my writing i guess kinda

do you ever think a lot about how shiro and allura have adopted four kids and two of them are keith and lance

  • allura had a big part in them getting together, because both of these boys would come to her for advice and confess to her and she would use this info for Evil
    • lance: “what do you think keith would like for a present? just something small not too obvious you know? like a chill present. like a bro present.”
    • allura: “a little bird may have told me keith has a passing interest in agmalias” (flowers)
      • keith, twenty minutes earlier: “holy shit allura these flowers are the same color as lance’s eyes i’m losing my mind?? look at them??? I love this boy oh wow.”
  • shiro loves the two boys to death but good lord they need to work on their pda
    • he’ll round a corner in the castle and there’s keith and lance, making out on the floor.
    • shiro: “guys, really? out here?”
    • lance tears himself away, smiling like an evil little imp. “well we already ruined your bed so…”
    • shiro just wants sleep. Help him. 
  • keith and lance’ll get into competitions and get intense super quick and usually end up breaking something.
    • shiro: “allura, your kids punctured the thermal oscillator again.”
    • allura: “how come when they wreck something they’re “my kids” but when lance makes a fancy shot he’s “your son””
    • shiro’s already running away  “I don’t make the rules sorry love you bye”
      • allura also just assumes that shiro’s talking about keith and lance
  • whenever the boys want to take a pod to go on a date (lions are too conspicuous) they always ask allura first
    • lance and keith pass by shiro’s door, giggling and arm in arm, and shiro’s Shenanigans radar pings
    • shiro: “boys? where are you going this late?”
    • lance: “allura said we could take a pod. keith’s taking me to a meteor shower. we’re probably gonna make out and it’s gonna be super hot.”
    • keith: “lance”
    • shiro is just. Tired. “did anyone think to ask me? we have training. what if I say it isn’t okay?”
    • keith and lance stare at him blankly, not computing: “no it’s fine if you don’t want us to go, allura said it was okay.”

Draco was tired of waiting.

He came to the conclusion that waiting was the biggest waste one could do with their life.

And he had wasted a lot of his life already.

He had waited for his father to acknowledge him, to show him he was proud of his son.

He had waited for his mother to stand up to his father, whenever he had talked her down, whenever he had treated her like less than his wife.

He had waited for his friends to come to his rescue when he had needed them most, to save him from himself.

And he had waited for the stupid prat to notice him. Really notice him. To look beyond the petty insults and his sneering.

For years Draco had been waiting.

He had waited in vain. But not anymore.

Draco was sick of waiting.

What had he even waited for? For him to come to the right conclusion, when Draco hid his true intentions so well? For him to realise what was really going on?

He probably would have to wait forever.

No. He would have to take matters into his own hands. And whyever should he not?

Yes, it was time to act.

Draco focused on the mop of black hair across the Great Hall.

He was sick of waiting.

He got up, marched over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed Potter by his robes. Without waiting for his reaction, Draco started dragging him out of his seat.

There was a yelp and shouts of protest, but Draco didn’t care.

He was so sick of waiting.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Potter shouted, shoving at Draco’s hands.

Draco ignored him and dragged him out of the Great Hall.

He could hear Weasley and Granger shout something at him. He heard footsteps behind him, indicating that several people were following him. Potter was still trying to get out of his grip.

Draco had wanted to find a more secluded place to do what he wanted to do next, but when the shouts behind him only got louder, he turned around and glared at them.

“You want to watch? FINE! I don’t even care anymore!”

He tightened his grip on Potter’s robes as he pulled him towards him forcefully.

Because he was so tired of waiting.

His mouth crashed with Potter’s and suddenly everything went silent.

Draco had thought it would be rougher, that Potter would try to fight him more. Apparently he was just shocked. He stiffened as Draco moved his lips against the other boy’s. He buried his hands in his hair like he had dreamed of so many times.

He had waited for this so long. This was it.

Or was it?

Draco suddenly noticed Potter moving and braced himself to be pushed away at any second. Instead, tentative fingers curled around his hips to pull him closer.

Draco was sure there were gasps and murmuring, but he didn’t hear any of it.

