#i don't even mind the length itself other than its More Time For Brain To Go Wrong

[nerice]

im so glad my flight home will fall on lmnday bc plane anxiety is alrdy hitting me so hard i know i will need His blessings

[amourtoken]

hi so this may be VERH tmi but like :( ive literally never ever been able to actually get off and its making me think of nicky or matt with an inexperienced reader :((((( helpin them get off and taking care of them andndjwnejenrne

I fucking love this and I was in your boat for YEARS so I entirely understand. I didn't realize I could even get off in the first place and thought the whole climax thing was just bs or that there was something wrong with me honestly 😭 I'm 21 now and didn't actually finish for the first time until i was like 18ish if that makes you feel better. I didn't understand my anatomy at all and every guy I'd been with till I met my bf didn't either so it was just a lot of missed opportunity.

Also: adding a cut bc this is LONGGGGG

I feel like explaining you've never gotten off to either of these guys would be like flipping a switch in their brain. Wdym you've never gotten off??? They'd make it a whole ordeal to change that.

Nicky would be "softer" about it, and I put that in quotes bc he's by no means a softie lmao he's a closet freak that just hides it well until the right moment. He's gonna take such good care of you :((

Nicky spends damn near a whole hour on foreplay itself, there's not an inch of your body that goes untouched. He wants you so needy you're shaking underneath him before he even touches you where you really need it. He'd kiss up and down your thighs and his fingers would dig into your hips a bit to drag you closer to his face so he can bury it in your pussy. He'll spend hours here if you let him he doesn't mind, he drags your hands up to his hair so you can pull him around however you need too cause he knows what he's doing but your input is important.

Honestly, he doesn't even care if he gets to cum tonight at all, he's doing this all for you. If eating you out isn't enough he'll work his fingers into you at the same time or offer to use a couple toys if that's better. He just wants you to feel good and he'll do anything to get there. Nicky only stops when he has another idea and that's to fuck you with a vibrator pressed right against your clit. He'd hand it to you so you could control the speed and pressure while he focused on fucking himself into you. If you can't seem to get it right he's more than happy to do it for you again and if the vibrator just isn't your thing dw babe he'll use his fingers.

The whole time he's talking you through it and praising you for doing such a good job for him. Once he can tell you're actually getting close he's practically high on it. He tries his best to not change his pace so you can ride out the feeling as long as you'd like but God once he feels you cumming around his cock he's rutting into you like a fucking animal and can't help himself.

"Fuck baby, that's it- shit- you're doing so good for me, it's okay- you're okay, feels good doesn't it?"

Matt on the other hand is an entirely different creature and when he hears you've never cum before he doesn't have the same "patience" Nicky does. He's more than happy to help you get off, but where Nicky spends hours bringing you to the edge, Matt is dragging you to it by your throat and forcing you off.

Matt wants you all fuzzy brained and subspaced for him during this whole thing cause he's gonna be taking care of you, you don't need to do any thinking. All you need to remember is his name.

I could for sure see him dragging you onto his lap in front of a big floor length mirror so he can show you everything he's doing. Your legs are spread on either side of his and he has one of those app controlled vibrators inside you (only taking it out when he wants to fill you up with his cock instead). The idea of watching yourself get off is embarrassing but fuck you're so wet it doesn't really matter at this point, Matt's fingers feel too good to worry about anything else. He has one hand spreading you wide and the other is switching from fingering you and scissoring you open to rubbing your clit and spreading your wetness around. His legs are keeping yours open even when yours squeeze against his and threaten to close.

You're literally dripping down his hand and wrist by the time he decides to fuck you, and he's not changing his stance from earlier, you're still in front of the mirror. He still ends up doing all the work and he's more than happy to though, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock until you were whimpering and crying. Your shoulder and neck are totally littered with bite marks and hickeys from him as well.

When he can tell you're getting close to that edge he hilts himself entirely inside you and wraps a hand around your throat to keep you steady while the other one abuses your clit. Youre twitching in his hold and nearly sobbing by this point cause it feels like an electric current is running under your skin until that coil in your belly unwinds and you yelp and cry in his arms while you cum around his dick. His pace slows on your clit but doesn't stop, he's trying to draw it out as much as he can for you before he lifts you off his cock to change positions.

[leiakenobi]

3, 11 and 14 for the fic asks 🫶

fic writer asks

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Holyyy moly, you sure started off with the hard questions. I've written so many at this point that it'd probably be impossible to pick just one. So I'll give you a few:

"This Must Be The Place"/"Once In A Lifetime." Honestly Santi is the kind of character that's wormed his way into my brain so deeply that I feel like a lot of my fics about him end up being my favorites (in my head I think of bartender Santi/baseball Santi/knight Santi as a trifecta) but "This Must Be The Place" is The One ya feel. Like how can you read it and not fall in love with Santiago Garcia a little bit.

"now let me at the truth." The premise of, "lol what if Ted Lasso but Ted and Trent knew each other back in college" was fully a goofy bit that my bud and I were riffing on in our DMs and it turned into this whole 50k+ world? Which is exciting in and of itself but I think what makes me so proud of it amongst my longer fics is that I really let the story guide me in terms of structure and length and style. It felt like I kind of leveled up in how I approach fic in a way that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"a shallow creek that too runs deep." Oh my goodness, truly this fic does atmosphere in a way that I measure all my other writing against. I also am very proud of how it kind of gradually developed over time from a oneshot into the full fic that it is now; I'm generally unwilling to expand on my oneshots because usually I feel like it would make the original story worse. I initially felt that way about this fic, too, even though I knew already that Poe and Rey's story would culminate in the same place where it eventually did. But I think the final product ended up being a really meaningful and well-done elaboration and I revisit it often.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

I'm actually very rarely able to write fic while listening to music anymore (this is the problem with studying music). On occasion I will listen to music if I've made a playlist for that specific fic, but even those are more for getting myself into the headspace of the world as I mull over what's next for the characters, with the idea that then I turn the music off when I really get on a roll. If I do listen to music, it will generally be this or this on repeat.

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

Most of the fics that are coming to mind have one or two specific scenes that are very cinematic in my head? I don't think I have to sell you on the idea that it would be glorious to see the "Come and Get Your Love" scene from "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" on the screen. Combat is significant enough in "clipped wings" that I think a visual medium would probably do it justice better than I can in writing, and I think the Force visions would also be very cool to see in film—particularly the one in Chapter 10 would probably be more readily comprehensible. Meanwhile I think "Post Script" would make a superb comic, though of course that would immediately change it from a generic reader-insert to a specific character—but that moment of her going into her old room and seeing all the post-its.......... oof oof oof that would hit so well visually.

[curioussubjects]

The biggest problem with essays is that ADHD brains struggle a lot with sequencing, which is a double-whammy for essays because you need to 1. sequence your argument and 2. sequence the essay itself. That is to say, we can get to point A to point Z just fine, but describing how we got there is...tricky. In addition, at least in the US, essay writing is expected but the actual teaching of it is...subpar, especially in primary education. We all know the 5 paragraph structure of essay-writing, but the logic behind how to translate ideas into text is sorely missing.

It makes sense that anon has an easier time with body paragraphs. Those are usually the juicy bits. I have yet to meet anyone (ADHD or not) who feels confident with writing conclusions. Introductions have their own challenge, but more often than not I think it's more intimidating (how do I start task??) than actually difficult to conceptualize (even if only abstractly).

Luckily, there are tools to help you put an essay together that also just so happen to be most helpful tools for ADHDers in particular (ime, anyway). One tool is one that I think most people arrive at intuitively if not through schooling: outlines. For ADHDers, outlines are fundamental because our memory deficits make it really hard to keep all the parts of an argument straight in our heads. The other tool is the rhetorical structure of the argument itself, which maps pretty easily onto a basic outline.

I'm taking for granted here that you already have something of a thesis statement in mind (ie.: the point your are making). Also, my training is in academic writing, but the logic here should apply to any kind of argumentative writing; it also applies to any length. That said, my background is in literature, so what I'm about to write might need tweaking to fit conventions outside of the Humanities.

Introduction: intros are about context. What led you to the point you're about to make? Is there pre-existing controversy about the topic? Can you point to a cool example of what you mean? (this is a great way to offer a teaser: offer some data, then point out why it's interesting or confusing or notable). The last part of your intro should make some reference to the evidence and reasoning you'll present, but you can be fairly general at this point: after looking at [data] and [secondary sources] it seems [how your research impacted your initial hypothesis]. [thesis statement].

Ironically, introductions don't care so much about your specific thesis statement as much as they do about how you got there before you even tried finding anything to back it up beyond your vibes and previous knowledge.

Body: each paragraph (or section) of the body of the argument offers one of your reasons for making the claim introduced in the thesis statement. In a way, they are all elaborations on the following: [claim] because of [reason] through [evidence]. I always liked outlining my essays by grouping together the specific bit of evidence I'd analyze and whatever quotations from secondary sources I had to back it up in a given paragraph. Then, I added keywords or cues so I'd remember what I wanted to say about the things I was quoting.

Counterarguments: In terms of outlining, I do the same thing for counterarguments as I do for body paragraphs: I make note of the quotations I'll use for each counterargument, what concessions I'm willing to make, and reasons for my disagreement. I've always much preferred to have a counterargument section after I explained my reasons and analyzed my evidence, but depending on the conventions of your field, and/or the nature and complexity of your topic you might have counterarguments as part of your body paragraphs.

Conclusion: this is the "so what" section. Why should the reader care about the point you just made? What are its implications? Does it raise any other questions for future research? Or are there questions that you left unanswered? Why? Another way to think about a conclusion is that it's how you invite others to engage with your argument. It furthers engagement.

Your outline can be as detailed as you want (there have been times when all I would put on my outline for the body section were the quotations from the novel I was writing about and the secondary sources I was using). What I needed out of an outline was a way to keep track of my thought process and what I needed to include where as well as stop me from going on tangents.

Another advantage of outlining is that I could plan my time accordingly. So if I had two weeks to write an essay, I'd set daily benchmarks I had to meet before I could stop writing. I'd also give myself a break day between finishing my draft and revising before submitting. This way, I could even trick my brain into getting more done in a day if I hit a good stride (this one time I got so into it I finished my final essays before we even hit our finals week, so I essentially had an extra week of break).

Hopefully, this is helpful to any ADHDers out there struggling with essay writing. Ask box is also open if anyone has questions.

ok so i want to know if that's just a me thing or a neurodivergent thing that more people experience. why can i only write the middle part of an essay? like, i can't write a somewhat decent introduction or conclusion to save my life. it was always a problem for me at school and it's even worse in college. what can i do?

apologies if that was a bit weird. i was diagnosed recently and i'm finding out SO many habits and traits i've always had are actually adhd, so it's a new yet very familiar thing too.

have a great day/night :)

Sent August 23, 2023

Writing can be really difficult for ADHDers, because of course there's this expectation that essays follow a linear thought progression and we don't necessarily follow the same kind of linear process that neurotypicals do.

When I'm not sure what a paper needs to include, I like to look at examples to make sure I get everything in the right order. For a scientific paper, it's easy enough to check a related journal article to see what the structure is and how they approach introductions and conclusions. It can be harder to find examples for personal essays, but there are books of essays that you can look at.

You might also like to check out your school's writing centre or disability services office. My university had both, and at the writing centre you could get tutoring in writing so that you could learn how to write at the level expected for university. (I didn't do the tutoring, I challenged with a writing test and didn't do well enough, so I had to take two English courses. I did really well in my courses and I am actually a good writer, the test was just timed and basically I had to turn in my rough draft no matter how poorly organized it was. And I wasn't great at the organization part for the type of essay I had to write for the test.)

Followers, do you struggle with writing essays for school? Which part is the hardest for you?

-J

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.1

It's here fellas, the mutation sequel that I've mercilessly teased you with!

Content warnings: gore, torture, blood (like... lots), just a bunch of puking up blood, Miranda being her usual mad scientist self, torture in the name of science, Nicole be sick af (both literally and of crow mommy's bullshit), a little bit of blood drinking as a treat, medical procedures.

////

Tic toc tic toc

God that clock is so annoying.

Nicole wasn’t nervous. No. She chose this, at least for the most part. She had a long conversation with all her family, Alcina and Esteria both assuring her that it would work. It’s been years since the beginning of the experiments and by this point the process was almost perfected.

Miranda knew what she was doing.

That mattered little to her nerves though.

She instinctively pushed herself further into Cassandra’s side, who’s grip around her waist tightened ever so slightly.

The waiting was downright tortuous.

She, along with Cassandra and her two sisters were in her infirmary. The room mixed the ancient decor of the castle with modern medical equipment in a beautiful way. Not that anything less would be acceptable. Not that the familiarity of her workspace brought her any comfort either.

All their eyes snapped in the direction of the door when a heavy set of footsteps, with two lighter ones, were heard down the hallway outside. Soon the door opened with a barely audible creak and the two matriarchs entered, followed suit by Mother Miranda. Her presence alone was enough to make Nicole’s breath get lost somewhere in her throat, on its way to an exhale. The black wings, even partially folded as they were, did their job of making her look so much more intimidating than she was. Not that she needed them to begin with, a look from those icy gray eyes more than enough to send anyone to their knees.

Mother Miranda was, in all ways that mattered, a goddess.

A goddess that was about to infect her with the same thing that failed countless times in the past. The same thing that made the crawling mindless beasts used as guard dogs in the undergrounds. Or that made all the lycans.

Nicole gulped, a gesture gone thankfully unnoticed to anyone other than her painfully dry mouth.

But Miranda didn’t spare her a glance. She simply busied herself with some tools she had brought on one of the metal tables. With each clink the room seemed to close in on her slightly more, until Nicole felt as if she somehow ended up in one of Heisenberg's death traps. Spikes moving closer and closer until they would pierce her body and leave her in a messy pool of blood and entrails.

She shook her head and took a long inhale. No. This was going to work. She was not about to lose her family over a pesky thing such as mortality. She was not about to lose Cassandra. If getting infected by the Cadou was what it took to spend eternity with her lover then so be it. Possible side effects be damned.

Mother Miranda finally seemed to have finished, a now empty flask labeled Cadou sitting on the desk behind her while the parasite was writhing in her hand, thin whip-like tentacles extending frantically around itself. She called her over with a nod, and with a deep breath and a parting hand squeeze from Cassandra, Nicole forced her legs to take her across the room. Her steps didn't waver, she'd be damned if she'd show any hesitancy in front of this.

"Shall we begin."

It wasn't a question really, merely veiled impatience. Miranda did not like her, plain and simple. The fact that she was there to begin with was already a miracle. Miracle that wouldn't have happened were it not for the Ladies themselves asking for it.

"Yes of c-"

Before her words even had time to completely slip out of her mouth, golden talons plunged into the base of her sternum.

"Hopefully this can teach you that I don't like people going behind my back."

