#every time i like. even have the twinge of these emotions. my brain is like ah.

[soldier--poet--queen]

what came first, the body dysphoria flare up or the internet deciding now was a fantastsic time to show me transmasc content

[syllikins]

"𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐑?"

❀ genre: fluff

❀ pairing: sylus x reader

❀ contains: mutual pining, sylus down bad, yucky vulnerable feelings (jk i love him so much for this reason), reader in denial (sorry guys), poorly proofread

❀ word count: 1.03k

❀ authors note: i'm taking a crack at this. but omg that scene where he tells mc there is no love purer than his after he asks if she finally realizes how he feels about her? COME ON. HOW CAN I NOT LOVE HIM?? had to write something inspired by that dialogue because it was so????? i'm definitely going to reference to some other stuff he has said in the game that made my heart flutter because?????

"there is no love purer than mine."

is a statement that has been replaying in your mind over and over again since that day.

you couldn't help but wonder if sylus lacks self awareness because how can you actually pinpoint his feelings when every conversation the two of you engage in seems like a ploy for his own entertainment.

every pointless banter. every teasing remark. every sickeningly corny nickname that unfortunately sounds like honey whenever it left his lips. maybe you ignored his childish attempts at flirting because you were too busy ignoring the ticklish feeling it gave you in your heart down to your toes.

sylus may make your eye twitch or send a small twinge in your brain with every smartass comment he feels he has to belch out: but maybe that's part of his charm. he mainly gets away with it with a face like that.

but your developing feelings for sylus was far more emotional than it was physical.

maybe it was the way he was always ready to lock in when it really came down to it.

the two of you being around each other always ended up with you or him being hurt. sometimes both. and if not either of you, chaos ensued. maybe a building was blown up instead. it was fun but it was times like those when you learned about sylus in a slightly more intimate way. it took a few deep gashes and heavy panting, near death experiences and stitches. but he needed your help. you liked that he could at least admit that. he saw you reliable enough to call on you when he was most vulnerable. and he helped you in the same way, despite protest.

he likes to hold hands. but it's not just his fingers intertwined but more like your hearts tangle more than your fingers. it was nice...he may mean it to be authoritative but there is always an underlying sense of comfort in his fingertips.

maybe he was a vampire. as you had previously joked. silver hair. red eyes. that inexplicably gorgeous face. pale skin that would automatically show any trace of lip gloss or lipstick that he would have obtained by getting a bit too close while attempting to tease you. that allure that often times makes your head go numb before you're brought back to reality by another witty comment.

you were more than enthralled by him; you realised as you laid in bed a few nights ago.

now he just makes you nervous. why would he say that?

there is no love purer than his?

and it's all for you?

it all feels like too much.

he calls and you stare at the caller ID before choosing to nervously accept the call. not before you start a petty argument.

but even among his arrogance, and the chirp in his voice when he engages with you, he's still sickening sweet. slipping in how strongly he feels about you in between every other colourful retort of yours or so. gosh. could he not?

after you pathetically stutter through a smartass comment of yours, his amused chuckle has you fighting the urge to chuck your phone. so you just hang up instead. maybe you just need to go outside. that should calm you down.

the warm yet slightly humid summer night air hugs itself against your slightly trembling form, a small fire lit in your heart as you walk down the empty sidewalk in pyjamas.

no one is around. all the stores are closed. it's just you and the street lights as you murmur about all the things you don't like about him in an attempt to kill the light in your heart, this light giving you an odd sense of pleasure. to no avail, your rambling on seems to make the light grow. and a small buzz on your leg.

in your pocket.

he's calling again.

you stare at it this time. its like you think the loving feelings pouring from your pores will tap the accept button for you. this doesn't last long before you shake your head and put the phone back in your pocket. you continue walking, eyes kept on the sidewalk as you weigh the pro's and con's of accepting such feelings.

*thud* you've hit your head on something.

the familiar scent in your nostril already tells you what- more like who it is.

it's obvious he used his evol to just appear in front of you. or else you would have seen his shadow underneath the streetlight you're under before your forehead met his chest.

the mere thought of it being him before even seeing his face is enough to get your stomach to flip, so you flip yourself in the other direction. then he wraps his hand around your wrist but he never seems to forget to add the electrifying part.

your free hand twitches as he intertwined his beautiful fingers with yours, the linking of both your pointer fingers keeping you together.

the silence among the song of cicadas makes you bite your tongue, anticipating a smart, playful retort. and yet amidst your baited breath nothing.

your heart beats in your ears as his warmth lingers on your fingertips. the two linked fingers generating the most heat.

"gosh, would you stop tormenting me already?" you whisper.

"is that what you think this is?" his voice echoing in the street.

you're both silent for a moment. yet neither of you make a motion to separate the linked fingers.

"your love...in it's purest form..."

another silence.

"it belongs to you." he finishes

you turn to him, still staring at the pavement.

"my love....." you began.

he seems to be holding his breath as you fidget in front of him. you attempt to make your slippers overlap or something to that effect as your palms get sweaty.

"is just as pure as yours." you breathe out in something like a scoff.

even now you're trying to challenge him

"and i want you to have it."

 when you utter that last bit, you look him straight in the eyes.

he exhales and accepts it with no hesitation.

in his arms, where both your hearts tangle.

© syllikins 2024

[elliesflower]

what's love? [ellie williams]

pairing; ellie x gn!reader

cw; angst, ellie and reader in a situationship(kinda), post-golf incident (joel mentioned), slightly au (still set in jackson, ellie never went to seattle), ellie doesn't open up ab her feelings :(

an; hello! first off, rest easy to one of the greatest to ever do it, miss tina herself. while listening to her today i felt like this song was very ellie-coded tbh nd i haven't been great lately nd just wanted to throw something angsty together for my baby girl :( (i know the song's vibe doesn't necessarily match the story's vibe but i'm meaning more the lyrics). also this is more from ellie's pov so reader is gn and has absolutely no physical descriptors!!

no smut, but like all my content please 18+ only, mdni!!!

Three little words. 

One big problem. 

What is it?

“Is this the end?” 

No, not those ones. It was something else, painful, and always dancing at the tip of her tongue, making tiny beads of sweat prick at her palms and a ball of trepidation sink to the pit of her stomach. They were cursed words, seldom given thought, and never spoken aloud. The underlying topic of ninety percent of all songs ever written, and movies produced—it was cruel, really, how there was no escaping it. 

“This can’t be the end…” 

Vision blurred by the thoughts of a thousand demons, Ellie muttered back into the void. 

“It’s not,” and her voice was so quiet, it very well could have been the wind pestering the trees outside her window. 

“It’s not…?”

Oh. Right. 

Movie. 

Your legs shifted under the shared blanket, and Ellie’s eyes refocused onto your folded hands in your lap. 

“Is there a second movie, or something?” Your voice was trembling only slightly, the emotional turmoil of the last twenty minutes of the movie lacing your words. 

Ellie shook her head again, as if it would shake her brain right out. She couldn’t help but to feel bad, having practically abandoned the movie as she stewed in her own emotions. There were so many of them, fighting to get out, clawing her insides every time she looked at your face for too long.

“Sorry,” she could blame her watery eyes on the movie. Push aside her feelings. Again. “No, there’s no second one. I wish there was, though.”

Ellie wasn’t much like an open book. Or, I guess she was a very specific kind of book. That one you fell in love with based on the dust jacket description, with her complex words and inexplicit detail, but every time you’d pull it down to read, something stopped you. Life gets in the way. You’d tried and tried, oh god have you tried, to open her up; to wear her down, pressing on her spine and dog-earing her pages, keeping her infrequent tipsy confessions and three-am sleep deprived rants in the back of your mind like a filing cabinet. Pushing, but never pressuring. Ellie didn’t like pressure. 

“S’okay,” your voice was always soft with her. Couldn’t be loud, couldn’t scare her away, because Ellie Williams could fucking run. Away from her problems, as fast as her legs could carry her and as far as her heart would let her. Despite her alienation, the empty bed permanently rooted in the hardwood of Joel’s house kept her coming back. “Did y’wanna watch anything else? I’m kinda tired.” 

Even the softness of your voice couldn’t conceal your hurt, that she was shutting down. Closing you off. Keeping you at a distance. Her heart twinged, but she couldn’t look at you. She looked down at her outstretched legs, the off-white blanket cascading over them, the piece of dust she could see out of the corner of her eye. Anything. Except you. She felt cold, but your body was warm, radiating and making her shift toward you subconsciously. She hated it. 

Why is hate so much easier to express?

“You have patrol tomorrow?” It was easier to just get technical, sometimes. You nodded, before stretching your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you. “Gotta be up at four. Wesley and Nia have the flu or something, so we have to head out early to swing by their posts, too.” Ellie nodded, absentmindedly picking at her cuticles. Ignoring the sweet smell of vanilla that emanated from your body as your arms went over your head. 

She was so proud of herself when she found you that bar soap out on patrol, neatly tucked away in a dusty white vanity. You were so happy, so grateful, always so grateful that she was thinking of you. That she perceived you in such a way.

And she almost fucking said it, that night. Almost ruined everything. Those three little words. She was high, probably on some weed, but also on how your eyes sparkled when you were happy, the way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and you shifted your body weight side-to-side excitedly. Your emotions were quite obvious, most of the time. It made Ellie want to cry. 

“That sucks,” she mumbled, and she couldn’t help it now. You were like a magnet, she was sliding down against the pillows, watching the credits roll on the small screen past the end of her bed. She could hear you breathing, deep and careful. On edge. Why were you so on edge?

“It does,” you agreed. Ellie didn’t look away from the screen. Sinking, slowly, slowly, slower...her head was resting near your rib cage, now. She could feel you breathing. And she felt you slide down to match her position, turning your body to face her, silently and without explanation. It was better that way. 

“You’ll sleep here tonight?” And it felt strangled, coming out of her throat. She didn’t need to say anything, though. Of course you were sleeping in her bed. Tonight, and the night before that, and before that…but she felt you nod against her side, and her arm slid up to allow you access to her chest. No explanation. Ellie was really bad at explaining. 

“You’re cold,” your voice was muffled against the fabric of her gray hoodie. Ellie almost smiled. Almost. 

“You’re warm,” she retorted, and she feels your heart pulse faster against the skin of your back. The movie’s end credits became the soundtrack to the night. Soft and pensive. Like you. 

Ellie watched as your breathing eventually slowed, your shoulders rising and falling rhythmically as you drifted away into sleep. She was always jealous of that, though of course, like everything else, she’d never admit it—how your tiredness always let you drift into a blissful dreamland, your right hand twitching where it usually sat curled loosely atop her chest as you slept. You moved a lot, she noticed, and talked sometimes, too. Sleep didn’t come easy to people like Ellie. 

And so, she was absolutely, positively, awake and conscious when you let out a breathy sigh in your sleep, legs twitching slightly against her bottom half before settling back into her chest. A whisper escaped your lips, so sweet it may have been laced with vanilla, too. 

“I love you…” 

But this time, Ellie couldn’t stop her tears.