His whole mind, his whole body was so consumed by Potter. Potter, who was kissing him back.

Yes. This was what he had been waiting for all this time.

If only he had stopped waiting sooner.


aka, the terrible streamer au where Lance is an overwatch streamer who thinks he is the bestestest widow and one day there is this one Hanzo named Keith on the other team who keeps picking him off early in game and bc of that Lance gets demoted.

The chat ships them, Lance hates him.

smother (slight langst)

In which, in the end, Lance will always choose someone over himself.


A strained smile on his face, Lance lets out a low laugh, the small sound echoing around the dimly lit chambers of the lion. It was quiet, too quiet, with only the sound of his breathing and the fizzing of his teammates’ holograms filling the air.

From his seat in a badly beaten Blue, he can see Shiro’s dark eyes wide with sheer disbelief, pale lips repeating, how, how, how, over and over again as if it’s the only word he knows how to say. Hunk, to the right of their leader’s screen, pants desperately, blood and vomit dribbling down his chin. Dazed and confused with no comprehension that they had gotten beat. Badly. Pidge’s connection is fuzzy and laggy, tears staining their cheeks as they dive deep into their console, scrambling for a fix between red and blue wires.

And Keith. A black, blank screen, nothing from his lion, the lion that was drifting in the middle of space: offline and down for the count. Lance urges Blue on, to close the gap of space between her and Red so they both can find out just what happened to the pilot inside.

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Imagine Keith telling a straight Shiro he was gay. Shiro jokingly asks if Keith has a crush on him and is shocked when Keith hesitatingly admits that he does.

A couple of days later, after much contemplation on Shiro’s part… He decided to give Keith a chance. He was Shiro’s closest friend and he liked Keith a lot so maybe Shiro could learn to love him..?

Imagine Keith savoring every moment with Shiro, thinking that one day Shiro would leave him when he finally realizes that this was just a phase.

Imagine Shiro doing his best to make Keith believe otherwise because Shiro had learned to truly love Keith regardless of his gender.

The photoshoot

Inspired by these beautiful and hot hot pictures ;)

Draco had no idea what had possessed him to say yes to the photoshoot. The editor of Witch Weekly had practically begged him. She had been over the moon that famous Harry Potter had agreed to a very personal photo series and the editor wanted the best photographer for this. So naturally, she had come to Draco. 

“I want the Chosen One as we’ve never seen him before. I want sultry, I want sassy, I want steamy, I want sex!” she had practically screamed at him.
 He had been reluctant at first. He had no desire to be anywhere near his former arch-nemesis. But this was a great opportunity.

So here they were, in Draco’s studio, Potter in his old Gryffindor uniform. It clung to his body more tightly than Draco remembered. The prat had filled out quite a bit.

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anonymous asked:

Imagine someone at a live show or in public or something insulting them, but then starts specifically insulting aring and danny's face goes from his normal jovial/kinda like a happy puppy expression to just unamused, glaring disdain and contempt for that person and no one has seen that expression on him before and it somehow shuts up an entire crowd

“I mean, you all kind of have trouble with games,” the kid’s voice rang out. The rest of the audience laughs, and Arin’s laugh was prominent among the crowd. The mood was light and joking.

“But especially Arin,” the kid continues, shifting. “Like, c’mon, man. What’s your problem? Can’t you go through a tutorial, at least?”

There’s still laughter, but it’s noticeably quieter. Arin is still smiling, though. He opens his mouth to respond, but the kid keeps going.

“Not just that, you don’t listen to us, either! Like, I really love your channel, but it’s kinda hard to watch! Do you even care about the fans’ opinions?”

There’s no laughter now, and Arin’s smile is gone. Danny shifts, barely noticeable. His hand rests on Arin’s shoulder. Suzy interjects.

“Hey, c’mon, that’s not–”

“And then you pretend like you know everything!” the kid went on, ignoring Suzy. “You pretend you’re a genius, but you actually don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! I mean, you didn’t even finish high school–”

“That’s enough.” Danny’s voice is low in the mic, but the kid stops. The entire crowd flinches at Danny’s tone. None of them had ever heard him speak like this before. “Shut up. You’ve made your point. Sit down.”

