest quantity of liquor without becoming alcoholic. In a two-hour time span, the typical lady can have four cocktails and the typical man can have five preceding their blood liquor level scopes 0.08. In many states, an individual is lawfully inebriated at this blood liquor level.

The Good book doesn't disallow drinking - just intoxication. Numerous Christians go without liquor to keep away from the presence of fiendishness (1 Thessalonians 5:22). Nonetheless, a few beverage with restraint and balance. The people who just have two or three beverages might have the option to do as such with an unmistakable inner voice on the off chance that drinking doesn't prompt tipsiness.

For pot, a much lower measurement makes a condition of inebriation. As a matter of fact, all that's needed is 7 milligrams of THC to make the singular high. Contingent upon their weight and other individual factors, this is somewhere in the range of four and eight puffs of a pot cigarette.

In principle, an individual could ingest a little portion of THC that wouldn't bring about inebriation. Nonetheless, by and large, the reason for smoking pot is to get high. In view of that, numerous Christians presume that smoking even a modest quantity of weed is a wrongdoing.

Pot Use Can Prompt Impeded Direction

While weed has generally been accepted to be somewhat innocuous, a rising assemblage of exploration focuses to weakened direction. One review noticed that ongoing weed use disturbs ordinary dynamic cycles. It impacts the singular's impulsivity, their capacity to switch between mental assignments, and their functioning memory. Like liquor, weed can influence the person's mental capability and influence their capacity to finish fundamental responsibilities.

Concluding Whether Utilizing Weed Is a Transgression

Obviously, the Book of scriptures has a lot to say regarding not drinking sufficient liquor to become intoxicated. It likewise offers knowledge into the risks of being "dominated" by a bad habit. In any case, any sections those are applied to pot use, or utilizing some other medication, are deduction.

So… is it a transgression to partake in reefer? Taking a gander at the entire picture and taking into account what weed use can mean for one's life can carry clearness to the issue.

What Does Cannabis Utilize Say Regarding the Singular's Qualities?

Christians have the obligation to control their conduct in each aspect of their life as per Sacred text. While concluding whether utilizing pot casually is a wrongdoing, there's another significant thought: the impacts of cannabis utilization on others around you.

Romans 14:20 states, "Don't annihilate crafted by God for food. All food is spotless, yet it is off-base for a man to eat anything that causes another person to stagger." The issue in the section had to do with the decision about whether to eat something recently considered "messy." In any case, the guideline might apply to weed use.

The individual might have the option to legitimize utilizing weed in the event that it doesn't make failures to understand the situation or lead habit. Nonetheless, their utilization might think about inadequately their qualities and cause another person to legitimize their own substance misuse. In the event that their sporting substance use is instrumental in another's fixation or backslide, it would be better for them to go without.

[saintmurd0ck]

Hi! I didn’t want to spam up your comment section, but yes, recommendations would be great/appreciated at any time!

hi love! so firstly i would recommend checking out @hellskitchenswhore as she has a very comprehensive library of fics!

secondly i use this tag for anything i read which might be helpful depending on what you're after... but let me point you in the direction of some incredible, incredible writers <333 i'm so sorry if i forget anyone but i'm tryna cram this all in my lunch break!!!!!

@pedrito-friskito -- the resident pedro pascal girly who also writes for matt murdock & frank castle. her series '12 months with the devil' is a personal fave!

@murdocksluvrr -- who writes for michael too!!! she's also written for matt and tristan thorn and her works are always *chefs kiss*

@marvelswh0re -- who has recently started writing for michael (i am wholly responsible for this and i love it), my favourite is her fic 'for luck'

@murdock-and-the-sea -- a poet and very gifted writer at heart. 'neogenesis' which she recently released is just... AH. i can go on about it for days. also, vidra writes for michael too, and 'chase your love' iS FANTASTIC

@mindidjarin -- mindi's fics are always, always incredible, and i recently reread 'feast' which is an ode to matt's ass and i just-- i have no words except read this please 😭

@phoebe-danvers -- okay you HAVE to check out her 'sealed with a kiss verse' fics (amongst everything else she's written) because the way she has crafted earth 65 (AM I RIGHT IS IT EARTH 65?!) matt murdock is fucking incredible

@e-dubbc11 -- our resident billy russo expert, but her matt fics are wonderful. she also has a series of thoughts on various charlie characters and the michael one is spot on

@briefcasejuice -- OKAY SO. gabs' character understanding of matt murdock and michael kinsella is simply put, mouth watering. everything she writes is gold. but to witness her passion for and knowledge of these characters is something i always look forward to

@mattmurdocksscars -- OOF amanda writes some GOOD shit. she has one or two mikey prompt drabbles and again, just incredible.

@rcughroad -- for anything frank castle/karen page. period.

@freshabogados -- has a myriad of matt murdock fics that always bring me to my knees. 'michelangelo's matthew' is my personal favourite

@eatommo -- another very gifted matt murdock writer, and a wonderful human!

@peterman-spideyparker -- 'embellishments' made me fucking cry reading it. GOD. i will go on about this forever kristen. FOREVER.

