raw panic

Pulse Part 10

Part 9

Genre: Light angst, fluff if you squint, mostly a filler
Words: 2,250
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Injuries, mentions of an aggressive stalker
Summary: Soulmate AU in which one’s heartbeat becomes perfectly in sync with their soulmate’s once they meet.

Originally posted by fuckyeahtonystark


“What the hell were you thinking?”

The words were out of his lips the moment the door had shut behind Peter. They were sharp, and his tongue stressed the curse word, caressing it in a way that drew your attention to his anger. It was obvious in his tone, in the tension of his jaw…

But his eyes told a whole different story. The blue in them, normally sparkling like seawater inspiring you to dive in, looked so dull. They had a panicked look to them now, but they also looked emotionally exhausted, as if behind his eyes, deep down in the core of his being, he didn’t have much left to give. He looked so tired, and the dark circles under his eyes proved him to be.

His shoulders were slumped forward, and he looked as if he were about to fall at any second. But as your eyes traveled toward his hands, you felt guilty, because they were trembling by his sides.

You knew he must have seen you notice because in the next second, his hands were balled into fists to stop the shaking and he was looking away from you.

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I kept getting distracted by the idea and had to write it up. sourwolfsparking

Stiles slides out of the Jeep and snorts when he catches sight of Derek sitting in front of the loft building, totally wolfed out, his black tail swishing along the ground as he watches Stiles approach.

“Hey Lassie, you lock yourself out?”

His ears twitch to face Stiles, and Stiles practically sees the judgment in his pale eyes.

“Ok,” he concedes. “Not my best material, I’ll admit, and you’re probably more of a Cujo than a Lassie, but…” He trails off, expecting a huff or even a playful nip at his shins (Derek’s trademark snark tends to come out in this form as painfully adorable dog antics that Stiles has tragically yet to capture on camera). But Derek just looks back at him, unmoving.

Stiles drops to a crouch in front of him, lifts a hand to run down Derek’s back, and smiles when he leans into the pressure.

“Seriously though, dude. What’s with the puppy suit? You don’t usually just hang around all day in your second skin like this. Low profile, all that? You point blank refused to come play Frisbee fetch with me in the park last week, as though people would seriously be able to tell you apart from a dog and freak out, but whatever.”

Derek whuffs faintly, leans forward to sniff at Stiles’ face.

He leans away from the wet tongue, laughing.

“Hey, quit it. Yes, I ate a Reeses on the way over; no you don’t get any, especially in this form. Chocolate’s bad for dogs. I think.” He pauses. “Right?”

Derek whuffs again, turns to lap at Stiles’ fingers. Stiles rolls his eyes, tugging his hand back and shaking out the wet digits.

“Yeah, ok, wolf slobber is not the way to convince me to give you treats. …I mean, not treats treats because like, you’re not a dog and that would be speciesist and all that. But really though, what’s up with the extended wolfiness? Did you lose your clothes in the woods or something? Did you get stuck in wolf form and now you’re not sure how to turn back?”

Derek yips at that, chasing Stiles’ waving fingers and nipping pointedly at his hand. Stiles freezes because…

“No wait, seriously?”

Derek snuffles into his palm, nosing into it before turning back and huffing again, low and urgent.

Shit, Derek. Ok, you’re freaking me out here. If you can turn back just, seriously please turn back now. We’re behind my Jeep, there’s no one around. Look, I’ll even avert my eyes for decency and everything.”

Which he does. He actually covers his eyes with his hands to block out any potential glorious nakedness, that’s how freaked out he is right now.

About ten seconds go by, before Derek huffs and licks at the back of Stiles’ hand.

Which is most definitely a wolf thing to do, not a human thing. A trapped in wolf form thing.

Derek’s trapped in wolf form.

Stiles drops his hands away and, sure enough, there Derek is: fur, tail and all, watching Stiles with a mildly put out expression.

“No no, hey, this cannot be happening. This can’t happen to you, Derek, you’re like, the most wolfy-aware person we know. Who the hell are we supposed to go to for advice about you being stuck like this?”

Derek seems to be echoing Stiles’ agitation, lifting a paw to nudge at Stiles’ knee.

“Yeah, yeah. We could go to Deaton but you know how helpful he always is. Which is not at all, by the way. Shit, ok, we can handle this though. We’ll figure this out. You can come home with me for now, I’ll get you some paperwork or something, a collar, so people don’t think you’re a stray and try to take you away. And I know, man, I know that sucks and you’ll hate wearing it but it’s better than having to worry about dog catchers on top of everything else.”

He fists a hand into the thick fur of Derek’s nape, using the touch to ground himself because the world feels frighteningly unstable right now.