Nicole let out a choked gasp, hands instinctively wrapping around Miranda's arm, weakly grabbing at black robes. Ironically enough, those very talons were keeping her upright and, when they were removed from her flesh with a disgusting squelch of blood, Nicole curled in on herself, falling to her knees.

"Wha-... cking ki-... -er!"

Cassandra's voice reached her ears broken up, barely passing through the deafening ringing. Miranda also gave a reply and then seemed to address someone else but her much calmer tone meant that it only sounded like a vague mumble.

Not that Nicole particularly cared at the moment.

She curled into a ball, her hands almost clawing at her chest trying to find some sort of relief. It seemed as if vicious tendrils were making their way into every vein and muscle, tearing their way through any tissue they found. Her chest felt as if it had a hot iron pressed directly onto the skin, searing pain radiating in a cruel pulse matching her frantic heartbeat. By that point she was either sobbing or heaving, something that involved shallow breaths for sure. Her lungs were protesting fiercely, emptying of oxygen and then refusing to refill if not with great strain.

To make everything worse, the pain seemed to shift, now engulfing her spine and sending jolts that made her head spin and want to throw up despite her jaws being clenched shut so tightly that she was sure she'd start to taste copper soon.

She was only vaguely aware of hands shifting her body and soothing words that fell on deaf ears. She was now on a softer surface, but that did nothing to alleviate the assault on each of her senses. Probably she had thrown up at a certain point as her sinuses felt like being scraped by sandpaper with each shuddering breath. Her mouth too had a lingering taste of both bile and blood that made her stomach turn all over again. She would give anything for her body to finally shut down.

Why was she still awake and conscious god damn it. There was only so much her body was supposed to take before the brain shut down and she was reaching her limit of how much agony she could endure at a moment.

Please please please just pass out please.

She didn't though. Her body seemingly deciding to feel every single bit of the infection process, complete with the unending waves of pain and nausea that hit her more than she wanted to count. Any bit of sanity left in her would've probably disappeared had she tried.

---

It took two days for the agonizing pain to subside. Another two for Nicole to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Cassandra's soothing voice was of immense comfort, always there to tell her how well she was doing and how it would all be better soon.

God she hoped.

On the fifth day, her stomach still lurched at any movement too sudden. Her lungs seemed to fill with blood, courtesy of the still gaping wound at the bottom of her sternum, with any inhale too deep. The fact that she got used to the coppery taste rising up in her throat was disgusting in and of itself. At least there weren't jolts of pain shooting through every nerve and muscle in waves anymore though. That was something.

The fog in her brain was still clearing. It was hard to focus on anything, and each time Cassandra, or anyone else, asked her a question they would have to repeat it at least three times. It was beyond frustrating, the mind that got her through med school drunk half the time was failing the insurmountable task of saying whether or not she'd like some water. Glorious.

A faint knock on the door reached her ears. A redundant gesture really, as she didn't exactly have the clarity of mind to answer. Besides it was hard to catch her in a more compromising state than curled up in the fetal position, covered in sweat and most likely blood clots stuck to her lips.

Esteria came in, her one blue eye that wasn't covered looking at her with all the gentleness neither of her parents had ever offered her. Or it was just the cruel trick of a delirious brain. Either way, light barefoot steps took the Mistress to her bed. She sat in the chair adjacent to it and, with taloned fingers brushing strands of auburn hair out of Nicole's face, she spoke softly.

"How are you feeling today?"

Her voice was just as melodious as ever. It was the voice one imagines they would hear from an ancient being found deep in the forest. It made Nicole just a tad guilty when the only answer she could give was a pathetic whine.

Esteria simply hummed, talons running through the long messy locks of hair sprawled on the sheets.

"Would you like me to braid this for you dear?"

Nicole frowned. The Mistress was an expert at braiding, quick fingers able to make beautiful designs, both simple and complex. Comes with having floor length hair, her hazy mind guessed. On any normal day, Nicole would've accepted without a second thought. But now? Now she was painfully aware of the state she was currently in.

"It's filthy," she croaked, her voice raw and like stones in her mouth.

And it was. Her hair was waist length and right now it was slowly becoming a curse. It was greasy and sweaty thanks to barely being able to move a limb for nearly a week, which meant no showers. Not to mention how she lost count of the times she bent down to empty the contents of her stomach into a bucket, only to have some rebel locks fall in her face and get subsequently dirty. God she felt awful.

Esteria didn't seem to care too much though, as she simply helped Nicole shift slightly and talons started to work at some pesky mats. In no time, her hair was in a comfortable braid that started relatively high, keeping the locks away from her nape which meant just a tad less overheating. Not to mention it kept it in place and away from her mouth that she didn't trust in the slightest right now.

"Thanks," she actually managed to not let her voice crack this time.

"Oh it's no problem. Also," there seemed to be an odd strain in her voice, "Mother Miranda is coming this evening. She said something about an examination."

Nicole couldn't help but openly wince and curl in on herself a little more at the mere mention of the woman. Her chest seemed to pulsate painfully at the memory of the golden talons embedded deep in her flesh. Right now she wanted those hands anywhere away from her.

"What time is it?"

Esteria looked at the clock placed somewhere on the wall behind them. "About twelve. Still got time."

How hard would it be to drag herself to the adjacent bathroom for a quick shower? The only way her situation could get worse was if none other than Mother Miranda came in to see her in that state. She took a deep breath that her lungs protested against and pushed herself onto her elbows. At Esteria's skeptical expression she tried to sound less horrible than she felt.

"I need a shower."

Esteria pursed her lips. "Sorry dear but I don't believe for one second that you can stand for more than a minute. I'll ask a maid to draw you a bath."

Nicole only nodded weakly and let herself fall back into the cushion.

---

It took far longer than Nicole would ever admit to get herself fully clean. Her muscles were sore and protesting at every pass of the soapy sponge. Her hair was a whole other battle and she had to bite down on her pride and ask the maid positioned outside her door for help. It was a tortuous fifteen minutes until the poor girl managed to detangle the long locks enough to be shampooed and washed.

After she was content with the level of cleanliness of her body and the maid was dismissed, she stood there preparing herself to get out of the basin. In the meantime she looked down at the wound at the bottom of her sternum. Maybe wound wasn't the right word. It looked more like a gray and black scar with vein-like tendrils spreading across pale skin. It looked downright gruesome. Miranda really did not try to do a clean job in the slightest. Didn't even think to use anesthesia, like she had with most other experiments, according to Alcina.

She sighed and finally pushed herself out of the water with shaky arms.

By the time Mother Miranda arrived she was feeling slightly better. Why she came personally was still a mystery to Nicole. Maybe some sick sense of satisfaction in seeing her in pain.

Either way, by the time their so-called goddess came into the infirmary and told Nicole to lay down on one of the tables, she managed to shuffle her way over without her body protesting too much. Cassandra also quietly made her way on the opposite side of Miranda, gaining herself a glare.

"Must you hover over her like that?" Miranda's tone was as even as ever, but her eyes betrayed annoyance.

"Does it hinder you?"

Cassandra was not an idiot, the growl she wanted to add into her question was instead replaced by a tone not too dissimilar to Miranda's own, who simply tugged her lips into a grimace.

"Very well."

At first they went through a normal examination. Pupil dilation, reflexes, all things a normal doctor would do. Then Miranda told her to unbutton her blouse so she could take a look at the infection scar.

Nicole couldn't help flinching when thankfully gloved fingers would poke and prod at the sensitive flesh there. Her cold digits felt like hot coals were spread on her chest and nails dragged uselessly on the metal underneath her body for some sort of distraction.

Mother Miranda decided to get a tissue sample and that's when Nicole decided that maybe she would rather spend eternity as a ghost. She squeezed her eyes shut when a scalpel was brought to the overly sensitive skin. It took her back to when she would do autopsies, years ago. Tissue samples were always an integral part of her work. How ironic that she found herself on the other side of things.

It's fine.

She winced when the blade cut into flesh and sent a jolt of pain through her chest. Nicole couldn't help but think of the long days she spent agonizing while her chest felt like it was burning her alive and hoping that it wouldn't repeat. A sigh of pure relief slipped past her lips when whatever fake deity there was besides this woman, listened to her and the sensation died out quickly. She dared to open her eyes, only to see Mother Miranda frowning down at the small vial in hand.

It was quickly given to an assistant and she unceremoniously grabbed Nicole's wrist, dragging the blade across the length of her forearm.

Nicole gasped at the sudden sharp pain, and even Cassandra dropped a few choice words in romanian due to the surprise. No. No no no. What the hell-

Any questions, or less dignified reaction, died in everyone's throats as they watched the skin stitch itself back together. The repairing muscles gave a tingling sensation but soon the only proof that a cut had been there were thin trails of blood.

Mother Miranda chuckled and wrote down something in the notebook she brought with her. "Accelerated healing. That can be of use."

Nicole couldn't help but throw a glance at Alcina, who was sitting in one of the many chairs with Esteria by her side. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of conflicting emotions flashing in her eyes like rapid lightning. She would've tried to decipher their matriarch's probable thoughts were it not for the smell that was starting to assault her senses.

"Ugh what's that…blood… "

Coherent sentences were still not something her brain wanted to do apparently, but judging by how her nose scrunched up in a grimace, Cassandra got the gist of what she meant.

"Um… your arm," she pointed to the still fresh blood slowly dripping from her skin.

Right. Dumbass.

"Or damaged sinuses. Should go away soon," Miranda added from where she was noting something down and giving instructions to her assistant.

Also fair.

She sighed and tried to ignore it. Her sinuses still felt like sandpaper all the way to the back of her throat. Every time she swallowed, it felt like needles scraping the inside of her neck down to her stomach.

Ugh.

Thankfully, Mother Miranda did not linger for much longer. She wrapped up any samples and was out of the room soon after with her assistant in tow. Then, Nicole could finally go back to laying down in bed and feeling miserable.

And miserable she felt. Her body seemed to have decided to rewire itself into its new mutation. It didn't have any effect on her physical appearance, but the insides seemed to want to liquefy only to be mended back together. It was another week of basically living with a bucket in her lap and throwing up blood clots that seemed to invade her lungs and organs. How she didn't straight up asphyxiate was a mystery that she didn't think she wanted solved.

And to top it off, she was starting to think that humidity from some leaky pipe somewhere in the castle was causing a slight mold problem. Almost everywhere she went, there was this faint moldy scent lingering in the air and it was mixing horribly with the coppery feeling inside her still offended throat and sinuses. Nobody seemed bothered by it though, so maybe it was simply a side effect of the infection that was yet to go away. It wasn’t nicknamed the Mold for nothing, after all.

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[lustbile-archive]

Abandoned

MarkxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warnings: Smut. Exploring an abandoned building with your friend on halloween sounds like a terrible idea, but what happens isn’t terrible, only incredibly weird. Monster!Mark. (also I feel like this may be the weirdest thing i’ve written so take that as you will)

Part 2 Here

This is the final installment of my halloween fic week. Info about blurb night here

You’re not sure why you let your friend convince you to go in the abandoned building at all, but on halloween night of all nights, you’re sure you must have had a death wish.

Firstly, the building didn’t even look safe. Even on a good day with the sun out and the birds singing, the building was old and run down, the only thing really remaining being a rotting shell. And the building itself even had a reputation. Older people in your town spread rumors about monsters that lived there and accidental deaths that occurred when there was still work being done within its walls, and of course you never took it to heart, but something about the chill in the air and the nature of the holiday made the old wives tales swirl in your mind and tug at your nerves.

But regardless of your fear, you went anyways. Your best friend had a sparkling look in her eye that made it virtually impossible to deny her of a creepy venture into the hazardous building, so with an agreement that you couldn’t leave each other’s sides and a 30 minute time limit, you hesitantly entered one of its broken door ways.

It wasn’t bad at first, enough so that you didn’t even feel scared anymore. Yeah it was old, and gross, but still empty. Wood creaked and the floor sunk in a few places, mysterious dried liquid dripped from the floors above and there was a faint stench of rotting, but in the end it was just a building.

As you walked through the rooms, each of you trying to find the grossest thing to jokingly gag at, you could feel your guard falling. Even a large rat running past you only got a yelp from the two of you, but you continued on.

And maybe you got too comfortable. You and your friend would take turns running ahead a few times, hiding behind walls to jump out at each other, and the 30 minute time limit was long forgotten, the you that existed before you entered the building would be disappointed. But the you that existed before you entered would be downright disgusted by what you did next.

“It looks so pretty,” you drawl out with a grin on your face as you stand in one of the building’s many hallways, the glimmering glass that’s scattered on the floor of the room catching your eye as you stare through its door’s small window.

“I dunno,” you friend hesitates as she squeezes her face next to yours, “it’s pretty and all but I’m afraid it could cut up my feet, like there’s so much glass.”

“That’s what you get for wearing sandals to go through an abandoned building you freak,” you tease as you pull away from the window, a faux look of disappointment on your face, “c’mon I just wanna get a couple of pictures please?”

“And no ones stopping you,” she retorts as she mirrors your stance, “I’m just not going to go in with you because I don't want bloody feet.”

“Are you serious right now?” you gawk, a petulant pout falling on your face, “you promised we wouldn’t split up.”

“And we don’t have to,” she says before turning to walk away, her smug voice carrying over her shoulder, “it just depends on how badly you want that picture.”

You standby there for a moment, watching her slowly retreating form with your arms crossed defiantly over your shoulders . You glance between the dark corridor that she enters and the room to your side a few times before you huff.

“Well, don’t go too far!” you yell out before turning and opening the door, “I’ll just take a few pictures so I won’t be long!”

You only hear her response of agreement faintly as the door shuts behind you, the heavy metal closing with a loud bang and making you jump.

The air is a few degrees cooler than it was in the hallway, the bite of it making a chill run up your spine. Your hand shakes as you pull your phone from the pocket of your skirt and squat down to begin taking pictures.

The flash of your phone makes the glass shine beautifully, a bright shimmer that makes small rainbows dance across the walls. Your shoes drag through the piles of glass as you move around, a quiet crunching noise following you everywhere you move.

You’re moving to the far corner of the room when you see it, a pitch black closet that’s missing it’s door, the placement of it making it impossible to see from the hall. Just looking at it makes your skin crawl, and you stay with your back pressed to the opposite wall.

“Just a few more,” you murmur to yourself, squatting down again to get a better angle. Your flash only goes off a few times before you see it.

You try to tell yourself that it’s just your imagination, that the eerie feeling of the building and the fact that you’re on your own is just making you see things. But as you lift your phone towards the doorway of the closet and take another picture you see it again for the split second the flash is on.

You’re frozen in your spot and your stomach turns as your brain tries to wrap itself around what stands in front of you. The outline of a figure burned into your eyes as you felt your rapidly beating heart clog your throat.

