#cfagrabah

come Jesse let’s take a bath in a pool of diamonds she’s like stupid rich

❝ Have you come to be in the presence of the breathtaking Rito Champion known as myself~?   ❞ Revali asked, laughing softly.

Just a margin? I’m not trying hard enough apparently

marks down the date, time, weather and takes a video of this momentous occasion in history

I KNOW IT’S ABOUT TIME TBH

//*whispers you can use those insulating foam tubes people put under their doors to stop drafts for McCree’s tubes too, that’s what I did

[ 竜 ] –         Touch is something sacred to Genji, more so now than it had been before. It was something never given to him freely, and it was something he perhaps gave too freely to all the wrong people once before. Never was it worth anything of real intimacy. All shallow, impersonal, something to fill an immediate need that he’d been so denied, then and there, and move on.

It was always strange to him when it was someone else who initiated, especially when there was nothing superficial about it, not looking to fulfill that immediate craving, looking for temporary satisfaction before moving on to the next victim.

Stranger now that everything was numb.

He can’t feel the softness of Jasmine’s skin, even upon where it touches his own, but he can feel how gently she touches him. Her fingers press small dents, organic tissue giving yield. But it’s... tender. And he takes it.

[ 竜 ] –         He doesn’t look at her as she speaks. His gaze remains on the horizon, where the setting sun glistens off the rise of skyscrapers  and the desert sands in the distance. The world is cast in a hue of rose, and dusts over the scars creeping along the edges of his exposed cheeks. The cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face obscures the idle gesture of pulling that silicone lower lip between his teeth.

But his eyes are bare. They’re wide open windows, so he keeps them as distant as possible. She would see nothing in their grey depths other than the reflection of the neon orb sinking lower in the sky.

Hands dangle limply from the wrist as his forearms press against the railing on which he leans. His demeanor is casual, though it’s a well practiced facade.

The princess’s words strike a  chord within him, and it’s not particularly a pleasant one. It’s a strange sort of feeling that continues to vibrate through the rest of his gut. It makes him uneasy.

But she’s right. There’s still a thudding in his chest. It still pumps red blood through his chest, fueling lungs that rise and fall, that still pours from an arm with wounds he can no longer feel. It’s there.

And sometimes, it aches.