#i need to stop drawing them and actually Continue Reading but im addicted to new character designs

[mxrtified777]

blub blub

[tokyoghoose]

nous aimons tous les deux jours

pairing: dabi x reader

playlist: things we never say - bad bad habits*, sincerity is scary - the 1975, love love love - of monsters and men, if i go, im going - gregory alan isakov, i dont know me like you do - low hum, if i get high - nothing but thieves ( alice kristiansen cover ), i dare you - the regrettes, problems - deathbyromy, fool of you - meltt, hell and you - amigo the devil, creature - it looks sad, tongues and teeth - the crane wives, hooked ( addicted you might say ) - eleisha eagle, nothings gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex, a dream of you - far caspian, so alright, cool, whatever - the happy fits, a lovely night - ryan gosling

warnings: mentions of violence, brief mentions of drugs for expression, and suggestive themes

summary: we love every other day

announcements!

this is my first try at a enemies/lover thingy! Originally it was going to be an enemy to lovers but i liked the idea that they're just on opposing sides a little more haha. Lemme know if you'd like to see the other one though!

i know there are a lot of hero x villain fics like this out there 😌 this is my take on it, so please bare with me!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

An addiction. That's what it is. Either that or it's some kind of reverse psychology like you want what you can't have—because nothing else makes sense. If you knew him as a regular person, honestly you probably wouldn't have given him a second thought. If he was a hero you worked beside—or god forbid a villain—then you probably wouldn't have cared for a hookup or two, but then you'd get over it. It's not infatuation. It's an addiction. It's toxic and unhealthy and it just feels good even if it shouldn't. But the high; the high is unbeatable.

It continues on forever and more. From the moment his gaze pierces yours it's like snorting a rail of coke or taking a tab and the trip never ends. It's not even the fact you could get caught. You two are so damn obvious; anyone who stumbles into an alleyway at three in the morning would see the two of you doing more than what a fight warrants. It's just him. It's simply Dabi.

Romeo and Juliette's syndrome is probably a better term for it. But hell, it's not like he'd die for you. Right? It's not like you've known each other way longer than some days and nights and you certainly aren't teenagers and he's definitely not somebody who moves onto a girl and decides he's in love at first sight just because his 'rosaline' left him face down ass up. So maybe Romeo and Juliette is just lack of a better term.

But it's so unfair. How the hell are you supposed to escape him when it's like he's around every corner. With every breath you take, it's like he's an inch closer to crushing your chest with his. And maybe you want him to? This isn't very hero-like.

"You're the one always tracking me down, doll."

The pet name sends shivers down your spine and it makes you want him all the more.

Who am I? What has gotten into me?

You blame the pink tint to your cheeks on the brisk wind of the night, but the heat to them is a large contrast. You cross your arms over your chest and scoff, trying to look taller, stronger, and broader. Not in a threatening way, but more a warning.

This time you'll really take him out.

"In case you forgot, it's my job."

You tell yourself that every time.

And every time he gets away.

"I'm not doing anything but taking a walk."

He steps closer, the already short distance between you two getting shorter. The streetlamp that cuts the scene in half flickers, a moth flying away from the light and towards the moon. You count three squares in distance and you resist the urge to step back.

"You're a wanted criminal, Dabi."

He doesn't deny it but scoffs anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets leisurely. It's like he's never bothered. You're just a nat he's waiting to squash. You have to remind yourself of that: You're just prey.

"I think you just miss me." His tone is serious, but he's only teasing—no matter how true it is. You're starting to think that he can read minds—it's actually quite concerning.

You force a laugh past your lips, trying to show you aren't bothered by what he says. It's just a game of cat and mouse, and it's time the roles switch.

"Please. I could throw you in jail right now."

"But you wouldn't do that. Isn't that right, bunny?"

Your guard faulters and it gives him the opening he needs to corner you completely—and quite literally. It's a blink of an eye and he has you against the brick wall. It'd look rather suspicious to anyone passing, or maybe it looks endearing. But it doesn't matter, to begin with when it's a barren street. Even the crickets seem to have fled.

It's like wherever Dabi walks, everything else scatters. If it were the sea, you're sure it'd part red.

Dabi smirks, trapping you between his body and the cool, damp bricks. The mist from earlier rain seeps slowly into your hero suit, sending a violent chill down your spine. His other hand touches your hip, fingers grazing the fabric so faintly that it'd feel non-existent if it weren't for the heat radiating off them. You hitch your breath when his nose nudges your neck, his hot breath causes shivers and his eyes bore into your own with something mischievous.