@mattmurdockspainkink -- 'i'll be in good company' is a fic i will be reading for the end of time. and most recently ren released 'matthew 6:9-13' which is a religion kink fic (not sure if you're into that, but i can highly recommend this)

@psychedelic-ink -- sil primarily writes for pedro pascal characters now, but she has a couple michael fics that i read upon joining the kin fandom and they've stuck with me this whole time!

@stress--relief -- if you haven't read 'baby cut the tension' what are you waiting for!!!!!

@shedaresthedevil -- 'my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it'. that's it. SEND fucking tweet.

@redahlia-writes -- a sweetheart who utilises mythology and classics knowledge to imprint her fics with an aura of melancholy so wonderful that you can reread these over and over again

@fluffyprettykitty -- resident marvel all-rounder, and anything she writes of matt is always something i'd recommend

@murdocks-devil -- another literary poet. 'quintessentia' is a monumental fic of theirs, and lives in my brain rent free always

@frankcastlescumslut -- who has a priest!matt series, as well as an ongoing frank series 'on the sea'. it is so well thought out and put together.

@father4giveme -- i could write a thesis on the series 'hallowed by thy name' but i will spare everyone right this second. it is a beautiful series, so well done

@courtforshort15 -- tooth rotting fluff. comfort fic central.

@idrinkcoffeeandobsess -- who only recently joined but is a wonderful new addition with an incredible back breaking RELIGIOUS KINK SMUT?

@itwasthereaminuteago -- 'strawberry surprise' which is a poly matt x frank x reader fic has me in a permanent chokehold. also anything aNYTHING shibari? you have found the author

@yourbucky084 -- shannon's account unfortunately got deleted a while back, so any love thrown her way for her incredible fics ('temptation' was the first of hers i'd read) would be so appreciated <33

@grippingbeskar -- who for the most part writes for frank but just released an amazing matt fic i am SO excited to read!

[theunderestimator-3]

The Underestimator Mixtapes - Electric Sweat

It was only a couple of days ago that I realized I had only posted one new mixtape during 2021 and that happened on January, so here’s a second one to end the year the proper way with an eclectic mix of mostly punk rock tracks in the usual spirit of The Underestimator.

Available for online streaming on Mixcloud: 

https://www.mixcloud.com/the-underestimator/electric-sweat-the-underestimator-mixtapes/

or download as separate mp3 tracks in a zip file, here:

https://www.mediafire.com/file/qvgiron8mu57t0x/THE+UNDERESTIMATOR+MIXTAPES+-+ELECTRIC+SWEAT.zip/file

[Don’t be alarmed if you are denied access: In case you get the error message “Permission Denied” prompting you to download a copyrighted song via Amazon or sth, you should be aware that this is a mediafire trick to discourage you from downloading when the uploaded file includes copyrighted material, so they can appear legit in the eyes of the copyright holders. If you close the tab and try a couple of times or more, the link will eventually appear (don’t refresh the mediafire page, it doesn’t work that way, just open the link from the underestimator post to a new tab, then close it and re-open it in a new tab a couple of times or more).]

Downoad some more playlists posted on The Underestimator Mixtapes series, here.

01. Electric Sweat - The Mooney Suzuki (2002) 02. Loose (#2) - The Stooges (1970) 03. Soul Trader (Peel Session) -Thee Hypnotics (1989) 04. Get The Girl Straight - The Powder Monkeys (1997) 05. Touch Me I'm Sick - Mudhoney (1988) 06. Some Mutts (Can't Be Muzzled) - Amyl and the Sniffers (2018) 07. Blonde Sabbath (Blondie-Black Sabbath cover) - Sir Hedgehog (2002) 08. Boys Next Door - La Femme (1978) 09. 17 Years Of Hell - The Partisans (1982) 10. Computerstaat - Abwärts (1980) 11. Day Tripper (Beatles cover) - Sham 69 (1979) 12. I Love You, You Big Dummy (Captain Beefheart cover, Peel Session) - Magazine 1978) 13. Safety In Numbers - The Adverts (1977) 14. Indo China - The Carpettes (1979) 15. Ballroom Blitz (The Sweet cover) - The Damned (1979) 16. Soda Pressing - The Boys (1977) 17. Time Wall - Fire Exit (1979) 18. Virginia Plain (Roxy Music cover) - Spizzenergi (1979) 19. Nostalgia (Buzzcocks cover) - Penetration (1978) 20. Gut Feeling - Devo (1978) 21. Now She's Gone - The Mighty Lemon Drops (1985) 22. A Tragedy - Green on Red (1985) 23. Wheatfields - The Weeds (1985) 24.  The Waitresses - The Comb 25. Hey Seuss - The 3Ds (1994) 26. Primeval - Girl Trouble (1988) 27. I Hear Noises - The Vibes (1985) 28. For She - The Milkshakes (1981) 29. Long Gone - The Customs (1980) 30. What Happens When You Turn The Devil Down - The  Mystery Lights (2016) 31. Love Power (The Producers cover) - T. Tex Edwards and Lithium X-mas (1991) 32. This Sinister Urge (Fuzztones cover) - Sparkling Bombs (2005) 33. The 400 Blows - The Demics (1981) 34. 18 Wheels - The Murder City Devils (1998) 35. The Psychedelic Gas Station - Deadbeat Poets (2014)

(Original photo: punks feeling ecstatic at an Adam & The Ants gig at The Roxy in 1978 by Peter Marlow)

[pedrostories]

🎄🎁 PedroStories 2022 Secret Santa – Masterlist 🎁🎄

Thank you again for participating in PedroStories’ Secret Santa event! 💚

Special shoutout to our pinch hitters: @just-here-for-the-moment who jumped in later to help us out and @prolix-yuy & @psychedelic-ink for taking on two prompts! Thanks to you every giftee got their gifts in time! 🥰

Here you can find all the works published by the participants!

