#i wrote this in like. an hour last night

[crybaby-bkg]

I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.

“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.

“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.

you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.

you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.

he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.

“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.

“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.

[citrine-elephant]

i'm right here.

rough concept for a "what if leon had a major panic attack and chris helped him stay grounded" writing experiment..

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

happy mother's day lmfao

bonus (the girls are fightiiing):

[royaltea000]

I’ve never felt so conflicted about a franchise in my life but at least this dude was hot

[dr1lldash]

i attempted to write angst but it ended up being like 40% me bullshitting ow lore, 40% fluff and 20% angst

venture x overwatch agent!reader 4.4k (oh my god)

You had been a member of Overwatch for only a few short weeks when you first met them. You had gotten word of a potential attack by Talon in Petra, and Winston had personally chosen you to go with the team.

“It won’t be dangerous,” he told you, “Well, it won’t be any more dangerous than usual.” You were to go with Hana, Lena, Brigitte and Lucio. You were friendly enough with each of them, meaning that the silences on the aircraft ride over weren’t too awkward.

Stepping off the aircraft, the hot air hit you full blast. It wasn’t humid, so it was manageable, but you were glad you wore as little clothing as possible. A tank top exposed your arms, and the pants you wore as part of your uniform were loose, allowing for decent air flow.

The five of you were surrounded on all sides by high, rocky cliffs, and as you looked around, you noticed a steep dropoff only meters away from your ship. You made a mental note, taking a step to your right to ease your anxiety. Tents littered the ground, long cables stretching out and disappearing into caves. You followed Brigitte past the tents, up a small staircase and into one of the caves. You were trying your best to pay attention to what was being said while still admiring the desert surrounding you, but you failed.

“What did she say?” you whisper to Lena, who was only a foot or so ahead of you.

“Talon is trying to get some artifact that the Wayfinders have been working to get, we’re gonna stop them.” She gives you a look. “Could you not hear her back here?” You shrug. “Let’s move up, then!”

The two of you walk faster to pass Hana, now standing almost directly behind Brigitte and Lucio. Brigitte turns back to look at you and flashes a smile. “Isn’t this exciting? I’ve never been here before. Or to any archeological dig, actually.” You nod back, trying to match her enthusiasm.

As you get deeper in the cave, the air cools significantly and you shiver slightly, suddenly wishing you had dressed in layers. You see a rather large monitor with a holograph globe behind it, a few members of the Society studying them and talking amongst themselves.

“Dr. Faisal?” Lucio greets the man staring at the monitor, glancing down to take notes in his notebook every few seconds. “It’s good to see you.” The doctor turns around and Lucio holds out a hand, which the doctor happily shakes.

“It’s great to meet you all,” he smiles. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but we’re happy to have you all here.” He gestures behind your group. “If you’d follow me this way, I have information more relevant on another computer.”

The five of you move apart, making a walkway and following the doctor up a rocky incline. The monitor there is very similar to the one he was taking notes at, but features small, pulsing blue dots, one a few meters away from the others. “Talon,” Hana almost growls.

“Indeed. We think they’ll be here before nightfall.”

“Why are they coming here? Do you know what they’re looking for?” Brigitte questions.

The doctor shifts nervously on his feet. “We don’t know exactly what they’re looking for, but we know where it is.” He pauses. “We just uncovered a hidden treasure chamber, just above our heads, but we haven’t yet been able to explore it. Someone should be trying to find a way in as we speak.”

“Someone?”

“A member of our team, someone all too eager to volunteer.”

“Is it possible there’s anything else Talon is interested in?”

“There is a potential excavation site that we haven’t yet been able to find a safe way into. It’s far down, and the floor above it is very unstable. We’re unsure if we’ll ever be able to explore, although I doubt Talon has the same penchant for life that we do. I’d hate for us to miss something important, but I’d hate for someone to get hurt more.”

“Can we see?”

Dr. Faisal nods. “Of course, I just ask that everyone is careful.” After the five of you nod, the doctor leads you away, down a few more sets of crumbling stairs, through a storage room and into a large, open area where the sun is able to beam directly onto you. The floor is crumbling, more than the other parts of the site, and you’re able to look down into the abyss. A cold wind blows through the cracks in the floor, and as you lean forward ever so slightly, a strong hand grips your arm, pulling you backwards. As you try to regain your footing, rock falls from where your feet had just been, widening the gap.

You turn back to look at your savior, and you’re met with a pair of beautiful brown eyes, thick eyebrows and a barbell pierced through one of them. “Thank you,” you say, blinking rapidly.

They look down at you, face a bit softer than it was a moment ago. “No problemo,” they say, flashing you a grin. One of their teeth is chipped, and you can’t help but think that it suits them really well.

“Sloan,” the doctor starts, “thank you for joining us.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Sloan responds, releasing your arm and rubbing the back of their head with their hand. “I did manage to get through the wall, though!”

“Was there anything of interest?”

“Oh my God, yeah! Tons of gold, a bunch of pottery, and some things I can’t even begin to describe!” They bounce on their heels for a moment, then seem to remember where they are and calm themself down. “I asked some of the others to pack it up so I could help you.”

Before anyone can respond, a loud, metallic whirring fills the air. Talon had found you. Lucio speaks, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Doctor, go help the others get the artifacts onto our ship. We’ll drive Talon off, we’ll keep the site as safe as we can. Do you need a weapon?”

Dr. Faisal waves him off. “No, I trust all of you to keep us safe.” He turns to look at Sloan. “Do you want to fight?”