[chigirisprincess]

Good Luck, Babe ! - Chapter 1: You'll Need It.

— Aizawa Shōta

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, sfw, reader has hair that can be run through, reader is a teacher, reader is a slight author self insert, first meetings and a not so cute meet cute. ⊹ Run time. 4.2k ⊹ Note. This has been marinating in my brain for a while! So I decided to bite the bullet and write it, enjoy :3

❝It's your first day on the job, teaching at the overly prestigious hero school, U.A Academy, what could go wrong? Apparently a lot.❞

masterlist || next part

September's early morning chill was a bitter reminder that summer would soon come to an end. An unwelcome reminder that with summer gone so too would the precious tendrils of young adulthood. It was a frightening truth. Though you’d been one of the lucky ones. Employed only six months after graduating from university, with a fairly cushy gig that most could only dream of. The pay was good, you had an ample amount of sick days and vacation days. It was far more than you’d been expecting for a glorified student teaching position.

Still, the prospect of embarking on a new journey without the support of family and friends felt like too much for you to bear. Your stomach twisted itself into knots that refused to be undone no matter how many little reassurances you chanted to yourself. On the brink of thinking yourself sick, you forced your gaze upwards to the campus ahead. It was the stuff of legends, only something you could have dreamed of as a teenager.

The U.A High gates were an imposing sight to behold, far more akin to that of a fortress wall than your run of the mill boarding school. A twinge of pain shoots through your neck when you crane your head to drink in every last bit before you brave the next big adventure– actually going inside the building. Sweat gathers within the palm of your hands, you reflexively drag them down the length of your shirt, hardly flinching under the scrutinous stares of the passing students who need no invitation to head back onto campus after a weekend away. Your nerves fail to scatter the longer you peer upward but your eyes begin to burn as the sun shifts from behind the building.

“No big deal, this is no big deal,” you mutter beneath your breath, “This is just the start of your career, it’s not like failure is going to make or break it.”

You blanch for a moment, your mouth running dry.

Failure could ruin your career, it wasn’t everyday that the ministry of education hand selected educators to work with a school as prestigious as U.A. Rarely, had they taken interest in newly graduates with too many opinions like yourself. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to prove that all your hours spent researching pedagogy, writing papers on the merits of student-led learning, and focusing your dissertation on why hero courses were intrinsically detrimental to their social and emotional development, weren’t wasted because you couldn’t hack it in the classroom. Smoothing out the rumpled fabric of your dress shirt, you fought the urge to nervously swipe your sweaty hands against cotton once more. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, today is going to be a great day!”

Your voice carries farther than you intend for it too, it catches the attention of two students who loiter nearby. They cast you a perturbed glance before shuffling toward the school. You offer them a toothy grin in response, hoping it’d disguise your nerves and give those kids the impression that you belonged here. It was laughable. You belonged at U.A even less than the countless number of journalists who milled about in search of an exclusive story. That lot hardly gives you a once over, as if they could smell the mediocrity wafting off of you. Your quirk wasn’t very interesting and you hoped you looked too old to be a student. So, there was no need for anyone to chase after your coat tails when you finally pried your feet from the cement, and walked past the school gates.

The sidewalk feels as though it’s fused to the soles of your oxfords, your legs like lead as you attempt to shuffle forward. You're rendered still by the nerves that eat away at your belly even as the clock tick closer and closer to eight. Sucking in a deep breath, you force yourself to step forward though the pace is still painstakingly slow. You regret not shaking out your nerves before you arrived at the school. Tension gathered in your joints and painfully fused your limbs together. You couldn’t rid yourself of the stress that clung to you not matter how many deep breaths you sucked down.

The main building possessed the same grandeur as the gate. Its front doors are ornate, with gold lettering detailing which door was designated for each year. You quickly yank open the door with the large letter one atop it, hoping you’d made the right choice. The email you received for this position stated you would be working with a first year class so, this seemed like the most logical choice by far. 

If it wasn’t, you’d fake it ‘til you made it.

You remember a professor of yours telling you that confidence was key. Nothing could go wrong if you looked like you knew what you were doing, others would trust that you did. If you looked like you belonged, no one would question why you had a seat at the table. Holding your head up high, you walked towards the administration office, thanking whatever cosmic force that despite all its quirks, the ground floor layout was the same as most high schools in the area. The principal, a small marsupial looking man, Nezu pops his head out from the office before you’ve finished rounding the corner. The scar that cuts into his short white fur and left eye was slightly disconcerting, somehow more so than a talking animal.

Based on your googling during your commute, he’d once been an ordinary animal that developed a quirk– truly one of a kind, sentience and an IQ that surely surpassed your own was just the surface level of what Nezu had been blessed with. Though, there was little information detailing how and why he was given the position of principal. That struck a chord of concern. You wondered how much empathy he possessed, if he related to his students, and how he went about human affairs, even when they were personal in nature.

“There you are!”

Nezu waves you over with a paw.

“I was starting to worry you weren’t going to show!” He exclaims with a laugh, “Didn’t happen to get lost, didja?”

With as much confidence as you could muster, you shake your head, “No! No, of course not,” you mutter with a wave of your hand, “I was just taking a quick tour and didn’t realise how much time had passed!”

Nezu nods sagely as if there was some unspoken wisdom to what you said, “Oh, good! So I take it you’ve unloaded your things at the dormitory then, how proactive!”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow?”

“As of this year, U.A High is a boarding school as I’m sure you may know,” Nezu explains with a flourish, “As such, all educators must reside on campus, including temporary staff such as yourself.”

“Oh, right, yes, I was actually planning to do that after classes today!”

You chuckle unconvincingly, offering an awkward smile. Well, that solved your problem of where you’d go after your lease was up in two weeks. Still, the pressure of throwing yourself completely into this job weighed heavily upon your shoulders. You were still unconvinced that this was truly happening. Even if you did everything perfectly, there was still a chance the teachers here wouldn’t take too kindly to you bulldozing years of lesson planning all because parents, and the ministry of education were starting to listen to people like you. You didn’t want to believe that all heroes were as egoist as the media painted them out to be, but the thought still made your hands shake with anxiety every time you imagined what this new job would entail.

The smile Nezu offers only unsettles you further, something about seeing an animal's face contort like a humans, “Very well, come along now classes are starting shortly.”

He presses an ID card into your hands, a black lanyard dangles from it. Your smiling face peers up at you. The photo’s been swiped from your university's website, along with the other information– including your new job title– since you don’t recall submitting your picture to them. Slipping it into the front pocket of your pants, you follow Nezu through the halls. Your shoes click against the blue tile flooring. You’d been expecting scuffed linoleum but the tiles were smooth and recently buffed if your reflection was any indicator. The sound soothed your frayed nerves, and almost allowed you to forget how out of your depth you were. Almost.

The grandiose scale of the environment you found yourself surrounded by was intimidating. Everything at this school was large, given how massive Cementoss and Ectoplasm seemed on your tiny phone screen during the sports festival, the building must have been made to accommodate those of all sizes. Even the door to class 1-A made you feel dwarfish in comparison. It stood a good two feet over the top of your head, made of fine maple wood that had been painted brown and red. 1-A was printed in the negative space, denoting which class this room belonged to. You’d never have to worry about entering the wrong classroom, that soothed the butterflies in your belly.

Dragging your hands down the front of your shirt, you smoothed out the invisible wrinkles you swore were pressed into the fabric, “Deep breath in,” you whispered to yourself, your cheeks hot with embarrassment, “Deep breath out, you got this!”

Using the window pane of the door, you raked your fingers through your hair. Cursing to yourself when they got caught and tangled on a few strands. Pushing your hair behind your shoulders, you mechanically cranked your lips upward until a cheery smile replaced the anxious expression you wore like a second skin. Your shoulder blades slid backwards as if on cue, your spine straightening.

“Now then, go on, don't be shy,” Nezu says, nodding his head toward the classroom, “Introduce yourself to the class, tell them why you’re here, their homeroom teacher should be waiting for you inside.”

The doors hinges squeal as you struggle to open it all the way. Still, you force on a smile the way your teachers had instructed you to. Apparently, students could sniff out fear and anxiety like a bloodhound. You tried not to appear too miffed by how strenuous opening the door was, quickly stepping towards the front of the classroom. All twenty sets of eyes were glued to your frame, their conversations running to a harsh stop as you clapped your hands together. 

“Good morning, class!” Your voice is chipper and perfect even just like you rehearsed in the mirror this morning, “It’s so nice to meet you all!”

The classroom was plain, devoid of any personality or signs that students had occupied the space for the better part of six months. The desk sat in four rows of five, their table tops practically sparkled beneath the sickly yellow fluorescent lighting. From here, the lack of student graffiti was evident. You supposed you could take it as a good sign. Though, following the rules and not defacing school property seemed like an entry level requirement for prospective heroes.

Principal Nezu offers your leg a pat before swiftly scuttling back out the door. There was no sign of the class’ home room teacher, even in the form of a yellow lump on the ground. Wringing your hands together, you flash the class a grin. The students stare blankly back at you in confusion. Some exchange a worried glance with one another before returning to eyeing you up.

“Are you going to be our new teacher?” A boy with unruly green hair asks. He raises his hand after he finishes speaking, a sheepish expression when he realises he spoke out of turn.

Midoriya Izuku.

You remember him from the set of student profiles you were emailed last week and the intermittent news stories he appeared in. He was a relatively good student, with only a few minor infractions here and there on his permanent record detailing unsanctioned usage of his quirk. That was out of your jurisdiction. Aside from his penchant for working himself to the point of exhaustion and his habit of breaking his bones, Izuku wouldn’t cause you much trouble within the classroom. His records from middle school told you that much.

“Ah no, actually-”

“Don’t get all excited,” a gruff voice rumbles behind you, you don’t have to turn to know it’s Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, “You lot are still stuck with me.”

A mass of loose black clothing and messy black hair begin to fill your periphery as the man steps closer to you. You hardly have a chance to greet him before he’s placed himself between you and the first row of desks. Dark circles line a pair of ebony irises that are nearly hidden by his heavily lidded eyes. The pale skin of his jaw disappears into a thin, wispy beard that Aizawa compulsively scratches at as he eyes you up. Pinned beneath his scrutinising gaze, you suddenly feel silly, like you were five years old again, caught playing dress up in your parents closet. The corduroy pants and nice dress shirt you took several hours picking out last night seemed over the top and childish.

“What are you doing in my classroom?”

“Oh!” You quickly offer your name with an apologetic smile and a bow, “I’m here on behalf of the ministry of education to audit your classroom and work alongside you for the foreseeable future.”

Aizawa looks unimpressed, but when you offer him your hand, he takes it. His skin is calloused and rough, yours, comparatively, are soft to the touch. The callouses that formed from writing seemed so insignificant to the history that marred his skin. Clearing your throat, you steel your gaze on him, smiling in hopes of covering yourself in an air of indifference.

“Did Principal Nezu not inform you that I’d be here today?” You nervously question, pulling out your brand new ID card, “He told me that you’d be expecting me.”

