#fever dream boutique

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Six

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Physical abuse (slapping & hair grabbing) and harassment (verbal taunts) - it’s just the scene after prom dress shopping btw; protective Jasper bc this man is definitely touch her and die coded.

Notes: This came to me in a fever dream and I woke up in the middle of the night to write it, I have no regrets.

Word Count: 2005

Series Masterlist

• March 8th, 2005 • Port Angeles, Washington •

Reader

“You guys really aren’t into this, are you?” Angela says as she checks herself in the mirror with a pretty purple gown on. Jess standing on her other side in a hot pink gown with a neckline that accentuates her cleavage.

Seeing as Bella and I don’t plan on attending prom, we’ve been assigned to be the hipe crew for the other two girls as they try on dress after dress. After a certain point they all just blend together, but I try to offer encouraging words for each one.

“We really just want to go to this bookstore,” looking at me briefly she adds, “Meet you guys at the restaurant?” Bella says as we stand from our perch by the window.

“See you guys later!” I toss over my shoulder as we exit the boutique.

I stand on the porch of the store, admiring the view of the sunset as Bella finishes our excursion by paying for the book.

The bell above the door dings, “Secured the package?” I ask her excitedly and she waves the book in the air in front of her before dropping it in her bag as we leave.

“I think there’s a short cut to the restaurant this way.” Bella suggests, pointing down some narrow stairs that lead to a dark alley between a pair of buildings.

“I’m not so sure-“

“C’mon, I’m sure it’s fine.” She reassures me before taking off down the ominous path.

I sigh and follow her, but as we reach the bottom of the stairs, a group of guys walk past the other end of the alley and immediately correct their course to start walking towards us. Panicking slightly, I grab Bella’s sleeve and tug her towards a different path we passed a few feet back.

Coming out into an empty lot, “Hey! Where are you two going?” One of our pursuers questions with a drunken slur.

“Shit.” I whisper under my breath, not letting up on the grip I have on Bella’s arm.

“What’s up? It’s our girls from the dress shop!” Another behind us yells, boxing us in.

“Hey-whoa, where you going?”

“Come get a drink with us-“ One laughs.

“Yeah, hang out with us, c’mon! What’s the problem?” They taunt us, closing in.

“You’re pretty.” Another reaches to caress a strand of my hair, but I slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch us.” Bella starts panicking, flinching from their wandering hands.

“Fuck off.” I shove another one trying to invade my personal space and he returns it with a slap to my cheek that stuns me for a second.

“Cute.” A cocky one grabs her arm, yanking her from my grip. Bella responds by kicking him in the groin and he bends over in pain.

Seeing us not giving up easily, one of the drunker men grabs a handful of hair to hold me close as his drunk breath wafts over my face, “No need to be hostile, baby.” I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the wrist attached to the hand holding my hair-

But next thing I know, a familiar silver Volvo slides aggressively to a stop a few feet from us. The two figures that emerge send a wave of calm across me that nearly has me in tears from relief.

“Let her go.” Jasper’s tone leaves no room for negotiation, face set in a murderous rage.

“Fuckin’ take her bro.” Spits the piece of shit that grabbed me and shoves me into the arms of my knight in shining armor.

“Get in the car.” I hear Edward tell us with a deadly calm, Jasper's fingers running over my cheeks and throat as he inspects for injuries quickly.

I peel myself away from him as Bella moves towards the passenger side of the car, I open the door and fold the seat forward so I could climb in the back, Jasper right behind me. Once all of us are in, Edward reclaims the driver’s seat and revs the engine at the men that tried to take us before peeling out of the lot.

“Are you alright?” Jasper turns my chin towards his worried gaze with chilly fingers, it could just be the dimly lit car, but his eyes look nearly pitch black.

I hadn’t noticed I started shaking until I shook my head in response, Edward and Bella were yelling at each other in the front seat.

Jasper closed his eyes as his hand released my chin, I watched it flex in his lap as if he were trying to calm himself down.

“Are you alright?” I echo his question quietly, but he chuckles darkly.

“I would kill every single one of them without a second thought, if you so desired. I should’ve gotten there sooner, they never should’ve been able to lay a finger on you.” A cold finger pushes a curl behind my ear, the digit leaving a cooling trail across my stinging cheek from where I was slapped.

I close my eyes and whisper, “You can’t say things like that.”

“It’s true, I’m finding it incredibly difficult to not persuade my brother to turn around.”

“Jasper-“ but he cuts me off as my anxiety sky-rockets.

“Difficult, because I need to make sure you’re okay and it’s surpassing the urge to end those low-lives.” I let out the breath that was trapped at the thought of having to part with the safety of his presence.