The kid frowned, ignoring the stares of the rest of the audience. Arin’s eyes flick to Danny briefly, a crease between his eyes. The kid tries again.

“But Dan, he’s–”

“I said sit down!” Danny cries, sitting bolt upright. His hand on Arin’s shoulder tightens, and Brian looks at Danny. His face is impassive, but alert.

“Don’t ever say shit like that about Arin. He’s only done good shit from day one. Good shit for me, for his friends, and for people like you.”

Arin looks at Danny, and the crowd doesn’t hear him whisper, “Dan, it’s okay–”

“It’s not okay,” Danny fumes, looking from Arin to the kid again. “I won’t sit here and listen to people say these things about you. You’re funny, and kind, and smart, and, and–”

The kid slowly sits, and the rest of the crowd seems frozen, not knowing how to react. None of them have seen Danny angry before.

Oddly enough, it’s Ross that interjects calmly. “We’re closing the panel now. Thank you all for coming; have a great rest of the day.”

No one makes a sound as the Gru//mps file offstage, all still too stunned to move.

The second they’re in private, Danny whips around and throws his arms around Arin. His anger is gone; he’s just upset.

Arin pats him gently, hugging him back. “Thanks, Dan. You okay?”

“Yeah. I just…”

Arin smiles, and winks at Suzy, who immediately relaxes. “I know, buddy. I know.”

i’m still getting folie vibes from this album and i’m loving it

Headcanon: Otabek, like Victor, has a Thing for seeing his boyfriend in his clothes, and ever since Barcelona he has been quietly buying things with animal prints and cats on them and wearing them around just so that they’ll be soft and well-worn and full of his scent if he ever gets around to telling Yura how he feels. Said confession takes another two Grands Prix, impatient nudging from his fellow skaters, and a truly staggering amount of clear-in-hindsight flirting, but when they do start dating Yuri goes for those clothes first thing, unabashedly pulling them straight from Otabek’s closet into his suitcase (he doesn’t wear a single one of the shirts he brought that first visit). Otabek would congratulate himself on his foresight except that Yuri steals and wears the rest of Otabek’s clothes as well. Anything goes. Team Kazakhstan sweats, Otabek’s leather jacket, the suspenders from his last juniors free skate (“I thought we agreed those were a mistake,” Otabek says. “Nothing is a mistake on me,” Yuri replies, snapping a strap against his chest, and Otabek has to agree), pants from before Otabek’s growth spurt (so comically short on Yuri’s newly lengthened legs that they could pass for capris but so tight and form-fitting on Yuri’s ass that Beka can barely fucking breathe). Yuri would build a nest out of Beka’s clothes and sleep in it if he didn’t have the real thing to cuddle into every night; he does, sometimes, when they’re separated by competitions or obligations or training. He never apologizes for strewing the bed with half the contents of their wardrobes. Beka’s usually kissing him too hard to care.

Yuri ends up taller and thinner than Otabek, so Otabek usually doesn’t borrow things from Yuri. But he finds out that the clothes thing goes both ways when he’s picking up their bedroom and finds himself holding one of Yura’s leopard-print tops that’s always loose on him, sliding off his collarbones, exposing a pale shoulder. He rubs the silky fabric and considers. Something cotton or polyester would probably be better, have a little more give in its fabric. Or he could try one of the big, fluffy hoodies that Yuri is addicted to, curling up in them on rainy days. But he feels the sensual caress of the material and wonders…

Yuri comes home early to find Otabek in his shirt, stretched tight across his chest, shoulder muscles flexing as he pulls it down his body, a strip of tan skin flashing between the hem and the waistband of his pants. Beka freezes. 

“Um,” he says. Yuri drops his skate gear.

“I promise I didn’t tear it,” Otabek says, holding up his hands. The hemline inches back up his abdomen. “It’s just that there was just enough room to get it on and now I can’t get my arms to go back through and-”

“Shut up,” Yuri breathes and lunges

The shirt does not manage to survive. The pants do, but only just.


 Power always comes with a price.

 Her gift was unique, unparalleled, feared. The castle respected her out of that fear.

