cinnaumon
cinnaumon
dove
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19 | writer | izuku <3
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cinnaumon · 2 months ago
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dabi x reader ( female )
SUMMARY: the truth was all he had left to offer.
˖ ࣪ ✿
He didn’t look at you at first.
The room was quiet, save for the low flicker of a candle he hadn’t meant to light. There was ash on his fingers. Smoke curled faintly from the sleeves of his jacket.
You sat across from him on the edge of the mattress, legs pulled up to your chest like they could protect you from whatever he was about to say.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes trained on the floor. “I’m not who you think I am.”
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t move at all.
“Everything you know- what I’ve told you, what I haven’t- it’s all been on borrowed time,” he said, voice low, breaking. “I thought I could keep it from touching you. I thought I could be something else. For you.”
His jaw tightened, and when he finally looked up, his eyes weren’t angry. They were tired. Ruined.
“You ever hate someone so much you can feel it in your bones? Like it lives there. Rotting you from the inside out.”
You swallowed, hard. “Who?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“My father.”
The name didn’t come. You knew who he meant.
“Enji Todoroki,” he said anyway. “Endeavor.”
It landed like a thunderclap between you.
You stared at him, suddenly aware of every breath between you. His stitches, the burns, the way his hands shook when they weren’t clenched. The way he always looked over his shoulder. How he never said I love you, but showed it in the quietest, most desperate ways.
“I died, y/n. I died at thirteen.”
The words dropped like knives.
“I was just a project. A freak experiment to outdo All Might. I burned too hot. Too fast. My body couldn’t take it.”
He looked at you then like he was waiting for you to leave right there.
“But I didn’t stay dead. And that was his first mistake.”
You wanted to reach for him. You didn’t.
“I clawed my way out of the grave because I needed him to see what he did. To make him pay for every breath he stole from me. Every second he looked through me like I was a failure.”
His voice cracked; barely, but enough for you to hear it. Enough to know this wasn’t rehearsed. This wasn’t part of some grand villain speech. This was the boy who never got to be a boy. The ghost who never got to rest.
“You wanted to know what I was hiding,” he said, quieter now. “You asked me who I was before this. Before Dabi. You begged me to let you in.”
You nodded. Barely.
He stood, slow, like the weight of the truth had aged him. His shadow fell across the room, long and jagged, stretching out toward you but never quite reaching.
“I’m telling you now. This is it. No mask, no lies, just Touya.. fucked up, stitched together, and full of hate.”
He took a step forward. Just one.
“I don’t know if I can be saved. I don’t know if I even want to be. But I swear to you- everything I felt for you was real.”
Was.
Not is.
You looked at him like you were trying to memorize him. Like you’d never see him again. And maybe you wouldn’t.
He took another step. Then paused. You were still curled up on the edge of the bed, small, unreadable.
“I wanted to tell you before it all goes down,” he said, voice nearly gone. “Before I do what I came back to do.”
You didn’t ask what he meant. You knew.
“Say something,” he whispered, more like a plea than a command.
But you didn’t. Not at first.
You stood slowly, quietly. Walked past him like a ghost.
He turned his head to look at you, only to find the door open, your silhouette in the frame.
You stopped.
Then, without turning back, you said:
“You should’ve told me sooner.”
And then you were gone.
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He stood there a while. Long after the door clicked shut. After the silence stretched and swallowed the flame. After he stopped pretending he was strong enough for this.
His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, back against the wall, hands buried in his hair.
The candle flickered once.
Then went out.
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cinnaumon · 4 months ago
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dabi x reader ( gender-neutral )
SUMMARY: damocles was a man who envied the life of a king, until he sat on the throne and found a sword hanging above his head by a single thread of hair.
what you most desire comes with a price.
˖ ࣪ ✿
The kettle was whistling again.
Dabi’s eyes flicked toward the stove from where he sat on the worn-out couch, half-wrapped in a blanket that (Y/N) had thrown over him that morning. Sunlight filtered lazily through the open window, washing the living room in golden warmth. Dust floated through the air, undisturbed and peaceful. Somewhere in the background, a song played quietly from a radio, the tune familiar but not distracting.
“You’re gonna burn the house down if you keep forgetting the water,” (Y/N) called from the hallway, laughing.
“I’m getting to it,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, dragging himself up with exaggerated effort. “Old man can’t even nap in peace anymore.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
He gave a scoff, limping over to the stove and turning off the burner. The whistle died, and in its place came the soft click of ceramic cups as he grabbed two mismatched mugs from the cupboard. One had a chip in the rim, the other still had a sticker on the bottom from when they bought it at a thrift store six months ago. He didn’t bother peeling it off. (Y/N) said it gave it charm.