I catch Jasper meeting his brother’s eyes in the rear-view mirror before Edward declares, “You two need to eat something-”

Bella interrupts him with a gasp, “We’re supposed to meet Ang and Jess at the restaurant!”

Swerving in and out of the late night traffic, I can tell he’s also struggling with turning back around.

Jasper

Absolutely fucking ridiculous, the rage coursing through my body has me locked tight. I don’t even know what’s prompting such a visceral reaction, she’s just a fellow classmate.

A fellow classmate whose scent has tempted me like nothing I’ve ever experienced, a fellow classmate that is gorgeous beyond comparison…

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back in my seat with my left hand perched on the head rest behind Y/n. I don’t have the control to touch her right now, to comfort her, the emotions flying around this car and roiling in my gut have me on edge; a rubber band ready to snap.

They dared to slap her, never mind them herding these girls like scared fawns, they fucking hit her. Grabbed her by her hair-a growl rumbles deep in my chest that I try to tame, but it captures Y/n’s attention. Before she can comment, we arrive at the restaurant they were supposed to meet their friends at.

Exiting my brother’s Volvo, I reach a hand in the door to assist Y/n as she climbs out from behind the folded passenger seat. Her hand is a warm anchor in mine, reminding me that she’s here and safe. She stands on the curb, looking at her small hand in mine and as much as I don’t want to, I let it slip from my grasp. I shut the door and turn to Edward as I see Bella walk towards the two girls leaving the restaurant.

“I’m going to stay out here while you guys go in.” Y/n tells Edward.

“You need something to eat.” I protest, concerned.

“I can’t exactly walk in with two upset guys and a handprint on my face.” She says, sounding exasperated. Her emotions were a scrambled mess, so I didn’t push her decision.

Grab her a burger and fries or spaghetti, if they have something simple like that. I think for Edward to pick up, he nods confirming my request before turning to follow Bella up the walkway.

Y/n wonders a few feet away to seat herself on a bench facing the street. Before I could say anything, our classmates rounded the bushes bordering the restaurant and spot us.

“Y/n! We just saw Bella with Edward walking in, do you need a ride home?” The one I assume is Jessica asks, her emotions a little more bold than the shy one standing beside her.

“I can get her home, we’re just waiting on my brother.” I intercept their question as Y/n tries to discreetly pull up her hood to hide her reddened cheek.

“You sure?” The quieter one finally pipes up, wanting confirmation from her friend. Considerate, but frustrating seeing as they’re wasting my alone time with her.

“I’m good Ang, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” She dismisses them with a smile and a wave. They finally peel themselves away and drive off in their car.

“How did you find us?” She asks and I turn to face her.

“You need to ice that.” I nod to the mark on her beautiful face.

“Don’t change the subject, Hale.”

“We were driving by and saw the commotion-“ but she interrupts me, her own rage bubbling to the surface.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” She stands and closes the distance between us. “How did you know we were in Port Angeles? You’ve been gone from school the last few days.”

I gape at her, not prepared for her sudden fury. I’m at a loss for words yet again, I can’t tell her that Edward can read minds and we were watching over them ever since Alice saw them split from their friends at the dress shop in a vision.

Y/n turns to stomp away frustrated, but I reach out and softly grab her arm to stop her.

“Wait-just wait a minute, darlin’.”

She looks at me expectantly with eyebrows raised and I swear I’ve never seen a look so endearing.

“Well?” Y/n presses.

“I can’t explain-“

“You can though! It’s not hard to just-“ She’s yelling at me in frustration, but I stomp on her rant as my control slips.

“Don’t ask this from me!” I yell back, exasperated.

“Why can’t you let me in?” She says at a near-whisper after a heavy pause, stepping into my personal space.

“It’s easier this way.” I say in a clipped tone as I look away from her intense gaze, backing into the Volvo. I can’t let her in, I’ve never let anyone in. She’s human, I'm a vampire and that’ll never change - I can’t get attached. Taking her mortality so that I might never lose her will never be on the table, staying one step removed is the only way to keep her safe.

“Easier for you or for me?” She continues to press, “You saved me tonight, can’t even tell me how, and you want me to go back to being just your lunch buddy? Your classmate in History, like you didn’t swoop in and stop a group of men from doing god knows-“

I stop her rant by grabbing her biceps, “Stop.” I plead with her, unable to envision what would’ve happened without our intervention.

“Tell me, Jaz.” She asks desperately, somehow knowing I’m teetering on the edge.

My gaze frantically shifts over her face, my mouth open and closing like a damn fish out of water searching for the words. Thankfully my brother must sense my panicking thoughts because he’s exiting the restaurant, take-out box in hand as he ushers Isabella to our car.