“Absolutely.” Their voice is calmer than it was a few minutes ago, and as you turn to look at them again, you see a fierce look in their eyes. “You all get out of here, I’ll make sure everyone and everything is protected.” The doctor nods in understanding.

“Please, don’t get hurt.” They flash a grin at him.

“Who, me? I’ve got a lot more to see before I die.” Dr. Faisal gives them a look before patting their shoulder, turning and jogging further into the caves.

A deep laugh chills your spine as he disappears. “Are you waiting for us?” A tall, muscular man is stalking towards you, followed by several other figures in black uniforms. “How kind of you.”

The battle that follows is a blur. You’re struggling to keep up, and although you manage to knock a few Talon members to the ground, they keep getting back up. The floor further crumbles beneath your feet, but you seem to be the only one bothered by this. You have completely lost track of Sloan, but every so often you hear a loud drill beneath your feet before they fly out of the ground, distracting whoever is currently fighting you before they dig back down into the earth.

Slowly, Overwatch comes out on top. Some of Talon’s forces drag their fallen comrades off, presumably back to their ship, while the others, visibly exhausted, fight until they fall. You think the battle is almost over, and you start to relax, until you hear Sloan call out, “Watch out!”

Time moves in slow motion as you turn your head and see Doomfist cocking his fist, staring straight into your eyes. He flies through the air, and right as he’s about to hit you, a figure comes between you, blocking you from the punch. Sloan lets out a loud grunt, falling to the ground as Doomfist lets out a sound of disapproval. Looking around and finding himself alone, he rolls his eyes.

“We will be back.” He walks off at almost a leisurely pace, and a minute later, you hear that same whir of an aircraft fill the air and slowly fade.

Exhausted, you fall to the ground. “Is everyone okay?” Brigitte calls out.

Lena, Lucio, Hana and you all give out some form of affirmation. You look to your side, and see Sloan lying face-down. Only their chest seems to be moving. You reach out to touch their shoulder, shaking it gently. “Sloan?” They don’t respond.

“Sloan is hurt.” Immediately, the entire group gets their second wind. You race back to the aircraft with Hana, grabbing a stretcher and carrying it back. Brigitte helps Lucio to gently load them on, and you follow closely behind as you load back onto the aircraft. Sloan is barely moving, letting out groans of pain in random intervals, and their chest is moving more and more rapidly. The flight to the nearest Overwatch base feels like it takes forever.

Even as the medic team takes them away, you follow closely behind, tears welling up in your eyes. “Is everything okay?” The worry in Angela’s voice is clear, but you can’t get words out without sobbing.

“They’re a member of the Wayfinder society,” Brigitte explains. “They helped us fight off Talon, but they got hurt. I don’t know how badly.”

“They were helping me,” you manage to say, “Doomfist would have killed me. Are they going to be okay?” Angela does her best to reassure you, telling you that the fact that they’re still breathing is such a good sign.

“Their vitals aren’t ideal, but they haven’t lost a lot of blood. I think they broke some ribs, but I’ll have to check for internal bleeding.” She takes both of her hands in yours, looking you straight in the eyes. “I promise you, they will not die. Everything will be okay.”

You know she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep, but you still can’t calm yourself down. Angela releases your hands before she runs into the med bay. There’s a small window allowing you to look in, but as you glance in, you see Sloan connected to several tubes and you know if you keep watching, you’re only going to make yourself more worried. You allow Brigitte to walk you away, taking you back to your room.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks, rubbing her hand on your shoulder. “I can get some food for you, we can watch a movie -”

“I’ll be okay.” The sobs are beginning to subside. “I just need to sleep.”

“Okay.” She lets go of you. “You can call me if you need me. You know where my room is, right?” You nod. “They’re going to be okay. Angela is the best of the best, I promise.”

She exits your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You fight them as hard as you can, and as the adrenaline fades from your body, you realize how exhausted you are. You curl into a ball, clutching your pillow to your chest, and allow sleep to overcome you.

You wake up hours later to sunlight streaming in through your window. You rub remnants of tears from your eyes and stretch, wincing at the aching in all of your muscles. You sit up, swing your legs over the side of your bed, walk to your bathroom and take a long shower before changing out of the sweat-stained clothes you’ve been wearing since the day before. You’re still exhausted, but you feel a bit refreshed.

You skip breakfast, making your way to the med bay to see how Sloan is doing. You almost don’t want to enter their room. There are less tubes attached to them than there were the day before, but they still look unwell. They’re sleeping, and there’s a consistent beep on the heart monitor next to them. You watch them through the small window for a minute before deciding to enter their room.

There’s a stool underneath a desk in the corner of their room, and you pull it out to sit on it next to their bed. You fiddle with your hands in your lap, unsure of what to do or say. It’s not like they can hear you while they’re unconscious, anyway.

“Thank you for saving me.” The words are barely audible, and your voice cracks a bit as you say it. Tears start to well up in your eyes again, worrying about what could happen to them or what could have happened to them. You know you wouldn’t have been holding onto life as well as they are, that you probably wouldn’t have even made it back to the base.

“Any time.” Their voice is hoarse and it sounds like it took effort for them to get the words out. You look up at them to see a soft smile on their face, eyes smiling as they look back at you.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were awake.” You stand up. “I can go, I’m sure you need rest.”

“Can you stay?” These words are clearer. “I was only sleeping because I was bored. There’s nothing for me to do here.”

“There’s the TV, if you want to watch that.” You grab the remote off the desk and offer it to them. They shake their head.

“TV doesn’t interest me like people do.”

“Oh.” You set the remote back down on the desk, sitting down on the stool again. “What do you want to talk about?”

