#like im out

[plush-rabbit]

Dabi W/ Ice Quirk!Reader

Request: Oh boy here goes nothing >.< bear with me, please. I'm a huge sucker for "opposites attract,"  so what if Dabi met someone with a persistent Ice quirk that's destroying their body (frost bite) the same way Dabi's is, as well as their surroundings? And if Dabi is resistent to ice, rather than fire, what if Dabi was the only person that could resist freezing to death when touching ice person. Bonus points if condensed oxygen helps his quirk burn hotter/faster. I'll take anything, pls and ty!!! Uwu

A/N: this took forever, but like i wanna write again, and i miss it, and lately i’ve been feeling a certain way

Word Count: 1.5K

An ice quirk on the team. Dabi thinks it’s a joke. A cruel one that the universe has just handed to him. He snorts when you tell everyone your quirk and you chose to not comment on it. He’s not the most emotionally stable person in the team, or in general, so he holds a bit of resentment towards you. He’s colder with you- one worded answers, grunts and hums in responses to your questions. You haven’t done anything wrong, but it’s your damn quirk that has him sneering at you. Where his quirk is cremation, yours is frostbite. 

Maybe Shigaraki likes to piss him off, or there was a good reason to pair you and him together, but no matter, he listens because it is the means to his goal. He keeps his head down and goes on a mission with you. It’s supposed to be simple, receive something and drop it off at another location, but heroes have followed and now they’re chasing you and him down the street. It’s the first time that he actually sees your quirk in action. You’re quick on your feet, using the ice to help you “skate” around, ice that juts up from the ground in unforgiving spikes, a snowstorm concealing the both of you enough to make a grand escape. If he weren’t so jaded, he might have actually found it nice. 

However, when you two are finally able to hide away- the drop-off location date changed due to the heroes intervening- he takes a good look at you. You’re huffing and puffing, your breaths coming out in clouds of smoke. Your nose and face are flushed and the psalm of your hands are turning into a harsh blue. Ice is stuck to your skin, and you’re slowly bending and unbending your fingers. You of course can feel him staring, and while he isn’t polite enough to ask, he just won’t ask unless it interests him. Yet, you want to fill the silence so you tell him about your quirk.

Your body wasn’t meant for this quirk. In reality, this quirk hadn’t been seen in your family for a few generations- enough to know that your cousins and aunts and uncles hadn’t had this quirk. It was a surprise when you started to make ice- not snow as some would have liked- but ice. You talked about how you made jagged statues of ice when your emotions were too much, how your skin would harden and it would take ages just for it to return to normal. How because it was a quirk thought to have died out in the family, your body wasn’t made for it. The worst of it was that your quirk was powerful, but your body wasn’t, and he tears his gaze away from you when you say that. It really is a cruel joke from the universe that he met you.

For whatever reason, he starts to treat you just a little better. He sits next to you, and gives you at least more than one word in most conversations. It’s scraps, but you take it eagerly. Due to that, you both get paired on missions together. He thinks it’s another joke from Shigaraki and the others, but you seem happy enough with it, so he doesn’t make as many remarks about it. He won’t admit it, but he prefers to have you fight with him, if only because when you activate your quirk, the cool temperature not only soothes his skin, but makes his fire burn longer and hotter. And while he hasn’t made any comment about it, he sees how you stick close to his fire, watching the ice melt off your skin and keep the blue softer than before. It’s a beneficial teamup. That’s all it is.

Of course, you can’t just have the exact opposite of his quirk- you have to be the exact opposite from him. Polite, and kind. Caring and soft. It comes in all types of forms, from giving him the parts of the meal you don’t like, to sitting next to him and having ice form around you, wilting the plants and expanding into the cracks of the concrete, just for him to cool off. You’ve become observant of him, and you watch as his own usage of his quirk makes him feverish, almost sickly. It comes in a wave at night, as he’s laying in bed, panting and head splitting open, and he thinks he’s going to die, to have his insides turn into mush and leak out of him, until the door creaks open. 