“I got you a burger, I hope that’s alright?” Edward extends the container to her as I release her and turn away, collecting myself.

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful of you. Th-thank you very much.” She stutters, surprised Edward got her food to-go.

“Everything alright?” Isabella asks, concerned for her friend.

“Let’s go home.” Y/n says, ignoring the question and my heart plummets. I messed up this whole thing.

I open the passenger door and offer my hand for her to use to steady herself, but she promptly ignores it. Stubborn girl, I think as I climb in behind her.

Next

#twilight #bless-my-demons #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock hale #redamancy series #twilight fanfiction #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper whitlock #female reader insert #jasper hale x female!reader #jasper hale twilight

[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 0

Masterlist

Glossary (contains spoilers!)

A-World

home of an alternate version of our Ateez

a city made up of a maze of cement walls and deserted side roads

their hideout is an abandoned factory/warehouse

Ateez viewed their music and dance as dull and insignificant due to their belief that it couldn't have an impact on people

the members were about to part ways indefinitely before their journey to the Z-World began

Z-World

Halateez's/Black Pirates' World (also referred to as Strictland)

the 4th Industrial Revolution already took place and led to a 200 year average lifespan and 40 years of education

the central government, aka the Sciensalvar political party led by 'Z', wants absolute power

-> to remove all possible unpredictable variables keeping them from achieving this, they developed a self-learning A.I. system

-> their ultimate conclusion drawn from this system's gathered data: the only thing keeping them from achieving absolute power is human emotions

-> as a result, they prohibited all forms of art and emotional expression

Cromer

For more details and a full list of its abilities, click here

appearance of an hourglass

enables travel between realities and into another's dreams, as well as teleportation while in direct contact with the object

Sciensalvar

The name "Sciensalvar" is likely just a combination of "Scien" from "science" and "salvar" which is Spanish for "to save, to rescue" - saved by science

In the A-World:

"religious" organization founded in 1999, led by Henry Jo (a scientist of some kind)

ideology: humans are a collection of energy, science can resolve uncertainties of the future, the energy in the Cromer can save humanity

never appeared outside of the Fever Epilogue Diary Version

In the Z-World:

pseudo-religious scientific organization spearheaded by 'Z'

invented the AI simulation for the 'best solution'

created a political party under the catchphrase: "The pursuit of a peaceful world without religious conflict and terror through emotional control."

said party grew in size until they were powerful enough to pass the 'Emotional Regulation Act' which lead to the solidification of the class system to the point where 'defective' people are now being 'disposed of'.

Android Guardians

only exist in the Z-World

tall, wearing white masks, decidedly non-human

burn people's memories as an energy source

-> the resulting smoke gets them drunk

-> this new energy market was created by the government's A.I.

their mission: obtain the Cromer, capture Ateez, the Black Pirates/Halateez and their supporters/sympathizers, as well as anyone deemed 'defective'

take orders exclusively from the Head Guardian, Z and presumably also the Sciensalvar party

guard the prison island (a bunker formerly used as an art gallery) and Z's hideout due to their non-human nature which prevents emotional corruption by revolutionists

Halateez/The Black Pirates

resistance fighters in the Z-World

mission: overthrow the government and free people's minds by returning the arts to Strictland

-> use the prohibited arts as a weapon

-> the alternate version of A-World's Ateez and their supporters

Left Eye

lives in Z-World where he used to run a boutique after studying fashion design

his daughter was killed by a speeding car while trying to save a flower on the road

-> she died slowly while passersby ignored her, too focused on moving forward

the yellow fumes of the Strictland dump made him hallucinate his dead daughter, trapping him

-> the Android Guardians found him there and made him the dump's new manager

he later becomes an ally to the revolution

Thunder

originally a group of elite students at Prestige Academy in charge of reporting any students who show emotions who have now joined the resistance

their leader: a girl resembling the one Seonghwa saw dance back in the A-World who dropped a bracelet inscribed with the words 'Be Free', she was inspired by the Grimes Siblings (who first helped Ateez when they arrived in the Z-World) to join the resistance

as the elitest of the elite who were supposed to be the future leaders of Strictland, they have access to top secret information on Z and are willing to share it with the Black Pirates to free everyone

their home base is located in a forest village away from all surveillance

#Ateez #ateez lore #left eye #strictland #sciensalvar

[scrivenerofchaos]

Shadows of Faith: 2/3

Carmilla’s Early Days

SUMMARY: In "Shadows of Faith: The Corruption of Sweet Carmilla," we follow the story of Carmilla, a devout young woman who anticipates a traditional marriage arranged by her parents. However, as her wedding day approaches, Carmilla's nightmares grow increasingly vivid and disturbing. She finds herself consumed by hunger in her dreams and haunted by the sensation of being watched. Amidst the chaos of her nightmares, a seductive voice calls out to her, whispering her name, "Carmilla." This voice belongs to Desdemona who reveals to Carmilla that she will eventually lose her faith, at which point she will be ripe for the taking.