"I-"

His lips ghost the skin of your neck and you subconsciously pull it taut, tilting your head to the side. You're beginning to hate how your body arches into his and how it reacts to the simplest of touches.

Like a brick to a window, your dissolve shattered easily.

Dabi quirks a brow, challenging you to continue as you sputter about. It's embarrassing. You can hear him say it now, just like so many times before: "Oh? A big hero like you getting flustered by a big bad villain like me? How cute."

Your walkie talkie comes alive with static and a voice cuts in asking for help to take down a gang of criminals a few cities over.

My saving grace.

"I-I have to go." You push him away by the shoulders with sudden confidence, but he doesn't seem to put up much resistance.

God, you want to wipe the smug smirk off his face.

He backs off and turns with an unbothered wave, proving his point that you wouldn't- couldn't touch him, much less win against him in any sort of battle. The untouchable.

"Until next time, right?"

———

It's like a new tide from the moon—how fast your feelings towards him change. He's awful. A criminal, a villain, a murderer. He's the literal icon of everything your against.. or of what you're supposed to be against.

But you understand him. You get his whys and you feel his emotion like you're apart of them. You empathize with him and it makes you so fucking angry at yourself because you know—as a hero—you should never side with a villain like him, no matter how much sense he starts to make.

Blame it on his tone and the smoothness of his words. He's just a swindler.

The next time isn't even a full week later. He technically protects you from some randoms in an alleyway and you catch him in the act of it all, turning to catch whoever was following you, only to be met with cold blue eyes and a pile of ashes in front of you.

Of course, it ultimately ends in the same place it always does; his bed.

His scent and touch linger a little too long after these meetings and you decide once again that this is the last time.

It's a real shame you have to blame it on his body heat and not the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. But you suppose that could count towards it.

His hands are anywhere—everywhere—and they leave a fire in their wake. It's too much and still not enough. All you want is to be closer. Fingers in his hair, pulling him into you until you can't, and then pulling him in more. It's like air, the way you breathe him in. When you finally give into dabi it no longer becomes a crime, but a necessity.

It's overbearing and messy and awful, but you can't help but slip into his embrace and into his warmth.

It's freezing and he's the sun.

Tangled in between cotton sheets, you feel him rub circles into your shoulder and you hear his heartbeat. It's reassuring to know someone like him even has one. Then again, he probably wouldn't have protected you if he didn't have one. How many times has he saved you from harm's way? Honestly, one time is too many.

It almost makes this fling of yours respectable. It almost makes you want to admit you're falling for that smug face and bad attitude.

"We talked about what we'd do if we ran into your league again, you know?"

Why on earth would you bring that up of all things, y/n?

He doesn't need to know anything about your career, much less your plans to take his team down.

"Hmm.. is that so?" Dabi's fingers move up to draw languid circles into your collarbone before shifting slightly to loom over you. His other hand comes to rest on your hip, sending a searing, but welcomed heat to the flesh. You hiss quietly at the sensation, already knowing there's a bruise forming from the activities not too long ago. His lips replace his hand on your neck and he removes his arm from under your head to hold himself up.

Your hand finds his messy hair, fingers delving into the raven locks and tugging gently as he makes his way to the column of your throat and to your ear. He nips at it, nose brushing against your jaw; his hot breath creating goosebumps that rise to your flesh.

"I like knowing you think of me when I'm not around, Angel."

The tone and raspiness of his voice makes you groan, feeling him kiss beneath your jaw. You just know he's smirking at the reactions he elicits from you because you can feel it. He enjoys watching your internal struggle. You can't act like you didn't choose to form whatever this is with him.

You tug his hair to look at him, bringing his face up and he almost looks annoyed that you disrupted his path heading down towards your chest. Your lips ghost over each other's and you lean in for a kiss, only for him to pull away and leave you chasing.

"I also like when you call my name."

Your hand falls from his hair to cup his jaw, practically pulling him forward into a kiss. It's rough to cover up the intimacy and need behind it. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip, thumb pressed into your stomach before his hand goes upward with an ulterior motive.

Pulling away from him before he can initiate anything more, you run your thumb across his lips and the silver bands that adore the lower half of his face. Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long to adjust to the different textures

"And I like how you kiss me."

This almost feels too domestic—not that you mind, but you're positive he knows you're wrapped around his finger, in the palm of his hand. It's impossible to hide it now. Your actions speak louder than the three words on the tip of your tongue, poisoning your mind.

It makes you cringe when you think about it all. How easily he can get into your head and twist your arm. Some nights you catch yourself thinking that maybe you'll be able to convince him to open his eyes a little wider to see your point of view, especially when you've begun to see his. They're horrible—the villains you go against, but he makes them seem so different. You hate how he makes you double think everything.