 Uncontrollable at first, but when controlled something even greater. She learned out of necessity, and was constantly told that if she ever lost that control, everything would be destroyed.

 Control became a very important thing for her to have. Over others, and herself.

 The castle grew to use her a public figurehead; strong, powerful, but never quite herself. Lonely.

 Had the Alteans realized this, perhaps the race could have survived.

 Instead, her loneliness turned into bitterness, which spread through her like an infection. Yet she never lashed out, did what she was told, and remained as a figurehead.

 She hated it. Bitterness that was sweetened by the thoughts of revenge, overruling, and to let her power loose for the first time in years.

 Imagine when a Galra, not an Altean, noticed her loneliness and offered a hand. How detached she truly was from her own race to have someone else present her a chance at life.

 How foolish.

 The Galra boy was ambitious, respected, young, naive. It didn’t take long for her to manipulate his previously ambitious thoughts into something that resembled her own darkened desires. She fed him ideas, power, thoughts of leadership and total rule.

 It would all begin with the annihilation of the Altean race. The base cause of her misery, her pain, her loneliness, how eshe ended up like this.

 Zarkon did not fight this. In fact, he relished the thought of finally beating his superior, Alfor. In his feverish, controlled mind, it was all still a competition, a game, a way of showing who was better.

 It wasn’t until that he saw Alfor’s horrified face that day, when Zarkon went to go slay the older man, that he realized what he had done.

 Thousands of lives lost. The burning bodies that littered the once- pristine castle grounds, and the belated horror and disbelief on Alfor’s face that his once- trustable Black Paladin had turned into a monster.

 Zarkon could not live with this idea, but Haggar pushed his mind. Think, she commanded. It can all end if you just destroy them all. Don’t you trust me?

 His bayard sinks deep into Alfor’s chest.

 Later, when Haggar found Zarkon weeping in a corner, she consoled him. Told him that it was the bravest and most noble thing he had ever done. Zarkon’s pain furthered her control of him, as she promised him unlimited power through quintessence, opening up laboratories for her experiments.

 After eons of controlling her power, she let it loose. Energy so strong it enough to power up their own castle, enough energy to transform the once- noble Galra soldier into a monster everyone knew to fear and hate.

 Throughout the years, Haggar stood by his side. For ten thousand years, she manipulated him and fueled him, turning him into the perfect battle machine. Zarkon no longer felt the emotions that had tied him down so long ago, and proceeded on total domination of the universe he had been promised.

 His conscience was wavered when he saw the Black Lion for the first time in those ten thousand years. Something that was reawakened after being sealed away for so long, resurfacing into an ugly obsession to get what was his back.

 Haggar feared Voltron. Despite spending all these years on perfecting her RoboBeasts, they were still no match for Voltron’s true power. When it was re-formed, she set out to destroy it as soon as possible. Yet her haste led to the Voltron team becoming even stronger, and when she finally noticed on how intent Zarkon was on recapturing the last thing he knew of his past, she realized.

 Zarkon had not been controlled- he had been manipulated, yes, but her power fuelled his feverish desire. He wanted Voltron back because it was his last chance at finding a true family.

 In all their time together, Haggar had never listened to his wishes, only used him as her figurehead. Just like the Alteans had done to her.

 Perhaps that was why she stepped down a bit, and let Zarkon’s mind go. Perhaps that was why she took his orders, realizing that they were equals, and let herself follow his ideals and his goal of capturing his lion. She chose to let him lead for the first time since his reign, and it made him happy.

 Did she learn to regret her decision after he died following those ambitions?

 Power came with a price. Her payment of ten thousand years of control was losing the one that had taken the time to understand her.

She sees history repeat itself. A lost Paladin this time, being offered a second chance in the Galran ranks. To be loved. To be appreciated. To be known.

 To never be lonely again.

 But Haggar also knows what happens to the misguided, the desperate, the learned malevolence that corrupts the soul. Her reluctance shows when the Prince comes to her, excited over his finding of the paladin, and the potential use they could make of him.

 Haggar’s power came with a price, and her price had yet to be fully paid.