The day Carmilla was born was one of the happiest days of Genevieve’s life. Her deepest desires seemed fulfilled - first having a beloved son to satisfy her husband’s wishes, and then a precious daughter for her to dote on while her boys were away. With Benjamin to carry the family name and Carmilla to shower with affection, Genevieve felt her family was complete.

Yet, tragedy struck in the form of a relentless fever. At the tender age of five, Carmilla found herself confined to her bed, her tiny frame wracked with shivers and drenched in sweat. Genevieve sent for a small army of doctors, all failed her, the fever persisted. Months of this hopelessness. Until one day, just as suddenly as the illness struck,  the fever left. A small prayer half answered. Just the same, Carmilla remained in her bed, too weak to join her family for meals or engage in the joys of childhood.

Gregory spent every waking moment in the church of Easis if he wasn’t in his office working. He sought solace and divine intervention in the church. 

Benjamin, undeterred by the risk of contagion, dared to visit his little sister and keep her company when he wasn’t away at university or by his father’s side in the church. 

Genevieve, a woman of little faith and was quiet about it, she went on walks to clear her head. She found her peace in solitary walks. The fresh air and nature always helped her mind open for the ideas to flow to her.

In this case her mind came up blank. When it came to matters of her child’s health she felt so helpless. No amount of money, power or prestige would bring her daughter back.

On a fateful day, while wandering the city streets in a haze of worry, Genevieve’s gaze fell upon a dress displayed in a tailor’s boutique window. The dress was a brilliant yellow that would have looked glorious against the dark canvas of her daughter’s skin. She imagined her little one healthy, running around in circles, getting the dress dirty or torn. She yearned for the days of chastising her for gleefully splashing in puddles. She whipped tears from her sad eyes. 

Curiously, she noticed a mischievous pair of blue eyes staring at her from behind the little dress. The eyes belonged to a little girl who giggled and joyfully bounded towards her mother who was engrossed in plotting corrections on a gaudy gown. A wonderful idea came to Gen.

Emily and Carmilla quickly formed a deep bond, their laughter echoing through the halls as they shared stories, sang songs, and played. Emily didn’t ask about Carmilla’s sickness. She was happy to have another friend. Gen was grateful for the innocence and grace of children. Gregory and Benji would come home and give thanks to their god for bringing Emily to them for the sake of Carmilla. Emily’s presence brought a glimmer of hope to Carmilla’s shadowed world, her innocence a balm to Geneieve’s trouble soul.

Peace was fleeting, at the age of seven, Carmilla’s nights were haunted by gasping breaths and night terrors that left her trembling in fear. Insomnia became her constant companion, stealing precious moments of rest from her weary form. She’d nod off in the middle of conversations. Sometimes, she’d wake up, drenched in sweat, mistakenly thinking the fever returned. The night became a dreadful thing. She dreaded closing her eyes for too long. In desperation, Greg and Benji redoubled their prayers and offerings. They’d stay overnight at the church, being away for days at a time, their devotion to Easis unwavering.

Meanwhile, Genevieve couldn’t bear to be away from Carmilla for long, especially during the night. She stole her peace during the day, while Emily kept Carmilla company. Her mind struggled to focus as she too was deprived of sleep. 

As she walked in a haze, she found herself drawn to a mysterious part of the city she had never noticed before. People who appeared as though they hadn’t bathed in weeks, lie on the ground. Some gathered around a burning barrel for warmth, they told each other stories as they shared a drink hidden in a brown paper bag. Gen felt completely out of place with how overdressed she was amongst them. She almost felt embarrassed then threatened when she saw a group of shady looking men with ill-intentions in their eyes begin making their way towards her.

“I have what you seek,” a voice called out to her. A hag approached her from the shadows of her tent made of assorted blankets, “a charm for peaceful sleep.”

Gen, ever skeptical of faith and majicks, wondered how this old lady could have possibly known about her family’s troubles. With no time to second guess she sought refuge in the hag’s tent.

The tent was larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. There was a blazing hearth that lit and warmed the tent. Bookshelves lined the clothed walls. The books looked as though they were from ancient times as they looked almost petrified, in stone tablets. A desk black-wooden desk riddled with mountains of papers. The language on the papers was unknown to Gen even of her education. There seemed to be a staircase that led downstairs.

“I know things because I am meant to,” answered the Hag, before Gen had the chance to form the question on her tongue.

