pictures didn't turn out so great...too dark in the room

anonymous asked:

What about Aizawa becoming blind because he protected his class and the other Pro Heros didn't come fast enough?

//It’s nineteen minutes past two in the morning but it’s DONE. Enjoy, you sadistic buggers.

As Aizawa’s face was smashed into the hard ground a fifth time, he’d accepted the fact that no help was coming. Thirteen was injured – too injured to protect the children – so that left only him.


Noumu dragged him up once again by his tangled hair, and in the few seconds he had, he made eye contact with the horrified Deku (who was still recovering from the shock of him saving Tsuyu) and mouthed, Get them all to the gate. The boy didn’t receive the message clearly, however, and Aizawa managed, with the aid of sheer adrenaline, to fight against the force Noumu was applying to the back of his bleeding head. He braced himself on his one good forearm, minding the elbow, and pushed up, looking at Deku desperately.

“Gate! Go – everyone!” his voice was cracked and croaky, but the boy nodded in reluctant understanding before disappearing from Aizawa’s sight as his battle was lost and he was pushed to the ground once more.

“So noble,” the voice of Tomura pierced the heavy air. “Letting them leave while you stay here and die. However, you forget”-he pulled Aizawa’s face from the ground and closer to his own-“that Noumu is not the only villain here.”

Acting out of pure instinct, Aizawa used the support the two hands were giving him and arched his back to release his own. He then proceeded to take two lengths of his scarf and wrap them around Tomura’s neck, relishing in the surprise the one visible eye showed.

“Don’t…fucking touch my…students.” Each growled word was accentuated by a sharp tug of the scarf, and even as he was struggling to retain consciousness, his ragged breathing an indicator of this, he grinned. Tomura winced at the savage look, the bloodstained face and teeth a picture of pure malice, before fainting from lack of oxygen. Kurogiri soon removed him from the scene.

Even as he fell once more onto the concrete, Aizawa smiled.

Even as he was turned onto his back and punched repeatedly in the face, Aizawa smiled.

And he continued to smile as his he brought his legs up and kicked Noumu’s beak-like face. The damage he delivered was minimal – if existent – but the fact that the man could still move caught the creature off-guard. He rolled out from beneath it, noticing how the world had lost much of its colour, and used the arm that was not completely twisted and broken to bring himself to his feet. He collapsed as soon as he’d succeeded.

Noumu grinned as he made his way over to Aizawa’s motionless body. The Pro tried to move away, but found exhaustion had finally taken over him and his limbs were useless. His eyesight was dimming, a feeling of irritation at the back of his eyeballs and the surrounding area, but that wasn’t his main concern. No – his primary focus was the large foot approaching his mangled face at a rapid speed, but then it wasn’t a concern any more because it made contact and he was unconscious.

Mic had never activated his Quirk as quickly as he did when he saw his best friend’s lifeless body being shadowed by a giant, mutated villain. The noise threw it away from its target and he left it to be sorted out by the other Pros while he sprinted towards Aizawa, All Might a few paces in front. Lifting the bloody, broken body in a fireman’s lift upon reaching him, the latter carried him back to Mic, who was slightly behind due to his shorter legs.

“I-is he alive?” he peered at the mess of a face and almost burst into tears at the sight of it. “Shouta? Shouta, can you hear me?”

A brief moment passed before dried lips whispered, “Yamada? Are…they safe?”

“Yes,” tears were streaming down his face, a relieved smile gracing it. “Yes, all thanks to you. And you’re going to be fine. Everyone’s going to be fine.”

Dark eyelashes slowly fluttered open but there was no sign of recognition in the cracked, bloodshot eyes beneath.

“Yamada… Why can’t I see anything?”

“Thanks to your teacher, none of you were seriously injured. So make sure you all let him know how grateful you are when he recovers.”

Tsuyu approached the man desperately. “But is he okay? Aizawa-sensei – will he be okay?”

The man gave her a sympathetic smile and produced his phone from a pocket, informing them that the doctor had left a message.

He suffers from several fractures to the face and arms, and while he – luckily – got away with no serious brain injuries, the damage to Eraserhead’s orbital floor was too great, so the floor and rim of the sockets are fractured. Unfortunately, he has permanently lost his sight. I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.