“Why don’t we go chat outside?” He suggests, taking your ID card to inspect. You suspect you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

You nod, ducking your head down to avoid his intense gaze.

“Start preparing for your next class,” Aizawa addresses his students, his tone even and unwavering, “Yamada sensei will be here soon for your English lessons.”

There's a mumble of agreeance that breaks out amongst the throngs of desks. You’re certain that if the walls were thinner, you’d hear far more from them once you stood outside the classroom door. Kids were nosey, you wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them pressed against the door and strained their ears to catch even the smallest morsel of information. You’d almost prefer to be chewed out in front of twenty teenagers than be left alone with the ire of a pro-hero.

“Look, I don’t know what Nezu told you but I don’t need help managing my classroom,” Aizawa says as soon as the door has clicked shut behind you, “And I certainly don’t need help from a child.”

His arms are crossed over his broad chest. Your skin prickles with insecurity as he regards you. With his hair hanging over his face, you’re unable to discern what it is that lays in the depths of his eyes. If there’s an ounce of pity or just annoyance, you’re unsure. Whatever it is, its intensity makes you squirm beneath his gaze.

“I’m not a child,” you pause, attempting to counter but you stumble a bit over your words “I have two degrees and was hand selected by the ministry of education to be here, to work alongside you.”

Straightening your shoulders, you puff out your chest. With the way Aizawa tiredly slouched, he wasn’t as intimidating as he could be. If anything, if you could imagine him to be a petulant student. It wasn’t so hard. You’d dealt with worse during your days of being a TA. Hungover frat boys were far worse than a grouchy new colleague who didn’t appreciate having their authority tested. Not that you wanted to do that. You were looking forward to working with him, even if he was resistant to change.

Aizawa hardly stifles an eye roll before he narrows his gaze, “You were just about to call me sir, see child.”

“You’re not that much older than I am,” you retorted, frowning. Of all the things you’d heard of the elusive Eraserheard, you didn’t expect him to criticise you so harshly because of your age. Your lack of experience in the classroom? Sure, fair game. But, your age meant nothing in the grand scope of things, “Even if you were, I’m still qualified for this position.”

Your face grows hot with embarrassment. Six months. That’s how long you’d been a real adult, no longer a student. Calling anyone with even an inch of authority sir or ma’am had become second nature. How quickly Aizawa had caught on, made you wonder if he was right, if you were too far out of your depth. You feel it again, the nasty little pang of self-doubt that made the new lipstick you wore feel like you’d rummaged through your mothers things rather than the understated elegance you thought it gave you.

“Still, I have far more experience than someone who's never stepped foot in a classroom,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Nezu made a mistake, and I’ll be sure to tell him myself.”

“So you don’t take naps during lessons and allow your students to do as they please?” 

It’s a dirty, underhanded comment. But, you’re struggling to find any solid ground in this conversation, anything that would prove to him that you belonged in this school. Your throat feels like it might collapse in on itself as you suck in a nervous breath.

“That’s not-” Aizawa starts with a mild look of distaste.

Shaking your head, you continue on,“True? Well, Nezu listed it amongst some of your other questionable teaching practices such as threatening expulsion?”

Your hands tremble with remorse. U.A prided itself for its unique delivery of course content. They allowed teachers to do as they pleased within their classroom, even mid-semester expulsion if they saw it fit. Which Aizawa had, on multiple occasions. Apparently, he’d even expelled all twenty of his students on the first day of school a few years ago. Most of your peers dreamed of having that kind of authority in the classroom, they became starry eyed at the mere thought of being able to employ whatever pedagogical methodology they wished without having to adhere to curriculum expectation. You weren’t sure how they’d feel knowing you were expressly against such power.

“Are you trying to suggest that I’m a bad teacher?” The hurt in his voice is evident, the sincerity of it further fills the bucket of guilt that hangs off your neck.

“Not at all, just that you trained to be a hero not an educator.”

Tomorrow, or even twenty minutes from now, you’d regret reaching forward to place a hand on Aizawa’s crossed arms, “I don’t doubt that you care for those kids” the muscles in his throat tighten as he swallows and you’re keenly aware of his capture weapon sitting mere inches away from your arm, “And I’m not here to doubt you abilities, I’m just here because the ministry of education is concerned about the wellbeings of the students in the hero course.”

“They’re concerned?”

“It’s kind of hard not to be, they’re constantly in the news,” you say, sympathetic to the near constant villain attacks they had endured, “And the optics of a kidnapped student never look good no matter how it's spun, even if they’re a hero student.”

Aizawa rubs his chin with a sigh, “There’s no making this go away, is there?”

“Afraid not.”

You’re sure he feels your body shaking as you press closer. Your breath hitches.

“Besides, you’re really in no position to get rid of me,” you cringe when the words come out of your mouth but you can’t stop yourself from speaking, “Principal Nezu agreed, and if you really send me packing, it wouldn’t look too great on your end, it’d be all the more reason to question what goes on here.”

You’re right, he knows you’re right. You can tell by the way he sighs and tries to disguise it with a cough. You’re sure the way you invade his personal space doesn’t help your case or sweeten his opinion of you but it keeps you standing straight and prevents your knees from buckling beneath you.

He looks past you and down the hall, almost wistfully, “Would it really be so bad?” You ask, bouncing all on the balls of your feet, “Having me around would be a smaller workload for you to take home each night.”

The expression he wears tells you yes, it would be so bad, “You’re a civilian,” is all he says, a puff of air passing his chapped lips as he turns his gaze toward you, “If something were to happen, if there was another attack, you’d be in danger. You know that, right?”

“There are plenty of civilian students in the building, are you worried about them too?” You stupidly ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You’re sure you appear petulant, you feel petulant. You have to stop your bottom lip from jutting out in annoyance. Professionalism was still a bit of a struggle.

Your quirk wasn’t particularly flashy, but you had learned to use it for self defence as a teenager. Turns out, most didn’t enjoy being struck by lightning. They liked it even less when it came in the form of a spear— being a human sized taser had its perks. In any case, you were a nobody. No villain would take particular interest in you if their recent attacks were any indicator of their motives. They seemed to get their kicks terrorising teenagers.

“I’m worried about you,” Aizawa says with such conviction, that you’re not so surprised that he pursued hero work, “Working here, working with my class means having a target on your back. You realise this, don’t you?”

“I do.”

He clicks his tongue,“I don’t think you do,” deeply sighing, “You aren’t authorised to use your quirk even in self defence.”

“If I taught at a regular high school, I’d be expected to put myself in between my students and anyone who posed a threat without using my quirk,” you shrug your shoulders, “I’m prepared to do the same here.”

“This is different, this is serious. If you get caught up in an attack they could kill you or worse.”

Your skin crawls with an unpleasant feeling of dread. Goosebumps made your hair stand uncomfortably. What could be worse than death? You didn’t want to know. Aizawa clearly did. That’s why he didn’t find your blind acceptance endearing or brave. Just stupid.

Shaking away the nerves, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes,“The train I took this morning could have caught fire and killed me,” you say, like the thought of spontaneous combustion didn’t terrify you, as if you didn’t triple check your curling iron was unplugged each morning, “So could the raw flour in the cookie dough I ate last night.”

“You’re being far too flippant for me to take you seriously,” Aizawa doesn’t hide the roll of his eyes this time.

“Villains are dangerous, I get that,” you hope your voice didn’t sound as pathetic to him as it did to you, “I know what teaching here entails, I didn’t take this position on a whim.”

Aizawa’s dark, red rimmed eyes rake over you. He’s studying you, perhaps searching for a crack in your demeanour, for something to give reason for his refusal. A dissatisfied “hmph” passed his lips, they dip into a deepened frown. Whatever he’s going to say dies on his tongue as Yamada Hizashi– the pro hero, Present Mic– comes bounding down the hall, a tune humming under his breath, his head in the clouds. He sported his hero costume, seemingly more comfortable while dressed up than you did. His hair stands nearly straight up, a shock of bright yellow amid the calming pale blues and whites of the U.A hallways. Confidence oozes off of him, painting his aura in an alluring shade of something magnanimous. 

Yamada wore the hat of hero well, sending you a toothy grin when he caught your stare.

You suddenly get the state of being star struck. His presence was startling.

“You should go unpack your things,” Aizawa suggests when he takes notice of your gaping– though, this was not a suggestion. The thin press of his lips and finite tone that edged into his voice told you that, “We can talk further, later, after the school day has ended.”

You nod numbly, slightly shocked that you hadn’t been fired before you’d even had the chance to start. This was happening. Perhaps not in the way you’d envisioned but still. You hadn’t failed, not completely, not yet. The megawatt smile you throw at him makes your cheeks ache but you can’t stop it from forming.

“See you later, Aizawa-san.”

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[2012wannabe]

10 minutes vs. A lifetime

my first fic in years! Lemme know what u think!!

wc: 1k

cw: Abby Anderson x AFAB!reader(reader has breasts), reader has a history of sa/rape by a man and has a panic attack during sex. honestly just some mentally ill shit

Notes for my fanfiction

Tugging Abby’s arm, you pulled her into your living room from your kitchen and firmly pulled her into a kiss.

“What’s this?”

“I can do it. I think I can.”

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want you to do this because you think you have to.”

“I appreciate that,” you said with a small smile.

“But I promise you that I want this.” You grabbed her arms, touching her hands and her wrists. You had always been obsessed with her arms, not just her biceps and her shoulders but her forearms down to her fingers, they just caught your eye every time especially when she wore those muscle tanks you like. Abby nodded and kissed you back, and you were excited. Not just horny excited, but excited.

Sometimes you went through phases where all you could think about were his hands and his touch leading to you having panic attacks when you had sex. You couldn't separate her touch from his and you inexplicably hated it. You loved Abby, and not being able to be intimate with her made you sad. She was so good about it too, saying that she’d gladly be celibate if it meant she got to be with you. (You cried after because of how much she loved you and she looked so concerned until you explained).

You pulled your shirt over your head and tried to unclasp your bra all sexy knowing how much Abby loved your breasts. You kissed her again and placed her hands on your waist letting her feel you up and rubbing down your back to grab your butt and slap it. You gasped into the kiss when she did and pushed yourself closer to her.

“I fucking love you.” She whispered.

“I fucking love you too.”

You pushed her to sit down on the couch, sitting on her lap and grinding against her. It had been so long, too long. Abby mumbled something you didn’t quite catch but you didn’t care, even just grinding against her thigh through your pants and hers sent a shock down to your core. She moved you momentarily to take off her pants and welcomed you back in her arms. You kissed again and let her feel and grope your butt and thighs when all of a sudden a little twinge of negative emotion started in your chest. You couldn't tell what it was quite yet but your brain scrambled knowing a panic attack was near. You kissed her more fiercely because you really did want this. She picked you up and laid you on the couch unbuttoning your pants and that little tiny twinge turned into something much more. Your heart started beating rapidly, palpitating so much so that you heard and felt it in your ears and chest. You lost your breath, starting to hyperventilate looking up at her panicked but mostly sad. She left your pants alone and asked,

“Are you okay baby?” She knew it was a pointless question, but talking grounded you. You wanted to say you were okay, but your eyes watered and tears leaked down your cheeks. Softly touching your face, she wiped your tears and sat you up still crying.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You hiccupped.