You try to convince yourself that maybe it’s an old vacuum or broom that you saw incorrectly, but as you find the strength to lift your phone to check the photo you feel nauseous when you see him clearly.

“Did I scare you?” a soft and concerned voice sounds from the closet making you yelp as you jump to stand, the sound of your phone falling to the floor and cracking on impact ringing out.

He creeps from the dark, entering the dim lighting of the room as the full moon shines through its window. His face is slim, and his eyes are wild as he watches you, his feet moving slowly and dragging on the floor with an inhuman gait as he walks closer. You’re backed into the corner of the room as you watch him approach you as if you’re a spooked animal.

“I didn’t think you’d see me,” he laughs quietly but you're too scared to respond, your voice completely lost as you watch the boy creep towards you.

“Don’t talk much huh?” he asks, the smile on his face growing unnaturally as he speaks, the sight of him making your face grimace and press harder into the wall as you try to create more distance between you.

It’s not that he was ugly, no if he was normal you would think he’s really cute. But there was something wrong, something off. The way his shoulder slumped and his legs carried him, his smile that stretched across his face too wide and his eyes that shake and burn into your skin as he watches you. From a distance he would look like a normal boy, but as he gets closer, only a few feet at this point, there’s a nagging voice in your mind that tells you that whatever stands before you, is not human.

“Wow,” he speaks as his eyes trail the length of your body, his stare making a weird heat spread over your skin, “you’re so pretty.”

Your heart drops at his words, not only what they mean but also what follows. He’s only an arms length away, and when he’s halfway through the last word, a thick black liquid spills from his mouth.

There’s a soft pattering sound as the liquid hits the floor in drops, the sight of it making your mouth hang open as your lunch turns in your stomach. You can feel your body tremor as you try to connect what’s happening in front of you in your brain.

“So, so pretty,” he continues to mutter as he gets in your personal space. The liquid that bubbles from his lips with every syllable is completely void of any smell as his face moves only inches away from yours, but his eyes ignore yours as they widen with confusion as his are trained on your chest and torso.

“I’ve never been this close to someone else before,” he admits before his hands start to tug at the hem of your shirt. The shock of the situation continues to stop you from speaking, but it’s when his hands start to trail up your stomach and towards your chest, that you start to believe that you’re some sort of deprived. Something about the heat of his hands runs a shiver up your spine, and when they press against your chest, you let out an involuntary whimper.

“Can I see you?” he asks, moving his eyes to meet yours and his hands to the buttons of your shirt. You’re not sure what makes you nod, but the movement is happening before you can think about what the question entails. The grin that pulls on his face in response makes your blood cold, and his nimble fingers begin to pop open the buttons of your shirt one by one.

“Wow,” he whispers out once your shirt hangs open, your bralette being the only thing covering your chest. He doesn’t show any interest in removing the fabric, but his hands return to pet over your skin.

There’s a heavy pause where his hands grope and mold over your skin, and you only stand still as he moves against you. With the black that drips from his lips and the way he stands before you terrifies you, but you also feel disappointed in yourself as the feeling of his hands makes your muscles lose their tension and your eyes fall closed.

After a moment of his hands exploring you, you feel his eyes return to your skin. You slowly peak your eyes open, and when they connect with his, you take in a shuddering breath.

He doesn’t speak, just stares at you for a moment, his intense eyes making you feel like whatever is happening before you isn’t real. The way he watches you makes you feel like maybe he can hear your thoughts, as you can almost see the gears in his head turning as he thinks. You’re about to try to speak again when he lunges at you and his mouth latches on the side of your neck.

You let out a loud gasp at the heat of his mouth suddenly on your skin. A part of you thought he was going to bite you, rip out your throat with his teeth even, but all you feel is his tongue starting to lap at the skin and the warm liquid streak up your neck.

He groans against you, his mouth kissing and sucking at the skin of your jaw. You feel yourself melting against the feeling, almost fully succumbing to the feeling when you notice it start to get weird. His tongue begins to lick at the place that his mouth covers, slipping past his chin a few times, but after a few heavy licks, you feel it gaining more surface area.

While his mouth stays on and around the same space of your jaw, his tongue has begun to reach the center of your neck, and before you can comprehend what is happening, you feel the tip of his tongue flicking against the other side of your neck.

If the black liquid from his throat wasn’t enough of a hint, his inhumanly long tongue was enough to tell you that the boy against you isn’t human. The voices in your mind start to argue, one yelling that you should have never split away from your friend and you should shove him off you and run away, the other telling you to admit the truth. The truth is you don’t hate the feeling. His mouth is eager and whatever liquid that’s started to coat your skin is warm and slick. His wandering hands has you squirming and panting into the air, and there’s a part of you, a part that feels dirty and terrible, that enjoys what's happening with the creature that lives in this abandoned building.

You let out a soft moan as his mouth moves down your neck, his tongue following suit as it licks down to your collarbones and the center of your chest. With curiosity you tilt your head slightly to look at what he’s doing to your skin, and you’re greeted with something you fully expected but still fills you with disbelief.

His tongue looks like a normal tongue, soft and pink, the only difference is its unnaturally long length and the sharp tapered point it ends with. You also quickly notice that the liquid that pours from his mouth is now coating your entire torso, dripping down your chest and stomach and even begins to stain the waistband of your skirt and drip on the floor between your feet.

You move your head up to stare at the ceiling, hoping the lack of visuals would help you convince yourself that what's happening to you is normal. Your curiosity takes over though when his traveling mouth reaches your stomach, and your shaking hand moves to touch the liquid that remains on your neck.

It’s begun to cool from the night air. It’s thick and sticks to your fingers slightly as you move your hand to hold in front of your face, and the black color is so dark and saturated, it almost looks like a hole to the void has been bored into the tips of your fingers.

You’re so distracted by the slippery substance that coats your fingers, you don’t feel his hands lifting your skirt. You don’t even notice his mouth pressing against the skin of your thighs, until they brush against your inner thigh making you jump.

Your hand falls, and you quickly look down. Your skirt obscures the top of his head, but you can still feel as the tip of his nose digs into the seat of your underwear and he takes a breath in.

“You smell very good,” he compliments, and you can't help the way your legs try to slam shut around his head and your skin warms in shame, “can I take these off too?”

His head pops out from under your skirt quickly as he asks, and you feel your heart clench slightly as something about it is weirdly cute. Again, you feel yourself nodding instead of verbally responding, but he only grins and returns to his place between your legs at the motion.

His hands waste no time in shoving your underwear to the ground, and while you fully expected it, you jump again when his nose presses against your bare skin.

You let out a squeak of shock when you first feel his tongue, the warm muscle only slipping partially out to lick at you. He must enjoy what he finds, as he happily hums before the full length of his tongue is covering you.

It never leaves your skin as he licks up the length of you, its long size keeping at least some of it on your skin every time. Your legs shake as his saliva and the liquid drenches your skin, the sheer amount coating you and dripping down the inside of your thighs. You think you may go crazy just by the situation itself, but also from the way his tongue covers you enough to lick at your entrance and clit, and even slipping further back than you had anticipated.

He hums against you, the vibrations sending a shot to your neglected clit, and you return to yourself enough to realize he may not know exactly what to do.

You notice that your hand continues to resemble a leaf as it shakes as you reach down. Your fingers grip harshly as you lift your skirt, and you're greeted by him tucked between your legs with his eyes shut tight. It throws you a bit to see him enjoying himself so thoroughly that you have to pause before you do what you were thinking.

“Here,” you whisper as you hesitantly tap at his forehead, your voice strained from the lack of use. He leans away almost immediately, his tongue slithering back into his mouth and his eyes opening wide with curiosity at hearing you finally speak, “r-right here.”

Your forearm holds your skirt against your stomach as your fingers tap gently at your clit. His eyes follow the motion, his head tilting softly as he looks at what you touch, before he’s looking at you again in curiosity.

“What about it?” he asks slightly confused, “does that part feel good?”

“Yeah,” you respond, your voice still quiet and scared, but he only shows you his too wide smile in return.

You only get a bob of his head as a warning before he moves back onto you, his mouth immediately latching onto your clit. Pleasure shoots up your spine as he starts to suck at the bundle of nerves, and your hands move to hold onto his hair before you can even think about it being the first time you touch him.

You push him against you, your hips moving slightly as his tongue roams the exact spot you pointed to. You're already enjoying the feeling much more than you had expected, but when his tongue slips out again to wander, you feel delirious.

The longer muscle licks at you desperately, the end of it prodding at your entrance as he finds it's the source of the arousal that spills from you. His hands move to wrap around your thighs, and you fear he’ll begin to suffocate himself with how deep he presses his face into you.

His tongue is a lot stronger than you thought when you feel it start to slip inside you, the thick muscle throwing you off as it reaches deeper and deeper inside. He groans loudly, gross slurping noises following, as his tongue begins to move in you, the muscle starting a soft twisting and thrusting motion against your walls. The feeling in you is far different than anything you’ve felt in your life, and combined with the way he keeps his hot mouth attached to your clit, you feel like you’re losing your mind.

You’re grateful for his hands as they hold you up as your legs become weak. Uncontrollable noises fall from your lips, encouraging him to fuck the dark liquid into with his tongue. With your whimpering and cries, you momentarily remember your friend as she wanders the hall, and you beg that she can’t hear what happens between you and the mysterious creature between your legs.

Your toes curl in your shoes as his nails start to scratch at your skin, and you feel your face start to scrunch up tightly as the pleasure builds an aching knot in your stomach. Your hips move with the motion of his tongue as it pulls you apart. If the length of it was jarring as it wrapped around your neck, it was even more intense as if pushed and licked inside you. You shake and jump as he curves it to press perfectly into the hypersensitive spot that sits in you, and you fear that you may rip his hair from his scalp from the way you fist at the strands.

Your eyes begin to roll back in your skull as the pleasure begins to get too much, the foriegn feeling of his tongue and the heat from his mouth and the liquid makes you feel gross and dirty in the best way. You’ve seemed to have lost access to your voice once again, as when you try desperately to warn him of what is about to happen, only squeaks and whines come out.

You feel his tongue twitch inside you in his surprise as you start to come, your walls fluttering around him and your moans growing in volume as the feeling consumes you. You feel yourself jerking uncontrollably as he only groans at the sight and feeling of your orgasm overtaking you, and his licking only grows in speed as he carries you through the feeling.

The tugging your hands deliver on his hair gets harsher as you try to pull him away from your body. He hesitates, his tongue still licking to collect as much of your come as possible, before he finally moves away. You shiver as his tongue slips from your body, your legs trembling at the small sparks of pleasure it hits you with.

His face is covered with your arousal and the black liquid as he stares at you from his place on the floor, his weird grin getting slightly more endearing every time you look at it, even with his sharp teeth stained with black. He clambers to his feet and presses his face close to yours as he speaks.

“Did you like that?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the way you pant and slump against the wall. His eyes sparkle as you nod softly, “cool, that’s so cool. I didn’t know people could do that. Can I do that?”

A soft puff of air leaves your nose in a laugh as your head shakes in confusion, “I.. I dunno.”

“Do you think we can tr-“ he starts to ask, when there’s a loud crash from the closet that he came from. He immediately straightens, a look of shock crossing his face before morphing into one of disappointment. His head to turns to look at the closet for a moment before he sucks on his teeth and turns back to you.

“Maybe some other time,” he suggests as he starts to move away. He stops with a jump as if he remembers something important, “there will be another time right? You’ll come see me?”

“I mean, I don’t,” you stutter as you stand, the strength returning to your legs, “I mean sure? I guess?”

“Cool,” he smiles walking away again, “just meet me here whenever, i’m the only one who comes out here.”

You can't help but be reminded of your friend as you whisper an ‘okay’ at his retreating form. The room feels colder once he’s gone, much more quiet too with his mouth no longer on you, and you almost begin to think none of it ever happened in the first place.

Part 2

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Two: The Arrival

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Death of a parent, nosy neighbors, irritated feelings, lmk if I missed any

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: Welcome back! First of all, I want to thank each & every one of you that read & enjoyed the Ch.1! Your wonderful comments really set it in stone for me to continue this fic & I really hope I don't disappoint! Anyway, I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this one! I'm so nervous!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

Chapter One || Chapter Three

~APRIL EIGHTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

The days passed, the same as they always do, yet with no word on any boy or man willing to spare the help for the farm. You did your best to think rationally; the majority of the families around town were busy with their own affairs, their own shops and farms. It was only you and Pa, and while the majority of the townspeople were friendly, not a soul seemed to spare a second thought towards the two of you, outside of banding together for Ma’s funeral.

You were preparing to give up, once again, the hope that perhaps there was one – at the very least, one – man who would take pity on you and Pa. The more you reassessed the people of the town, the more it appeared they only ‘cared’ when it suited them, when whatever dilemma you and Pa were faced with was the opportunity for them to engage in hearsay.

Mrs. Williams, for example – although kind and respectful while you stood in front of her – immediately took it upon herself to, not only relay the information that help was needed to every man, woman, and child in town, but indefinitely began to spout words of pity regarding you and Pa. Of course, that got the whole of the town babbling about how awful, how unimaginable, it was to have to endure the tedious season by yourselves. Yet, no one desired to lift a pinky to help.

So, as you enter the town, you aren’t stunned when you hear whispers as you pass. It had been a brief few days prior that you had finally been overlooked, finally was not the cause of their speculations. And now, you grit your teeth with disdain and continue walking through, awaiting the moment you reach the haven of the shop and, hopefully, have a moment to collect your thoughts and set them in the icebox to cool.

One positive outcome of it, you gather, if you were to look on the other side of things, is that you have gained the ability to avert your ears from whatever nonsense the older women gossip about, not concerned so much of what they say, just that it was taking place at all.

However, as you make your way down the dirt road, you realize it isn’t just the typical gossip coming from the elderly ladies, and are even more shocked to learn that you are not the subject of the chatter. The whole town is seemingly buzzing like a hive of bumblebees, a hum carried through the air consisting of ‘Did you see him?’, ‘A visitor’, and ‘What a strange man’.

Even you acknowledge that it must be interesting news for the whole town to be churning with such fervor and animation over it. The town, collectively, has never been so excited about anything since the new sheriff was appointed and you find yourself turning your ears to the conversations to see if you hear anything of importance. Once you realize, though, that you're partaking in the exact avocation you so despise when it's directed toward you, the doors close inside your ears once again and you walk straight to the shop.

After you’ve had time to settle and display all the new wares, the bell rings and you hear behind you the whispers of the older ladies filling the atmosphere, conspiring against whatever – or, whomever – has attracted their attention so.

“Hello, dear!” One of them – Mrs. Foster, who is seen as the lead hen – yells out to you. You take a deep breath, summoning the companionable parts within you to the surface.

“Hello Mrs. Foster,” you greet while turning to face the group.