Gen thought that maybe it was in her face that gave it all away. Her eyes felt weary, those eyes of hers must have looked it. 

“My child - ,” Gen’s struggled to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks at the thought of completing the sentence. As if putting words to the pain and suffering will condemn her daughter forever.

The hag nodded sympathetically as she rummaged through her things before turning to her to present the charm with both hands with a bowed head.

The charm, a crude looking thing. Hardly looked magical save for the gem. The hands that made it were not of a weathered professional. Though it glimmered gently in the light of a small fire. A gem the color of moonlight was the most perfect out of the metal bits that held it in place, “Here it is, the answer to your pain and suffering.”

“What do you want in exchange for this?” She asked.

“Lucky for you, I only desire coin.” The hag answered.

Against her better judgment, Gen paid for the charm and hurried back home before the hag roped her into more scams.

While Carmilla and Emily were distracted, she snuck the charm underneath one of the many pillows on her bed. She hoped that this inexpensive trinket would do something, anything.

That night, Carmilla slept through the night peacefully. When she awoke, it was like she was a completely different person. Carmilla felt strong enough to get out of bed, eat with her family. Another night of sleep uninterrupted, she was able to picnic with Emily in the sun. Gen, more than pleased, would take the charm and put it under her daughter’s pillow each night before bed. 

She made it a habit of coming into her room with a comforting beverage of rose milk and honey, or a book for her and Emily to read. She would fain interest in the story while leaving the charm behind, unnoticed. Years would pass of this. Another small prayer answered and peace returned to the Everhart home.

Five years of this peace would reign before Gregory requested that his wife accompany him on a business trip.

Carmilla, now the age of twelve. She had grown confident as her health and sanity returned to her. She’d write as if she would never be able to write again. Still, Gen fretted leaving her by herself. Gen despised the fact she had more faith in a cheap charm than she did in anything else.

“She will not be alone, my love,” Gregory assured his wife, “She has the servants at her beck and call…and Emily to entertain.”

“Yes, mother, I am fine and have been for some time now. The dark days are behind us,” Carmilla was eager to run the house by herself and pretend she was the Lady of the house long married.

“Thanks be to Easis,” Gregory and daughter sang the praises in harmony.

Gen couldn’t talk her way out of this as the family was confident through faith that all was in the past. Gen persisted as she always had. She knew she would find a way.

As the servants gathered their luggage, Gen instructed one of the discrete and trustworthy servants to take the charm and assume her duty.

“We will be back soon,” She hugged and kissed her daughter’s forehead, “it’s a short trip.”

Her words, betrayed by the winds of uncertainty and chaos. The cool night transformed into an unforgiving tundra of ice and snow. This tumultuous weather delayed Greg and Gen’s journey for several weeks. Gen’s stomach turned with dread at the conditions that awaited them once they returned home.

Those fears were confirmed when they saw the look on their servant’s faces. 

“I couldn’t get to her every day, m’lady,” the servant confessed, “Emily and her have grown too close.” Gen shook her head, she didn’t want to hear excuses.

“Everyday? She’s had some sleep then,” She couldn’t control her fear showing up as frustration and displeasure towards those only trying to help.

All her fury melted into fright as she watched her daughter with haunted eyes aimlessly wander the halls while muttering nonsense. These were clear signs of sleep deprivation. Gen guided her troubled little love to bed, with charm in hand. Carmilla weakly shook her head in protest. Gen pleased that she was still acutely aware of the goings on.

“It’s alright, mommy is here,” she rubbed her daughter’s head as she planted the charm under her head. Carmilla fought as she did, couldn’t keep her eye open.

That night of her parent’s return, she slept peacefully as she had for so many years before. She faced the day with a head unburdened by a vague and elusive terror. She was clear as she ever could be and astute.

Carmilla finds herself unable to contain her suspicions. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, she seeks out her mother to confront her about the truth she has uncovered.

As she enters her mother’s art studio, Carmilla’s gaze meets Genevieve’s, her eyes betraying a tumultuous storm of emotions. Genevieve, sensing the gravity of the moment, looks up from her canvas, concerned etched on her face.

“Carmilla, darling, what’s wrong?” Genvieve’s voice carries a note of apprehension as she rises from her stool, her maternal instincts kicking in.

Carmilla takes a deep breath, steeling herself for confrontation ahead. “Mother, we need to talk,” she began, her voice quivering with suppressed emotion.

Gen’s brows furrow in concern as she moves closer to her daughter, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “Of course, my dear. What is it? You seem upset. Did you not sleep well?” she says, her tone gentle and soothing

Carmilla pulls away, her resolve firm as she meets her mother’s gaze head-on. “I know about the charm, Mother,” she says, her voice betraying a mixture of hurt and anger.