The next few hours pass by quickly. Sloan asks you questions about yourself, and you answer as best they can. Sometimes they go off on tangents about completely unrelated things, usually regarding the Petra digsite, although sometimes they talk about omnic history. You make a mental note to ask Echo to visit them.

Their stomach rumbles, interrupting your conversation. “Have you eaten today?”

“Not since breakfast.” They pout. “I asked for something sweet, but nobody would bring me anything.”

“I’ll ask Dr. Zeigler if I can give you something. She said your vitals were fine yesterday, I’m sure I can bring you a cookie or something.” They flash a grin at you, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re the best!”

You walk out of their room, stopping by Angela’s office to get permission. She double checks Sloan’s vitals on her computer, and nods in agreement. “They can have something small. A cookie, a piece of cake.” She looks up at you. “They’re recovering well. I’m glad you’re talking with them.” You fight the blush spreading on your cheeks as you walk to the canteen. You get lunch for the two of you, and a small slice of chocolate cake for Sloan.

Their face lights up as you walk back into their room. “Hey there!” You hand them the tray with the cake on it, and they’re quick to start eating. The conversation picks back up easily, and the sun shining through their window fades sooner than you would expect. They pout as you say your goodbyes, but let you go after you promise to come back the next day.

Sloan stays at the base for the next eight weeks, the two of you spending as much time together as you can every day. Angela lets you know that they broke several ribs, as well as bruising their jaw and pelvis. Their injuries could have been a lot more severe, and considering the circumstances, they should have been, but they were as okay as they could have been. She manages to convince the Wayfinder Society that they are better off recovering in a stable environment, and although they want to get back to the digsite as soon as possible, they relent, allowing themself to stay at Overwatch’s base.

About six weeks into their stay, when they’re mostly healed but the medical team still wants to keep an eye on them, they get their own room just down the hall from yours. The Society sends a bag of their belongings, and they waste no time pinning posters and maps all over the wall. Seeing them in their own clothes is a huge change from the hospital gowns you’ve grown used to seeing them in. Most of what they were wearing at this point were simple t-shirts with cargo shorts or jeans, but it suited them so well. They looked much more comfortable, too, which made you happy in a way you can’t fully describe.

One day, you were walking to their room from yours, intending to get breakfast with them in the canteen as the two of you had been doing since they got a little bit more freedom. As you’re about to knock on their door, you overhear them talking.

“I’m so glad you’re safe. You make my life so much better, I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Rosetta.” Your heart sinks. You had come to terms with your slight crush on Sloan a little while before, but you should have known that they already had a significant other. Someone as attractive and funny and passionate as Sloan wouldn’t be single, after all. You decide not to bother them, figuring that they’re on the phone with their partner, and you make your way back to your room, resigning to having snacks for breakfast.

A few minutes later, you hear a knock on your door. “[Y/N]?” Sloan’s voice calls out. “Are you there?”

You hesitate before answering. “I’m here.”

“Are we getting breakfast?”

“I’m not feeling well, sorry.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” You hear them take a step back. “Feel better soon.”

You don’t answer them, instead wrapping yourself in a blanket and looking out your window. An hour passes, and you hear footsteps pause in front of your door before disappearing in the direction of Sloan’s room. When you open your door, you find a box filled with tea bags, honey, cough drops and a book, with a note telling you it’s from Sloan, small drawings littering the paper. You take it in your room but leave it on your desk.

The next day, Winston once again asks you to go on a mission, this time in Rio de Janeiro. Lucio once again joins you, as well as Winston himself. It’s quick, you leave in the morning and you’re back in time to fall asleep in your own bed, but you’re glad to have the distraction from Sloan. You’re trying to get over your crush on them, you really are, but you can’t help but feel hurt that they didn’t mention a significant other. You’d been talking almost nonstop for two months, you almost thought they felt the same way about you.

It doesn’t help that they had taped a note on your door while you were gone. It was a simple “I hope your mission goes well!”, but it makes a lump form in your throat. You want to crumple it up, throw it away, but you can’t bring yourself to. You set it on top of the book they gifted you the day before, crawling into bed and fighting the urge to cry yourself to sleep.

You’re woken up the next morning to a soft knock on your door. “[Y/N]?” Sloan’s voice is low. “Are you awake?”

You want to stay silent, pretend you’re asleep, but you force yourself to answer. “Yeah.” It sounds colder than you meant for it to.

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh.” The enthusiasm that you usually hear in their voice is gone, and you feel your heart twist. “I guess you’re still sick. Have you drank any of the tea?”

“I don’t like tea.” A lie. Despite not talking about it before, they had gotten your favorite kind of tea.

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. “I’m sorry.” You hear their footsteps fade in the direction of their room once again, and you turn on your side to cry on your pillow.

It’s petty to act this way, but you need space and you can’t just ask for it. This hurts both of you, but you’re sure it’s for the best. They’ll be gone in another week or two anyway, back with Rosetta, and they’ll forget all about you. Sloan will be back to the Wayfinder Society, and you can focus on work again.

You end up crying yourself to sleep, waking up hours later to a soft knock on your door. You recognize the pattern as Sloan at this point, but they don’t say anything, they just walk away. Confused, you open your door to find a dinner tray with a bottle of water and a slice of chocolate cake. A sticky note on the tray confirms that it’s from Sloan, reading “I miss getting dinner with you. I hope you feel better soon.” There’s a scribble towards the bottom. Your guess is that they started to draw something but decided against it, which somehow hurts more.