He poured the tea, the steam curling like smoke into the air.
The door creaked open behind him, and he felt arms slide around his waist, a cheek pressed against his scarred back.
“Smells good,” (Y/N) murmured. “You remembered the honey this time?”
“I’m not that useless.”
“Mm… debatable.”
He turned, gently bumping his forehead against theirs, that half-smile he reserved only for them tugging at his lips. “You married me. That makes your judgment worse than mine.”
“I never married you,” (Y/N) replied with a smirk. “You still haven’t proposed.”
His face scrunched up in mock offense. “Details.”
“Important ones.”
He didn’t respond with words. Just pulled them closer and kissed their forehead, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.
Outside, the leaves rustled, painted gold and amber by the season. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked. Children’s laughter rang out a few blocks away. Their little corner of the world was quiet—untouched. Safe.
They drank tea on the porch steps, watching the sun melt into the horizon. The sky was ablaze with colors, a palette of orange, pink, and violet, like someone had dragged a brush through a dream.
Dabi leaned back on his elbows, staring out at the stretch of wildflowers (Y/N) had planted earlier that spring.
“I never thought I’d get this,” he said quietly.
They turned to look at him.
He didn’t elaborate. Just let the breeze carry his words into the darkening air.
Later, the house was alive with soft chaos. Their daughter—only five, all tangled hair and loud laughter—ran barefoot through the hallway, dragging a blanket like a cape. (Y/N) chased after her, pretending to be a monster, roaring loud enough to make the girl scream with delight and collapse into giggles.
Dabi watched from the kitchen, arms crossed, a smile tugging at his stitched mouth. He didn’t try to hide it.
When their daughter finally surrendered to sleep, curled up on the couch with her thumb in her mouth, he pulled a quilt over her and kissed her hair. His hand lingered there longer than it needed to, fingers brushing against her soft curls.
(Y/N) stood beside him, their hand finding his without effort.
“She’s a menace,” he whispered, still watching her tiny chest rise and fall.
“You love it.”
He didn’t argue.
That night, they sat together on the roof. The stars were out in full, no clouds in sight. (Y/N) leaned into his side, their head tucked beneath his chin. He held them like they might vanish.
“I ever tell you the story about the first time I saw you?” he asked suddenly.
(Y/N) looked up. “At the bar?”
He shook his head. “Before that. You didn’t notice me. It was raining. You were carrying some broken umbrella, cursing at it like it’d betrayed you.”
(Y/N) laughed softly. “Sounds about right.”
“I watched you struggle for ten minutes. Could’ve helped. Didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You were… bright. I didn’t think someone like you would want help from someone like me.”
(Y/N)’s smile faltered, eyes softening.
“You idiot,” they whispered, brushing a hand along his jaw.
He closed his eyes at the touch.
“I’d want you in every life,” they said.
The stars above them flickered.
Something cracked.
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Monitors beeped.
The lights were harsh. Sterile. Cold.
Dabi’s chest rose with labored breath, every inhale rasping like it fought through broken glass. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air like rot. His body—what was left of it—was barely functioning. Skin charred, patched with bandages. His arms refused to move. His lungs wheezed, and then he coughed.
He blinked slowly.
The dream was already fading, like smoke through his fingers.
He hadn’t wanted to wake up.
A hand hovered over his—small, gloved. A nurse. Eyes wet. She didn’t speak.
“They were here earlier,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “(Y/N). They… They had to leave. They couldn’t watch…”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. Only the machines knew for sure.
Outside the window, the sky was cloudy. No sun. No wildflowers. No laughter.
The war had gutted everything.
A familiar weight pressed against his chest, one that he hadn’t felt in the dream.
Grief.
He closed his eyes, and in the black, tried to crawl back to the warmth.
Back to the porch, the tea, the child with wild hair. Back to (Y/N)’s arms and the soft hum of their voice.
But the dream wouldn’t return.
He coughed again, something warm trickling from the corner of his mouth. The taste was metallic. Bitter.
Time was running out.
His throat burned, but he forced a whisper past it anyway.
“Just… one more minute…”
The nurse reached to adjust the monitor, biting her lip.
He didn’t see her.
He saw (Y/N), standing in that golden kitchen, a mug in their hands, calling his name.
Smiling.
“Don’t forget the honey this time.”