Have some haggar back story u fuckin nerds


Working desk job means exactly this: apartment, tube, workplace, tube, apartment. It’s hard to find sunlight anymore, but he doesn’t think he minds: maybe he’s already used to this. It’s been longer than he cares to remember. 

He spends about two hours a day on the tube - not much compared to the amount of time he spends in his booth at work, but he doesn’t really register those eight hours. It’s like his mind switches itself off the moment he arrives to work and leaves him running on muscle memory alone. Time operates the same way when he’s at home, so by now maybe he’s only really conscious during the two hours on the tube. 


Sometimes he stays back on the tube past his stop. Sometimes until it reaches the end of the line. Sometimes he takes the tube with the intention of going somewhere specific, but then just sits there as his destination flies past him into the dark tunnel he’s just passed. Sometimes he goes down into the stop, just to hear the quiet again. 

Sometimes he sees maintenance doors somewhere in the tunnels, and for no reason he keeps their locations in mind. 


Sometimes the tube takes a turn that he doesn’t recognize, and he feels his heart beating faster all of a sudden. He would stare at the railway through the window pane, counting the seconds, until the tube runs past a corner he knows, or until he reaches his destination. Those moments still happen to him after two years of taking the tube to go… anywhere, really. He thinks he has the whole map learned by heart by now, but the underground keeps proving him wrong. 


There’s a community online for tube dwellers. He doesn’t know any of the dozen of members, online or offline, but he has come by some of them on other forums before. They don’t seem to be of any particular profile: there are men, there are women, ranged from 20 to maybe older than 50. The posts are few and far between, but some of them detail everything reachable by the tube. There are things even he doesn’t know. 

He screenshots some of the posts and keeps the photos in a separate folder, for no particular reason. 

The community hasn’t had a new activity for about three months by now. The members call themselves Rats. He checks through some of their personal pages on that site; the ones he checks have all been abandoned. 

Maybe they’re tired of the lack of sunlight in the tube, he thinks on the way to work. The tube sways and trembles quietly, its hum fills the air. Humans aren’t made for the underground afterall. 

concept of something vaguely formed in my head. I call it Rats of Spice City. 

uncommon alliances: part zero

summary: a prequel to “uncommon alliances”. a look into the relationships between the younger twin weasleys, harry and ginny, hermione and ron, and the trio of pureblood slytherin girls that take a chance on a gryffindor.

word count: ~5800

a/n: okay i told everyone i would post this so here it is. the prequel, nearly 6000 words worth of… is this a character study? relationship study? idk man i just had fun writing this. keep in mind most of this was written before the actual “uncommon alliances”. it’s pretty much just snapshots of scenes between the reader and her old and new friends alike, as well as a teeny bit of foreshadowing to her relationship with draco. (if ppl want, i’ll probably write more weasley!reader x draco) it’s okay if you don’t read it (it’s so dreadfully long), i pretty much just posted it for myself because it made me happy to write. thanks for reading and supporting!

part one

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The facade of unerring confidence Cassian had shown the others had slipped from him in the quiet of the cockpit. He played over the plan in his mind and could not stop the pragmatist inside him from recognizing all the ways it could go wrong. Instead of letting himself get lost in it he looked to Bodhi, who seemed calmer at the ship’s controls now than Cassian had ever had fortune to see him. When he first saw the pilot in the catacombs he was a means to an end but now he was here with more resolve than people who had built the Alliance itself. He was broken out of his thoughts when Bodhi spoke to flight control with final confirmation of their cargo numbers. All that was left to do was await their landing assignment. He couldn’t seem to stand the dead of calm, turning to Cassian to break the silence.

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Nursing a Sick Bird

Batfam Week Day 4 is Hurt/Comfort. I’ve never done one before and I honestly don’t think that what I wrote is what is expected but oh well. So here, have sick Tim with big brother Dick. (Also I personally headcanon @audreycritter‘s wonderful OC Dev to be the family doctor in this but since he’s not mine and not DC’s I’m not going to play with him. So insert your favorite doc here!) As usual you can also read it here on my ao3.
Rating: G
Words: 2,254

Tim blamed his lack of spleen for these situations. With a weakened immune system he needed to take special care with his health, including a mix of vitamins and medications with his morning coffee. He visited the family doctor once a month to ensure that the balance was correct and to evaluate his blood work for any red flags. Sometimes though that wasn’t possible. Like right now.