You eat slowly, drinking the water bottle rather quickly. The cake is dry, and the frosting sticks to the roof of your mouth. You set your tray on your desk, next to the box of gifts from Sloan that’s laid forgotten for the past few days

You sigh, looking once again at the unopened bags of your favorite tea. They’re probably sleeping, but you need to try to talk to them, to apologize for how you’ve been acting. Some sort of closure will make you feel better, and you need to accept that they aren’t going to be yours. It’s not fair to cut them off like this, not to them and not to you. Determined, you exit your room, walking down the hall to Sloan’s room.

Your determination wears off as you approach their door. You put your hand up to knock, and realize you don’t know how to start the conversation. Do you tell them what you feel? Do you apologize and hope they don’t ask questions? Do you just ask them to grab a late-night snack with you? God, are they even going to be awake?

You start to lower your hand when their door opens. Sloan looks at you, a look of surprise on their face. “I didn’t expect to see you. Are you feeling better?”

Tears start to well in your eyes and you don’t fully understand why. You turn to leave, but Sloan grabs your wrist. “Did I do something? You won’t talk to me. I…” They let out a sigh. “I thought we were friends.”

You blink the tears away, turning back to face them. “I want to be friends, it’s just hard.” Sloan looks down at their hand, still holding onto your wrist.

“I know what you mean.”

“You really don’t.”

They won’t look you in the eyes. “I really like you, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Tears start to flow on your cheeks, making it harder for you to breathe. They look back up at you.

“You just want to be friends, and I ruined it. I should have kept it to myself, I’m sorry.”

You’re confused. “What do you mean?”

They cock their head at you. “Is this not about my note?”

You shake your head slightly. “What note?”

“The one inside the book.” You grimace slightly.

“I…haven’t opened it yet.”

“Wait, then what is this about?”

“What does the note say?”

Sloan lets go of your wrist, bringing their hand back to rub at the back of their head. “I, uh. I forgot.”

“I can go read it.” You turn to go, but Sloan grabs onto you once again, this time a bit tighter.

“I like you.” You turn to face them, eyes wide. “I liked you the first day we met, and I swear I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m really glad that me getting hurt meant we could spend more time together. These past few weeks, eating and talking and just hanging out have been some of the best times in my life outside of the Wayfinder Society. I’m really sorry if I made things awkward, [Y/N], but…I like you.” They let go of your wrist. “I’ll ask Dr. Zeigler if I can go tomorrow. I wish we could have been friends.”

This time, you reach, grabbing them on the forearm. Their skin is softer than you would have thought, warm and muscular. “I really like you, Sloan.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” There’s a frown on their lips. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You reach out to grab their chin with your other hand, pulling it softly towards you and placing a gentle kiss on their lips. Their eyes widen for a second before they close, placing their free hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to them. Your lips start to move together, the kiss deepening ever so slightly before the two of you pull apart. “I really like you, Sloan,” you repeat, your lips ghosting over theirs.

“Me too,” they whisper. “I mean, I really like you, too, [Y/N].”

“Do you have to go tomorrow?” You look up at them, admiring their features.

They shake their head. “I think my ribs hurt again. And my jaw.”

You laugh, pulling away from them just enough for the two of you to breathe. Their hand is still on your back, and you let go of their forearm, sliding your hand down to theirs instead. They lace your fingers together. You hesitate, worried of what their response will be, but you ask anyway. “Hey, Sloan?”

“Yeah?” They mumble their response, looking down at your hand in theirs.

“Who’s Rosetta?” Their eyes snap up.

“Do you want to meet her?” They don’t wait for a response, running back into their room. You hear a few things hit the floor, but before you can ask if they’re okay, they’re back in front of you, albeit out of breath. Cupped in their hands is a rock with some sort of purple crystal sticking out and googly eyes glued on the front. “Ta-da!” They flash a grin at you. “She’s so cute, right? I got worried that she was gonna get hurt when the Society sent her over. Sometimes her eyes fall off, but she’s all good!”

You feel a sense of relief, and your crush deepens just a bit. “She’s adorable,” you tell them. Their eyes are on Rosetta, cooing at her and making faces. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

[out-here-listening]

Uryū was used to killing.

He was used to the easy control and flow of his spirit energy, using it to destroy, to kill the hollows that roamed through Kagimino City. It was his legacy, his duty, his privilege. He enjoyed it.

But now, as he lay here on the ground with his life’s blood seeping into the cracks between the paving slabs beneath him, he found absolutely nothing pleasurable about the delivery of death. 

And that wasn’t because he was on the receiving end.

Well, mostly not.

Of course, it was different when it was a hollow, he thought to himself dully through the pain. Hollows weren’t beings in the same way Kurosaki was.

Kurosaki…

Uryū shuddered painfully as he remembered the all-too recent sounds of the soul reapers hurting, killing Kurosaki. It was so wrong. Kurosaki’s stubborn and foolhardy declarations were annoying, sure, but he didn’t deserve to die for them. He didn’t deserve to die for having gained Rukia Kichiki’s powers. 

He didn’t deserve to die at all. 

Ah, Uryū thought hazily through the pain as his side throbbed, that’s it. That was the difference between what he as a quincy did to hollows and what those soul reapers had done to Kurosaki. It was all to do with whether the being on the receiving end deserved it.

He turned his head wearily, wincing at the pain and the monumental effort that took. His glasses were broken beyond repair now, bridge bent across his nose and lenses fragmented, but he squinted through them anyway, trying to catch a glimpse of Kurosaki.

Blood.

So much blood that not even the driving rain could dilute it to a lighter red.