The class of 1-A was silent; some were crying. It was Iida who finally spoke.

“He’s lost his Quirk, then? Since he needs to look at the person…”

“Yes, that is what we must assume.”

“But why?” Tsuyu cried. “He just wanted to protect us. He kept fighting, even through all that pain… He doesn’t deserve this.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “There’s no point in being sad for him – I think Present Mic is taking care of that – so all we can do is help him and let him know he’s not alone.”

The steady, quiet beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing breaking the silence of the hospital room. Present Mic sat on the plastic chair, staring at his lifelong friend through sad, watery eyes.

“It’s my fault, Shouta,” he whispered. “I should have arrived sooner. If I had, you’d still be able to see; you wouldn’t be in this bed-”

“The first long sleep in ages and you yitter on through it.” A deep, slightly muffled voice muttered jokingly.


“Mm. What’s on my eyes? Move it; I can’t see anything.”

Taking the cast-wrapped hand in his own, Mic sighed. “That’s the difficult part. You- There was a lot of damage to your face and head. Your brain’s fine, but your eyes… You’re blind, Shouta.”


“'Oh’? That’s it?”

The hero did his best to shrug. “What’s done is done. No point in being upset over it. Are the children okay?”

“They’re fine.” He shook his head. “So you’re not the least bit upset? You’re absolutely fine with this?”

Aizawa frowned beneath the bandages, the small movement creating no small amount of pain. “I suppose I’ll be upset about not seeing them all grow into great heroes… But I’ll still be there; I’ll hear them and be with them.”

Mic scoffed. “What about your Quirk?”

“I can train myself to use the scarf and stuff again, and maybe there’s a way I can use it without seeing whoever I’m using it on. Who knows? I’ll find out.”

“Aizawa!” All Might appeared in the doorway, concerned expression being replaced by relief. “How are you? Feeling any better?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The Pro Hero smiled, thinking of all the faces in his class, safe and well. All it took was a small sacrifice. “It’ll all be fine.”

//Part two here


You had been hunting with the Winchesters for nearly a year, and you had been dating the eldest Winchester brother for 7 months. You had told the boys all about your life, how your parents were killed by a rugaru when you were eighteen and how you had been hunting ever since. And they in turn told you everything about their life as well. What you failed to mention to them though, was that you had a little sister. Much like Dean you had practically raised her since she had only been ten when your parents died, and two years ago during a hunt she had died. It pained you to no avail, as she had been your responsibility, and when you met Sam and Dean you decided that it was time for you to start a relatively new life.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t think about her all the time though, and it didn’t mean that her death didn’t flash before your eyes every time one of the boys came close to meeting the same fate. Some days you would be more quiet than others, barely talking to anyone, and staying cooped up in your room. It bothered Dean and even Sam something awful, but they let you be as there were plenty of times when they felt the same way, they just coped differently. They figured it was just a hunt from a while ago that was bringing you down, had they known though, had Dean known just what had you upset, he wouldn’t have just let you be.

It was during one of these self loathing spells of depression that you had the nightmares again. You used to have them every night, but since you started sleeping with Dean they went away. That night Dean had taken one of the other rooms though, so as to give you your space, as you were more saddened than every before and this spell was lasting longer too. The boys were really beginning to think something was up, and they had finally tried talking to you, but you wouldn’t spill, so they let you alone, hoping you would come out with it in time. 

It was an hour after you finally fell asleep that you had your nightmare. It was just as bad, if not worse than it used to be. The fact that you hadn’t had them for a while just added to the terror your felt as the dream played in your mind’s eye. It wasn’t anything different really than any other time, but you hadn’t been expecting it and that’s what made it so bad. And now clear before you was your sister’s death all over again.

She was small. Hell, she was nearly as tall as you, as she had been sprouting up like a plant since the summer, but from where she sat on the ground, looking up at the demon coming after her she looked so small. There was utter fear in her eyes, and she was still with panic. You ran at the demon, trying to throw Holy water at it, but to your horror the bottle was empty.You thought quickly, trying to think of something to do, when the thing that should have been obvious came to you at last: Exorcise it. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,-” The demon cringed before turning around to glare at you, sending you flying into a wall. 

