i wanted this to be colorful but it wasn't coming out like i wanted it to *sob*

iwachann  asked:

9 and kinkunikage

things you said when i was crying

They were never going to go to watch that game, this much is clear. The loss is too fresh, too newly scabbed-over for Kindaichi or Kunimi to subject themselves to. Though they were given permission to skip school for a day and watch Karasuno take on Shiratorizawa, Kindaichi has been vocal about his inability to subject himself to that, and Kunimi quickly agrees.

It surprises Kindaichi and Kunimi both when they arrive at practice the next day to the announcement that Karasuno has defeated the nemesis that not even their most powerful senpai could beat.

Karasuno has just won. He has won. The insurmountable monolith of Ushijima Wakatoshi has been conquered by a band of misfits in ancient uniforms and not even a full roster. Maybe Kageyama really has been smarter about volleyball than the rest of them this whole time, if he chose this school over a much more prominent Aobajousai.

Kindaichi doesn’t care to think about whether Kageyama would’ve ended up at Seijou, also, had they not fallen out. It’s a subject he and Kunimi don’t talk about. Not anymore

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Here we are one more week with episode 5! For the record: I’m not ready. I have zero knowledge of Japanese regionals (in fact, I only learned about their existence when I watched episode 4), so let’s see what I can learn!

[If you’re curious about the previous mega-posts, feel free to read them here:

Episode 1  Episode 2  Episode 3  Episode 4]

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he never did notice she wasn't who she said



“Don’t you even wanna know what they named her?”


Zelena does not turn to look at the blonde savior, Emma Swan, blood on her hands as red as any on Zelena’s own, but it is Zelena confined to this little house. As punishment, she’s become bitter since-


Zelena shakes the thought away.


Zelena stares out the window, the sun is shining outside the little farm house on the rolling green hill, a house she’d chosen for herself once, now only a prison forced on her, a tomb for her to wither away and die in, alone. She can’t feel the warmth of the sun through the window, can’t feel the warmth through the shield erected around her walls, even with the blanket she’s wrapped around herself she feels cold. The savior’s boots tromp closer.


“They named her Miranda.”


A shudder runs through Zelena’s spine, her eyes close swiftly, crumple up, and behind her eyelids a memory of a squirming pink bundle with a piercing cry plays, a deep and awful yearning comes as swiftly as the memory, involuntary, and it only serves to make her angry. She spins around, glaring, snarling, “I don’t care about whatever insipid monicker they’ve chosen!” she screams, shrill and shrieking, the first thing she has said in six weeks, the blanket wrapping tighter around her frame. It’s midday, but she wears the blanket and a pair of pajamas and it’s her house (her prison), isn’t it? She’ll wear what she likes.

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smoakingtardis  asked:

How about Run by Snow Patrol or The Scientist by Coldplay?


First, this is literally one of my all-time favorite songs in the entire freaking world. Snow Patrol is MY LIFE, you see.  (Well, Snow Patrol and Olicity that is) So combining them… could not BE MORE RIGHT.  But this song is ripe with a bazillion kilowats of angst, and so is this fic.  I’d apologize, but I’m not even sorry.

Title: As If You Have A Choice

Pairing: Olicity

Words: 1836

P.S. This is kind of sort of is a prequel to this.  Or, an expansion of what happened the night Ray almost got Felicity killed.

He’d almost lost her tonight.  In fact at this point he still might, he wasn’t even sure.  Oliver wasn’t even sure how it had happened.  One minute he was approaching the STAR Labs building, where Felicity and Ray were already inside, working on disarming a trigger sensor on a self destruct firewall that they needed to get around.  And the next thing he knew, she was calling him on his cell phone, yelling that she and Ray were on the roof, that the firewall had a failsafe, that they were only able to disarm half of it, and that the other half of the building was set to detonate in less than a minute.


Her next words sucked the breath from his lungs, setting his mouth dry and nearly forcing him to his knees.


“I love you, Oliver,” she said, her voice frantic and whimpering, the words a prayer and an expletive all at once.


He pulled the phone from his ear, rocking back on his heels and staring at the device as if it might turn into some secret portal that would bring him to her.  And then just as quickly as it was gone, he was returning the phone to his ear.  Soothing her, telling her that everything was going to be alright.


“I’m going to get you out of there,” he whispered back, a declaration more to himself than to her.


Everything else happened in slow motion, but too fast for him to do anything about it.  Half of the building blew– the windows exploding outward, raining glass shards down into the parking lot below.  The brightness nearly blinding him.  But Oliver stumbled forward, yelling, screaming her name at the top of his lungs, a plea to whatever deity had brought her into his life, that it wouldn’t take her from him so soon.

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