To her side, Mrs. McKenna and Mrs. Jones, along with her young daughter, Lucille. Lucille Jones must be the closest you have to an acquaintance in town, but her mother keeps her quiet and buried under her wing, grooming her to be exactly the respectable young lady that will surely attract a wealthy husband, therefore paying for luxuries his new mother-in-law would not be able to afford otherwise. That poor fool.

“Have you seen the latest traveler, dear?” Mrs. McKenna asks.

“I have not,” you reply simply. Tis the truth, after all, but something about this mysterious traveler, that has caused such an uproar, makes the curiosity seep into the lining of your veins. Though, you would not engage in their gossip just to find out more.

“He is most strange,” Mrs. Jones adds, answering a question you had not asked.

“To each his own,” you say, feeling the irritation at their simple minds grow in your belly.

Before another moment could be spared for this nonsense, you quickly distract them with your latest concoction: a complexion cream made from eggs, cream, oats, and lavender, a soothing blend that would help hide the blemishes on their faces. Not their consciences, unfortunately, but it excites them no less.

~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

You awaken before the sun today, the sky is still a dark cobalt and fading into sapphire behind the hills, indicating the orange ball of light will be presenting itself in moments. You sigh, stumped at the sudden feeling in the pit of your core that today will be unlike the others – somehow. You turn over on your other side, away from the window, in search of another wink of sleep. It is futile, and you accept the call for the day to begin.

You step lightly so as to not disturb Pa sleeping just below your floorboards, and begin washing your face, arms, and legs, dressing in your usual skirts, and meticulously perfecting the knot of your hair. You even go as far as braiding the length of it before pinning it around on the back of your head and the sight of it resembles a flower. You hum; a sincere hum of a song your mother used to sing. You ponder why it entered your head in this moment after not having heard it in over a year.

Once the sun begins to peek its rays across the fields, you step down the ladder softly, keeping your eyes to Pa’s bed on the other side of the rails to ensure you haven’t woken him. Only, he isn’t there. His bed is made with care so you know he hasn’t been resting on it for a while. As soon as your boots are planted on the wooden floors, you turn to face the rest of the house. He is nowhere; not in the kitchenette, not sitting at the table, nor sitting in his armchair in the corner of the house.

Confusion strikes you; he has not risen before you since Ma was still here. You grab the lockbox from the safe and your bonnet off the wooden hook in the wall, tying it around your neck and placing the box in your bag, stringing it over your shoulder before stepping outside. There is still a chill in the air from the night and you shiver slightly before cupping your hands around your mouth.

“Pa?!”

You yell into the air, the heat of your breath visible in front of you as you await an answer that doesn’t come. Your eyebrows wrinkle across your forehead, worry beginning to creep into your bloodstream. You walk down the steps from the house and turn towards the fields. As you look across them, the sun shining bright enough now to help your vision, you don’t see his figure anywhere. You walk towards the barn, cupping your hands around your mouth again to repeat your call.

“Here, child!”

You hear the rasp of your father’s voice respond from within the barn. You will your heart to rest from the fright that rushed through your veins, breathing right again knowing your Pa is well. You walk to the doors of the barn, the sun blinding you briefly before entering and you see Pa standing and chatting with a man.

He stands with a confident, yet humble posture, straight brown pants covering tall legs, suspenders attached at the waist and strapped over a bone-white shirt with a black coat resting across broad shoulders. In his hands, he fiddles with a wide brimmed, brown hat that, as you step closer, you can see has small tears & rips along the outer edges. He turns to look in your direction, a soft and friendly smile underneath a neat mustache, hair sparsely adorning his jaw.

“Daughter, this is Mr. Prospect,” Pa introduces.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prospect,” you give a small curtsy and bow your head.

“I assure the pleasure is mine, miss,” he replies, bowing his head. “Your father and I were only just discussing the season you will be faced with here. I am most obliged to be suited enough for work and I am at your service.”

You nod along to his words, finding it difficult to search inside your brain and pull something out of it that may continue the conversation. His voice is rich and decadent, finer than the most luxurious chocolate you might have the pleasure of introducing to the buds on your tongue. It sounds as if it comes from deep within his being as opposed to his throat, and you find it very pleasing to your ears.

“Mr. Prospect here will be our new farmhand for the season. He only just arrived moments before you rose,” Pa continues.

“Forgive me, Pa, I did not hear you wake-”

“Do not fret, little one,” he smiles and places a weathered hand gently on your shoulder and you smile in return. “Daughter, please show our new employee the farm; I have yet to do so, but the chickens need feeding now.”

“Yes, Pa.”

Pa exits the barn with a stomping of his boots as his heavy and tired legs carry him, turning the smile on your face into a small frown. You exhale through your nose and turn to the man, noticing a small tuft of white locks at the beginning of his hairline, fading into a rough cut of shaggy, brown hair. You avert your gaze so as not to be impolite with your stare and look into the mahogany irises of his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Prospect, I do apologize for you having to lodge with the cattle,” you say as you gesture to the black and white beasts resting in their stables.

“It is quite alright, miss. I’m sure they will be most interesting to converse with,” he smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth and his jest pulls a giggle from your throat as you smile.

“Just up there –” you point to the ladder leading to a platform above the cows. “– is a bed of hay. It may stick you, but we will provide plenty of blankets to soothe the irritation and keep you warm.”

His gaze meets the platform, exposing his elongated neck and strong jaw, his profile revealing his aquiline nose and you find your gaze fixated on him once again. What an intriguing man. You realize he must be the new traveler the town was so preoccupied with yesterday, but you find nothing strange about him at all. Quite the opposite. He seems to be the purest and gentlest man that has ever passed through this town. He looks back down to you, the soft, good-natured smile reaching his eyes, the same smile on his face from the moment you met.

“Follow me, please.” You lead him out of the barn and to the fields on the other side and he places his hat back on his head as he walks.

“This is the field the corn will grow, and just on the other side of the barn will be the potatoes. I must divulge that it is quite strenuous. I am thankful to you for accepting the work; it will help my Pa and I tremendously.”

“I respectfully deny your thanks; I’m afraid it is I who should be thankful to you and your father for welcoming me with such friendliness,” he replies and you look up into his eyes. Such beautiful orbs, as brown and majestic as the mountains that surround you, the likes of which you’ve never seen.

“This way,” you say, a light tremble in your voice from momentarily having the ground swept from under your feet. You lead him to the house, stepping up the stairs and opening the door. You take a step inside, but the man does not enter, rather staying still on the porch, fiddling with his hat in his hands once again.

“It is quaint; I’m not sure where you are from, Mr. Prospect. Perhaps you are familiar with more lavish dwellings,” he looks around the room as much as he is able from where he stands and smiles.

“Not in the slightest, dear Sunflower. The home you reside in is lovely and most would be envious to have such to call their own,” he says kindly and you smile genuinely in return, a warmth reaching the apples of your cheeks from his endearment.

“You are welcome to our table for meals and coffee, if you’d like. And we have wash basins you are free to use as well.”

“Many thanks, miss. I am very grateful to have been blessed with hospitality such as this.”

You nod your head, lowering it slightly as you walk out and back onto the porch, the man waiting for you to step down into the dirt before he follows suit. You smooth out your dress and turn to look back at him, his eyes having not left you once.

“What is your name?”

“Ezra,” he replies, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You offer your hand politely and return your name, the greeting between you holding firm, yet gentle; his hand is warm and soft, slightly calloused from farm work.

“Ezra,” you repeat, letting each letter of his name roll from the back of your throat, over your tongue and through your teeth. It was as smooth as the butter you had churned this past monotonous week. “What a unique and beautiful name; very pleasing on the tongue.”

He blushes lightly, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he averts his gaze to his dirt covered boots.

“Did you see the notice at the post?” You ask, smiling fondly at the bashful man in front of you and he faces you again, nodding his answer. “Yes, I assumed so. There was one at the shop, too, but you had not walked in while I was there.”

“Yes, once I saw the notice and inquired about the position, I spent some time familiarizing myself with the town before heading here to see your father. He had been preoccupied yesterday and requested I return early this morning.”

“That’s strange. He didn’t mention it to me,” you ponder. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for Pa to not trouble you with these affairs until it was time to deal with them. “And you only just arrived yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, miss. To be frank, I am slightly unnerved at the commotion my arrival has stirred; it seems the people here are not accustomed to travelers.”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply with a contrite look on your face. “I apologize for the welcome not being so friendly. Do not take it to heart. I have grown up here and still feel like an outsider,” you add, the sudden remark escaping you naturally. You have a strange feeling that you may be able to open your mind and thoughts to this man who exudes comfort and compassion. Maybe someday.

“Well, Ezra,” you enunciate again. “I’m afraid I must go now. Pa will have you busy with work in no time, I guarantee. If you ever need anything from me and I am not here, our shop is in town, right after the bank. Please do not hesitate to come by and ask.”

Ezra looks at you again, the tender smile that had budded on his unconventionally attractive face blooming into a full fledged, teeth baring grin. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, sparking a dull fire in the furnace within your belly that had long been barren, full of the ashes of any past flame that ceased to exist as quickly as it had lit.

At first glance, it may have been easy to overlook his features, but as you gaze at him before you, it is not difficult to see that he is, in fact, very handsome. You smile in return, adjusting your bonnet to sit atop your head and turning on your heels to walk toward the town.

Of course, the people are still buzzing with the recent arrival of Ezra Prospect. Even worse now, word has reached that he is to be your new farmhand. Mrs. Williams, of course, heard from her husband that Mr. Prospect had shown intrigue in the position, and later that night while they ate dinner, Mr. Williams shared the news with his wife. It truly is doubtful that anyone would be able to survive one, single daybreak without having something or someone to talk about.

The main three hens, Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McKenna, and Mrs. Jones all swarm your personal environment before you even make it inside the shop and they are just about bouncing in their heeled boots, awaiting any sort of information you can give them about Mr. Prospect.

“I hear he’s your new farmhand.”

“Is he as strange as he looks?”

“He seems dangerous; best keep your distance, dear.”

They will not stop; one question rolling into the next from each of their beaks. You have a right mind to lay out some feed on the ground for them so as to keep their mouths busy with other matters. The irritation courses through you, a dull tightness forming at the base of your skull.

“What is his name?”

“Perhaps if he did not feel so unwelcome by the whispers of the town, he may be more inclined to tell you himself,” you say harshly before having a moment to think twice.

They gape at you; the audacity, their expressions seem to say. You don’t seem to care for it, though. To have them whisper about you was one thing; you could manage just fine, however bothersome it is. But Mr. Prospect seemed friendly and gentle enough to make you relinquish any passiveness to these women, unwilling to keep cordial when they’re so unpleasant of anyone new introduced to this town. It’s unusual, this feeling. Protective. Over a man you only spoke to for no more than fifteen minutes.

The women scoff under their breaths, very obviously offended by your response and denial of amusing them. They whisper amongst themselves as they walk away, not trying to hide their second glances at you from over their shoulders as they continue down the road. Surely, the word will spread that you did not wish to speak to them about the traveler, and they will conspire on which hen to send next to continue the digging.

You feel some relief, however, knowing now the conversation will be turned back to you instead of Mr. Prospect. He did not deserve to be treated as such during his stay and you would make sure of that.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360 @wardenparker @librariantothejedi @fan-of-encouragement @javierpinme @writeforfandoms @ew-erin

[jaemnoir]

get some

wc: 1.8k

prompt:

'i don't, i don't, wanna wait no more / we can do it on the kitchen floor / give me what i'm begging for / i just wanna get some'

warnings: slight exhibitionism, dry humping, making out,,, never proofread not edited this and also this is a kinda old draft so it might suck :/

a/n: found this deep within my drafts from my old blog and thought 'what the hell' so here we are. based on the song, get some by ghosted ft. kamille

You smiled dreamily as you stuck a picture of the boy that had caught your eye lately on your vanity mirror. Your hair scooped up to one shoulder as you glide your brush down its length. The daunting lipstick is a striking contrast to your plain skin. Fluttering your eyelashes at the mirror, you looked at the masterpiece you've made of yourself. You stood up from your seat, smoothing down the white dress you've picked out before twirling around, loving the way the fabric flowed along with your body. Along with it, your hair cascaded down your back, a sweet cotton candy smell emitting from it. A simple thin gold necklace hugged your neck, highlighting your collarbones in a way that would make any boy drool over. The small bag you've prepared for the day hung on the hook stuck to your door. You grabbed it before exiting the room.

"I'm going out!" You called out, only to be met with the silence of the house. You shrugged before taking your boots and walking down the path. Mind hazy and filled with endless daydream of the tanned skinned boy as you skipped on your way to the party. Hoping for even just a glimpse of Lee Donghyuck.

You stood alone at one corner of the room, your back leaning on the wall while a red solo cup snuggled in between your fingers. The music was too loud for your taste and your energy had dropped to zero hours ago. Your friends have already ditched you, probably trapped in one of the rooms upstairs with a horny stranger. You wanted to leave but not before you get what you've been waiting for. Bright lights would blind your vision from time to time, the harsh tints of red and blue making you blink furiously.

"You okay, pretty girl?" A deep voice made you snap up, your head raising towards the body in front of you. Black leather adorned his body, hugging it attractively. It made you wonder if it was him but the fact that he stood against the light made it hard for your eyes to identify him.

"Yeah, just blinded but I'll manage." You answered. A dark chuckle rose from his chest and you already know his motive for approaching you. "What's so funny?"

You feel him move to stand next to you. A part of you hoped it was Haechan like you've been wanting, the liquor in your hand already fueling the heat in your body. Once the stranger finally settled himself next to you did you turn to get a good look at him only to be greeted by the sharp features of Wong Yukhei. "You're cute."

You rolled your eyes at his cliche remark. "Sure, Lucas." You snapped, the sudden change making the boy raise his brow at you in interest. It made you shift the longer he stared. "What?"

"I'm trying to figure you out." He said. You turned your body to face him. Looking up at him with sharp eyes, you hear his breath hitched.

"There's not much to figure out. I just want to get some." You told him before leaning up just inches away from his lips. His eyes snapping from your eyes to your red stained lips. A clear sign of his desire. "Just... not from you." You whispered, pulling away and leaving him dumbstruck, eyes wide at your retreating back. Your red cup is looking to be a bit closer to empty than you want it to be. Thus the beginning of your trek to the kitchen ensues.

Your body squeezed through the multiple pressed bodies, the sheen of sweat on your skin now more prominent as you escaped the crowd and finally face to face with the door.

As you entered the clean uncrowded kitchen, you almost did a double take as you took in the appearance of the only person in the room with you. None other than Lee Donghyuck in the flesh. He sported a red leather jacket, his hair styled perfectly on his head. You could feel your face go red as you walked further in the room, his eyes snapping towards you.