Uryū shuddered again, gasping as the movement aggravated his wounds. Kurosaki’s hoarse, agonised cry echoed in his ears, though he’d long since gone horribly quiet. 

So much blood.

Hollows didn’t bleed, after all.

Hollows…

Uryū swallowed. Thinking.

The soul reapers had mentioned Menos Grande, and a report. Like they’d been drawn to Kagimino by it, then had only stumbled on Rukia— and Kurosaki— by chance.

Which meant…

Which meant.

Uryû shifted with another pulse of pain to look Kurosaki’s prone form up and down. So, so much blood.

“This could be all my fault,” he croaked into the petrichor-soaked air. Oh, it had been such a stupid, stupid idea, and now Kurosaki… Kurosaki might die for Uryū’s pride. Like he almost had before. 

Kurosaki didn’t respond to Uryū’s whisper, which was the furthest thing from good, but there was nothing he could do about that except finish speaking the sour words of regret into the air. “If it is… I’m so sorry.”

Silence.

Rain and blood and tears mingled in one sorry mixture and dripped off Uryū’s nose.

[sweetshire]

denethor is said to have been greatly affected by finduilas’ death, right. and i know their marriage was a political one but i like to believe that they still loved each other. not in the ‘traditional sense’ i guess but they loved each other’s spirits, their souls. the duty (as they viewed it) to protect their people & the willpower to do it, they both shared. and so i think that more precious than love, they understood each other perfectly. as no one else could, or did. i can’t stop thinking about denethor’s grief at losing her. to love someone, and to have them understand you, but to lose them so abruptly… no wonder denethor became embittered by her death. i think he became sad too. closed-off. built even more walls around him, not wanting to be seen as vulnerable by anyone. but his anger, at what (or whom), exactly? he already broke up with god when he was young. at the universe? at his fate? to have lost her so unfairly.

i came here to talk about their love & somewhere in the middle lost myself in his grief lol. never mind, bc what is grief if not love persevering????? they loved each other. i can’t. i CAN’T get over this simple truth. the love was there. it wouldn’t have been this tragic if there’s wasn’t. the love was there. and isn’t that enough (it isn’t. but it is. IT IS). the love was there. THE LOVE WAS. THERE. sobbing. truly sobbing DON’T TOUCH ME

[jelliegirl]

today i got to teach second graders about hermit crabs and put them in their little hands and hear them laugh about them being tickley and i learned to chop food to feed marine animals in the aquarium kitchen and i caught two pink shinies in pokemon go. big day in the kiwi fandom

[azems-familiar]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, implied past Azem/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus/Original Character Characters: Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers (Final Fantasy XIV), what's gayer: gay sex or whatever these two have going on?, Brief Mentions of Named Azem, POV Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Enemies With Benefits (The Benefits Are Tea And Gossip), i genuinely don't know how else to tag this tbh, set during the century before the wol gets summoned to the First, it's canon compliant in that you can't prove it DIDN'T happen Summary:

In truth, though, there is only one question Emet-Selch wants answered by this place, and it is thus: from whence have you come? All other quandaries posed by the Tower, its keeper, his eight-times-Rejoined soul, and what he truly means to accomplish by dragging himself and it across the rift to a doomed shard can, Emet-Selch believes, be explained by that single answer - or if not explained, at least further opined on, and if there is something he is singularly good at doing, it is having opinions. And yet five decades have passed since Hydaelyn’s irritatingly-well-timed interference and the Tower’s appearance and he has gained naught. Not even a hint of the Crystal Exarch’s past.

Thus Emet-Selch’s unannounced materialization in the Umbilical at half past four in the afternoon, when a cursory inspection of the Exarch’s other usual haunts, including his favored sitting room, turned up nothing but scattered papers and a long-cold pot of tea that must have been brewed and summarily forgotten.

[thatlittledandere]

Alright, you definitely should have listened to the village elders this time. Wandering too deep into the forest was a bad idea. They could have been more specific about what “too deep” meant though.

All you wanted to do was see if there were any valuable herbs in the area. You had heard rumors that if you went slightly beyond the usual reach of the villagers, a little to the west, you would find ingredients for most potential of healing potions. You didn’t think heeding the advice would cost you much; it was supposed to be only a little further, right? But which way was west again…

Before you knew it, you had gotten lost. Of course, forests always looked somewhat the same, but after 20 years of living in the same village, you came to recognize the areas you had always played, worked, and relaxed in. A tree that bent a little to the left; that boulder that looked like a fist without a thumb; the lightning-struck tree trunk, too heavy to be moved, blocking what used to be a path. You knew when you were near your home by the atmosphere alone.

And now you recognized nothing you saw.

It wasn’t dark yet - wouldn’t be for a long time - but you were still getting the shivers of being outside at night. This part of the forest was creepy. You didn’t know how else to describe it - threatening? It felt like something was out to get you. Or for that matter, anyone foolish enough to disturb the peace of whatever dwelled inside.

You stopped. Turned to look back — had you seen wrong? You must have — and turned back ahead. There was... It was like there was a line drawn on the ground. A border.

You looked to your right, then left. No, it really was… as strange as it seemed, it was clearly a huge circle. You were standing just outside it.

And everything inside was dead.

The grass was sickly, pale yellow, almost white, like after a scorching hot summer with too little rain. Trees gray and bare, bark flaking, crispy leaves lying sadly on the ground. Thousands of insect carcasses everywhere, a couple of dead birds and — oh no — a lone rabbit. All completely lifeless. How could this be?

You took a step back. Was this maybe… The work of magic? A fiendish warlock wielding dark sorcery?