He playfully nips at your thumb when you push it gently between his lips, teasingly. His hands trail up your arms, pulling them off of him and above your head. You're the one who makes the move to intertwine fingers as he pushes them down harshly on the pillow underneath you. Insatiable. That's what he is. Is it so wrong to keep wanting more?

The sun beginning to rise over the horizon and spilling in through the window doesn't seem to stir him as he makes his descent from your lips.

You already know that by the next morning you'll hate him and that surrounds him. You'll hate yourself for listening to your heart instead of your head simply because it just 'feels so right.' It's a constant cycle between the two of you, and you're sure he feels the same. He doesn't agree with anything you stand by like a hero, but there's something that keeps him close enough.

There's only so much you can expect, even when you deny it over and over.

But god, you have to stop meeting like this.

[madeintimeland]

im oversharing this got long sorry. just reminscing on shit ive thought about a million times over again

theres so much art i want to create and so little motivation. i should start smoking weed again bc every time im high i get my best ideas or at least like, it takes away the layer of film over my brain that stops me from being able to come up with creative ideas, but also im scared its going to send me into mental hell again. like i need to be in a perfect state for it lest i fear im going to invoke my months long existential crisis again and i Cannot be doing that shit rn. but also i wonder if its going to be worth it anyways if i can create something to leave on this earth again. like ive been so bad at creativity lately like i want to draw and produce things and im bubbling over with energy and i feel the ideas fermenting in the deep recesses of my brain like theyre nestled into the grooves and folds but i cant access them yet. and i know i can if im stoned. i might turn into a hermit hunched over my tablet all hours of the day just making shit tbh. i absorb so much of the things around me and i know if i try to make something now its going to basically be direct copies of the things i saw but if im high im sure i can actually create something new and beautiful. im scared of being intoxicated again but i was scared to drink again too and i got drunk and proceeded to love it and want to drink every single day because surprise surprise i have alcoholism coded into my dna and consequentially have an addictive personality in general. which is why i felt like my life was useless without weed. all up until i was finally able to get my hands on a stash that would let me smoke whenever i want versus when i would get a small amount every couple of months and completely and utterly fail at ratioing it out and binge it all and then have ridiculously introspective trips where id start to go a little crazy at the end (i have a distinct memory of looking at a meme that had a woman on it and thinking ‘jesus christ... what the fuck is that’ and then spiraled into thinking about how life is pointless but i didnt have enough weed to continue with that train of thought and if i did i may have had my crisis a lot earlier, it was just inevitable) i just felt like being high was the only time i could actually get in touch with my inner self again. like i used to before the thick clouds of depression and psychosis settled in. but then i finally was able to get high for longer than short bursts of time and it all came to a head where my brain broke and i have existential terror now that i feel im going to not be able to deal with confronting again. but every time i say that it never ends up staying permanently, it comes in waves, it all comes in waves. back and forth. i feel beauty in life and then i feel fear. i feel like its all worth it and then i cant stop thinking about the inevitable heat death of the universe and the pointlessness of it all. and then i get a hug or listen to a really good song and i feel like its worth it again. i wonder if this is just a period in my life im not a total stoner or if its actually permanent. anyways point is i want to make so much stuff that my hands ache and my brain rots when i think about how many things inspire me. thats why my aesthetic tag is #inspiration, its been like that for many years now, its stuff that inspires me. but at what point am i going to turn that inspiration into reality? im bad at initiative. my initiative is going to be when i pick up the pot again because