"Need a refill?" His voice tasted like honey and you wondered if he does too. The sound shot straight to your core at how sexy it sounded. You pressed your thighs together to try and console it, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the boy as he smirked. "So what'll it be, miss?"

"Y/n." You stammered, not anticipating him asking your name as you moved closer to the island. You kept your hands close to your chest, toying with your fingers while looking down. You looked so small and nervous that it made Haechan lick his lips.

You turned your face up at him, one of his eyebrows lifted up. Your face goes red as you begin to stutter. "V-vodka please." You didn't mean for your pitch to be as high as it is but here you are. Heachan nodded his head, grabbing a bottle and pouring its content at your awaiting cup. Your nimble fingers visibly shaking a bit and he couldn't help but find you cute. And the prominent effect he had on you boosted his ego a lot. He was confident in his next course of action.

"Anything else?" He asked, voice deeper than it did before. His eyes staring you up and down in such a dirty way you couldn't help but think this was a dream.

The implication made your breath get caught in your throat while the boy sauntered towards your sensitive body only stopping a few inches away. The hand he pressed on your skin made goosebumps to flow through you. Your shaky hands lifted the cup to your lips, taking a sip as he continued to stare you down. "You alright there, love?"

He was so close. So close that you could smell the strong scent of his cologne. So close that every breath he took touched your cheek gently, your heightened nerves sending signals to your brain with every soft change on your skin. You were drunk, intoxicated but not by the many shots of alcohol you've taken but the boy standing too close to you. His thumb started drawing circles on your arm, hypnotising you to his touch. It's been so long since anyone has made you feel like this.

"Y-yup.." you breathed out, voice shaky and anticipating as you watched him lick his lips. The pink muscles poking from the small space, the action riling you up more than it should.

"You seem pretty tense, love. Need help loosening up?" His dark eyes now filled with lust had you shrinking under his gaze. The scenario made you feel inexplicably hot, the dress you were wearing now suddenly felt a bit suffocating.

Unable to form any words, you nodded your head. Heachan let his fingers brush against your arms, fingertips tracing along your skin, sending electricity all over your body before stopping to your neck. His hands cupping both sides of your jaw, fingers brushing on a sensitive part of your skin which sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could even recover, you felt his lips on yours.

His lips moved furiously against yours, matching the same amount of hunger and want you've been feeling all day. You felt him push you forwards, his arm keeping you close as he guided you to the nearest wall. One of his hands pulled away from your face, clicking the lock on the door so no one would disturb you two. You felt your back being pressed against its surface, the cold being a sharp contrast to the heat the both of you were radiating. Your arms lay limp on the sides of your body before Haechan placed them around his neck, your fingers automatically raking on his hair, pulling it. A groan escaped his lips, pulling away, his eyes blowing open with an expression that made you weak. His arms pulled your legs, instinctively making you jump to let him wrap them around his waist. His hands rested on your bum, squeezing them, eliciting a loud moan from your throat.

You heard him chuckle darkly, watching you wither at his touch. He pushed you harshly on the door before attaching his lips on your neck. Your fingers tangling itself back to his hair. He grinded his hips in between your thighs, your core feeling his already hard cock made you whimper. The constraints of your clothes limited you from taking any more pleasure. The muffled sound of the party outside made you realise how easy it is for any of them to see you both made the situation feel so hot.

A few more thrusts and breathy whimpers from you, you felt Donghyuck begin to pull you off the wall. His face detaching from your neck before connecting back to your lips, the same amount of lust from before continuing in the heated kiss. You felt the smooth surface of the marbled island beneath your bum, Donghyuck's hand riding your dress up to your thighs, his other hand on your back as he helped you lift your body up so he could pull the hem of the fabric up your waist. His hand stopped at the clasps of your bra, expertly unhooking it. He let his palm find its way to your breast, squeezing them as you moaned into his mouth. His other hand went to your thighs, teasing the skin until he had you whimpering like a dog and begging for more.

"What do you need, princess?" He teased, his thumbs brushing against your wet clothed folds. You whined at his touch, eyes begging at him desperately but he wouldn't have any of it. He wanted you to say it.

You opened your mouth to speak when you heard keys jingling and the door being thrown open. The both of you froze in your spot as you turned your attention towards a not-so surprised Renjun.

"Party's over. Chenle's parents are here and they are not happy." He said before going back out as if he didn't just interrupt you.

You hear Haechan sigh in front of you. You felt slightly---scratch that---really disappointed at the abrupt fever dream you were just in. Your need was still ongoing and craving for his touch. He lifted his head at your pouting expression.

"Sorry princess, we don't really want to anger the Zhongs any longer." His eyes searched around the room before ripping a piece of a nearby magazine taking a marker from one of the drawers before scribbling something down. "Here."

You took the paper from his hands. He winked at you before exiting the room.

"If you want to get some." And a date and time written on it along with a location and his number.

I just wanna get some

part two?

[violetnotez]

Dabi x reader

This is loosely...LOOSELY based off the myth of Persephone and Hades-honestly, I tried to do the fic based off the legend and it just turned into a yandere Dabi, so enjoy!😘😘

⤷ Genre: Yandere, angst+fluff

⤷ Word Count: 2898

⤷ Warnings: cursing, abduction, mentions of spicy themes 🔥

⤷ Synopsis: You wake up in a new place, feeling tired, achy, and not understanding a single clue of how you got there-until you realize you have been taken prisoner by non other than Dabi, who has seemed to take a strange liking to you.

Song Recs: ⤷Tourniquet-Evanescence⤷Hollywood’s Bleeding-Post Malone ⤷The Reaper-Chainsmokers

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

You groaned, your eyes barely opening to slits as your mind awoke from its foggy state.

Everything felt numbingly painful: your joints ache as if they were rusted metal, unmovable and thick with time. Your feet tingled with exhaustion and your arms were heavy with fatigue, your forehead throbbing slightly from your uncomfortable nap. Your chapped lips parted, the skin detaching itself from being molded together for so long as you began to try and awaken yourself.

Feet-then legs- then hips-then arms- then head.

You began to pick apart each piece of body, the connection running slowly as you moved each ligament and limb, awakening them from their ill rested sleep.

What the hell had even happened to you?

Nothing was familiar to you- this room you were able to slowly piece together was foreign and solemn, almost akin to a warm dungeon with its steely brick walls and frugally decorated exterior. The only thing that seemed remotely comfortable was the bed you were laying on, the cool black sheets chilling your bare skin.

Your heart skipped a beat as your heavy head lazily looked down at your body: these were not even your clothes, if you could call it even that

You could sense on your skin that you were still wearing your undergarments, but the only thing covering you was a thin white shirt, the fabric charred at the top with gaping holes and flowing just past your upper thigh.

Everything was so strange-this foreign scenery, these clothes that were hastily thrown on you, your aching body....

The shock of the newnness couldn't seem to feel frightening. Your senses and survival instincts were cloudy and murky, your mind slowly trying to piece together the situation in front of you.

But it was like trudging through a river upstream-the rush of the water was too powerful, slowly pushing you as you climbed desperately to fight your fatigue and understand your situation.

“Oh good, your finally awake-thought you’d be out for another hour,” a voice drawled out from the shadows, sending a shiver through your thoughts.

Your body stiffened instantly at the sound, your heart beating against your chest like a hammer pounding against a nail. The voice seemed to speak from the shadows of the room, a body less phantom, it’s voice low and bored sounding as it slowly came closer to your fragile body.

“-seems your body didn’t like the drug Kurogiri made- youve been out for a while now,” it continued, a smile eminent in the voice’s tone as it creeped in the darkness.

What the hell was going on? Who was Kurogiri? And what freak drugged you?

And why couldn’t you remember anything from the last night?

Questions swarmed your brain, each one more complex and confused than the last. You were completely awake now, your eyes wide with shock as they darted across the room, trying to find the source of the voice.

You took a deep swallow through your dry mouth, coating your tongue with thick saliva as you willed your beating heart to squeeze out any courage it could.

“Who-who’s there?,” you stammered, your voice craggily and thick like sleep, “Who are you? Where am I?”

A low chuckle tumbled against the room, turning your blood ice cold.

“Slow down dollface, introductions first. Cant be demanding things when someone welcomes you into their home,”

“I never asked to be brought into your home-”

“And I never asked to like you so damn much, but here we are,”

Like...you? Your shocked eyes turned into confusion, trying to decipher the meaning of that sentence.

Who even was this guy-and what did he want with you?

Steel boots on wood floor pounded against the wall, small details finally being able to be seen. Fear pooled in your stomach, making it difficult for you to look and see who your captor was.

You started gazing at the bottom of his tall stature: boots, black and worn….black pants to match, a trench coat inky and dirty in spots with dirt…..a white shirt, looking painfully identical to yours…silver details glinting like knives as it wrapped around your captor’s lean forearms, strangely scarred purple skin….

“the name’s Dabi,”

He gave you a crude smile, those piercings digging into his skin with the motion as his eyes light up with amusement.

Fear gripped your stomach and flooded your whole body, squeezing your lungs painfully and forcing you to be unable to breath. You knew who this was, he was hard not to miss, with his marred skin and piercing blue eyes.

A Villian of the LOV, a dangerous man with an even more dangerous quirk.

You gulped, noticing how the scars ran against his skin for the first time, covering most of his body in a thick film of painful markings.

“Telling by our face, your already know me, dont ya doll?”

If he had those marks because of his own quirk...you shivered at the thought, knowing full well it would be 10 times worse for yourself if he used his fiery power against you.

You had to be careful with this one if you wanted to come out if this on one piece...extremely careful.

His face turned down slightly in annoyance, his blue eyes squinting as he peered at your shivering form.

“Answer me, I don't like being ignored,” he chided, his tone extremely calm and dangerous.

You gulped, shifting quickly so you could sit up and talk to the man directly.

“Yes, yes I know who you are-you're part of the LOV,”

“So you already know? Such a smart girl,”

That thin smile returned, almost like a grimace by how wide it was. He stepped closer, those boots like the ticks of a bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

You couldn’t fathom why this-this Villian, wanted anything to do with you.

You were no hero or sidekick, just a frugal girl going to college in the city. Your quirk wasn’t anything special: it was called Plant Growth, which allowed you to grow plants by merely touching any part of it exterior. You had been told it was strong, but you had never really paid any mind to it, only using it to grow your own garden or help others who couldn’t seem to grow their own.

Was this why you had been kidnapped?

Did the League see something useful in your quirk, something I’d use to them?

“What do you want with me?” You asked, hating how terrified your voice sounded compared to his prideful, calm tone.

“I-Im not going to be apart of your League’s plans if thats why your kidnapping me,”

Dabi chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, the League doesnt know I have you. They think Im still trying to recruit more members at the moment. No, you, you are my dirty and innocent little secret, dollface,”

This was wierd-too wierd.

Why did he sound so possessive, As if he was a child protecting his favorite toy from the other kids? What was wrong with him-you had never talked to this man a day in your life, only knowing him from the occasional news reporting about him.

So why did he treat you as if he owned you?

You grimaced at the way he described you, the words making your skin crawl.

“Please dont call me that-”

“I gonna call you whatever I want to call ya,” he snarled, that disturbing grin still plastered on his face, “youre not in a position to be calling the shots.”

“Can you at least call me by my real name?” You asked, your voice timid and begging,” It’s-“

“Y/n, I know,” he smiled as you stared at him with terrified eyes, your mouth slightly agape.

So you were right-he did know you.

But how?

“How do you-“

Dabi chuckled again, the sound rich and deep rumbling out of his chest.

“Damn, you have hell of a lot of questions“, he sat himself down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his added weight.

The smell of burning wood and whiskey floated to you, your senses going into override from the smell. It confused you how comforting it felt, but the fear was still growing in your stomach.

You instantly brought your feet close to your body, your knees hugging your chest as you tried to grow distance from you and this man.

“Well, you did just kidnap me, so I kind of deserve a few answers,” you remarked, your eyes trained on him.

He seemed so calm, so collected, staring at you with patient and waiting eyes.

“So you wanna bargain with me?” He drawled out, almost sounding bored as he leaned his head forward.

You swallowed, the blood rushing to your ears. That shit eating grin he was sporting seemed so menacing, as if he was secretly playing some cat and mouse game with you.

“What’s the bargain?” You asked hesitantly. The thin shirt pooled against your thighs, sending shivers against your skin.

Even with the strangely warm room, the fright from this situation and this Villian sent up your spine.

You had to admit it to yourself-there was a strange charm to him. He radiates pride and commanded power, from his messy black hair to his piercing blue eyes. His marred skin rippled like infinitely connected rivers, the purple wine color quite pleasing once you got adjusted to the shock of it.

The only thing that showed weakness were the staples: they seemed so painful, the way they pulled taught against his smooth skin and stretched it agonizingly against his skin. A small part of you felt empathy for the Villian and these crude marking adorning his body, but he didn’t seem fazed by them.

He continued to grin, even with those staples stretching his skin to ungodly lengths.

His piercing blue eyes racked into your body, gazing you up and down with a hungry gaze, like a lion looking at a lamb.

“You ask one question-and thats it,” he instructed, his low tone commanding.

One question?! You stared at him in shock-He can look as pretty and ethereal all he wanted with his pale skin and sultry voice-but no way in hell was he going to allow you one question after he kidnapped you-he was out of his mind!

“But that’s not-“ you argued back, your face clearly annoyed by his proposition.

“Not fair??” He cut you off, his voice taunting you, “Well wake the hell up Princess, your under possession of a Villian-‘fair’ doesn’t mean anything,”

You pursed your lips, hating how smug he looked as he peered at your clearly irritated face.

If he wanted to play that game-fine, you could play too.

You turned your head defiantly to the side, your hair cascading across your face as you looked away from Dabi.

It was a risk to be so openly resistant, but if he liked you as much as he seemed to, he might break slightly.

An exasperated sigh came from the Villian, the weight in the bed shifting as he moved slightly closer to you.

“Fine then,” he said exasperatedly,” three,”

A wave of relief flooded your system, a small smile tugging against your lips as you looked again at the Villian. Dabi looked back at you, a change flashing across his face.

He almost looked-relieved? Peaceful? Dreamy?

You couldn’t quite place it, but before you could fully understand it, his expression turned back to its lazy default.

“Now go, before I change my mind,” he instructed, his eyes trained on you as you shifted in your spot.

Three questions? Better but still-not that much.

“How much time has passed?” You asked first, your voice soft and tentative as you stared at the Villian with expecting eyes.

“Time?” He repeated, a grin on his bi-colored lips, “ That’s a short one…it’s been 2 days.”

Your breath caught in your lungs-2 days since you’ve been gone? You felt a small bit of panic flood your system, realizing your life had been unattended to for a whole 48 hours...but you quickly brought yourself from the intial shock. 2 days isn’t that long...it could be worse.

“Okay…” You sucked in a deep breath, willing your body to calm itself “How did I get here?”