You didn’t know much about magic; there weren’t many capable of using it in your tiny village, and the mages you knew were neither malicious nor the tiniest bit adventurous with it. But it was the only explanation you could come up with. Nature couldn’t do this on its own.

You felt a rush of excitement at the thought. Magic had always fascinated you. With nobody around to teach the craft, you had abandoned the idea of pursuing it years ago, but… It was exhilarating seeing its impact. Foul as this magic was, it drew you in - and if nothing inside was alive, it couldn’t do you any harm either. You had come so far; why not investigate a little?

You had barely taken two steps on the lifeless grass when you heard a soft voice plead: “Don’t come closer.”

You froze. Had there been a person around? Was it a bandit? Or, wait, maybe they could help you find your way home-

“Please get away from me,” asked the stranger again, even more desperate this time. Their voice was getting raspier, breaking towards the end of the sentence. Whoever it was must have been either sick or grievously injured. Perhaps you would have to help them more than they could help you.

You squinted your eyes, and finally caught a glimpse of a figure behind two trees.

He looked around your age. But not in such good health, as you had suspected. He was holding onto the tree, hunching, and the distance between you wasn't enough to hide the tremble of his hands or the hollowness in his eyes.

"Please, " he repeated, each word weaker yet more fearful than the last. "I can only bring misery. You must leave while you still can!"

His fear was contagious. You couldn't fight the shiver running along your spine nor the cold sweat erching your brow. It was like even the Sun knew better than to approach this self-proclaimed harbinger.

But you had always been too curious for your own good, much to your mother's chagrin. Weren't you an apprentice in the art of medicine? Wasn't this stranger in clear need of help? You couldn't just leave him alone to rot in his miserable circle of decay.

You forced a smile - sort of - and took a step closer. The stranger grabbed his face, screamed, and collapsed on his knees. You saw white and felt a strong gust of wind knock you off your feet.

And then there was nothing.

[friendofcars]

blue thinks she can’t have what she wants and is trying to accept that and gansey is coping with the possibility that what he wants might not exist at all and that he might not have time to find out anyway and adam is killing himself to get what he wants and ronan is trying to figure out what he even wants in the first place

[tenderlady]

God one hand clapping fucking whippedddddddd

[bunnihearted]

🧸🧃⛈️

[carcarrot]

dream time

[skoulsons]

Eye To Eye Is All We Can See

• gif by @azertyrobaz

Pairing: Ezra & Cee (Prospect 2018)

Word count: ~2900

Summary: Ezra says something stupid and Cee tries to convince him that he’s wrong

A/N: Nothing except I wrote this until sunrise , so I apologize if it is absolutely terrible, downright ooc, or horribly grammatically. I have not rewatched the movie quite yet 💀 Just a bit of fluff and a tiny hurt/comfort?? Don’t ship them!!

Tagging my favorite people who I get to talk about this movie with: @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @not-so-mundane-after-all @orangechickenpillow @jessahmewren @alternatewriter @starchild0985

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” she said.

They’ve been together a few cycles, the Green Moon left far behind them.

The cycles have been nothing short of eventful in a small spacecraft and two strangers in a very complicated relationship. Cee has had to keep an extra keen eye on Ezra. Not because of distrust, but to make sure his arm is healing well. Or, as well as a cut-off limb could heal with limited medical supplies and a kid, though capable, having done the operation.

Also because Ezra keeps forgetting he’s lost an arm and continuously reaches out for support along the walls of the ship when he moved from their sleeping quarters to the cockpit and he has fallen every single time. He fell out of his bed the first night they were in it; Cee spent five minutes trying to pull him back into the bed and then another fifteen having a verbal battle with him to try and convince him to get back in bed.

There have been moments of frustration where things catch up with Cee, her irritations coming out verbally to Ezra. He never fights back. He always sits, patient and understanding as Cee rehashes the things she’s kept bottled up and taped down for years with all the strength of scotch tape that’s lost all its grip.

They were also navigating their route off the Green to somewhere safe and figuring out… what exactly they were. Strangers? Partners? Friends? Family? Ezra has treated Cee as a real person, a girl with agency and deserving of a fruitful life since the second he met her; it’d be difficult to walk away from someone who gave you something you missed out on all your life. In that same way, it’d be hard to walk away from a kid that saved your life—twice.

Cee also had nightmares about the Green. The Saters, the mercs, the music, even her own father. Ones of Ezra, too. Him dying, abandoning her. Him using her, just like Damon seemed to do. On the worst night, the night when Damon and Ezra’s lifeless eyes were all she could see and their cold, torn open skin were all she could feel, she woke up crying.

Ezra was at her side before she even woke, unsure what exactly to do. He waited, and when she finally did wake, with a tear-stained face and a burning throat, Ezra’s compassion was overwhelming. His eyes were gentle, concerned. He kept his only arm hovering over her shoulder, waiting for permission. She let him hold it, for both their sakes, wishing she’d hugged him instead. Wishing she met him on the floor, their legs a conglomeration of limbs as he held her tight against his side. Instead, he stayed beside her until she calmed, quiet and reserved affirmations in It’s okay, little bird and You’re safe, Cee. Damon's cold, almost robotic responses to her harsher dreams were always Quit your crying or It’s a dream, calm down, so when Ezra keeps a firm, reassuring hold on her shoulder, talks her through it, and wears a soft smile Cee thinks she got to see even before Kevva knew of it—one that is only heightened when the stars of the Black shine enough light in to highlight his strands, making him look less intimidating than he makes himself out to be—Cee relaxes. How a stranger, of all people, can sit beside her and walk her through something so small compared to what all the Black has to offer is beyond her. How Ezra, literally, stooped down to her level to comfort her.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing that has happened the last seven cycles makes sense. The Green and the people, if they could even be called such a thing, that the pair encountered still seemed so far away from Cee. That they were things that seemed only to be written in fictional novels and included in stories of old.