“So that’s how you wanna play, huh bitch? You’re going to regret ever trying that.” With a flick of it’s wrist the demon snapped your sister’s neck, and her body fell sideways against the wall, her dead eyes starting back at you. Those eyes that would haunt you forever. So choked up with tears were you, that you couldn’t possibly continue the exorcism, and so the demon fled it’s human host, black smoke billowing out of the young man’s mouth before his body fell to the ground. You were released from the wall and fell with a thud, a sickening crack was heard, that you would later learn was your ankle.

It didn’t mater at the time though. You crawled over to your sister’s form, willing her to be alive, hoping that it was all some ruse, that she was really alive. You gripped her shoulder’s leaning her upright against the wall, tapping her cheeks. You didn’t dare check her pulse, because you knew what you would find if you did, and you didn’t want to believe what you already knew.”Please!” You begged, “Please, smile, laugh at me, tell me I’m so stupid to think you were really dead! Please!” At this point you had leaned against the wall your self and you placed her head against your chest like you used to do when she woke up in the middle of the night crying.

You couldn’t be sure how long you sat like that, but without even realising it your hands had traveled down to her wrist, and you pressed two fingers against her vein, searching for a pulse, but there was none. You let out a deafening screech, making the crows who had perched on the roof of the barn you were in take flight. More yelling ensued, mingled with sobs, the sound was that of absolute pain. You begged to whatever heavens there was for her to be alive, another moaning scream left your lips as you ran your hand through your sister’s hair. It was the same colour as yours.

The screech never ended though, as you were pulled from the dream when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You sat up, looking around the room, squinting in the darkness to see who was there. It wasn’t until you saw Dean that you realised you were panting, and your cheeks were wet. There was pain in his features at he looked you over. It was a moment before Dean spoke, looking down at the blankets that lay in a heap the end of your bed, “Who is she?” He asked in a gravely voice.

It was easy to see that Dean was close to tears at seeing you like this, and you reached up to wipe your own tears before scooting over in the bed, silently inviting Dean to sit beside you. He did so with caution, as if the slightest move of the bed might break you. You hated seeing Dean like this, he looked so torn, and it was your fault. You knew keeping this from him probably broke his heart, and because of that you had to tell him. “She’s my sister.” You were surprised you were able to speak so easily. Usually just the thought of her made your throat dry and tears form. Maybe you were all cried out, or maybe this was you beginning to heal.

Dean didn’t speak, but his expression was enough words on it’s own. He turned to you with not pity, but empathy. He was no doubt imagining the time when his brother had died. Dean had been able to sell his soul to get him back though, and you hadn’t. His silence urged you speak more and you did, telling him everything right from the beginning, describing her in such detail Dean had a perfect picture of her in his mind. He had a picture too of the relationship you had, one better than his and Sam’s even, though very alike in some ways. 

You told him everything about her, how she was so happy when she came home one day because she got honor roll. How she had told you about this boy in her class that she liked. You told him how great a fighter she was, and how she had gotten her licence even though she had been too young thanks to a fake birth certificate. And when you got toward the end, to her last hunt Dean wrapped his arms around you, and you didn’t cry, not once, even as you described how small she looked even though she was nearly as tall as you, as she had been sprouting up like a plant since the summer. It was only when you told him about reaching down and feeling no pulse did you shed a tear, but you kept right on talking, and by the time you were done your head was on Dean’s chest and he was stroking your hair. It was the same colour as hers.

Thanks For Being You

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since I last put out a video on my channel. There’s no reason for it really—I haven’t exactly been busy. I could have made a video at any point but I didn’t because the thought of making one stresses me out. Me! It’s usually Dan who is worried about putting out videos. I’m supposed to be on top of this. Yet here I sit at my computer staring at the blank screen trying to think up an idea.

Maybe I can just do a tag video like the ‘my flatmate does my makeup’ or something silly like that. But people would probably be mad if I make something that easy after three weeks of no content. Think, Phil, think. There’s got to be an idea floating up in that head of yours!

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ficlet: Grease

Anonymous asked you: OKAY fic prompt (from prolethean/cosima-hella-niehaus’ cophine au headcanon list): the 20’s au; cosima’s a greasemonkey, delphine is… rich. very rich

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