“Now that’s a long one….

You watched him sigh slightly, his marred hands rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed slightly vulnerable like this, almost, well, sweet, as he tried to find the right words.

“I’ve been watching you from afar for a while now, and figured out you like to go into your garden before you go to bed for the night.

It was simple-I drugged you with a little sleeping serum I got from another member of the LOV, Kurogiri. Your currently in the LOV headquarters, in my room. Your clothing got dirty getting here, so that’s why you're wearing my clothes.”

Well hell-that was a lot to process. You instantly looked at him with worrying eyes, unable to process all the information. Hes been watching you? And drugged you? And, on top of all that creepiness, saw your in just your underwear and bra? Oh god, maybe even more-

He seemed to already read your mind, a dark laugh coming from his lips.

“Oh don’t worry dollface, I didn’t do anything,” he joked, his voice sultry and dangerous, “you’d feel it if I did,”

You gulped, letting those words register.

So he was a stalker and a flirt-great.

You licked your lips, clearly not finding the remark funny as you continued to stare at him with terrfied eyes.

The room seemed extremely quiet, Dabi’s dominant exterior faltering as your body language oozed fear.

“Why do you want me?” Your voice wa s barely louder than a whisper, your legs wrapped close to your body.

Dabi was the quietest you had seen him from this intial meeting, his inky black bangs cascading across his face and obscuring his eyes.

“Ya know…” he finally said, his voice vulnerable and quiet, “shit, I wish I knew that,”

“I just know that you-you are so whole and innocent, so loving...I-I fell for that. Not many are accepting of me, not just because I’m a Villian. They see my scars and instantly want me gone-but your not like that.”

He turned to you, that sultry smirk framed on his lips as he leaned in slowly, his digits resting gently on your knee.

You stared at that hand, the soft embrace on your bone making your heart jump. He was so gentle with you, so soft and endearing-you knew that he wasn’t like this with everyone. There was something inside him that longed for you, and it made your head spin in confusion.

“I’m not as good of a person as you think I am,” you replied, as if desperately trying to convince him,” I’m sorry people treat you so horribly, but-but I’m not your savior from it.”

He continued to smile at you adoringly, his blue eyes sparkling like diamonds.

“See, your sorry for me. Your-naive like that, and that’s why I like you so much.”

“But I barely know you, I can’t care for you as much as you want me to-“

“But isnt that people like you do-learn to love everyone, for all their traumas and flaws?” His voice became louder, more passionate as he shifted even closer to you. His hand grabbed yours, the staples digging into your cold skin.

He was so warm, his palms radiating a comforting heat as that smell of burning firewood filled your shocked lungs.

“Your so naive to everyone, to the people who dont deserve it-,” he continued, “you love everyone and everything.”

“I promise doll, if you just care for me like I care for you...I won’t hurt you,”

Your breath hitched in your throat, fears and defiance filling your body.

“You took me away from home. That’s hurting me,” you remarked back, desperately trying to fight yourself from leaning into the naturally warm man.

“Falling in love with someone and having them not love you back is hurting too,” his face contorted into anger and some pain, as if your words cut into his ego as his blue eyes pierced into you.

Your lips pursed again, your eyes forming into angry slits.

“I’ll never love you. Never,” you spat back. He may be pretty, and in some ways endearing, but no way in hell would you be his personal side girl, kept against your will to satiate his needs.

But something in your tone flipped a switch in him-no more was the patient, flirty Villian in front of you.

Something changed inside him, a dangerous personality took over, his hand swiftly reaching for your throat and wrapping around it.

All you could see were those expanse of blue, the irises dilated with anger as the staples in his hand dug painfully in your skin. Your eyes blew out in fear, his palm warm and suffocating as your skin became hotter and hotter, until the point of pain as you stared at those icy blue orb.

A sadistic smirk flashed again Dabi’s marred skin, causing a intense chill to spread along your spine.

“Aw you sweet thing, you scared?” He taunted, his voice dripping with amusement and anger,

“ You should be,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Taggings:

@sergeant102105 @weebartistinc @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser @bakarinnie

[codeandcreativity]

Reverie

Summary: Spencer and Maeve visit the Folger Shakespeare Museum. Written for @railmereid's 2K writing challenge/prompt: "Do you think we could pretend?"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan (PG-13)

Category: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Allusions to stalking. No explicit spoilers, but this won't make sense if you're not familiar with the beginning of the Maeve arc (Season 8).

Reverie

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Do you think we could pretend?" she asks softly.

"Pretend?"

"That we're together."

He looks up, past the scratched and dirty fiberglass casing of the phone booth, down one of hundreds of similarly featured streets from which he might have called her. "How?"

"Your mind is an amazing tool, Spencer. Convince me," she says with a gossamer laugh. "Tell us both a vivid lie."

"A rare vision?" he suggests, warming to the idea.

"Take pains," she says. "Be perfect."

"OK." He slips his hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone. "I'm going to hang up and call you on my cell."

"That sounds like a great start."

He settles the heavy pay phone receiver in its cradle with a satisfying thunk and hits the first speed dial on his cell.

"Hey," she answers right away.

"Hey." He smiles to himself. "You're still there."

"I'm still here."

"Great." He exits the phone booth and walks towards his car, three doors down in front of a coin-operated laundry. "I'm parked outside of Georgetown Laundry," he says, unlocking the door of his horizon blue 1965 Volvo Amazon and sliding behind the wheel.

"I'm right around the corner," she says, voice light with mirth. "Come pick me up."

He follows those welcome instructions, turning the corner at a lazy crawl just in time to see her emerge from the door of her brownstone. Her face is hidden from him by a curtain of rich brown hair as she turns to lock the door behind her. Her figure is mostly hidden, too, beneath a loose white sun dress that falls just past her knees and a gray cardigan that is at least one size too large. She turns at last, her eyes shaded by sunglasses but her smile bright and genuine. She trots down the steps to street level, waving cheerfully as she crosses the sidewalk to his car.

He's out of the car before he knows it, rushing to meet her on the sidewalk. He holds out his hand and says breathlessly, "Maeve."

"I think we're a little past that, Spencer," she says warmly, ignoring his proffered hand and wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that feels like early summer. She smells of cotton and lilac, light and sweet. Without a thought, he buries his face in her shoulder and wraps his arms around her tightly, as if she will float away, an ephemeral thing he must cling to if he is to have any chance of keeping it at all.

"You're really here," he murmurs against her skin. She shivers. He wants to make her do it again, so he says, "Maeve."

She laughs, her hands dancing the length of his spine. "I'm here. Now," she says as she pulls back just enough to see his face. "Where should we go?"

He breathes deeply, soaking in the warm summer air and the tethered feeling of her finally standing beside him. "Where do you want to go?"

She pushes her sunglasses up to reveal pale blue eyes, crinkling with excitement. "Where do you want to take me, Spencer?"

He barely has to think, when she says it like that. "I know a place." He pulls open the passenger side door and offers her his hand again. "Get in."

This time, she takes it, her skin cool and dry against his as she lowers herself into the car. "I should have known you'd drive something with character," she says as he climbs in the driver's side, running her fingers along the vintage console.

"I don't drive it much," he admits, pulling away from the curb and pointing towards their destination.

"I know," she says. "I'm glad you drove it today."

He turns his head for just a second to appreciate the childlike wonder on her face. "Me, too."

"Can I roll down the window?" she asks.

"Of course."

She works the crank until the window is as far down as it'll go, turning her face to the breeze. "I haven't been out of my apartment in so long," she says wistfully.

After a beat, he answers, "I know."

She turns back to him with a reassuring smile. "I can't wait to see where you're taking me."

They drive through tree-lined streets to the historic part of town, calling out landmarks well-known and esoteric, until finally he pulls over and puts the car in park. "I think we're here," he says, squinting through the windshield.

"You think?" she asks playfully.

He chuckles. "Yeah. We're here."

Before them rises a long two-story building with a facade of white Georgia marble, worn by more than 80 years of east coast weather but no less stunning for its age. Tall vertical windows line length of the building, art deco grilles adorning those and the entryway closer to the ground. A series of themed bas-reliefs pose under the windows, figures of stone so well-hewn they seem to not to have been carved from the marble, but to have emerged from it.

"Oh, I haven't been here in ages," she says, hand in his as she leads him up the stairs. Her fingertips hover over the figures, but she doesn't touch. Hers won't be among the hands that slowly erase the figures from the stone from which they were birthed. All the best tragedies already constructed, in word and stone, from Macbeth to Hamlet to Romeo and Juliet , those stupid, star-crossed lovers.

"This sort of artwork is usually installed near the top of the building," he says, watching her face flush with happiness as she traverses the path towards the doors. "The Folgers asked the sculptor to place them closer to street level to give the public a better view."

She pauses a moment in front of crowned Titania, dwarfed by an attentive Bottom, idiots in love. The Fairy Queen's face is turned out, in soliloquy or reverie. Titania's body occupies the same space as her lover's, but her mind is far afield. What a privilege.

She hums appreciatively. "Is there a show today?" she says, turning her hopeful face to his.

He smiles. "What would you like to see?"

"Surprise me!" she says with a grin.

They tour the library until the sun sets, gasping softly at the details of the collection on exhibit in the Great Hall. They admire the finer points of the room itself, with its soaring plaster strapwork ceiling and intricate terracotta floor, inscribed with the masks of Comedy and Tragedy, secreting in its tiles the titles of the Bard's plays. They hover as close to the First Folio as they're permitted.

Their hands never part.

They take in the Elizabethan Theatre, with its three-tiered balconies and carved oak columns, but that's not where either of them want to spend their evening, so he takes her at last out to the garden. And for all the things they've seen today, it's the sight of the formal garden, the smell of lavender and honeysuckle and thyme that pulls the breath from her lungs and she says, "Oh, Spencer."

Palms pressed together, he pulls her closer to his side. He bends his head and whispers, "There's more."

They traverse the garden slowly; she pauses often, to touch an unfurled leaf or inhale the scent of a flower rising brilliantly from the heavily mulched earth. While she drinks in their surroundings, he only has eyes for her. Her dark hair, blunt bangs playful over clear blue eyes, the pretty pink of her cheeks when she catches him looking, the sly curl of her lips that tells him she knows she's got him wrapped around her any way she desires. She has only to say the word.

"They're setting up for the show," he says, pointing down the path with his free hand.

She looks up at him, so pure and full of hope. " A Midsummer Night's Dream ?"

"I can't imagine anything else," he says honestly.

She laughs, soft like a blanket. "I imagine we have our choice of seats."

They do, and when they're settled on a blanket the color of a late summer sunset, she leans over and whispers in his ear, "I brought us something to drink."

"I don't…"

"I know," she interrupts. "It's sparkling apple cider."

Night falls around them and the lights come up. The players on the stage dance and sing through the text seamlessly, interlacing the stories of lovers and actors, tales of fairies and humans, crises of self and burgeoning feminism that make A Midsummer Night's Dream one of Shakespeare's most widely performed works.

As the play proceeds, they turn towards one another, until they are reclining, somehow watching the stage as well as the stars above. Puck makes their appeal to the audience at last, an assurance to the perturbed that what they have witnessed may be nothing more than a dream, to be whisked away by another sleep. There is no applause as Puck sees themself out, only the lingering silence of a theater long after the audience has gone.

They are the players now, alone on the stage.

"Maeve," he says softly, just for her. "Can I kiss you?"

"I think you should," she says, and before he can make a move, she presses her lips to his. Stunned, he reacts only after a moment, his fingers threading into her hair as he pulls her closer. He follows her lead, afraid of taking this ephemeral thing they've made too far. The kisses are passionate but chaste, not that he knows any other way.

Too soon, he feels her stiffen against him. "Spencer."

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking down at her face. The tone of her voice has painted her features ashen. She's only a shade now. A phantom.

He hears a series of beeps, a staccato succession of three.

"I… I have call waiting," she says, her voice truncated with fear.

"Maeve?"

"No one has this number."

"It's OK. Don't hang up. I can get someone to trace it," he tries to reassure her, but the terror in her voice has infected him.

"Spencer, I have to go."

Before he can say anything…

"Goodbye."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"How will I know you're OK?"

…she's gone.

He's standing in a phone booth three doors down from Georgetown Laundry, listening to a dial tone.

-End-

Read on AO3

[wollfling]

Hi Allie! I wondered if I could ask you for some advice. I want to draw really badly and create art but I really don't have any skill! I know that in order to get better at art I have to actually do it, but I feel so overwhelmed by how I'm not where I want to be with it right away, and also with where to start with learning to draw. Do you ever feel that way when you draw? And if you do how have you gotten past it?

[I am literally so sorry this is so long oh my God. My mind has been very jumbled lately so I accidentally rambled too much, but I hope it still helps you in any way orz] Oh sweet little anon.. ;^; I do feel that way, a lot of the time if not all of the time! Just recently this week, I felt like I just couldn't draw despite picking up my pencil and scribbling, it just wasn't working partly for that exact reason! Overwhelmed by not being where I want to be with it! These things happen and its frustrating. It's hard for me to imagine as a beginner artist because I've been drawing since I can remember but I will still do my best to offer you some meaningful advice!

But first, to answer your very last question, getting past it can be a little random sometimes. This whole week after being unable to draw, I was laying in bed trying to sleep while reflecting on some heavy feelings ive been having and memories. Suddenly part of an image flashed in my mind and I got up to immediately try drawing it. (The drawing I recently posted and captioned "parade"!) I worked on it completely driven by my heart, and so it didn't matter at the time if it looked good or was anatomically correct, etc. Right now I am working on another heart-driven drawing, but if I tried to work on lets say a study or character drawing instead.. I dont think i could!

My point in all this is that, I think that its important to know/understand why you want to create art, and I think my advice would change slightly depending on your answer. For me personally, I am an emotional artist. I create art that (usually) reflects how I'm feeling or topics I am emotionally drawn to. Illustrations, drawing characters, writing comics, etc.. I think this week, while I'm definitely struggling with my skill level, I was so burdened by some things I've been feeling lately that I couldn't focus on or enjoy anything that I was trying to create, until I was able to release it all in a drawing. (And I'm still not done with them hence why I am now working on another related drawing, but im making SOMETHING and feeling passionate which cannot be said with any of my other attempts this week.) So since these drawings purpose outweigh my current issues regarding my skill, I am able to work on them. If that makes sense?

Okay im sorry with how long-winded this all is so far and all about myself orz but I wanted to give context on how I view art and I think if you asked someone who creates like. Hyperrealistic drawings their answers would be completely different. So! I wanted you to be able to judge if my advice would work for you if that makes any sense at all...!!! Moving on to my actual advice then..!

This is a little general ofc because I dont know what sort of art you are creating, or what your passion behind it is. And if after this you would like to tell me more about your art I would love to hear! 🥺💗 you are welcome to dm me or if you send another anon/ask i think that would be good too since.. well other artists who see can also give their own advice too!