“I know you feel like you have to say it but I promise you that you don't have to apologize. It's okay. It's okay my love.”

“Fuck, why can’t I just do this?” You muttered. You clung to Abby's touch, finding solace in her unwavering presence.

"I'm here," Abby murmured softly.

"You're not alone. I love you.” She said, moving to get your shirt.

“Is it okay if I, or do you need to do it?”

“It's okay, you can do it.” You tried to smile at her but it came out pained. I wish it was over, you thought. Why is it that ten minutes for him had to become a whole lifetime for me? You cried even harder with the panic attack over with and buried your head in your arms. She gently raised your arms, slipping your shirt over your head and still sat right by your side, rubbing circles into your back and whispering comforting words to you which in a way made you feel worse. You didn't want Abby to have to deal with your problems and as much as you knew she would be appalled if you ever said it you still felt like you were a burden to her. You loved the feeling of being taken care of but you felt bad when people did. You felt guilty and unworthy even though you knew consciously you were absolutely worthy of love and care. Especially not being able to do something as natural as have sex with your romantic partner made you feel like you weren’t enough. Your lip quivered again and all you could do is cry into her shoulder and rush out another string of apologies. She continued to comfort you until the tears stopped and you were finally able to catch your breathe and ask,

“Do you mind if I have a moment to myself? I just want to sleep.”

“Of course.” She said giving you a genuine smile. Your heart twisted a bit but you got into you and Abby’s shared bed and wrapped your arms around yourself under the covers. You tried to close your eyes but your brain wouldn’t let up. Some time passed and you rolled around despite the whole ordeal exhausting you.

“Abby?” You called.

“Yeah?” She called back, instantly walking over into the bedroom.

“Can you lay with me?”

“Of course baby.” So she got into bed and you wrapped her arm around you and cuddled into her anyway already feeling your body relax.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with my problems.”

“I love you so so so much, you know that right?”

“I know.”

“And you know you will never ever ever be a burden to me right?” Fuck.

“Yeah I know.” You kissed her for the last time that night and let her love be the last thing you felt before you drifted off to sleep.

[fixfoxnox]

Probably late to the party but I’ve just discovered and listened to Golden Hour by Jvke, and can’t help immediately thinking about Roach in SiTO chapter 6; his memory of Ghost bathed in the oranges of dusk light.

Probably an overwhelming feeling of sheer affection and awe and love for this man that opened up to him and turned his life in 141 in another direction completely.

There something in the orange thats bathing Ghost that takes his breath away, sears that image in Roach’s mind; those sharp, vibrant, glorious eyes that’s reflected in this golden hour on that rooftop. Time slows, everything comes to a standstill, and it’s just them. Ghost and Roach. Roach and the love of his life. His first life. His second life. And every single life he’ll ever live.

ps. On a side (read: personal) note, I kinda feel like Zach’s Something in The Orange is a perfect complement to Jvke’s Golden Hour, especially for your fic.

The lyrics from Golden Hour perfectly reasons why Roach does what he does in SiTO to get back to Ghost and 141, and SiTO’s lyrics explains the angst and pain and heartbreak he feels the very first moment he sees Ghost and Soap; seeing what he’s lost.

ANYWAY. SORRY FOR THE LONG ASK. I was rereading the fic again and this song happened to play on my discover page and it all suddenly clicked in my brain and I needed to get it off my head and chest. Hope you’re doing well and feel free to ignore me!

Sorry this took me so long to get to, but these are really good song compliments to one another in terms of the fic!

Like Golden Hour represents all of the positive feelings that Roach has toward his first life and even toward his second life (in moments like the one in chapter 6 for his first life but also in chapter 12 after he gets together with Soap/Ghost briefly, he goes outside to admire/watch the sunset before Price interrupts him) it also just represents how he see's Ghost (and later Soap) as the light in his life.

Then you have Something In The Orange which represents all of his sadness, anger, and other feelings on his first life, being reborn, and his second life. Where he's haunted by his first life and, especially in regards to his second life, feels like he's been replaced/ done dirty ("to you I'm just a man, to me you're all I am") but at the same time, even in terms of his anger and bad feelings that are shown in this song, there is still a twinge of hope there even in all those bad emotions ("something in the orange tells me we're not done") even when Roach is at his lowest he holds on to this hope that he can get back to that happiness.

Vvv good point to make and vvv good song choices!! 💙💙💙

[wlwdisasterr]

Imogen had spent a significant amount of time around flowers. Growing up on a farm and caring for horses meant she had to have some semblance of knowledge about the local flora, especially knowledge about what would be harmful to Flora. She grew up with a certain appreciation yet wariness about the dangers of some flowers. Such flowers were mostly harmful to just horses, or so she thought.

***

“I haven't accessed that part of my brain in like 50 years.”

“It would be strange, I know, to access that”

***

Imogen Temult would swear to you that she wasn’t lying to you when she says that she didn’t think about what Laudna had said. 

She’d swear that she wouldn’t have a sickening feeling swirling deep in her stomach, a ball of emotions that she felt the need to get rid of, a ball of emotions only capable of being released if she retched it out along with her past meals (even then she wouldn’t truly feel rid of it until her stomach had been ripped out of her and turned inside out). 

She’d swear that she didn’t put any thought into Laudna’s words when she stormed out, FCG in tow. 

She’d swear that she didn’t feel the slightest hint of panic when FCG had cast Transfer Suffering and worry that Laudna would feel that little twinge in her heart from her words.

Imogen Temult would swear to every deity in Exandria that she wasn’t lying. Thankfully, Imogen Temult didn’t put much faith in the Gods. She preferred to believe in Laudna and her radiance, her joy, her hope and the love she held for the woman so many called a monster. Laudna is her North Star, Laudna is her guiding light, Laudna is worth every ounce of joy and sorrow.

continue reading

[lurkerviolin]

Apparently writing 911 fics makes me want to try my hand at making covers.

Basically, I read a fic that was tagged “Ana Bashing” and I’ve decided I disagree, so we’re sending them on a good time.

🌅

Ana Flores/Taylor Kelly / Rated: T / 15k

🌅

The house has been cleaned thoroughly enough to damn near eat off the floor twice in the past week.

The first time was because Ana didn’t know what else to do with herself being home for good this time and her hands were itching for something to do, to fix. The second time was because her friends showed up to get her drunk and she wound up knocking a wine glass off the counter gesturing a little too intensely.

It’d been enough to send her into a crying fit, but the good thing about her friends is they are all generally more prone to emotional displays than she is and always immediately leap to support her in her rare breakdowns. They quickly bustled her away to the bathroom to clean up and by the time she woke up this morning, the house was spotless again. Dejah never leaves anyone’s house a mess after a party—even a pity party—if she can help it and Chichi is a professional partier, so she makes sure Ana wakes up to aspirin and water within arm’s reach of her bed.

Ana doesn’t want to deal with getting up today, doesn’t technically have to, but laying here isn’t going to make anything hurt any less. It takes some convincing to get her body on board with that information, but eventually she decides to see what today has for her. Frankly, all she wants is to sit on the couch watching daytime TV.

She’s just made it to the stage of her plan that involves sitting at her kitchen table eating buttered tortillas between sips of Pedialyte when she hears a knock on the door.

Glancing at the clock, Ana figures ten is late enough in the morning for Chichi to be awake and deciding Ana needs kolaches and a little hair of the dog. The thought of having any more to drink at this point makes her stomach roil, but also Chichi is the sort of person that takes up enough space that no room or heart ever feels empty when she’s around. Greasy sausages or no, Ana could use that.

The doorbell rings a second later and Ana gets to her feet. “Ya me voy, Chichi, hold on!” she calls as she gets up. She’s talking before she gets the door all the way open, “If you were going to show up this early, you could’ve just stayed—” She cuts off.

Taylor Kelly is standing on her front porch.

For a moment, Ana’s brain stalls out and she’s waiting to have a microphone shoved in her face and be accused of something, or be demanded to explain how you could let this happen, Vice Principal Flores, but eventually her thoughts catch up with her brain. This isn’t reporter Taylor Kelly with Skywitness News Eight. There’s no camera crew, no microphone or recorder, just two Starbucks cups in a holder, one frappe already half-empty.

This morning, Ana isn’t seeing a woman in a crisp suit with a knowing glint in her eyes. Taylor’s got on jeans and a plaid button down. Her hair is pulled back into a messy tail and her sunshades are big enough to nearly cover the entire upper half of her face. Even with the shield of expensive plastic frames, Ana can tell she’s not wearing the full face of makeup she’s had on every time she’s seen her before now.

Still, in sweats and a droopy old yoga shirt, Ana feels distinctly exposed and underdressed. She doesn’t even have on a bra. “Taylor?”

“The one and only,” Taylor says, before taking her sunshades off to reveal eyes that are tender and pink like she’s been crying. Ana feels a twinge of concern for her, at least until Taylor rather blatantly eyes her up and says, “So, you got dumped, too, huh?”

Ana almost closes the door in her face.

🌅

Continue reading on ao3!

[orchidwilt]

what a time, what a time

(a song-inspired diary entry)

i feel a little nauseous and my hands are shaking

i see hundreds of cars every day working in the drive thru, and sure, every once in a while i’ll see the occasional dark red jeep that reminds me of yours. but i know it’s not your car, because it just never is. i thought you’d know better than to visit the store i worked at, but i guess you probably thought i wouldn’t be there, apparently we were both wrong.

but even though i know it’s not your car, my heart still flips at the sight. the idea of you coming through secretly excited me, i think some romantic part of me hoped you would try to remedy what you did while ordering some chicken.

i remember feeling scared too, like if you would pull through with a girl in your passenger seat or one of your friends that probably wouldn’t even know we knew each other. that’s how i would react realistically, i’d say, like a professional because i’m not getting paid to fulfill my personal vendetta i’m paid to take chicken orders.

i guess that means you’re close by

i saw the jeep roll around the corner far before you saw me i’m sure, and tried to will it to go into another lane so i wouldn’t have to think of it again. but of course, only two cars away was the owner of a crimson red jeep that was sincerely regretting his lane choice with every passing moment.

summer wind ripped through my hair and i straightened up, blinking surprise out of my eyes and tending to the car in front of me. but i knew what was happening, and ready or not you were going to have to talk to me.

my throat is getting dry and my heart is racing

the half second of eye contact we shared was enough to confirm my greatest fear as you stared straight at me. i wish your laser stare had disintegrated me, i really do.

i tried to stall the cars before you as i scrambled to think of how to handle this, but within minutes your tires rolled in front of my feet.

i haven’t been by your side in a minute 

i remember coming out of the dorm hallway through those double doors and down the steps to your tinted windows. but as soon as i tried the door i was met with your smiling face fucking with the locks, every single time. in the nights where i hadn’t smiled in hours and called you to cheer myself up, that stupid prank was usually the first thing to break my mood.