Except for one thing. One thing that makes sense. One thing that Cee is becoming more clear on with each passing cycle. Perhaps the clearest thing to come out of their time together.

He cares.

She cares, too.

And now they were in the Black, and had been for six cycles. The vastness and eternity of the growing darkness offered a strange comfort to both of them. Despite their care for each other, freedom was out there. Freedom awaited the both of them out there. Separate freedom.

Cee was always confined to Damon. She was always just another pair of hands to mine or hold something Damon couldn’t. An extra pair of eyes to search for Aurelac or an extra pair of ears to listen for any harm or to protect him, completely selfishly. Damon never acted selflessly, not even for his own daughter.

She hadn’t much freedom apart from him. She was always tied to him and his work. She was never given opportunities away from him. No chances for her to explore on her own. To see what was so great about this life that Kevva gifted her. She never had the chance to meet other people and form lasting friendships. She wasn’t given time to… live.

The Black offered that to her—Opportunities. Planets to stop at, to lay low on. Places to settle down. A life to live.

Ezra had freedom ever since he was a kid. He was free, encouraged even, to explore. To get to know the world around him. The vastness of the growing creation. He had the freedom, the opportunities, to explore all of it. But as he grew, there was a hunger for earning. A hunger for points and mining. Anything that could offer him a more than satisfactory life. Aurelac, specifically. An attachment to the work, the hunt, also selfishly. He did what he had to to get what he wanted, similar to Damon. Only Ezra, despite being on his own for most of his adulthood and being separated from his family for longer, cared. He cared enough to listen and pay attention to a little girl he didn’t even know.

He cared enough to be fair. Even split.

Being free from his work wasn’t too far-fetched for Ezra, but it happening because of a child was definitely not his expectation.

Especially someone like Cee. She had a fire in her. She was capable, he knew first hand she was. She was strong, threatening when she needed to be. She was skilled, intelligent, able.

But she was just a kid. He saw how scared she was, even with Damon. But in their time on the Green, he’s gotten to know her. Cee was kind, careful. Ezra noticed the way the inflection in her voice changed when she got excited about Streamer Girl. She cared and she protected. Her heart was big, willing to risk her life to go back for him, even after he specifically told her to go.

Cee was good. All she did was help. Love. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t selfish. She wasn’t ruthless or hungry for points. She wasn’t bad.

Ezra believed himself to be. He killed. He was willing, ready, to kill. Someone who has that reputation isn’t good, especially when killing a little girl’s dad gets added to the list, despite what he thought of the man.

He doesn’t believe he’s worthy to be thanked. That anything he’s done, especially to her, is any reason for thanks.

“Oh, no, nothing to thank me for, birdie. I have left you barren and deem your gratitude inappropriate for such a time. Ever since you touched down on the Green Moon, your conditions have been less than unacceptable…”

“Ezra…”

“...and I have been present in all the things that have troubled you so greatly these last few cycles. You have been burdened with dragging my weakened bag of bones across the Green.” “Even as we venture into the Black, you have continually endured my long-winded communication and idle, though I believe fascinating, narrative.”

“Ezra-”

“I am a bit crestfallen that you’ve been subjected to a multitude of predicaments in the time we’ve been together and that I have imparted insignificant salutary to your current expedition.”

“Ezra.”

“The Saters, the mercenaries… I’ve only brought you hindrance after hindrance, little bird. Allow me to implement points in to your care so that you may persevere in your journey and-”

“Ezra!” she shouted, grabbing at his face. Her hands reached his neck first, fingers stretching to the back of his neck, tickling his hairline.

She doesn’t know what this is like. Damon was never really gentle with her. Not physically, at least. She thinks, maybe, he was gentle with her when she was born. Holding her in the crook of his arm, her small, fragile head resting in the safety of his hold. Her skin held against his, breathing in tune with his, eyes fluttering open to catch her first glimpse of the world; her father, a tight-lipped smile strung across his face as tears well in his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the blanket she’s wrapped tightly in, occasionally bringing his thumb up to her red cheeks, a quiet hi to greet her.

Something she thinks Ezra could’ve done.

Something she suspects Damon didn’t do.

Something she knows Ezra would’ve done.

Cee pulled her hands away from his neck and brought them to his face instead, her palms too small to hold him the way she wanted to. She tried, letting them rest against his cheeks and feeling the scratch of his beard beneath her fingers. She kept her fingers outstretched, her pointer and middle threading lightly through the hair above his ears as her last two sit beneath his ear. She kept her thumbs in place on both his cheeks.

If there’s something to say, Cee can't say it.

She’s used to apologizing. She’s used to apologizing over taking up too much space. She’s used to apologizing over getting excited over Streamer Girl. She’s used to apologizing for eating too much of their rations, even when it was the amount she and Damon agreed on. She’s used to apologizing over resting, even when there was nothing to do. She’s used to apologizing over… being around him. Her breath was enough to apologize for.

But this wasn’t for apologizing. Ezra said something stupid and she needs to convince him that he’s wrong.

But the words can’t come to her. They don't. A contrast to how Ezra seemingly has an eleven page research paper of words on hand at all times, no matter the situation, Cee comes up short on correcting him. On affirming him that he’s wrong. On reassuring him that he has helped her.