Okay. So anyways lol, first I want to tell you that your desire to create art makes you an artist, despite your skill level. And therefore, everything and anything that you make even now has value. Even if right now you're drawing wonky shaded spheres and cubes! I understand its frustrating when wanting to make something but you feel like your skill isn't "there" and how that can prevent you from making anything to begin with!! But I really want you to try and work through it! Ignore it, disregard it, give your worries about your skill the silent treatment!! And I know its near impossible to do but if its getting in the way of you actually creating well.. thats the worst! We can't have that. If you really want to draw, then you really NEED to draw, you know what I mean? You deserve to draw! The hardest part for like 80% of artists is working around their skill level. I promise you will get there, but for now, you can't let it get in your way. And I realize me saying "oh you feel like you're not good at drawing and its hindering you from doing it? Just do it" sounds like Chad advice but ;---; unfortunately its the reality that comes with being an artist. If you tell me more about what you like to/why you want draw then maybe we can find some alternate lines of thinking that will help you (for example "this tiger i drew looks like shit but drawing all of her stripes was therapeutic and made it worth it!" If lets say you draw as a stim, opposed to "this tiger im drawing looks so bad I can't even look at it anymore " dhsjhd I really hope that this all makes sense lol.)

Moving on, learning how to draw.. this also depends on what you enjoy drawing but my main piece of advice here is study from real life. I grew up drawing cartoons and anime, and now that I want to draw a little more realistically.. its so hard!! If you study real shapes/people/animals/etc it might be easier later on when you understand fundamentals to bend them if you decide to create stylized or surreal art. However if right now you like to draw stylized art, I would recommend to keep working on your personal style while studying from real life on the side simultaneously! Any way you look at it, understanding how shapes, lighting, colour, etc work in the real world will help you out even with the most obscure pieces. And since art is a learned skill yknow you need to build those brain..pathways..and such. Im not a scientist but you get what i mean. Studies are the equivalent to lifting weights! I would recommend the website quickposes (com) they have a library of images that they throw at you at random. The site can explain itself better than I can lmao, check it out!!!

I really hope i was able to offer you something of value here, I didnt mean to ramble so much. I'm excited for you to grow as an artist, I love when I hear about others deciding to learn how to draw ;-; please feel welcome to ask for any clarification (as im having a hard time articulating my thoughts lately) or if you really just want to ask or say anything! ♡♡♡ again sorry if this was more than you bargained for length wise dhsishskshksj

[quinezsvision]

I asked my father once, "Why do you spend so much money on expensive delicacies when you could for once purchase something else for yourself?"

"Food provides me something that things cannot. It can even be destroyed easily when not properly inspected. Will you gain sudden contentment and meaning to it? no", he simply replied.

1.7 million years ago, we were hunters known as homo-sapiens, survival was our only goal, most of the time, populations are found in the wild searching for edible plants and animals to anchor ourselves from supplementing our diet and extinction.

When humans discovered the presence of fire and understood how to generate and manipulate it – this is how civilization began.

All these years, food was our ally.

The distribution of food in principle has a plethora of options. Aside from the fact that food became the medium for religious practices, taxation, and even education, we also need to eat in order to assist the body to obtain sufficient oxygen, and the cells within our bodies to function significantly. In other words, nutrients provide information to the human body. If neglected, diseases and conditions including obesity/malnutrition, arthritis, diabetes, and heart disease may arise. Food became the medium for religious practices, taxation, and even education.

Due to my dietary restrictions, I don't typically eat in the morning, but today, May 28 2021, is an exception.

The taste of Japanese cuisine has always been exquisite in my palate. The degree of tastes and boundless elements that are combined only to produce a dish that will make you want to inculcate the cuisine is remarkable. To be completely honest with my readers, I was not alone when preparing the sashimi; beside to me was Analiza Duran, my aunt - the most influential person I know in my whole existence, famed for her cooking capabilities and managing households. Because it is not the standard homemade craving that is well recognized in our country, we are willing to offer our own experience, for a Filipino basic style preparation, which are some instructions you may follow below:

[✓] The style in choosing your fish depends on the length of preservation and freshness, there are a variety of sashimi you can ponder from such as tuna, salmon, scallop, squid, and more. Smaller ones are usually best devoured as soon as they are served. On the other hand, larger ones must be kept on ice for a few hours to allow their muscles to calm.

[✓] It's fine if you don't master the art of cutting, but just do your hardest to make it as thin as possible. In comparison to others, we usually add a sprite to it before completion.

[✓] The arrangement of sashimi to the platter depends on your likeness, it's not like you're trying to serve in a restaurant. Add the finishing condiments, such as soy sauce with matching calamansi and wasabi.

Indeed, a good morning for me & hoping hindi kita nabudol!

I'm always fascinated about how simple type of food, like "lumpia" known as "spring roll" in other countries, can be regarded as a classic and valuable delicacy that you can often see at every celebration in the Philippines.

As you can see, this is merely an indication that not only will feast's instagrammable photographs and breathtaking flavors be remembered, but the sentiments we've all cherished will live on in our hearts, minds and history eternally.

Our adaptation of lumpia, due to developing trends, is identical in form and structure in which its foundation comes from the Chinese who made a meal with the use of fresh vegetables accessible in spring after a winter of largely ingesting foods that are preserved. This cuisine is thought to have been introduced to Southeast Asia by Chinese immigrants from the Fujian region, and then became famous afterward. However, let's not forget about palabok, a somewhat salty sort of noodle that will undoubtedly fulfill your hunger with its variety of toppings.

My family opted to catch up around this time of day; we are using this practice to reconcile with one other after being diverted by work and personal selves. Even though my mother was often away from us, serving in Kuwait, I always took the initiative of reaching her via messenger.

If you are able to read this nanay, we miss you.

Without a doubt, I admire and even support all sorts of consumable products available on the market, from small local businesses to relatively known fast-food chains.

It's impressive how everyone has their own techniques for surviving the pandemic, and how people has shown diverse ways of improving food choices to make it unique in the minds of the public. And I'm the sort of person that gets dragged into these expenses. The dish seen above is known as takoyaki, another Japanese delicacy derived usually from octopus; depending on the quantity of ingredients used, it is generally salty and chewy. A flavor combination of kewpie mayo and takoyaki sauce is used to conceal the bland taste of the dough. In this restaurant, there was a variety of takoyaki options to satisfy your appetites, including octobits, shrimp meat, veggie style, baby octo, bacon bits, and each with a cheese bomb. If you purchase one, I recommend pairing it with matching boba milk tea.

The only drawback to ordering this food is that my sister rejects it.

"It seems strange to me as a kid, the external element of the meal isn't my vibe." – Kristine Joy Agustin

So, readers, don't become like my sister; you were born into this world to love all of the treasures that God has bestowed on us. Create provision for discovery rather than disappointing yourself in the latter because you won't attempt at all.

Support your kapwa Filipino: Ay!!! Takoyaki Atbp. Philippians St

The aroma of grilling and heating ramen noodles soup always reaches to me, and I never complain regardless of the fact that it goes all over my clothing.

You can be very flexible when devouring this asian cuisine because there are no set guidelines on what you may combine with one another. Personally, I choose samgyup as one of my top preferences because of the extensive meat assortment, which includes distinct slices of plain pork and beef slices. Alongside from the broad meat range, we like that the seller does not skimp on the grade of their meat, ensuring that it is still fresh and delicious. More dips to experiment with are also recommended; salt and pepper, gochujang, and cheese are some of my top picks. If you truly want to compete with samgyupsal establishments, you may go all out with side dishes like lettuce, rice, steamed egg, kimchi, and more.

Truly, There are a number of businesses that provide reasonable pricing, or you may simply do it in the comfort of your own home.

To end, the beauty of food speaks for itself; without it, we would not be alive to create amazing experiences. It serves as a reminder that as long as we have food to eat, we are fortunate, and as such, we should learn to return the favor to those in need. A huge gratification to those who are working their tails and brains off simply to feed their family and the world – beloved farmers and parents.

“Cooking is all about people. Food is maybe the only universal thing that really has the power to bring everyone together. No matter what culture, everywhere around the world, people get together to eat.” – Guy Fieri

How about you, what's your food journey?

[one-spidey-boii]

BUMMER SUMMER || peter parker; ch eight

read ch seven here

masterlist

an; my back has been killing me lately and all i wanna do is sleep you guys it’s no good. but i’ll tell you what is good...yellow starbursts. i’m losing my mind, enjoy the chapter :))

warnings; mentions of battle wounds (i.e. blood/scars/etc), future smut, mature language, fluff, angst, both peter and oc are 18+!!

word count; 2.3k+

edie's pov

peter and i sit together on the edge of the bed for what feels like forever. my head rests on his shoulder as he gently rocks me back and forth and his hands rub small circles along my back. neither of us say a word as seconds turn to minutes and the rise and fall of our chests settle in sync with one another.

i want to push away the small seed of doubt that brews in my stomach. it crawls up and wraps itself around my heart, squeezing just enough so i won't forget it’s there. i can't help but wonder why this is happening, and why now? my heart stings at the possibility that this was just under circumstance. the fact that we are the only two people here and he may see me as his only form of...release. but i knew peter wasn't like that. he isn't.

peter's lips move to my ear, "i'm so sorry, edie." he whispers. i raise my head slowly, all the nerves and doubt rise to the surface of my brain.

"wh-what?" i say doe-eyed. my arms unclasp from behind his neck and i begin to slide off of his warm, inviting lap. before i can, his grip on my waist tighten and he pulls me back to his chest, impossibly close. i ignore the throb in my side.

"look at me, please." he begs. i meet his gaze and swallow thickly, giving him a tiny nod to continue, "i can't tell you how...horrible i feel that this happened to you," he pauses to lift my shirt up ever so slowly and trace my side, "i know it was my turn to go out a-and this wouldn't have happened if i just talked to you." peter's voice cracks as he says the words and his eyes begin to water. the glassy look in them make my stomach twist.

my lips turn downward in a frown, this is not what i was expecting, "you couldn't have known," i reply, confused at his guilt, "i'm glad it was m-me and not you," i say matter-of-factly, my eyes begin to water along with his.

peter moves his hands onto either side of my face, holding me there gently, "what are you talking about? i would've been completely healed by now, without as much as a scratch. edie, i wish every second that passes it was me." i frown more at this.

"but i'm getting through it. just because my body isn't enhanced like yours doesn't mean i can't get back up just as strong. it happened to me, peter. i have to live with this and i don't want you wishing it upon yourself." this time i slide completely off his lap and onto my own feet. his hands reach out for me, but i step back and shake my head.

"no, peter, im serious. and-" i stop talking before i can finish my thought, not wanting the words to hit the space between us. peter pushes back.

"go on, what were you going to say?" he presses, rising to his own feet. i shake my head vigorously, "it doesn't matter."

"yes. it does." he says, his voice growing deeper. i continue to shake my head. i don't want to say it, because if it's true- it would hurt more than getting stabbed in the side.

"just say it!" he snaps at me as his hands come up to grip my upper arms. i yelp and stumble back at the force of it. my body shakes as i throw his hands away from me.

"i can't! i don't want to believe that you're doing this out of pity because of this stupid scar. or that you're only touching me because you're bored of touching yourself! i don't even know why you would want to. i mean, have you fucking seen it?" i yell, my voice cracking, finally spilling out the toxic thoughts that have been eating away at me. i'm so exhausted.

peter takes a step back, away from me, "is that what you think this is?" he whispers. his eyes hold nothing but sorrow.

"i don't know, pete." i reply, absolutely defeated. without thinking, i back up to the wall and slide down until my butt hits the floor. when wet paint meets with my skin, i groan and shove my head into my hands. nothing seems to make sense anymore. does peter really feel something for me? am i the blind one?

soon enough, peter crouches in front of me. he gently pushes my legs apart so that he can rest between them. and i let him. he brings his hands to rest on the wall by either side of my head. he leans in close, i can feel his breath on my cheeks. i lower my own hands and look at him, challenging him to say something, anything. his eyes flicker over my face, resting on each feature until they land on my lips. i absentmindedly part and wet them with my tongue. he meets my eyes again and leans in until our noses touch.

"believe me when i say this, edie wolfe, you will always be so much more to me than this," he moves one hand, now covered in wet paint, to trace my scar covered side, the cold liquid makes me shiver. i nod my head slowly, choosing not to say a word.

instead, i lean in towards him until our lips ghost over each other. i shiver again at the mere of idea of him closing the gap and making this real. all my efforts to push away my feelings are failing me. and that's okay. i want it to be real. i want to push away all the doubt and fear and just feel him.

in a beautiful moment, peter finally leans in the rest of the way and his slightly chapped lips meet mine in a soft kiss. it’s not a long embrace. he pulls back and tries to speak, but i'm too quick too connect our lips again. i need this. i need him.

i eagerly place one hand on his bicep and the other around his neck, pulling him into me. his other paint covered hand comes to rest on my cheek, making me gasp at the chill.

my slightly parted lips give no objection to peter as he takes advantage of the opportunity and slips his tongue in, deepening the kiss. his grip on my side tightens and i arch my back into his body, suddenly finding him too far away. he eagerly grabs both of my hips and hastily flips us around so that his back is to the wall and i'm sitting in his lap once again. my hands steady themselves on the wall and are quickly covered in paint just like his.

i want to say the moment stayed sweet and soft, but neither one of us could hold back as the kiss grew hot and needy. i slip my hands in peter's hair and tug on the roots, causing him to utter a moan that tightens the coil in my stomach. wanting to hear him more, i tug harder and suck his bottom lip between my teeth, biting down lightly. when he lets out a deep groan from the back of his throat, i smile with satisfaction against his lips.

"oh shut up." he whispers and moves to suck on my jaw. i let out a sigh as he trails kisses from my neck to my collarbone, stopping every so often to bite down and leave a mark on my now flushed skin.

"i like it when you do that." i whisper softly and breathily, hoping i'm loud enough for him to hear. he bites down harshly on my neck and it makes me suck in a harsh breath of air.

"oh really?" he asks, his lips trailing back up to mine, leaving a light kiss before he moves to my ear, "i quite like the feeling of you right here." he teases and gently bites at my earlobe. then he grinds his hips up into mine and we both let out moans into the hot air shared between us.

"do that again." i plead, with my eyes closed and lips trailing to bite at his shoulder.

"yes ma'am." he replies back, causing me to smile as he raises his hips up to grind against my own. it's then that i finally notice the prominent feeling of him pressed against my core, separated by only a few layers of fabric. i groan at the feeling and the thought of those layers no longer being a hinderance.

peter pulls me in for one more kiss before speaking again, "now do you see what you do to me, wolfie?" i nod my head sheepishly, finding it hard to come up with the right words. my cheeks flush and i lean in for more of his electrifying embrace, but he stops me short.