that feels so far away, i suppose now it has been 8 months. but when you came through 6 months ago, you showed me the pain of strangers, to lovers, to strangers again. 

i hate thinking about the way you looked at me. a icy blue wall of waiting for me to speak, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn. you were waiting for me to set the tone, but something in your eyes told me you already knew i wouldn’t pass this opportunity up. i had you trapped. i remember your eyes felt like you were monitoring my response to your presence. that pissed me off, how you ghosted me up until the very moment i had to make the first move.

but i think about it sometimes

“if you don’t have anything to say for yourself then go ahead and order.” my voice sounded strong, fueling to my anger above every other emotion. i pushed my panic down and took his order, a twinge of annoyance present in his tired voice. it made me angrier. i remember flicking his card from his hand, and firing some last remark before walking to my next car. 

each step sent me further into the sky, walking away from someone i used to value but no longer know. details flooded back to me, the freckles on your face and what hung from your rearview mirror. my brain rushed to update my now painful memories of you with more accurate descriptions of your voice and your eyes, and suddenly i was the one that felt trapped.

even though i know it’s not so distant

the panic demanded to be felt. icy blue memory broke my mental dam and i was a flood in a paper cup at the weeks of heartache and confusion i experienced a month before this horrible day. i got through three cars before my hands shook too much to take orders and my breathing in the summer heat was beginning to concern the guest. “take a minute,” she said, and i snapped my head up as i realized she was a real person and i needed to stop interacting with guests before i started crying.

i shoved my shit to my coworker and sped into the restaurant, past your car waiting for your food but i didn’t look back at you, i knew my face was heating up and my efforts were focused on walking tall in case you noticed. i doubt you did.

oh no i still want to reminisce it

i was especially grateful for storage closets for the first time in my life, but hating how my sister in law had to rub my sweaty, shaking back as i blubbered to her about having to take the order of someone from the list of people i never wanted to see again. despite her efforts i was done working for the day and wanted to go take a shower and pack a bowl to take my mind off of it. i’m grateful i was able to leave, less grateful for feeling like taking care of my mental state gave you power.

but i felt like it did. because i went home and told a friend, and just like tonight the memories of our friendship felt visceral in my mind. it bubbles up and i distract myself, but like that day i decided to embrace it tonight and write this clusterfuck of a tumblr post.

i think of the night in the park it was getting dark and we stayed up for hours

we were in your new car then, the brand new crimson jeep you prided yourself on, one hand at 12:00 wrapped loosely around your steering wheel. that was the night we came up with our handshake and i showed you photos of how pretty i could be--but we were just friends, it was just mindless flirting, right? that’s what i thought when we pulled into a neighborhood you dared not to visit since your ex from so many years ago lived here. but we pulled up anyway because i gave you the confidence to show me this ethereal lake you hyped up so much. “the perfect date spot” i thought mainly you showed it to me to brag about being a local.

it was the spot of some magical date with her, and i could soon see why. clamoring out of the car and into the midnight cool air, immediately regretting my thin leggings and letting you get a blanket from your trunk for me. it was rancid, but i was cold and something about the classic florida brush and trees walling off the forest intrigued me.

so we ducked into a seemingly random area of trees near the car and stumbled down some wooden “path”, flashlights dashing wildly to the woods as i freaked you out about animals to ease my own fears. when we finally broke into a clearing that felt straight out of the hunger games, pure moonlight shone in pearlescent blues to the grass below. and the stars, god, you would have never guessed we were standing in the middle of a suburbia in florida. I remember stopping to take it all in when you continued to walk, even before the dock I knew this night would have any girl of yours swooning.

not me, though. because we were just friends, and we were just driving somewhere to clear our heads from our own busy little worlds like we had so many times before. so i walked after you, closing the distance in fear of the neighbors up the hill behind us. and we walked onto the lone dock, overlooking a perfectly secluded lake, a thick tree line separating the tranquil scene from the interstate. it felt straight out of a john green book, and i thought you were going to try to kiss me. the stars over the water were rooting for us, i’m sure of it.

it’s what i thought would happen when we leaned against the wooden railing, and i told you how i felt like i failed as a daughter and a sister, but never as a friend. and how you know, and how much you cared for me and valued our unlikely friendship. we sat on the bench and i pulled my knees into my chest, the smelly blanket draped over me, and i wanted to rest my head on your shoulder. i wish you had tried to kiss me that night, something tells me i would have let you. and looking at it now, i wonder if it would’ve prevented or accelerated our fall from ethereal nights.

what a time, what a time, what a time,

i have the moment on stream clipped where you called and told me to meet you out, mainly to watch the conflict in my eyes and faint hurt from you ignoring me on my birthday thus far. i quickly end stream after that and sprinted a few blocks to the line you were in, and thus began our last night.

i didn’t think i would let it get that far when we were walking to your friend’s car after getting pissed off in the club and you asked if you looked good in your shirt, and i said yes without thinking. you got me good for admitting that one, you little shit. i sat in the drivers seat because it was the same make and model as my car, and we cranked the ac and pulled out a handle of pink whitney. that isn’t what i thought you meant by getting a drink from the car, by the way.

i wasn’t going to indulge you after being distant on my birthday, but i got bored of being sober and gulped it down like the best of them. i’m pretty glad i did, i think it added fuel to the fires. 

you asked to kiss me before i was drunk, and i said no. i said it was too soon, that i wanted to wait a little bit. i was echoing what i had said to my mom and my therapist about you, even though i didn’t really want to wait once i realized i liked you that night. and then we watched college kids stumble from club to club in college town, a typical friday night in the spring but watching it from a parked car somehow made it more glorious. it was helpful to watch something when you made me blush with sudden compliments, the streetlights and neon store fronts making it easier to talk somehow. 

you asked to kiss me again, and i told you on june 18th i’d kiss you but not before then, thinking that hopefully by then your friend will be away and we can pile memories to distance ourselves from how we met. it was almost a plan in my head i thought of for a while, this hope that by the summer everything would work out for us but i didn’t want a relationship before then. maybe that was trivial, but you almost agreed to it too. then pink whitney woke up something within me, and i realized you were right in front of me, looking at me like that and talking in that lower voice about how i was all you could think about. 

i can’t believe that even worked. i think i just wanted it to, wanted it to mean you thought about me even when i wasn’t drunk on my birthday wearing that in a locked car with my hot best friend. you wanted me there and then, so why resist someone i’ve gotten so close with?

our slowburn friendship finally got the better of us that night, no doubt aided with that adult pink lemonade we passed back and forth.

you clinged to my body like you wanted it forever

you had asked to kiss me again, this time i caught your smile with my lips, pulling on that shirt you did look good in and letting low flames flicker in my stomach. you brought your hand up to hold my head into yours, and only then did i realize my hands hadn’t appreciated their perfect compliment enough. our lips danced and pink whitney fizzed on our lips, a taste so delicious i couldn’t believe it took me this long to kiss you. my hands on the side of your neck then in your hair, pulling you in but matching your rhythm, every pressure and touch melting my judgement.

and then your phone went off, because i really am in a john green novel. it was your friend, marching back to his car with some random women i didn’t really want to meet. i think they were fates, shooing me off before i could make more memories that would come back to haunt me.

i remember stepping out of the car to leave and you hugged me, and i think part of my intoxicated brain knew this would be the last good night in a long time. i looked at you in the dark parking lot, the streetlights and storefronts painting the last mental picture i’d have of you smiling at me.

i ran home. with every step i began to lose my breathing, and by the time i got to the dorm i realized what i’d done and how irreparable it could be.

this thought haunts me. that when i got home, part of me knew everything would change for the worse. i cried because if you were like all the others you’d probably walk away at this point.

you said you wouldn’t but you did. and part of me knew you would. for one, you told me about girls for months and i knew you wanted to run or lie when things got complicated. for two, you were never one for keeping secrets from your friend, and i’m sure as soon as you told him what happened the two words for our terrible conclusion were spoken.

what a time, what a time, what a time,

i refused to believe i was right. i called you dozens of time, texted you more, tried to pull together the perfect words to get you to respond. it didn’t work, you never did. i don’t need to tell you that.

i cursed every color into my pillow, face beat red with disappointment and rage and desperation. i cried until my ribs folded up and bled, until i cried dust and my big heart couldn’t ache any more. 

every bone in me wants to spit at how i reacted to you leaving me, but in kinder moments i know you were just the perfect trigger to a manic episode waiting to happen. i was manic because you said you cared but apparently not that much, you said you wouldn’t leave like how i’ve been left before but you did. you were just a trigger, the exact way to unravel me again until i sunk through the floor and into the dirt.

every day that passed, every missed call and unanswered text sent another pang into my heart, another reminder that you really didn’t care. that i was the last to figure it out, and it showed with every embarrassing fail to talk to you. i wish you had just blocked me. it would have been kinder. i wish you had just sent those two words even, i feel like my dumbass would have realized much sooner.

for you and i

but hey that’s bro code  ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

[mochiwrites]

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

(And if i can get away with one more? 25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of)

-🍂

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

hmmmmm, I'd probably tell her to outline things more, and uh. to get off of wattpad wayyyy earlier fjhfjhgf

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

I do both! it all depends on how my brain is feeling and how inspired I am to work on something. most of the time I write in long sit-down sessions, but little spurts are just as common

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

ohhhhh the most recent thing that comes to mind is my latest update to my last life au fic, but specifically this section here:

Grian offers him a blank look in return, as if the answer is obvious. Rather than giving Scar some sort of verbal answer, he simply offers the man’s wrist a light squeeze, pressing the pads of his fingers against Scar’s skin. He feels his pulse under his touch, feels the way it speeds up just the slightest bit. 

Scar’s eyes widen just a fraction as he looks at Grian, as if unable to truly put belief in what Grian is trying to say without words. “Why?” is the only word he says, as he stares. He still doesn’t pull his wrist away, not even as Grian feels his sped up pulse beneath his fingers. “Why me?” 

The way Scar asks him makes Grian’s chest twinge with pain, and he finds himself running his thumb along his skin once more, but with the intentions to soothe, to comfort. His touch is soft, gentle. And with each swipe of his thumb, with each stroke on his skin, Grian tries to make up for each punch, each bruise, and every sore knuckle he had left behind in that ring. 

“Why not you?”

LIKE I JUST HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS ABOUT IT AND I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS ENTIRE SEGMENT FOR FOREVER BUT I WON'T FGHFJG

get to know your author

[cerebraldischarge]

No more bullshit. No more hangovers. No more worries. No more painful memories.

No longer carrying the suffering of everyone else.

This is where we differed. Empathy is somewhat foreign territory for me. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about people, but absorbing their stuff rarely ever occurs to me. I’ll get mad on your behalf and shoot whoever upset you, but then I’ll make a goofy joke about something completely unrelated, simply because seeing you cry makes me uncomfortable. Hell, even seeing myself cry makes me feel awkward unless it’s brought on by music - which happens surprisingly often.