He’s a grown man. A grown man who killed her father doesn’t need affirmation. Doesn’t need reassurance. And he surely does not need his face held because some kid thought he said something stupid.

Definitely not.

She holds his face firmly, the skin of his cheeks forming at her hold. “Don’t… say that, please. You’ve…” she pauses, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, forcing herself to catch his eyes and to make sure he hears her. “You’ve done a lot. You have. I know it’s… it’s only been a few cycles, but…”

You saved me. You protected me. You kept me. You came after me. You encouraged me. You made me feel safe. You tried to sacrifice yourself for me. You killed for me, more than once.

You loved me. You love me.

Her mind races with all of it, every word holding an unimaginable weight she had never experienced prior. Every word holding truth and passion behind them. Honesty covered every single one, Cee knowing in her soul that that was the man Ezra is. Those things he has done for her, how he’s treated her—that is who he is.

She watches him, wondering if, somehow, the look in her eyes could say the words for her. And if the glimmer in his eye is any indication, she thinks the burning it has left in her heart has found its way to his, too.

She could never say any of that about Damon. He wasn’t an encouragement and any dreams she had and wanted to pursue were shut down by him. She didn’t feel safe with him—not the kind of safe where she’d hide behind him if they were approached. There wasn’t any confidence that he’d care to protect her with his life. And if it came down to the Saters, Damon wouldn’t have kept her.

Ezra was different. Ezra was new, fresh. Real. He showed her more in seven cycles than Damon showed her in sixteen years.

That, to Cee, was enough.

She was wanted now. She could tell. Ezra’s attempt at telling her he was no good for her and saying he offered her nothing was the furthest thing from the truth.

Cee has sought connections all her life and was always denied or taken too soon to form a new one. It was always just Damon. Ezra went through so many partners in his life that he became numb to anyone who would stick around permanently. Numb to anyone who would ever be with him—his other half. And when a child entered his life and created and filled the hole in his heart that wasn’t there before, it became something supernatural. A longing he had immediately, and also a resisting. He was dangerous and he managed to put Cee in some of the most risky situations in under a day.

But Cee didn’t focus on that. She saw through that. She saw his passion and interest in the things he talked about. While it has only been with her, she’s seen the way he cares. The way he went to walk her through the operation on his arm. How he smiled at her and had an immediate pet name off hand to call her by, which, surprisingly, has stuck around—not that she would ask for him to stop using it. How he indulged her interest in Streamer Girl, saying he must now read it after hearing her praise it so well. She’s seen his gentleness in how he’s treated her, spoken to her, but also his violence in how he’d protected her from the mercenaries.

He’s done more than enough, as much as he may try and convince her, or himself, that he has not.

She smiles at him, her hands still on the sides of his face. Before she has a moment to really think, she brought her hands around his neck more, tilting his head down and his forehead towards her. She goes to the side a bit, kissing the skin right at the hairline of his blonde section of hair. She takes a moment to breathe in while her lips are still pressed to his forehead and her fingers lay by his ears, gently holding his head in place.

If she can’t find words, she hopes this works in their place.

She pulls away from him, keeping her hands still on his face as she settles their glances back. Ezra smiles as he shyly drops his head, breathing out a light laugh. Cee smiles, too. A wide, happy smile. One almost unfit after all she’s been dealt.

Cee drops her left hand to his shoulder and takes her right hand away from his face and brings it to the blonde section of his hair. “So…” she starts, rubbing some strands back and forth between her thumb and pointer finger, “how did this even happen?”

Ezra lifts his head, trying to move his head out of Cee’s grasp, but she just laughs, continuing to rub the strands together. He stops moving his head and looks back at her, a more serious expression on his face. “Quite the story there, little bird.”

She makes a face. “...And? We’re not in a rush.”

“That we aren’t, birdie. That we aren’t. Still, it’s a bit of a lengthy tale that I don’t believe to be worthwhile taking up any cherished time we have on our trek-”

“Ezra.”

“Yes?”

“Are you avoiding my question because it’s an embarrassing story?”

Ezra looks offended and starts backing up his claim with no’s and some long and winding explanation as to how, after inhaling alarming amounts of Dust in the Green, he was brought to Central to be fixed up. A few cycles in, Ezra, prematurely, got out of bed and tripped over himself, hitting the small guard rail on the other side of the bed, knocking himself unconscious. The incident gave him nine extra cycles at medical bay and, within a few weeks, after his wound had healed, his hair was growing back blonde.

They laugh together in the ship, the joyous noise echoing off the walls as they continue to pile on jokes and more stories as the conversation flows. By the end of it, Cee’s face is red and Ezra is breathing heavily, both of them slumped against separate walls, holding their stomachs.

It’s true, there are opportunities out there in the Black. Places to settle down and figure things out. And with each new passing cycle, their decision becomes more clear: they’re figuring it out together.

~~~~~~~~~

post-fic note: I can’t remember exactly, but Ezra’s hair growing back blonde after an incident I think comes from another prospect fic out there, I think we violent ones, but I’m 100% sure if it was that one or another one. All that to say it is not an original idea and I don’t take credit for using it for Ezra’s character. I liked the idea of it when I first read it and wanted to use it similarly

[elibean]

I have no idea what I’m doing, I downloaded video editing software with no knowledge of how anything works and spat this out in under an hour. Sorry the subtitles don’t look great, sorry it’s not 100% accurate to the Japanese, sorry for the stupid watermark that I only found out would be there AFTER I WENT THROUGH ALL THIS TROUBLE…but whatever, here, I don’t wanna look at this anymore, take it.