im too lethargic and procrastinatey to create the things i want any other time. but when will that be? i cant see a therapist or anything rn and working it out on my own has been mildly successful, not bad, im not spending every single day in terror like i was at this point last year. it started all going away around august after starting in march. march 30th in fact. from then on its been a constant battle with dissociation. funny because just earlier in march was some of the best experiences of my life. i think if lockdown never happened this never would have happened either but at the same time im left wondering how anybody can go through their life without wondering about the meaning of it all and coming out the other side with purpose and resolve. mine was to enjoy myself and find as much beauty and love in life as i can before i die and enhance the lives of the people around me while i can because i feel too small to do anything on a grander scale. and im fine with that, for the most part, but i still get attacked by these waves of thought where i wonder what the purpose of reality is . i always have to smack myself and remind myself no dumbass you already went over this a million times, just enjoy yousrelf while youre here. but when im high its a million times worse cuz the only time i can get my mind off it is when im replacing it with horny thoughts and thats not the only thing i wanna do when im high ofc i want to experience and create and listen to music. but i mean i havent smoked since june. i think the 15th ? i could go back and read my journals to tell exactly when it was but yeah its been almost a year now and i feel like i might have it in me again. i used to love getting high and working on shit so much. some of my best works and most  creative projects and honestly just most enjoyable periods of my life were when i was high. going back to what i was saying about early march 2020 being the best time of my life, idk what it was about me but i was just having a grand old time experiencing absolute beauty playing ark with my friends, feeling so creative and developing new ideas and experiences, and using the freedom and motivation i felt ingame to also want to explore the world irl. i seriously was close to actually finally reading my survival manual and start camping and shit and i wanted to visit my relatives in their hella secluded farmhouse in the middle of fuck nowhere kansas, cuz i did visit there during that time period and i loved it to death, i felt so free. two different relatives actually and they both had that same aesthetic about them. of course they were horribly racist but i mean, thats rural kansas for you. i just wanted to camp in their woods. its funny because that month was simultaneously the best and worst of my life. all because of weed! if i never started smoking or rather never found a reliable source at that point in my life i wonder how i wouldve turned out? id like to chalk this up to fate that im like this, maybe its for the best, maybe smoking again wont help me but maybe it will. i have a way to ease myself back into it i just need that leap of faith and  bravery like i felt when i was drinking again. its funny because i used to be such a fucking druggie and i wanted to get high all the time and then after my existential crisis that all just. stopped. i feell ike everyone i know is sick of me talking about it but it really fundamentally changed me on the inside even if it doesnt seem like it much on the outside so i feel its right of me to talk about it sometimes. it makes me feel better at least. like this is jsut a thing t hat happened, not a fated break from the universe i cant come back from yknow? i dunno. ive rambled on way too fucking long and idk if anyones gonna read this. tldr i want to draw and create so many things and i have too many ideas to deal with but i only feel ill be able to unlock my creativity and motivation if im high but due to bad past experiences im terrified to get high again. i mean ive done and made some pretty cool stuff since then but the motivation and ideas are much fewer and far between compared to the absolute deluge i get when im stoned , whether any of my ideas are actually any good or if they were just high ramblings is up to debate but i think it gave me a really good way of looking at things and i made some pretty cool stuff and i miss it a lot but i dont know if going back to it is going to be a mistake or not and im not brave enough to find out if itll hurt me again or if im ready. yyyyaaaayyyyy hahahaha ✌