Genevive’s eyes widen in surprise, momentarily taken aback by her daughter’s revelation. “The charm? What do you mean, Carmilla?” she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Carmilla’s frustration boils over, her words tumbling out in a rush as she struggles to articulate her feelings. “Do not play me as a fool, mother. I know you’ve been sneaking that charm under my pillow every night,” she accuses, her voice rising with each word.

Gen’s expression shifts, a flicker of guilt crossing her features before she quickly comprises herself. “Carmilla, I…I only wanted to help you sleep. I thought it would ease your nightmares and it has,” she offers, her voice tinged with regret.

But Carmilla unappeased, her anger burning bright in her auburn eyes, she shakes her head in disbelief, “Help me sleep? You lied to me, mother, You made me believe it was your prayers that healed me, but it was just a charm from a lowly hag,” she retorts, her voice trembling with betrayal.

Gen’s eyes filled with remorse as she took a step closer to her daughter, reaching out to touch her arm once more, “Carmilla, please…I only wanted what was best for you. I never meant to deceive you,” she pleads, her voice filled with genuine remorse.

Carmilla pulls away again, her heart heavy with disillusionment, as she meets her mother’s gaze one last time. “I trusted you, mother. You not only betrayed my trust but the faith.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper as she turns and walks away, leaving Genevieve alone with her regrets.

With each passing day, Carmilla’s inner turmoil grew. Her mind consumed by questions and doubts that lingered like shadows in the corners of her thoughts. She fervently prayed for guidance, seeking solace in meditation, yet the answers remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like mist in the morning sun.

The charm, once a source of unknown comfort and respite from her nightmares, now weighed heavily on her conscience. How could something so seemingly benign, a mere trinket from a hag, hold such power over her well-being? And why did it seem to defy the influence of Easis, the deity her devout father and brother worshiped with unwavering faith.

Her desire for clarity warred with her sense of duty to her faith. She longed for her mother’s comforting embrace, yet the memory of her betrayal stoked the flames of resentment within her heart. How could she trust someone who had deceived her so?

In a desperate bid to reconcile her beliefs with her reality, Carmilla resolved to conduct an experience. Placing the charm at varying distances from her sleeping quarters. One night she placed the charm in the hallway, the next night, it was a room across the main stairwell. She sought to gauge its influence on her dreams and her sense of peace. With each night that passed, she observed the results with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. The charm in her closet brought peaceful slumber, its presence a faint whisper of comfort in the darkness. Yet, when moved further away, its effects waned, leaving her vulnerable to the haunting specters of her nightmares.

In the end, Carmilla chose to keep the charm close, tucked away in the depths of her closet. Though its origins remain shrouded in mystery, its role in her life was clear. It was a reminder of her fragility, her humanity, and the complexities of faith that bound her to a world where shadows danced in the flickering light of her convictions.

--

Author's Note:

Writing for my mental health is doing me wonders. When life gets too hard I think about my characters and how'd they handle things. I think this is what art and the process of creation is all about.

#Shadows of Faith #my oc Carmilla #my oc Desdemona #my ocs abe #my ocs Carmilla and Desdemona #black writer #black artist #black sapphics #poc sapphics #queer poc #queer #lgbt #lgbtq #sapphic vampires #black vampires #poc vampires #fake religion #AU #dark fantasy #sapphic #sappho #cw gore #cw blood #cw carnage #art of abe #abe the artists #chaos noir

[bluberryffxiv]

Dawn's Envoy

FFxivWrite2023 Day 1 Prompt: Envoy Character(s): Bonana Time: Post-Endwalker

Rip. Rip. Rip.

He pulled rhythmically at the thread with his seam puller, slowly unraveling the hard work that went into the creation of these few fine garments.

It’s alright, he thought to himself, sometimes you have to be torn apart before you can be remade. And when you are, hopefully you’ll be something greater.

A strange and sentimental thought, for sure. It had been many months since, but it seemed the end of the Final Days still lingered on Bonana’s mind. It felt like a fever dream to him, the events of Ultima Thule in particular a jumbled nightmare, the details of which he couldn’t recall. He would dismiss it as just that, a dream, if the proof of it happening didn't rest above his ear as a flower.

But the proof lied within him, too, in the way he carried himself, in how his attitude had changed. His conscience felt lighter, unburdened. He saw the world with new eyes, heard its thrumming song, felt its beating heart. It washed over him until it overflowed, driving a desire to share this feeling with the world.

That was why he sat in his room at the Baldesion Annex tearing away at Tataru’s class craftsmanship in a fit of inspiration. He needed something that would reflect this new era, something grand, something that said “help is here”. Something that was “hope”.