He’d been curled up in bed for about a week, moving only to go to the bathroom and get himself a glass of water from the tap there. He had set his phone down on his nightstand without plugging it in to charge. That first day he ignored its incessant buzzing until Tim assumed the phone died as the buzzes had finally stopped. That first morning he hadn’t wanted to move. Aching all over and drenched with sweat, despite having kicked his sheets and comforter to the floor.

Now he forced himself to his feet, shuffling towards the kitchen and having to stop halfway. Sliding down the wall in the hallway Tim leaned his head back. This was the most movement he’d done in days and he felt like he wanted to puke. He knew that this was a gnarly case of the flu but he felt too bad to even call the doc, even though not doing so was only worsening it. Pushing himself to his feet Tim managed to make it as far as the island, where he bent to press his hot cheek against the cool counter. Taking a few breaths to steady himself Tim made a last push to the cabinet where he kept a stockpile of saltines.

Grabbing a box he stumbled to the couch that he then collapsed on. Tim made the executive decision that after so much work he earned a nap. Setting the box on the floor for later he rolled onto his side and promptly fell asleep.

Tim awoke to an earthquake with a jackhammer working on a slab in his temple. With a groan he opened his eyes to see Dick’s worried face swimming in front of him. The earthquake suddenly stopped as relief flooded Dick’s features. Tim realized that the shaking was just Dick trying to wake him but the construction crew in his skull was making it hard to think straight.

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“Can’t you help me as I’m startin’ to burn (all alone)”. (Avenged Sevenfold, Bat Country)

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Title: I Stand Corrected

Genre: Humor/hurt/comfort

Time Frame: A few weeks after this–[link]

Warnings: Mention of blood, brief mention of suicide attempt

Word Count: 2428

It was a bright, dull and microscopically sterile of a place. Three things Edward Nigma hated.

Well, he hated a lot of things, but that particular trio in combination irked him far more profusely than if he had encountered them individually. And certainly not in living quarters he himself would have to exist in. But this was his current lot in life it seemed.

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You were My Sweetest Downfall (I loved you first)

Ichiruki. Angst.

Special thanks to @sequencefairy for being my beta <3

Summary: AU where Ichigo and Rukia are sent on a mission in Hueco Mundo, things go wrong: their garganta won’t open; they’re outnumbered.

Weekly fic prompt for @deathberryprompts - ‘Dawn.’

640 words.



He hisses as they slide out of shunpō and he slams into the cold ground beneath.

She watches him buckle, and spit gore over the stark white underbelly of Hueco Mundo, adrenaline turning her nimble as she slides over, feeling him land with a thud.

“I know,” she says, suddenly at his side, tearing Zangetsu’s binding and securing it firmly around his waist with a groan from him and steely eyes from her. Her reiatsu trembles over his skin.

    “That was c-cold. That was — close.” He pants, the ice in his veins thundering through to his teeth.

“I know,” she says again, and rubs his palms, breathing hot air into the numbing spaces of skin. The light from above infiltrates his vision and blends her silhouette into something stark and dancing, so he grips her wrist.

    “Ichigo,” she says, with a tight grip back.


    “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to get you so much in the radius. I told you to move.”

        “I-I know, I know, but your left side was open-”

    “I can handle it.”

He pleads, fingers slipping with blood, and sweat, gliding his eyes up to meet hers. “Not this time. The damn thing was fast, Rukia—” He hisses again, and steals a breath through his teeth as more blood bubbles past their first-aid. It stains the white hilt of Shirayuki, laid beside him, as Rukia presses her palms into his skin.

      For a minute, his heavy breaths mingle with hers.

“Okay,” she says, tinged with panic. “I need you to wait here. I need you to hold on, Ichigo.”

    “What?” he snarls, losing a little more blood with the outrage.

As he refocuses, and props himself up on unsteady palms, he is suddenly hit with how outnumbered they are. He had thought, before, that the fires kindling at the back of his mind had been shinigami (perhaps with delusion), but now, their presence sings Hollow.