"we should quit right here before i get carried away." he says, out of breath, his eyes filled with lust- it makes them look almost black.

"what if i want you to get carried away?" i tease, my moral compass tipping over its limits, and this time i move my hips down into his, hoping to relieve the pressure building up inside of me.

he clicks his tongue at me, "tsk, tsk, don't want to get too crazy so soon." his eyes twinkle with mischief.

before i can even react, he swipes two paint covered fingers across my cheeks and lets out a hearty laugh. i look at him in disbelief before i grab for the paint tray, slapping my entire hand into it and running it down the length of his face. peter's shocked face only lasts a second before the mischief returns.

i squeal and jump up from his lap, just missing his stretched out arms as he tries to grab me. i race to the other side of the room and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

with a huge smile, i yell, "ha! try and catch me now." with which he just slowly waltzes up to the door and jiggles the locked doorknob.

"don't you remember when i ripped your door off it's hinges last night?" he says pointedly. my smile drops at the truth of his words.

"pfft, well, i need to take a shower. so you'll just have to go solve your little...problem on your own, peter parker!" i yell from the back of the bathroom and turn on the shower. i can't stop the smirk that spreads across my face at the thought of him still rock hard beneath his shorts.

i hear a huff behind the door, "i would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do," peter pouts. i laugh at the silly boy.

"i know you wouldn't, pete, but i am gonna take a shower. somehow the paint got alllll over me." i reply, playing the innocent card. he chuckles from his spot.

"okay, wolfie. i'll see you for dinner, yeah?" he asks softly.

i nod my head with a dumb smile on my face before remembering he can't see me, so i call out, "where else would i be?"

i listen to his footsteps until they're down the hall and out of earshot. i close my eyes and let out a deep breath of relief, leaning against the bathroom sink.

peter's pov

after sheepishly walking back to my own room and cleaning the paint away from my skin, i flop on the bed and take care of my own situation. a part of me is relieved i can let my thoughts drift to edie without feeling guilty for the way i think about her. at least i think i can? i don't know, is it okay now?

shaking the thought away, i, yanno, finish, and make my way to the kitchen to whip something up for the both of us. i dance my way through grabbing all the ingredients i need as i hum an old song.

my groove is interrupted by an angry red alarm blaring throughout the room. i snap out of it and run to the nearest control board on the wall, trying to search for what had tripped the alarm.

a red circle envelopes one of the back doors that leads to the outdoor training grounds. without hesitation, i run to the door and stop short when i see no one there. still, i cautiously survey the area and stand my ground.

as i thought before, there's no one in sight. not one person or animal or anything. i begin to walk away when a piece of paper stands out on the tile floor. it must have been pushed under the door. i pick it up and read through the handwritten words- ten, twenty times before my heart sinks into my feet.

'glad to see your girl has healed up quite nicely. don't you worry though- we're not done yet.'

footsteps come running from around the corner and i turn sharply on my heel to see edie, soaking wet and wrapped up in a towel.

"what was that? is everything okay?" she says, eyes wide and curious. i quickly hide the crude note behind my back and swallow, it feels like i'm trying to digest a rock.

"n-nothing. just the mailman, he came to the wrong door and it set off the alarm. nothing to worry about here." i say, hoping i played that off well, but i know she can see right through me.

i don't even think we have a mailman.

|| taglist; @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @whycantileaveyou @lovewolfspirit @kitykatnumber @franksholland @goddamnit5sos

[act-addict-actors-matchups]

@navi-chan said,

(♡1♡) Hello ˃ᴗ˂ I wanna know who I match up with in A3 Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ I'm a Virgo and IFJT girl living her life at the moment. I know and think things that are apparently weird (idk why) that makes my friends question on what I do when I'm alone (✿◠‿◠). I'm exactly 5 ft for now (still growing), wavy shoulder-length black hair and I have a fair skin tone cuz I don't like the sun too much XD. I love and enjoy to draw and read stories and articles that captivates my interest.

(♡2♡) I like to travel cuz I want to know the place and it's culture especially its art. I also like to sleep cuz whenever I'm alone and have nothing to do I would feel lonely that is why I tend to sleep the loneliness away. And, I love-hate cuddles (don't attack me pls ( ˃̵⌓˂̵)). LOVE cuz I would feel sense of comfort with the person. HATE cuz I feel like the person might disappear or will leave me behind and I would feel lonely again. Well, that's all (❁´▽`❁)

✧ Tumblr is not letting me tag you. 😔 I hope you’ll see this. Honestly, I really wanted to match you with Azuma but ‘I’m still growing part’ made me feel like you’re a minor so I couldn’t. I can be wrong though lol. Sorry for taking so long and thank you for requesting a matchup, love. 💞✨

I’d match you with: . . .

➜ HOW YOU TWO FIRST MET ; It was a hot summer day and for some reason you’ve made it into your personal mission to do random acts of kindness for the people who were a total stranger to you. So far, you’ve helped old people cross the street, helped someone load their groceries and left a copy of that days’s newspaper on your neighbor’s doorstep. You had to admit, it was a productive day and it wasn’t even midday yet! With your accomplishments for the day, you decided to treat yourself something cold, like ice cream or soda. Just the thought itself made you smile. With a nod of your head, you began walking towards the area that had the shops in it. While walking, you caught a glimpse of a boy in front of vending machine, sulking. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with black and white patterns on it and a black shalwar like leggings. Ah, you knew what the problem was. The vending machines in this area were famous for eating the coins of people. You were a victim of them yourself many, many times. But with some brain power, you managed to come up with a single move that can get the snack or drink you’ve wanted. You were already on a kindness roll so you might as well help another person out. With a smile on your face, you cleared your throat and shot the boy a knowing look. “Allow me.” You have said before hitting a specific spot with your hip and bam! one of the sodas has dropped. Sticking your arm in, you grabbed the cold beverage and tossed it to the boy, who was looking at you with shining eyes. “Eh!? That was so cool! Teach me how to do it!” A giggle escaped from your lips at how enthusiastic he was being. You could basically see a tail behind him, wagging with anticipation. With a small shake of your head, you flashed a knowing grin as you took a coin out of your pocket and popped it into the machine, pressing the numbers of the drink you’ve wanted. You were planning on buying something cold anyway and this was more convenient for you too. And just as you thought, even though the vending machine took your money, it didn’t give you the drink. You hit the machine one more time and grabbed your drink after it fell down. You popped open the can and took a sip, turning your attention to the red head afterwards, you began to explain how hitting that exact spot was important and if he messed it up even just a little, the money would go to waste. With every word left your mouth, he nodded with serious eyes. After you were done, you took another coin and basically sacrificed it. “Alrighty, it’s now your turn. Give it your best shot!” You said before stepping aside and giving the boy a thumbs up. “Yes, ma’am.” He said before hitting the machine and successfully making the can of soda fall. His bright blue eyes lit up as he throw his fist up. “Hey, I did it! I really did it!” “Haha, congratulations. Make sure to use that power for good.” “You can count on me!” After that exchange you two grabbed your cans of sodas and sat on a nearby bench. He told you that his name was Taichi Nanao, he was a student at Ouka High School and an actor at Mankai Company. After that, you introduced yourself and you two just chatted about whatever came to mind until it was around three pm. Taichi was first to leave since he had practice with Autumn Troupe around an hour later but he didn’t leave without getting your phone number, which you happily gave without much thought.

➜ PERSONALITY COMPATIBILITY ; Taichi is like a puppy, often noisy and upbeat so there is never a dull moment when you two are together. Don’t ever worry about him leaving you behind because he is so whipped for you. In fact, I feel like you both might fear that whole ‘my significant other is to good for me what if they leave me all of a sudden?’ more than necessary. Yes, I said both of you because let’s not forget that under that positive attitude of his, Taichi actually has very low self esteem. What I’m trying to say is words of affirmation and physical touch is your canon love languages, although the later happened less in your earlier stage of relationship. IFJT people are often perfectionists with extremely high standards of performance for themselves so whenever you’re too harsh on yourself having a chill & silly boyfriend would calm you down or whenever he needs to get serious about something (ex. schoolwork because let’s face it, he’s the type of person who does his homework at the very last moment be it on the breakfast table or while the teacher is collecting them) you’re there making sure he’s not destroying his future academically. Those are just basic examples but in short, you two just balance each other out very nicely. Please just marry each other. 🥺

➜ SHARED ACTIVITIES ; Since apparently you do things that are considered weird, now you have a partner by your side to do those things. I feel like the both of you would totally be up to having intense conversations with pets, rating total strangers out of ten or texting each other weird things even though you're in the same room. If not, I can see you two going to a convenience store, buying the magazines that catches your eyes, sitting back to back or with him laying down on his back and you on top of him, making a + form and reading articles until one of you gets bored. If you’ve seen Taichi’s doodle he made in the notebook, you’d know that the boy is at the very least decent at drawing, so even though he might get bored quickly, he would do his best to draw with you. Since you don’t like the sun very much, if he wants to go outside with you he’d wait until late afternoon-evening. When it comes to outdoor dates the first thing came to my mind was amusement park date. Can you imagine how fun it would be to go on the rides with him??? I headcanon that Taichi loves rollercoasters so you bet he’s gonna beg your to go with him. If you freak out, he lets out a laugh and you feel his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back against him, his other hand is stretched up to the sky.

➜ ZODIAC COMPATIBILITY ; Taichi’s birthday is on October 11 which makes him a Libra. Considering that Libra and Virgo are zodiac neighbours, it goes without saying that the two will be compatible. While Libra is an air sign, and Virgo is an earth sign, the two are as disconnected as they are connected. Virgo is duty-bound and nurturing. While Libra is also a sign that will do what needs to be done, their priority will be more on the reality than the idealistic acts. When Virgo and Libra join together in a love match, it can be like puting two puzzle pieces together. Each locks into the other and sits comfortably in place. Both Signs seek security in partnership, and they share a love of beauty and culture. They can work together efficiently and smoothly because they desire similar rewards. The Virgo-Libra relationship may trickle along in the beginning, but it will rev up once both partners grow to respect one another. Just like any other pairing, this pairing has its own set of pros and cons. Both these personality types have a tendency to be very similar to each other. As such, the suggestion would always be to give this relationship a shot. However, another advice would be to keep your eyes open. While loyalty is the way for both these signs, triggers for a change of duty may be something as simple as their partner not putting the toilet seat down. All the best!

[96thdayofrage]

We're talking about a cartoon movie that depicts Abraham Lincoln's funeral as having been attended by Martin Luther King, Jr. and Marilyn Monroe, and has George Washington consulting I.M. Pei on how the Lincoln Memorial should look. The level of revisionism at work here isn't merely absurd, it's insane.

However, this movie arrives less than two weeks after Congress and President Biden officially made Juneteenth a holiday while, at the state level, conservatives are campaigning to prevent schools from teaching the children the truth about how and why Juneteenth became a holiday.

Still think that I'm taking this all too seriously? Allow me to remind you about Reagan Escudé, student.

Name not ringing a bell? This Shreveport, Louisiana, native and bright beacon of our future spoke at a Trump rally last year and hailed Aunt Jemima, fictional character and racist breakfast mascot, as "the picture of the American dream. She was a freed slave who went on to be the face of the pancake syrup that we love and we have in our pantries today."

What I'm saying is that a huge swath of this nation really is that dumb, and not only that, dedicated to preserving their ignorance and passing that ignorance down to their children.

Those are precisely the sort of stone-cold imbeciles who would rather believe the most far-fetched nonsense about our history than study and learn the truth of it. Ergo, an additional burden falls to the rest of us to explain that this is not some kind of "Schoolhouse Rock" equivalent or a Cliff's Notes version of the events leading up to the signing of the Declaration of Independence. And that George Washington never dual-wielded chainsaws, and wasn't alive at the same time as Thomas Edison, who never invented gloves that shoot lightning.

Perhaps you find all this to be a bit mean-spirited, but please understand that this is precisely the audience to which director Matt Thompson ("Frisky Dingo," "Archer") and screenwriter David Callaham are speaking. Rarely have I seen a movie so confident that its audience not only revels in American benightedness but is eager to identify with it.

That makes "America: The Motion Picture" not only a waste of time but an insult to ignoramuses.  

Even among those who get the joke, to use that term quite liberally, it barely qualifies as a contender for an eighth of anyone's attention over July 4th weekend. And as an avid fan of some of Thompson's other work, this is most disappointing.

The intent itself is creative, and the underlying meta-commentary is clever and somewhat sobering. The movie imagines the events leading up to the Revolutionary War and a handful of historical figures as action heroes playing through versions of popcorn flicks profoundly embedded into American identity.

In its vision George Washington (Channing Tatum) and Abraham Lincoln (Will Forte) are best friends, so when Washington witnesses Lincoln's assassination at the hands of Benedict Arnold (Andy Samberg), he embarks on a vengeance crusade – not just for himself, but for what will soon be known as America.

So he assembles an inclusionary super-squad consisting of racist, keg-chugging frat bro Samuel Adams (Jason Mantzoukas); idiot savant horseman Paul Revere (Bobby Moynihan); Thomas Edison – who dude, bro, get this, is, like a girl and stuff (Olivia Munn)? He also lures Geronimo (Raoul Max Trujillo) along for the ride as well as a character officially known as Blacksmith for stunningly lowbrow reasons (and voiced by Killer Mike) but is recognizable as some version of the legendary John Henry. 

"America: The Motion Picture" isn't entirely bereft of cleverness. Someone shrewder could have made better use of its marriage of history and blockbuster cinema to comment on our addiction to violent, explosive versions of American mythmaking. They may have more effectively parodied the tendency of the same folks who don't understand that the Gettysburg Address was not an actual address to seek out deeper philosophical meaning in diversionary trifles like "The Transporter" or any of the "Fast and Furious" movies.

Instead it's playing to rubes given to happily pointing and yelling, "OMG . . . they're, like, joking on 'Star Wars' right there!" Which is fine and admittedly fun if your can manage to switch off your innate critical thinking skills. Do that, and you may enjoy a few legitimately hysterical gags within this feature.

Nevertheless, after a point the sheer length of this disaster defeats whatever joy you might wring from it. "America: The Motion Picture" stretches a gag that's worth 45 minutes, tops, to a spirit-murdering hour and 38 minutes. Props to Matt Thompson for showing the world that some gags aren't worth the marathon treatment when a 100-yard dash will do.

Stupid comedies have their place, understand. I have a soft spot for some real mind-rotters, all of which help me turn off my brain and just yuk it up for a while. Everybody needs that. But "America: The Motion Picture" never achieves that level of necessity or sustains whatever glimmers of substance poke through because it meets the intended targets of its joke at their level. If this were a smarter nation maybe that would be enough to make me laugh – but we're not, and that's simply depressing.