If I had to guess, it was empathy that got Danny into this whole thing. Yeah, he wanted to get rid of life for a long time, so there is a selfish angle to it too, but if it was just that, he wouldn’t have started a movement. He often complained to me about how hard writing is for him, and his perfectionism made it even harder. I could tell he wasn’t too educated, and made some consistent spelling mistakes, probably having learned some words wrong in childhood in the first place. An earlier version of me would’ve judged him for this and would’ve either withdrawn from him or made a point of constantly correcting him. But then I would’ve missed the fact that he was sharp as a scalpel when it came to actually thinking things through and not just regurgitating information. Probably smarter than me, in fact. He would call me while getting drunk, and give me lectures on geopolitics, which were interesting but at times went right over my head. An earlier version of me would’ve zoned out or tried to change the subject even before the juicy part started - I can just hear her going “I don’t give a damn about the bigger picture, I just want to be a grunt!” But because it became clear a long time ago that that’s not an option, I learned to let go of that single-minded focus and listen to pretty much anything that could break me out of my natural state of abject boredom.

Would an earlier version of me be mad about him leaving so abruptly, without waiting for me? I don’t know. Maybe a very early one. But I got used to losing people very fast. I did struggle with needing attention for a while, because adults would act like they lost all sense of object permanence and drop me like I didn’t exist every damn time another adult approached them - the message loud and clear: work is more important than you, and you are not my equal. I still feel a slight twinge of resentment when someone says “I have to go” mid-conversation, but then my mature brain steps in and I accept that people have their own lives, schedules, and obligations, and some little foreigner girl they barely know is going to score lower on the priority list than, say, a call from their boss or their duty to make dinner for their family. This acceptance also applies to the people who never return, for whatever reason. It applied to Allie when he got into that accident in 2009, it applies to Danny who decided he had enough - and, after the fallout of betrayal and the sunk cost fallacy had settled, it even applied to Lauren in a way. My parents are kind of a different category, because paying attention to me was their job - even when I absolutely did not want their attention, which happened more and more often as I got older.

Danny shared with me the time, information, emotional connection, and humor that he wanted to share with me. He definitely shared way more with his buddy Kevin, his aunt Amanda, and a few of his friends that I’ve never interacted with. And that’s okay. Some people would call me a psychopath for being okay with this, but why? If he had a horribly botched, painful end, or a nonconsensual one, or if he was still alive against his will, or something like that, I would feel sad about it, or angry, or guilty, or all three. I would have something pretty close to the expected, textbook grief reaction. But this way, there’s nothing to grieve.

Yes, the world lost a very gentle, smart, and all around cool guy. But would I really rather have him still around and miserable? Nah. People aren’t here to be used by us - not me, not you, not their families, not even the government. People come and go. I have understood this before my age got into the double digits. It’s inconvenient sometimes, but once I managed to cultivate some level of confidence in myself - which is not fucking easy by any means when one of your defining experiences is total rejection by an organization that you equated with life itself, mind you -, I realized I didn’t really need people to stay. I sometimes want them to, and I enjoy it if they do… and sometimes I really want them to leave me the hell alone, too. But I don’t need anyone else in that clingy, visceral, “one flesh, one mind” way that romantic relationships are characterized by. I got a taste of that with Lauren, but it was so exhausting and anxiety-inducing that honestly, I don’t want to experience it again. It’s also likely that I let her inside me to that extent because it played to my insecurities - “military spouse” was a hell of a lot more acceptable than “military reject” in my head and heart.

Danny would’ve made a great grunt, too. His body was a warrior’s. It took regular beatings from evil family members, from alcohol, and from just life in general, and still remained strong to the end. I’m somewhat grateful for that - he didn’t have to experience what my father did: not just pain, but the frustration of trying to move certain body parts and having them just flat out refuse to function. He also had the ability to be violent if necessary, such as when protecting loved ones from harm. For whatever reason, he never made the decision to do this professionally, though. An earlier version of me would have judged him for that. But that was before I realized that not everyone has the same values I do. I would have never expected to get to this point, but now I can even respect conscientious objection - at twenty, it was almost a swear word for me. And I respect, although don’t share, Danny’s belief that life itself is an inherently negative thing. (In order to share his conviction, I would need a clear understanding of the concepts of “positive” and “negative”, and I don’t have that. To me, these are entirely subjective ideas that cannot be defined in an objective manner. This is where I may depart from Rand, whose injunction is to “judge, and be prepared to be judged” - the only judgment I’m confident in making is that if a given action is performed with the informed consent of everybody involved, I cannot condemn it, but if consent is being violated at any point, that’s what I judge/define as evil. Maybe Rand would not regard this as a disagreement with her injunction, after all.)

It would’ve been nice to hang out in West Virginia together. To share a bottle of moonshine under the stars, and all that. To talk about our overbearing mothers, and the various cultural influences we carry within. To practice shooting for a few days and then shoot ourselves in a cabin in the woods. It would have been a whole bucket of fun. But it wasn’t meant to be.

Whatever is meant to be is now for me to find out.

[reyes-is-dead]

[it's been a very, very long time since I've written for any fandom, never mind Overwatch, so I wanted to repost here something I drabbled in Discord for a near and dear friend of mine.

And saying that I feel the need to preface it with a little OOC blurb as I'll be using tags for this drabble and quite frankly I'm too old and tired for the usual discourse that comes with the bullshit of a small, insignificant niche of gatekeeping jackals that yip and yap over every little mote of annoyance they snatch out of context. So to all those mangey jackals, kindly fuck off, block me and continue to circle your drain of ugly hatred and loathing elsewhere, thanks.

I withdrew from Overwatch well before all the bad shit that went down with Blizzard, Activision. I do not and will never condone the heinous and disgusting actions that were finally brought to light, and I will always support victims and witnesses to come forth and speak up and report the injustices that have been wrought upon them.

With that being said, I left the fandom long before Jesse was retcon'd and Cole overwrote the lore. I don't care who the IRL person was, nor do I care to know anything about the person that they are, insofar as they reap the consequences their actions have sown. Justice will be served. But Jesse McCree will always be Overwatch's BAMF gunslinger outlaw, and will never be any sort of IRL reflection for me. Jesse McCree will always be Gabriel Reyes' right hand man in Blackwatch and not some easily forgotten "who is this guy? he did what now? IRL? fuck that guy he doesn't deserve any sort of spotlight".

My Jesse McCree will always be my Reaper's.

Period.

I won't name swap.

I'll be keeping Jesse McCree for myself and my writing, reclaiming and claiming the name that just fits the character. There is no other Jesse McCree than Overwatch's, Blackwatch's, Deadlock's Jesse BAMF McCree.

Here's the drabble: ]

Same shit, different year. Just numbers on someone's calendar, an agenda to weasel out and squash. It's not like he'd been ignorant of the date or the significance or the value of making appearances, it's just…

…

Distracted, determined, focused. Factors that play in measuring how fleeting time really does fly by. That and he'd wanted to just avoid people at all costs this year. Especially after the heat Blackwatch brought the whole organization. Moreso than usual at least.

A quick glance to his watch and a twinge in the pit of his gut that may or may not have been some sort of guilt has him sucking it up and making his way to where everything's cheery, merry, and bright. Maybe he'll be able to snag a bottle of something on the way back to his pile of bureaucracy and bullshit.

A habitual sweep of the festivities runs a headcount of the Usual Suspects milling about, noting who's missing but shrugs it off with mental nonchalance. He does his best to nod and grin that lopsided smarminess of his when greeted, passing through with handshakes and back slaps, quick hugs an pecks to the cheeks of those closest to him.

Artfully avoiding a certain someone while building up the New Years alibi.

Seconds tick by and there's no time left, nowhere to slink off to, he's caught in every sense of the word.

"Jesse…"

Their eyes meet and the off-tone vocalized Countdown from Ten is drowned out by that cheeky grin and glint in the younger man's eyes. His own reflects the same whorl and melange of threatening emotions, sentiments unspoken in their world of shadows. And there might just be a crinkle of crows feet upturned in something more than smirking amusement, even if his stern and tired features remain masked.

But nothing matters anymore when midnight strikes, taking whatever fight or flight his brain screams at him to engage in.

Yanked, an arm settles around the outlaw's waist, a rough hand comes up to card fingers through thick unkempt hair and scruff, and in his reciprocated kiss he tastes whiskey and ash, sour and sweet and smoky.

Same shit, different year.

But at least he's not alone now.

[spirituallyyellow]

29/8/24

I am so scared that I'm pregnant that it's hard to focus on anything else.

Logically, I really don't think that I am - N and I have had plenty of sex over the last couple of months, but we've been really careful about condom use, and the only time we might have had a slight slip was probably a little more than six weeks ago. And even then, N says he is certain that nothing got into the danger zone.

Meanwhile, I am on high alert every time I experience so much as a twinge in my abdominal region. I keep praying over and over, "please don't let me be pregnant, please, it would ruin my life" and I know that sounds dramatic but it honestly feels that way.

I'm staying at my Nashville friends' house and I'm just having the strangest feelings about it all. I am really glad to be here, I feel really welcomed and it's peaceful here in a way that my parents' house never is. Like I just don't really need to worry about anything.

But then also last night while everyone was sat at the table talking, I felt so incredibly overwhelmed and I just had this horrible feeling of like, you don't belong here, you should get out, you are not wanted here, you are a piece of shit and it was genuinely for no reason whatsoever. Nobody did anything to make me feel that way. And then I felt so hot and nauseated and immediately my brain went to, you're pregnant when it was honestly probably just sitting too close to too many people in a tucked in area with lit candles, combined with my anxiety about all those other feelings.

I had a great time yesterday and last night. I met some interesting people, made a good networking connection, played fun games and laughed a lot and loudly. There was no reason for me to wake up in the middle of the night, again, wishing I was dead, again. It's just fucking dumbshit garbage.

I don't even know what I need in these moments, much less how to ask for it. It really does feel like God is just letting me suffer, even though that is in no way a reasonable or logical belief, given how many good things happened yesterday.

I saw W the other day and spent like three hours just sitting and talking. It was really nice - we just always seem to connect really naturally and easily on a deep level. It just feels so easy with him - I ended up saying way more than I intended to say, but it didn't feel like it was the wrong thing to do.

There was one moment where he was kind of leaned back in his chair and I just instantly remembered that moment all those years ago where I climbed into his lap and kissed him, but it was just for a moment and then my brain released it. It wasn't even a mutual our eyes met kind of moment - just a sudden memory.

His wife tried to kill herself last year, and it turned out to be at least partly caused by the hormone crash that happened three months after getting her Mirena removed. My Mirena finished in January, and then I tried to kill myself at the end of March. I am wondering if that's related.

If it is - if all this suffering just because of a fucking hormonal imbalance - I don't know what I'll do. That somehow feels worse because it makes me feel like none of my emotions are real, none of them are valid, it's just wOmAn PrObLeMs.

Because even if it is "just" hormonal, I still actually feel like shit right now.

Oh, I don't know. I feel like depression actively punishes me for being happy. every time something good happens and I feel happy and good, I wake up the next day feeling like I should kill myself.

This is really unsustainable.