He spent a few hours diligently plucking away at the fabric with a needle, doing his best to make every stitch count (but not stressing about making it perfect). Over and under, over and under, over and under. It was quite therapeutic, and he silently thanked his mother for teaching him how to sew. 

When all was said and done, he sat back and admired his handiwork. Then, he slipped on the white undershirt made from what was formerly his didact’s coat gifted by the Scion’s coinkeeper. The overcoat was a pleasant light blue and adorned in a myriad of golden chains and red jewels, created from a scholar’s raiment of the same boutique and a justacorps purchased in Radz-at-han. It all seemed to come together perfectly, and the fit was just right. Over the moon with himself, he leaped over to the dresser to pick out the rest of the outfit.

He settled on his favorite trousers he’d gotten from the firmament, the gold trim running down the sides complimented the coat perfectly. In contrast, the black boots he picked were just the standard knee-high fare worn over at the Studium, and the leather halfgloves a creation of the mammets over on the island sanctuary.

It was always unfortunate he had to climb on top of the dresser to make full use of the mirror, but the slight embarrassment quickly faded as he witnessed the full ensemble. Maybe he was a bit full of himself in the moment, but after all that he had been through he felt he’d more than earned it. He hopped down and took one more pass over himself, then headed for the door to make his debut.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #📝writing #🍌bonana

[cjb-160]

I am

I am Marylin Manson and Julia Jacklin I am Tolstoy and T.S. Elliot

I am tanned leather, brass, and lucite I am hotel suites, vip parking, and charges to the room I am white gloves, table cloths, and fine china I am reservations, and plane tickets I am the resort, and the last resort I am lamb skin, and alpaca. I am 3000-thread-count sheets

I am first dates, milkshakes, wedding cakes, and roller skates I am the beauty and the beast

I am the warning light on your dashboard I am the water in your gas tank I am the squad car tailgating your for 3-miles I am the window you roll-up when driving through that neighborhood I am the longest red light you've ever stopped at I am the new coffee shop, bar, boutique hotel I am the {insert local hangout spot here}

I am the crack in the houses foundation I am the crack, the house, and the Foundation

I am the day before World War 3

I am Doo-Wop and Hip-Hop I am baby Jesus and methuselah

I am the bottle of urine beside your bed I am the pistol.

I am the addict in the attic.

I am the needle and I am the thread I am the pawn shop you gave grandmas ring to I am the long pull on your vape between shifts.

I am the 9-5 and the 6-10. I am the check in the mail I am the pit and I am the bull

I am the artificial flavor in your chewing gum I am the friend that was too young to die I am the fellow and I am the ship I am Othello and Hans Christian-Andersen

I am the side effect worse than the symptom I am tea parties and vineyards I am the used condom on the sidewalk I am the heat death of our quantum existence

I am…too abstract?

I am too black but not black enough I am queer but not gay enough. I am qualified but not good enough. I am big-nosed, bald-headed, unwashed, and unbothered. I am untethered.

I am the creation and I am the demiurge I am the igneous and I am the firmament

I am the Borg

I am the paper your suicide note was written on I am the last time you saw your father I am the last thing he said to you I am the couch you let him crash on for a few months I am the new security code you created when he left

I am the storage unit you change clothes in before and after work I am the blanket you’re wrapped up in while asleep in your car

I am the gift that I never see you wear I am the pot calling the kettle… I am the "come get me," text at 3am I am the "you up," text you left on read I am the unsaved number in your phone

I am the abomination and the salvation of creation I am the mustard and I am the seed

I am the last ps5 at Walmart on Black Friday

I am Mozart and Chopin I am rock, roll, and Rachmaninoff I am Coltrane and Gillespie

I am the kidnap and I am the torture I am the human and I am the traffic I am the sex and I am the worker I am the murder and I am the manhunt

I am Samson’s dreadlocks

I am the dog bark that wakes you from that fever dream

I am the fever dream

I am the con and I am the science I am the jack and all of his trades I am the Coke and I am the cane

I am the stop sign behind that big ass fuckin tree. I am the cop. I am the ticket.