[macgirl75]

New page....New blog.....New.....?

I'm the last person who keeps a diary.  When I was a teenager, I think all my friends had one.  They hid them under their mattresses.  Filled them with their crushes.  Their conquests.  Their screw ups.  Their hopes and dreams. Their name written over and over and over with some cute guy's last name attached.  Jane Doe.  Mrs. Jane Doe.  Mrs. John Doe.  Yeah.  Cute in retrospect.  I preferred writing in my yearbook, all over those cute boys.  Sometimes teenage us has insight.  Sometimes we don't. Much in the same way, I kept a blog going when I was in university.  When I decided to get back into it as a way to vomit my thoughts on paper (or a web page in this case) where it would be left for an indeterminant number of strangers to read (rather than mothers fishing the paper version out from under those mattresses in hopes that daughters were still innocent and lovely), I found someone I had outgrown and decided I needed to start a new one.  Brave?  Bold?  Ironically thinking this will never reach another human being's eyes?  Probably the latter.  Really this is just a weird little experiment to chronicle life as it is and perhaps one day to look back and laugh at this, much as I did with the university blog.  It really is amazing what a decade or so does for your writing, your focus, you place in life.  Hopefully the wisdom I spew forth will be met with a knowing smile and chuckle by my future self, recognizing the jumble that midlife brings. So struggle.  Thats life.  Seems like a constant one actually.  Meeting expectations.  Chasing goals.  Being productive.  Taking care of others.  Managing your presentation and "PR".  Getting the job, the home, the relationship, the life.  And there's always another goal.  Another challenge.  Another step to climb and mountain to scale.  It's also funny just how long it takes us all to realize that we are failing when we are measuring out seconds, minutes and hours by these sticks.  Because once you get one thing, there's another.  What you have isn't good enough.  Big enough.  Happy enough.  Stable enough.  Those childhood dreams you wrote in that diary just aren't what is happening.  Cinderella never had to do a thing after she got to that castle.  Sleeping Beauty's prince was always "Charming" and loved her forever.  Snow White always had 7 adoring friends who loved her cooking, her singing and couldn't get enough of her company.  Neither could those deer.  Wild. But when push came to shove, it was always someone else who was saving her.  Someone else climbed the tower.  Someone else killed the dragon. Someone else kissed that poisoned apple away.  No one told Belle that her beast would roar at her and that she better develop some coping skills stat.  I've yet to see the day where someone walks into your life, pulls you up onto that big white horse and carries you off to a place where your problems are solved and your hair is always perfect. So what do we do about this problem?  A changing society in which gender roles have been turned upside down, where marriage are failing, where employment is precarious, where addiction is rampant and where we have all tuned out to people, turned in to screens and  fake lives as keyboard warriors and checked out as avoidant Sleeping Beauties back up at the top of those towers (also draw your Stephen King/Joe hill potential cross reference notes). Mindfullness.  I've struggled with it for years now.  Hippies.  Gurus.  Maharajahs in far away lands.  All those weird, touchy feely types.  And IM a social worker saying that.  Ouch.  Because guess what.  Self reflection is hard.  Sitting in silence with yourself is terrifying.  Who the hell are any of us but our roles, our relationships, our social media statuses.  Our outward projections.  Sit me down with myself and don't do anything but think about what is happening this very moment?  Impossible.  I have things to do.  Chores.  Work.  Purposeful and useful tasks.  Self improvement.  Even rest and relaxation is goal based.  Technology driven.  So now what? I've been spending some time in my "self advancement" trying to gain further insight and skills to set myself up for a therapy practice.  Since I don't know how much longer my shelf life is in my current job, I want a back up plan.  An exit strategy.  A "just in case" if I can't weather any more of the emotional storm that hits me daily.  An outcome for that continued goal of career success.  So off I go for some professional development.  And I found ACT.  Acceptance and Commitment Therapy.  And of course, in my pursuit of a goal, I found another push for mindfullness.  The theory and practice is just chalked full of it. Live in that moment.  Pay attention to what is happening.  Stop judging, stop striving, stop struggling.  Just notice.  Notice your feelings.  Notice your discomfort.  Then do or don't do what your thinking (there is no try....freaking Yoda).  But don't judge. There's a lot more to it than that, but here it is. In a life where I'm succeeding and excelling in almost all areas, this bafffles me to no end.  How do we not work for an outcome? How do we not judge our success?  Should we not have purpose?  Should our lives not be based on something?  Turns out we should live with purpose but the purpose being our own values, not the goals set by socially ascribed norms and expectations.  You'll feel joy.  You'll feel sadness.  But chasing happiness is a myth, as much of a myth as waiting for that prince to climb your tower.  Chasing happiness simply sets us up for failure and goal outcome behaviour.  As a type A, outcome and achievement driven and focused person, this is terrifying. But happiness is a "high".  And you never have as great of a high as your first one.  Explains first love and how much happier things seemed in our childhoods.  Was it all really that great? So here is the part with the social experiment.  I've always wanted the prince to climb my tower.  It's never happened.  My expectations led to disappointment, which led to a determination that I would simply take care of everything myself then.  I'd kill that dragon.  Hell, I'd kill all the dragons.  Because I was going to be good enough, even if a prince didn't want to save me.  I'd save myself.  But I've spent my lifetime fighting those dragons, those socially constructed expectations.  I'm going to try to put down my sword now.  So for the next couple months, I'm planning on blogging (whenever the mood takes me, without judgment) and I'm going to "notice" and be grateful for things.  Every day I am going to consciously do one good thing for my mind, my heart, my body and my spirit.  One small thing that reinforces for me that I am worth effort, that I am worth paying attention to and that I am worth caring for, not as a goal or task but because I simply am.  No excuses, no justifications, no judgments.  And you my friend, if you are reading this, I encourage you to do the same.  When we spend our lives putting our needs second to others or tasks or a self image we believe to be acceptable and required, we lose who we are, what we are and we fail to love ourselves.  Others may fault you, may say your selfish, may make demands of your time and efforts and may even walk out of your life when you fail to meet their needs.  You yourself may hurt and struggle in the sad reality that you cannot count on others to be there without falter.  We are social creatures, taught that love is the most important thing of all and that without it, we are defective.  We are worthless.  Absolutely, human contact is important.  Absolutely there is no feeling like being with someone who is there for you in your time of need, who makes you smile and who loves you unconditionally.  It makes you feel real.  Valid.  Important.  Vital.  But at the end of the day, all we have is ourselves and our own self image.  If you can't see your own value and don't love yourself, there is no one else who can fill that hole for you. Wishing you well, mysterious reader.  And wishing you love, radical self acceptance and and interesting and exciting journey through this life.  You only have one.  Be present in it. Maybe you'll pop back in for another look.  In the meantime, love to you. macgirl75