You walk in and sit beside him, cooing his name softly, and pressing your hand against his forehead. You tell him that he’s burning- that you think he really is going to melt the bed and the home that you and the League have been living in for the past few weeks. You stay with him through the night, pressing your hand against his forehead, trialing it down over to his neck where you think you see steam slip between your fingertips, and lifting to hover over his chest. Through the night, you repeat the motions, and he’s in and out of consciousness, lulled back to sleep when you shush him gently and make him just a bit colder. You can’t stay awake all through the night and inevitably pass out with your hands on his chest, your quirk still cooling him. He wakes up angry, snarling and pushing you against the wall, and you have to explain between gasps of air that you were trying to help. You’re sorry, and there are tears in your eyes. You’re trying to pry his hands off of you, nails pinching into his skin and when he sees how your hands are covered in a thick blue hue, almost as if you were wearing gloves, does he finally let go. You’re crying as you apologize, and he hates how he’s standing over you, so he squats down and tells you that he didn’t mean to be so rough. It’s not an apology, but it’s something close to one.

Guilt doesn’t eat at him, but it makes looking at you arduous. So, at night, he walks into your room. He wakes you up with a shake and you don’t attack him as he did to you, so maybe that doesn’t mean that you’re all that upset. But when you speak, you’re careful to keep your hands twisted over the covers and pressed under your shirt. He offers a solution. He hates to be indebted to others, so he offers to take your hands and warm them up. You think it’s a trick, and he makes the comment that you’d be useless if you got frostbite. It doesn’t take much for you to give him your hands, and he sits beside you after constant urging. He holds your hands and makes a soft warmth emit from his own, and a part of him aches, but you hum, and watch him through your lashes, and his body is on fire under your gaze. You sleep soundly, and he stays awake watching you and holding your hands. 

There’s no way to quite tell when it was that he started to warm up to you- when he became just a bit softer around you, when he actually wanted you to talk to him, but it happened. He likes being around you. He teases you lightly, nothing too harsh, and he listens to you ramble about why you had to be a villain, or why it seemed like the only choice despite coming from a decent family. When it’s just the two of you, sometimes fluffs of snow start to creep from where you sit, fragile ice covers the sides of the building in a thin layer with an intricate design webbed into them. It might be the first time in a long time when he thinks that ice isn’t so bad. And when the ice creeps and cracks against your face when you smile, there’s a faraway thought that you’re pretty when you smile. 

Whether the others have noticed your nightly excursions to his room, they haven’t said a thing. He, however, has said many things, but he still leaves his door unlocked for you, and a crack open for you to push in. Slowly, your quirk has been consuming your body, and it’s made it difficult to open things without needing aid. And every night without fail, you come into his room. You help cool him down, and he holds your hands in his, claiming that there is no other for you to take his warmth. A part of you has started to suspect that he likes holding hands, but you don’t dare risk that gamble. He keeps you beside him, sleeping next to you with your hands still in his, and he wakes up before you, telling you that you kick around in your sleep. And every morning, before you wake, Dabi bends your fingers for you, making sure with every move, that you haven’t woken up. He’d deny it even if you were to catch him in the act. 

[sparrowlucero]

like the most politically neutered movie of all time unironically

[lowpawly]

I like how people on tumblr/twitters examples of irredeemable media are always coincidentally media that had been highly popular online 5 years prior and would, say, potentially be something a young adult might be embarrassed about having liked as a teenager at one point

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[jamierthanyou]

as an aroace, im particularly dangerous, because i wont fuck or marry. i only know how to kill.

[asphodelles]

la petite mort

[paintedcrows]

*through tears* HER LITTLE POG CHAMP

[loopnoid]

claudeleine thru the eras

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[hinamie]

trick or treat!

[aphel1on]

i have such a love for characters who descend into madness or villainy out of deep, deep empathy. characters who fundamentally cannot cope with the cruel realities they find themselves in and blow up about it in spectacular fashion. fallen angel type characters with tears of outrage in their eyes. characters who break before they bend, and break so badly they splatter blood all over their noble ideals. every variation on it gets me so good

[chloesimaginationthings]

Leaked scene from the FNAF 2 movie…

[crabussy]

IM GOING TO PUNCH A HOLE IN SOMEONES CAR

[stars-and-branches]

Chronic pain pisses me off cause I'm not even incapacitated for like a cool or badass reason instead my body is throwing the world's biggest temper tantrum because it's raining outside

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[stargirl230]

thanks for the light

I was just trying to figure out how procreate works but then the op brainworms got to me and 35 hours later here we are! can you tell I miss home-cooked meals :')

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)