I am the vegan recipe book you haven’t opened yet I am the first parallel park in that city you moved to I am the popping sound in your kneecap

I am the fake number she gave you

I am the burning cross on your front lawn I am the white hood I am the "whites-only" section I am the assailant and I am the victim

I am the rotten avocado on your kitchen counter I am the clown and I am the circus I am bibles and black holes

I am holding your sweater I am the first kiss I am the divorce papers

I am the Sailor and I am the Siren I am the solitary onion ring in your order of French fries I am the diet that starts tomorrow

#poetry #writing #marylin manson #julia jacklin #french fries

[giantpredatorymollusk]

Affirmations

"I am beautiful" and "I am powerful" are Out. Boutique, personalized affirmations are In. Negative affirmations, where you simply state your worst fears as clearly as possible while simultaneously claiming they aren't true, are perhaps more formulaic than the type that goes "My glasses are Sparkling Clean" or whatever but they're a lot easier and more fun and are sometimes useful for identifying fears. So far I have "I do not look and act like a rabid and aphasic opossum", "My memories of different locations are not fever dreams", and "My empire is not crumbling so bad." Then you can move on to positive affirmations that head your less specific fears off at the pass. "Sunlight is filling me with vitamins as we speak." "Money often shows up when I need it." "People will like me eventually." This highly confident mix of the ominously vague and alarmingly specific is perfect for the anxious brain. Source

[santarosarecords]

A Note From J.R. Gilmore: Adieu Santa Rosa Records

For nearly seven years I’ve poured my heart into Santa Rosa Records. She rose from a puddle of blood, sweat, and tears in the streets of San Marcos, Texas. And in that time she’s grown from a mere fever dream I had in the heart of South America, into an admirable boutique record label, and independent curator of underground music from around the world and across all genres. But like all good…

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[spunkzerofeetonthedash]

I admit that I've been confused and broken testing life and the cosmos with this, but... .... ... I have a fever dream with this, and realized we don't need investment to make it happen.

Bun - what say you about opening Eye Magnet Media and a boutique record label (Case-Sensitive Records) together?

Nico, Blaise, Tom, Rob - will you be our first releases on our catalogue?

Anna, will you partner up in this bootstrapped startup and build our internal computer systems and in-house apps to actualize the business model?

We can link our private works to Eye Magnet Media with our personal releases, for example I with my TKM model. You decide how to build yours to link with Eye Magnet Media.

Does this sound enticing and exciting to you?

I've been thinking of marketing TKM and launching by taking event photography for free to build my portfolio, chops, and network, while releasing gallery/sales aimed artworks on Eye Magnet Media under my own releases, while keeping an eye out for talent and independent works to release under Eye Magnet Media. We can work on indie films, and you can publish your authored writings, and release your independent photographic artworks bun, under Eye Magnet Media. Same goes to you, Anna, - we can release gallery sales of your artworks.

We can start all this by working from home in a home garage studio and Anna, if you'd like to and are able to code the internal in-house apps: for example, a system that allows you to upload, send, list, and request workloads and meetings between partners/employees working from home with a personal workspace launchpage with Tasklists, Scheduled Appointments and Meetings, Task Status Tracker, Chatspace. Meetings in person or over a Skype-like interface. That kind of thing.

What are your thoughts?

Any buddies out there interested in being an employee or bootstrapped stakeholder willing to do international groundwork on distribution in your local area/region?

Maybe we could do a program of Task-based employment with one-time payments for work accomplished leading to potential employment when a revenue stream starts.

Thoughts? Suggested contributions?

[i-eated-a-rock]

OKAY SO I JUST UNLOCKED A MEMORY AND IT FEELS LIKE A FEVER DREAM

THERE WAS THIS SHOW

ABOUT MINNIE MOUSE RUNNING A BOW SHOP (BOUTIQUE? BOWTIQUE?)

I REMEMBER AN EPISODE WHERE THEY WERE PAINTING GLOW IN THE DARK BOWS??

HELP IS THIS REAL DID I FEVER DREAM THIS

#minnie mouse #mickey mouse #minnie's boutique #i dont know what to tag this

[402luxe]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Qupid Mountain Fever Ivory Mid-Calf Embroidered Cowboy Boots.

[korsholm27gotfredsen]

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[kent63dorsey]

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[magicalshopping]

♡ Party Ghoul Patch by Fever Dream Boutique ♡

#cute #kawaii #halloween #creepy cute #cute finds #kawaii finds #fashion blog #feverdreamboutique #patch #accessories #under 10 #ghoul #pastel goth #fever dream boutique #keicollective #kei collective

[trendsettertessa]

Did I dream the whole thing or is there like a small percent chance that on your birthday in Style Savvy you can get this rainbow fairy outfit insteadof the kimono? Was that a fever dream lmao

#style savvy #girls mode #nintendo #style savvy trendsetters #syn sophia #girls mode 2 #new style boutique #style savvy birthday #teatro amare #nintendo 3ds #did i dream that #was that a fever dream

[delicateunderthings]

Embroidered Upcycled Panties by Fever Dream Boutique

#embroidery #upcycled #lingerie #fever dream boutique

[chiwhorei]

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

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