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 3

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 3 under the cut

Chapter III:

Darkness was everywhere—damp, cold, lonely. Every few seconds or every few years, he could not tell which, he would try to escape or open his eyes only to be met with the same abyss as before. It would have been comforting if not for his mind constantly whirring in agony.

He wanted out. He wanted to see something else. He knew he was supposed to be somewhere but he had neither legs to run nor arms to crawl. He was stuck, motionless, until madness set in.

He remembered hoping it would take him soon.

Then, a light. Warmth.

The air was still cool around him but not as empty as it once was. He felt breath in him and a low thumping from deep within.

He had a body.

Arms and legs.

A heart, a brain, lungs, and…and blood.

He pushed forward, amazed that something different was happening. All the times before he had tried to accomplish movement, he had been perpetually stuck. Now, when he thought of sitting, he could sit. Weight shifted and he felt heavy but in a good way.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust and, for a long while, he could only see the light with vague shapes passing in front of it. His ears started to function before his eyes properly caught up.

“So, who is it?” A high, nasally voice asked.

He was not so sure, himself. His brain ached and, while it was a blessing to even have one again, he found it woefully empty. Who am I? He asked and waited for an answer. Nothing.

“My dear,” a new voice, coming from behind, replied. Soon after, there was a hand on his shoulder. Feeling touch was new and dearly missed though he could not recall any time he had been touched before. “It is the Xiang.”

The Xiang.

He did not know much but he knew that word. More started to come. Tiandi, Shakti, Chaaya, miasma. These were the forces that dictated the world and the Xiang was an important figure to bring balance. Was that who he was? Truly?

The figures in front of him started to clear up and vague shapes grew finer, sharper. A woman with brown hair and brown skin kneeled in front of him and looked up with a mixture of several emotions. Happiness was there, he thought, but perhaps disappointment as well?

The two blonde people standing behind her were both much harder to read. Their pale faces were like statues and their eyes, although cool and calming in color, were harsh and suspicious in expression. Perhaps they found him untrustworthy? He felt unwanted.

Unwelcome.

The owner of the hand on his shoulder came around and he caught a glimpse of their face. White skin with long black hair, tied back elegantly, and a silky smooth beard. Her eyes shined as she looked at him but her lips started to pull down.

Then the woman on the floor spoke. “I thought the Xiang was a woman? Merry or something?”

He felt a twinge of pain in his head as though things wanted to click into place and a memory wished to play but the tools for the task did not exist. He winced and looked down, taking in his body for the first time. He rested his hands on his lap and turned them, palm up. It was certainly a familiar sight but he could not place it anywhere. The depths of his mind still felt trapped in the void his body had escaped from.

“Merra,” the blonde male responded. He had a deep voice and it felt as cold as the stone floor.

“Ah, right. Merra.”

“She is a Xiang but there was one before her,” the bearded woman said, “You never met him because he did not make it to Enlil before they killed him. And, to keep things contained, you were not told of him and Merra was made to look like she had been Xiang the entire time.”

“Who killed him?” the blonde woman asked. Like her fellow blonde, her voice was rather deep and sharp.

Judging by what they wore, it was safe to guess they were guards, possibly of the royal variety considering the fact the two women in dresses looked quite regal and important.

“His own heavenly father,” the closest woman finally answered and her hand tightened on his shoulder. “They deemed him unworthy and they killed him. But, with the help of my partner and a year of planning, he is back.”

“He has Xiang abilities then?” the woman from the floor stood as she asked. She brushed off the front of her dress, caked white from the dust residue.

“Should.”

They all stared at him, as if expecting something. He tried to ask “what?” but all that came out was a croaked sound. A frown settled on his face as he tried again but nothing happened.

“He seems as dumb as the rest of them,” the blonde man said and crossed his arms, “Are you sure this one is different?”

“Is this the adjustment period?” the slightly dusty woman asked.

They turned their attention from him to the bearded woman. She sighed and then nodded. “It might be hard for him to speak for a while but I can at least gauge his state of mind.”

Just as she said it, she was in his face, blocking much of the light. She did look familiar but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not conjure up any memory of her.

“Pangu,” she said, directly at him. When all he did was blink and stare, her brows furrowed. “Pangu?”

“What is wrong?”

“He…” she visibly gulped and then grabbed both of his shoulders. “Pangu, do you remember who I am?”

He shook his head.

“Do you recognize the name Pangu?”

Again, he shook his head.

“What of Heidi? Raine? Kira? Baiya?”

After each, he shook his head. Even if his mind prickled and pinched at each name, he still had nothing.

“He has amnesia?” the female guard asked.

“It is common, especially after being dead for as long as he was,” the bearded woman said with a sigh, “I had hoped that my presence would spark something in him—that and keeping his body well preserved. It was supposed to keep the brain from deteriorating but it seems there is a disconnect with his soul. It is in there. I can sense it. But it isn’t…attaching.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” The tan woman, still a little dusty, stepped even closer. “Will he not be able to help me?”

“Adjustment period, your highness,” she reminded her, “In time he should be able to remember certain things. At least, he should be able to get reacquainted with his powers; which is all you need, right?”

So she was the royal, he confirmed as he looked at her. Aside from the mess on the front of her dress, she did exude the proper air. Her way of speaking was blunt and jagged but that could have merely been due to her company.

“So what do we do?” the female guard asked and walked over, next to the princess.

“Yes, Parvati, what should we do?” The royal woman looked to the bearded one.

The name Parvati also stirred something in him but he could have already guessed, based on how she spoke, that they should know one another. It was just nice to have a name and a face even if there was no feeling or memory attached.

“You keep him here and try to jog his memory. He is yours to do with as you please, after all.”

“True…” she hummed and then looked directly at him. With an aggressive finger, she poked him in a few key places and, as she did so, a grin started to pull at her lips. “He is in much better condition than the others. I can’t discredit that.”

“There are no parts hanging off…” the male guard muttered.

He immediately looked back down to his hands as if he would suddenly see a missing finger or rotting gash. Knowing that he was in a dead body was strange—he did not feel very dead but he knew he had been stirred from the void so it did make sense. He just wished he could remember what happened before there was nothing but darkness.

“There were only hanging appendages once,” the princess remarked with a roll of her eyes. She poked him a few more times and then held his face between her hands, squeezing. “Memory loss aside, this is pretty perfect. I should thank you, Parvati.”

“You should,” Parvati quickly agreed with a chuckle.

In a flash, the princess was in the woman’s arms, hugging her tightly. Her feet kicked up from the floor and even a few, small cracks were heard as her back popped. They both laughed and then parted.

“Thank you,” she finally said and walked back to the blonde woman’s side. “So, other than you, I guess Pangu does not know who any of us are.”

“He does not remember me,” Parvati said and then turned toward him, “So this is like our first time meeting. Pangu, I am Parvati…specifically, Sha-Parvati and we did not know one another for long but you did not strike me down when you had the chance. I felt a debt needed to be repaid so…here you are, back from the dead.”

“My turn,” the princess practically shoved her out of the way. She tucked back some of her brown hair behind her ear. “I am the princess of Enlil, Kim May Silla. These are my most trusted personal guards, Kim Fujin Don and Kim Kaz Don—no relation to me despite the family name.”

“I think he could figure that out by looking at us,” Kaz, the male guard, commented with a short look to the princess.

It was true that Pangu could have pieced it together on his own. Even if his memory was gone, he still had some reasoning skills. He was fairly certain anyway. He was familiar with the name Enlil and he knew it was a country—a place seeped in wind resonance in the south east of the continent. Above it was Kyrie, to the west was Terra and even farther west was Agni.

Not everything was gone.

“No need for sarcasm you human flask of medicine,” May grumbled, shoved him in the arm, and then turned back to Pangu. “Anyway, I brought you to life again so you can help me. My own family’s remains were used in the ritual so you have to do as I say but I will try not to be a terrible master.”

The spark in her eye as she spoke made Pangu nervous. He did not know what she would force him to do but he also did not know what he liked or what he did not like. Maybe she would not cross any boundaries.

“We will ensure that you are well taken care of,” Fujin assured him with the first smile he had seen from her.

“Does it even matter?” Kaz asked and gestured to Pangu. “He has no memory, he is technically dead. Does he have feelings or anything?”

All eyes went back to Parvati, the authority on the matter. She wrung her hands together and kept glancing to Pangu, unsure. “I…possibly? He should, so long as his soul settles back into place. Until then, he might seem distant or emotionless. But, again, with some time, everything should come together.”

“I trust you,” May stated but her eyes were fixed and firm. She would not easily forgive Parvati if she turned out to be incorrect.

It almost made Pangu want to be livelier, just for her sake. But he still could not talk. Another grumbled, half sigh of words came out but it sounded nothing like what he intended.

“He still cannot speak…” Parvati noted, disheartened.

“Maybe he will feel better in the morning?” Fujin offered, not sounding sure in the slightest. It was really just an effort to relax May.

The princess shrugged and threw her hands up into the air. “We can hope. I will be checking on him first thing.”

“You are not leaving him down here…are you?” Parvati asked and set her hand back on his shoulder.

“No, of course not.” May rolled her eyes all the way back into her head, flashing only white for a moment. “He will be staying in Kaz’s room.”

“What?!” The man shouted.

“Your room,” she repeated calmly. “No one will ever look in there. Ever. It is the best place.”

Kaz’s jaw set and slowly moved to the side as he clearly fought for what to say. “You want me…to keep a corpse in my room?”

“He is not rotting,” Parvati cut in.

“Come on, you need a friend anyway,” May stated with a laugh.

Even Fujin hid a smile behind her hand but Kaz looked as though he could chew through leather. Pangu felt even more unwelcome but he would have to stay wherever May said. The way he understood it, he would be forced to comply if it came down to it.

[acid-ixx]

my belief of your love exists after you looked at me (1) inspired by @myuni-moon and so many more content creators who made sagau <3. Tw: religious beliefs, cult-like behavior, this is a short draft that i wanted to share.

(part 2)

They say eyes are the window to your soul.

When worried, one could always look into those orbs, swimming, filled to the brim with emotions that claw deep into abysmal depths. They portray of love, of resentment, of curiosity- those eyes could bestow you fear, paralyze you.

Even allure you as swarms of whispers have gossiped desires, painting a blank slate of a canvas to that of one's fantasy. Fantasies that hid veils upon veils of bloodshed behind vivacious colors.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Love graces you, like rain; it pours and fills, whilst fortunate for those who seek to be refreshed of sins and wrongdoings. The heavy stream slowly overfills the cup of a brain, it strikes you mercilessly, endlessly even, 'til the dam cracks and breaks. You're left with floods of dirt, grime- finally one's true intensions; exposed and stripped to their very being.

Maybe that is why I've loved You since I set my sight upon Your body. I've sold myself to You, to feel a twinge of intimacy once Your eyes lays only upon me. I love You, my Divine God. I shan't dare sully Your honorable name, for you have bestowed me of my will to live.

A god above Gods, the creator of Tevyat, an everlasting life-source. They've existed for thousands of years, the time they took, was the time they spent to create Tevyat, to bless immortality upon the Archons. Your very presence, to say the least, was ephemeral. It united the seven nations. But only those worthy have met you.