He smiled faintly.
And then, nothing.
Just stillness.
The monitor screamed.
But Dabi didn’t hear it.
In the quiet that followed, he was back in the dream—forehead pressed against (Y/N)’s, sun curling in through the window, a child’s laughter echoing down the hallway.
And for one last, flickering second, he was happy.
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cinnaumon · 6 months ago
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For this man right here, I'm nothing but a hole.
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cinnaumon · 6 months ago
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For this man right here, I'm nothing but a hole.
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cinnaumon · 1 year ago
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I just watched Twisters and I'm not good guys, every time I close my eyes I see Glen Powell
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I didn't know I needed wet Glen Powell that much in my life
going back to see it a second time Tuesday night
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cinnaumon · 1 year ago
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It’s honestly so upsetting to see that the majority of people just don’t understand that Tomura doesn’t actually get enjoyment from killing people.
Tomura has literally felt so sick to his stomach that he has thrown up when he has killed people before.
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The difference between all of the times Tomura has felt physically ill from killing people and all of the times that Tomura has gotten “enjoyment” from it (Tomura doesn’t feel enjoyment, he feels relief.) is that each time the person he killed had hurt him first.
Killing the people that hurt him is just genuinely the only thing that Tomura can think of to get them to finally stop so that they won’t hurt him anymore.
Tenko had originally reached out to his father for help, only for him to be struck by him with a gardening tool… and only then Tenko killed (with purpose) his father to stop him from hurting him again:
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Tomura only wanted to kill the two drunk men after they had hurt him for literally just walking down the street:
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Tomura wanting to kill the heroes that had hurt him (with the intention of killing him):
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Tomura still doesn’t get enjoyment from killing people who hurt him, but he does experience relief from it…
((Edit: I would just like to clarify that the relief that Tomura feels from killing people that hurt him comes from knowing that they can’t hurt him anymore (relief that he is safe, even if temporarily) It does not come from him getting rid of the “itch” that he experiences (it always comes back, even after killing), like AFO groomed him into believing. I saw someone add that in the tags, and I realized that I never fully explained my thoughts on it. LOL.))
Not to mention, Tomura was literally GROOMED by All For One (which is something that people just like to ignore for some reason…) to even have this desire to kill people in the first place.
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And even then Tomura doesn’t have the desire to kill people in the way that AFO wants!
His want for destruction stems from his inherent empathy for others, and his inability to understand how people are able to ignore the suffering of others. Not what All For One has groomed him into believing. (That Tomura’s want for destruction is an impulse that’s something inherent to him.)
Tomura has continued to have empathy for others despite AFO’s grooming, and has showed genuine kindness to the league on many occasions…
All of this is such an important aspect of Tomura’s character and being able to actually understand him, and it’s so disheartening constantly seeing people completely overlook this part of him.
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cinnaumon · 2 years ago
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i don't want a boyfriend i want someone with whom i get dragged to hell with and if asked 'was it worth it? would you do it again?" he must reply with "put me back in it, i would do it again; if i could hold you for a minute, i'd go through it again. i would still be surprised if i could find you, darling, in any life."
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cinnaumon · 2 years ago
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🙃 Regular reminder that while Hozier has amazing love songs, he is ALSO very outspoken about his leftist politics, specifically anti-fascism, anti-racism, reproductive rights, Palestinian rights and more.
Take Me To Church and Foreigner’s God are scathing critiques of organized religion, specifically the Catholic Church and the colonization of Ireland.
Moment’s Silence is about oral sex but it’s ALSO about how that specific sexual act is often distorted to a show of power rather than that of love.
Nina Cried Power is an homage to various (mostly Black) civil rights activists from the US and Ireland and a call to follow their path.
Be criticizes anti-migrant policies and Trump and his ilk.
Jackboot Jump is about the global wave of fascism and about protest and resistance.
Swan Upon Leda is about reproductive rights and the violent colonial oppression of Ireland and Palestine.
Eat Your Young is about the ruinous way the 1%/capitalism and arms dealers prioritize short-term profit over everything else to the detriment of the youth/99%
Butchered Tongue is about Irish and other indigenous languages being suppressed and erased by imperial powers.
If any of the above surprised you, please, please delve deeper into Hozier’s music, you’re missing such an important part of his work.
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cinnaumon · 2 years ago
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me whenever I’m stressed out of my mind
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cinnaumon · 2 years ago
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i wish there was more inuyasha content... the anime and inuyasha himself deserves more love 😢
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