    “Oh,” he breathes, marking her skin with copper.

She fixes him with a look, one laden with a please, and the sea, and the day he had let her go the first time. All rain-locked, and absolutely unavoidable. So unfair. It was so unfair.

    “No,” he says, and scares himself with how tightly it breaks the air.

“Yes,” she retaliates, and scoops up Shirayuki, and its sheath, and his heart along with it.

“Rukia,” he whispers, one last time, reaching to grip the base of her Shihakushō as she turns from him, frustration boiling over into a broken sob of:


And god, for all the warning cries in her heart, she does. She does. And she leans back down, and presses a fierce kiss to his lips, and it tastes of metal and salt and desperation.

And now turns into a minute, and then two, and - now… it’s just them, and the haunting presence of death over their heads.

    “Stay alive until dawn,” he pleads - begs - through slippery lips and grisly palms and matted hair.

“Dawn-” she chokes on a laugh, and a smile, and anger all at once.

      “You idiot,” she sighs, slipping her grip to his jaw.

(She forgets to tell him that down here it’s just darkness and bleak skies and a moon - that it is as improbable as their survival that something alike would exist… Or maybe, she doesn’t forget at all).

Rukia draws herself upwards with a huge breath, “Dawn.”

Ichigo watches her leave, numb; helpless, and choking on emotions that won’t even pass his lips- and he thinks, not for the first time, I’ll come save you, I will, I will, I will-

    If he concentrates hard enough, he envisions her turning into light.

        If he really tries, he can see the senkaimon opening on the horizon.

            And if he doesn’t try at all, he slips away into a formless darkness.


((Prompt: giving flowers >:3c))


Cherry Blossoms
Gentleness, Kindness

Hanamura is known for their exquisite cherry blossoms that seemed to bloom all year long. Every year, people would flock to the district and watched the petals fall. The petals are gentle and beautiful, but truthfully, living among the flowers for a long time diminished their charm for Genji.

Yes they’re beautiful, but theyre everywhere and where’s the fun in that?

If he had to choose, he’d say that his favourite flower is freesia. Especially the yellow ones. Sometimes, in the warm summers, he’d buy himself a few stalks, just to put in his room, and let them wither slowly, leaving behind its cheerfully sweet aroma. Hints of peppery zing and citrus slathered with a sweet, floral and woody smell. His room always smells like freesias in the summer.

Childisness, Immaturity

Hanzo says that it fits him, the flower. Childish, immature, just like him, he says. Genji would ask, in turn, what Hanzo’s preferred flower is. His brother would shrug, and says it doesn’t matter. They dropped the conversation, and Hanzo left him with his flowers.

Genji spent the night thinking about the flower that fit his brother best. He looked up flowers and their meanings through his phone. It may be a little late to find this flower, but somehow, he managed to grab hold of one after scouting several flower shops. He put it in a small vase, left it in his room where his brother would see.

Bravery, courage.

He knows that their father’s passing has been difficult for both of them, but it was especially difficult for Hanzo, who also has to take up their father’s mantle in leading the clan. The pressure has been great and on more than one occasion, he’d find his brother staring emptily at his room for hours during the night. He knows Hanzo finds it difficult to pull himself from the bed in the morning and carry on with daily activities. But he says nothing.

Unlike Genji, Hanzo never cried during the funeral, but he knows the loss hurt his brother more than anyone else. Not to mention all these responsibilities suddenly shoved to him. He must never have gotten the time to properly mourn, Genji thinks. Genji can’t help much, but he hopes at least Hanzo knows that he cares, and that he appreciates his bravery.

He finds Hanzo fiddling with the flower that night. His fingers gently, fondly stroking individual petals. Genji left without a word.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Hanzo seemed to look at him a little more fondly then.

But alas, no flower would bloom forever. The petals will wither and fall and nothing will be left of the gentle petals or sweet smell. Like the flowers, Hanzo would grow tired of putting a brave face, and a courageous front. And in time, Genji will leave behind his naïvety and immaturity but for now, this would suffice.