Rex lapis praised you, prayed for you, stood near your Divine presence with the utmost loyalty. Kissing the air you breathed as you passed by him. Offering his once frigid heart, now warm upon your sun-like contact, it melted the barriers, he felt those welcoming hands of yours that cared for Liyue, for the nations, for the Archons, the people, for Tevyat overall.

Must he be so lucky?

A God so merciful taught him love, saved him from the thin strings of death every time, as he lived another life with Your grace, as it taunted his mind of sins, drowning him in the embers of hell. But You, You who have saved him, You gave more, and he took. It's only logical to return the favor. His offerings; were they enough to serve you? The nation, Liyue, one he grew with pride; did the people praise you enough as he did to you?

Knelt upon the tiled floor was the Geo Archon, as he prayed near your shine. A shrine he created, purely for you. Hopefully, he wished, you'd be pleased with his presents. Hopefully, he needed, that it's worthy for you, as you allow him to kiss the soles of your feet. Dirt; that was him, as opposed to you. No one could outmatch you, they'd be greeted with death at their doorsteps. Not a measly life, even an Archon's, is important. At least, he knew, even as he's useless once he can't satisfy you- is that he, amongst every Archon, praised you most. He lived the longest, as that to his advantage to praise you the longest. How would one compete?

[ynscrazylife]

Can I please please request one where Natasha and Yelena have another younger sister (Y/N) and she gets badly injured and her older sisters are hysterical since they’re afraid to lose one they love the most

A Race Against Time | romanoff fam fic

Summary: Natasha and Yelena do their best to help their hurt younger sister.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/twitalents

“Everybody alright?” Natasha asked as Alexei and Melina approached her and Yelena. The redhead herself definitely hadn’t gotten out of the whole ordeal without injuries. In fact, from Dreykov punching her to the fight against the Widows, and the fight against Antonia (not to mention the injuries from the past few days that she hadn’t taken care of), she was in some pain. However she didn’t worry about herself, she knew she’d be fine. She always was.

Natasha glanced over and spotted Y/N making her way over to them, too. From the distance, Natasha couldn’t tell that she was limping and was very hurt.

“I am clearly injured,” Melina deadpanned, causing Natasha to look back over and send her adoptive mother a smile as an apology. With a quick glance, Natasha could tell that she’d be okay, she’d just need a cast on that ankle and-

Thump.

The sound, accompanied by Yelena’s loud gasp and yelp, broke through Natasha’s thoughts and caused her to whip around suddenly. The sight her eyes landed on instantly sent what felt like an ice shard plunging into her chest. No. No.

By the time she snapped out of it, Yelena was already by Y/N’s unconscious figure, which the thump must have been - her plummeting to the ground - and Alexei was helping Melina over as fast as he could. Natasha sped past them and dropped to her knees, her brain wired to already be processing the situation and formulating a plan, while she lightly stopped Yelena’s wrist to prevent her from going to shake Y/N.

“You don’t move someone who is unconscious unless necessary - it could injure them,” she breathed out. Yelena, who could see that her older sister was in autopilot mode, sat back and let her do her thing, opting to look up at her parents, instead.

Both their eyes were glued to Y/N. Alexei’s eyebrows crinkled and, after taking a big breath, muttered (just loud enough for them to hear), “There’s blood on you.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped down and sure enough, her knees were bloodied. She quickly looked up only to see blood beginning to come from Y/N’s stomach where she had fallen on her side. Closing her eyes for a moment to allow herself to think, Natasha carefully and gently pulled up Y/N’s shirt, only to see an open gash in the shape of the Widow hourglass.

“Wha-?” She said, barely forming a word, and Yelena leaned over to see.

She immediately began shaking her head and pushed Y/N onto her back. “I-I know what this is, I think. I remember hearing about a weapon that’d leave that mark,” she rambled out.

Melina peered over Natasha’s shoulder and when she saw it, her face went pale. “That-that weapon, it ejects a blast that makes that mark when it meets the skin. It was made as a precaution in case any of the Widows went rogue - it was made years ago. But only a few were made because they were so confident in themselves. It-it goes along with a process they constructed to re-brainwash the Widows. The blast gets under her skin, in her body, with a chemical that’s in it, and that chemical starts the brainwashing process,” she explained.

A park of hope entered Yelena’s eyes. “So she won’t be fully brainwashed?” She asked.

“Not without the rest of the procedure,” Melina began, but then her eyes widened when she remembered something and horror quickly flashed across her face. “But if the process isn’t completed within a certain time period, the chemical will wear off its brainwashing effects and instead will start hurting her . . . A lot . . . But I have an antidote-” her tone sped up now, “-It’s back at the house. We need to get her there.”

Natasha and Yelena nodded, both having gone through a great wave of emotions throughout Melina’s words. Yelena, while racked with worry, still remained hopeful, and Natasha did her best to be, too, but her tears were drying and she was sniffling.

“The jet is-” Alexei began to say, when the sound of the engines of cars rapidly approaching cut him off.

Natasha looked over. “Shit, Ross,” she said, regretting even tipping him off to their location in the first place.

Melina bit her lip. “You girls go. Take Y/N home. The antidote is labelled ‘Ant-Widow,’,” she told them firmly.

Yelena’s lips parted to protest, not wanting to split up, but catching Natasha picking up Y/N out of the corner of her eye stopped her. She nodded, rising to her feet.

“We’ll distract them. They won’t want anything to do with us when they realize you’re not here,” Melina insisted.

Natasha sent her a look that she could only hope was conveying everything she wanted it to. A million thoughts whizzed about in her mind, none making room for each other. She wondered, would they leave them alone? Or would they be taken into questioning? Shouldn’t she be the one facing Ross - since she called him there? Is Y/N going to be okay? Will they get there in time?

By the way Melina looked back at her, Natasha thought that her message had been received. There was no time to go over the plan any longer, if they stayed even a couple more seconds they’d get caught by Ross, whose army of cars headed to a halt.

Natasha bolted off in the jet’s direction, Yelena quick on her heels. They rushed inside and Natasha took her time to gently put Y/N down before going to the pilot seat. Yelena sat down in the back, wanting to watch over their little sister.

Neither of them said anything until Natasha had gotten them off the ground and away from the field. Yelena could hear the engine whirring and she knew that Natasha was going as fast as this aircraft could probably go.

“Natasha,” she said, her voice small and hesitant, reminding Natasha of her own self when she was younger. The redhead braced herself for her sister’s words. “Do you think we’ll get there in time?”

Natasha let out a slow yet steady breath, fighting back the urge to tell her not to say that. She wondered the same thing, and she hated it. She didn’t answer, though, because she didn’t want to lie. She didn’t know herself, and she also hated that.

Yelena looked down in defeat when she didn’t get an answer and continued watching Y/N. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying and when she spotted the other injuries — bruises, cuts, scrapes — littering her body, she got up and went to the back.

The blonde grabbed the med kit they had stored and went back, quickly opening it up and getting everything she needed. First, bandages. Yelena put pressure on the wound even though she knew it wouldn’t bleed out, and a twinge of guilt hit her when Y/N moved and groaned unconsciously.

She then wrapped up Y/N’s stomach and tended to her other injures, every so often glancing at Natasha, who she could see by the way she was sitting up straight that she was tense. Upset. Worried. Yelena had to admit she was feeling those same things but busied herself by taking care of Y/N.

This carried on and they were about ¾ there when everything shifted. Y/N, who had been mostly quiet throughout the journey, suddenly rolled onto her side, eyes opening with a startled gasp.

Natasha frantically looked up at Yelena and the latter jumped to resolve the situation. Gently, she put her hands on her younger sister’s shoulders and tried to turn her onto her back, but Y/N fought her off and scurried back, against the wall.

“Y/N,” Yelena said, slowly putting her hands up in a “surrender” gesture.

The younger one shook her head as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “It-it hurts,” she got out, wrapping her arms around herself.

Yelena sent Natasha a frightened, desperate look and the glint in Natasha’s eyes held tears in them. “I can’t go any faster!” She cried out in frustration, her anger at her helplessness beginning to grow.

Yelena turned back to Y/N. “Take deep breaths with me, okay?” She said, and took a couple deep breaths to show her. It took Y/N a second, but she followed along. However, the pain didn’t take a break for long, and quickly came crashing back to her, like a magnet.

She let out another cry, but this one filled with that much more anguish, desperation, a pure rage from wanting it to be over, a rage that nearly caused her to vomit. Y/N leaned forward, hoping that there was something - anything - that could relieve this pain for even just a second. The warmth she was soon filled with from her older sister’s arms wrapping around her and pulling her close did nothing to soothe pain, but she found someone to have a steady grip on, someone to hold.

This continued on. In every cry let out, Yelena could’ve sworn each one was louder than the last. She didn’t know what to do so she did the only thing she could and stayed there. After  a particularly loud cry from Y/N, Yelena couldn’t stop a “Natasha!” from escaping.

“I’m trying!” She shouted over the engine and over Y/N, doing her best to blink away the tears and focus, but everytime she was on the brink of it, something tore her away.

After what felt like what could only be described as eons, Natasha managed to touch down in the same spot she had just a day ago. The moment they made contact, she leapt out of her seat, nearly tumbling to the floor, and practically fell against the door.

“Stay with her,” was all she said to Yelena before pushing all her weight against the door and breaking off into a run towards the house.

Natasha had run fast before. To escape Antonia, on countless SHIELD missions, and even to beat Sam in a race, but none amounted to this. The mountains and trees whipped by so fast that she felt like she was in a race car and it made her head spin. Nonetheless (and she thanked her extensive training for that), Natasha’s stamina held out and she ran through the house, tripping over things and knocking others over, until she reached Melina’s office.

At first, everything looked like a normal office space for a normal business woman, but the underlying science and spy secrecy that she knew had to be inside was revealed. Cabinets upon cabinets filled with vials upon vilas and files upon files. She scoured the entire room and nearly dropped the green-filled file when she saw its label. This was it.

A moment of victory passed until Natasha remembered the weight of the situation and she got back on her feet, running like the wind, and leaving behind the office looking like some raccoons had gotten inside.

By the time she reached the top of the hill, Natasha could make out the outline of Yelena carrying Y/N (who was draped over her like a curtain, by the way) toward her.

They met in the middle and Yelena put Y/N down, the older sisters kneeling beside her. Y/N was half-conscious at this point and Natasha moved at the speed of light to get the vial lid off. “She was getting worse, I couldn’t wait!” Yelena yelled.

When she got it open, Natasha pushed it towards Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, honey, c’mon, you gotta drink,” she encouraged, hand trembling as Y/N attempted to fight her off. It was only Yelena running her hands through her hair that calmed her down, and she took a small sip of the vial’s contents at first before gulping it down.

When she stopped squirming and seemed to no longer be in pain, instead falling into a peaceful sleep, that’s when both Natasha and Yelena had calmed down. It had been a rollercoaster, but they did it, and she was okay. The two held each other, relieved.  

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