* - Mature/Explicit work

Pero Tovar

* A Fate so Cruel by @supernaturalgirl20​

Ezra

* Binding Opposing Foes by @rise-my-angel​

Dieter Bravo

Dieter Bravo and the No Good, Very Bad, Awful Christmas Movie by @blueeyesatnight​

Joel Miller

* Make My Wish Come True by @oogaboogasphincter​​

Max Phillips

* Warmth by @simpingcowboy​

Marcus Moreno

Marcus Moreno x f!reader oneshot by @just-here-for-the-moment​

Marcus Pike

Where the Love Light Gleams by @the-blind-assassin-12​​

* A Future with You by @chaoticgeminate​

Javier Peña

Always Been You by @laureliciousdefinition​​

* Naughty List by @something-tofightfor​​

Silent Night by @queenofthefaceless​​

Oberyn Martell

* Winter Solstice at Winterfell by @autumnleaves1991-blog​

Simple Treasures by @prolix-yuy​

past and present loves by @mandaloresson​​

Jack Daniels

Over Ice by @haylzcyon​​

Whiskey, dark and deep by @prolix-yuy​​

lust for life – lana del rey by @agentwhiskeysgf​​

* Sweeter by @the-ginger-hedge-witch​​

Din Djarin

Flowers that Bloom in Winter by @psychedelic-ink​

An Impromptu Snow Day by @ghostofskywalker​

* Aay'han by @whiskeynwriting​​

* Sun & Moon by @taro-666​

Sweetie by @browneyes-issac​​

Simple Gifts by @writeforfandoms​

* Ner Cyar'ika Baar'ur by @misspearly1​

Revenant & * Expectations by @djarinmuse (@yourcoolauntie​)

* Magnetic Fields by @noisynaia​

* Acts of Service by @frannyzooey​

A Spell Of Winter by @meandorla​

* Stripping Away Our Armor by @flightlessangelwings​

Frankie Morales

* How about you and me by @artemiseamoon​​

* ‘tis the damn season by @psychedelic-ink​

* Speechless by @din-jarhead​

* A Pilot for Christmas by @alwaysbethewest​​

* The Beginning of the End by @miraclesabound​​

die for you in secret by @brewsterispunkk​

Near-miss by @pedrito-friskito​

Idle Hands by @pettyprocrastination​

Let It SQUALL by @grogusmum​​

* Let Me Take Care of It All by @floralpascal​​

* Run Through The Jungle by @intheorangebedroom​​

I Could Fall by @thot-of-khonshu​

​See you next year! 

[littleferal]

Updates for the Writers' Iron Chef

Hi everyone, I've got 2 updates incoming for you!

Firstly, new challenges now drop every other Friday. I've forgotten a few times because of Life™, so this will allow me to be more consistent.

And secondly, the Writers' Iron Chef is moving to it's own blog, @writersironchef which you can find here. I don't know which genius came up with the idea of having a blog just for writing but thank you! This will make it so much easier for me, because it means I can drop the taglist and building a masterlist for each prompt, both of which are really time consuming. Instead you can follow the new blog to find all the prompts and completed challenges.

I'm still building up the new blog, and am in the process of moving all prompts of. So if you've ever written anything for this and it's gone on the masterlist, expect me to reblog it in the next few days.

Going forwards, please check this masterlist for all challenges, and please tag @writersironchef in any completed challenges. If you tag me, I'll reblog it :)

I hope this also makes it easier for everyone taking part, and I hope you all continue to do so.

Lots of love, Lissie xxx

Tagging everyone currently on my taglist for the Writers' Iron Chefs

@writefightandflightclub @pettyprocrastination @miceandpens @loversandantiheroes @prolix-yuy @fleetwoodmactshirt @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @hunnybadgerv @faunbarnes @nothoughtsjustmeds @flightlessangelwings @lovesbiggerthanpride @beecastle @psychedelic-ink @artemiseamoon @spectorgram @spacecowboyhotch @corvueros @alwaysbethewest @softanon @rofoundsomethinginteresting @iamskyereads @insomniamamma @whataperfectwasteoftime @delos-mio @ohheyitsokay @letterfromvienna @highsviolets @magpie-to-the-morning @pumpkin-stars @mourningbirds1 @keeper0fthestars @frannyzooey @bullet-prooflove @saradika

[bakatenshii]

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 

“Want a taste?” 

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.