Derek’s an actual wolf. Derek could be trapped as a wolf forever and then…

“And what does this mean for us, Derek? After everything we went through… we were just starting to work things out and now. I mean… damn it, we’ve only been dating for two weeks and now my boyfriend’s a wolf.” Derek ducks his head regretfully, licks at a bit of chocolate along the edge of Stiles’ thumb. Stiles instantly feels like crap for making this about himself, for giving Derek something else to worry about. He tries to gentle his tone out of raw panic as he lifts his other hand to rub soothingly behind Derek’s ear. “Man, you’re cute as hell like this, don’t get me wrong. But like, in an ‘I want to snuggle and pet you’ kind of way. And I’m really not into the whole bestiality thing dude, I wish I was, but I think we’re probably gonna have to put our next lunch date on hold until we get this—“

He breaks off at the sound of a throat clearing pointedly behind him, looks over and finds Derek standing at the loft entrance, his arms crossed and his brows arched high on his forehead. Half a step beside him stands a pale woman in her mid-thirties, who is watching Stiles with an expression that’s more than a little disturbed.

“Stiles,” Derek says very carefully, as the wolf-Derek (not Derek?) continues to lap chocolate off Stiles’ palm. “What are you doing with my new tenant’s dog?”

What is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.
—  John Green, Looking for Alaska
A Breach of Trust: Chapter 17

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15 || Chapter 15.5 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18)

(Act 3 Chapter 19+)


The end of the battle had left an emptiness, a silence beating down on Ritsu that seemed to fill his mouth and lungs with a white-noise nothing. The bleachers pressed cold, firm indents into his back. Mud lapped against his heels. Heavy raindrops spattered his face, rhythmic and dense. And Teruki’s hand gripped firmly around his own.

Ritsu did not return the pressure. His dislocated shoulder would not allow it.

Instead he sunk his left hand into the icy puddle by his side and leaned his weight against it. Shakily, he stood. He braced his back against the bleachers so that they might support him. He did not trust his own shaking, numb legs to support him, the water sloshing at his ankles, flooding his socks, sending shivers down his spine.

Gently, Ritsu tugged his limp hand free from Teruki’s grip, with only as much force as the pain would allow.

Teruki stared at his own extended hand, empty now, palm out and dripping from the rain water still pouring.

“You didn’t shake my hand,” Teruki said.

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anonymous asked:

10. please?

“Don’t try, I’m not worth it.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Tony exclaims, but the outrage he intends to convey somehow ends up sounding as blind panic.

Steve doesn’t stop in his descent down a creaking wooden ladder; each shudder and groan it makes as it rebels against Steve’s weight just another scrape against the inside of Tony’s chest. He is only a small dot high above, but moving steadily down.

He still has enough time to go back, to save himself. If only the fool would listen.

“When we’re out of here,” Steve calls out, clearly pissed off. “We’re going to have a long talk about what constitutes as insanity. Among other things.”

Tony shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the concrete. He tries to move, but fails. Again.

He doesn’t know what is it they gave him, but it successfully paralyzed him from the neck down.

And then they stuck him in the suit. Well, suit minus the helmet. And the best thing? The suit is completely out of juice.

But the worst thing is that Steve - that foolish, reckless, brave idiot - is now literally climbing down to his own death just because Tony went and got himself captured.

“You can’t carry me up,” Tony tries again. “Even without the suit-”

“Tony, I love you very much, but right now I really need you to stop talking.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony exclaims hotly, feels something wet streaming down his cheeks. “You can’t save me, all you’re going to do is kill yourself trying.”

“Yeah?” Steve grits out, and even with the distance separating them, Tony can hear that familiar stubborn determination giving his voice a steely edge. “Watch me.”

And Tony does. Watches Steve jump down thirty feet of height, unable to do anything to stop him. Unable to even breathe, all air expelled out of his lungs by sheer panic.

Steve!” Tony cries out when he gathers enough air to speak. He doesn’t recognize his own voice: thin and small and cracking on edges. “Steve, you fucking idiot.”

A pained grunt sounds from somewhere to Tony’s right. A wave of relief surges through Tony’s chest. Tony grits his teeth, tries to lift his head, the sound of his harsh breaths almost drowning out that of boot heels scraping against concrete, and then, then-

There are hands wrapping under Tony’s arms and lifting him to his feet, pressing him against solid chest for the briefest of moments. Then, gloved fingers are darting along the metal of Tony’s suit, finding the hidden catches and releases.

“Don’t try it,” Tony pleads in a pained voice, raw with guilt and panic. “I’m not worth it.”

Steve, whose face is dirty and bleeding from a gash above his right eyebrow, pauses in getting Tony out of the suit, his right hand sliding up to cradle the back of Tony’s neck.

“Shut up. Shut. Up,” Steve grits out in a wrecked voice, leans his forehead against Tony’s. “You’re worth everything.”

Tony screws his eyes shut, opens his mouth to curse the stubborn bastard, but all that comes out is a half-choked sob of Steve’s name.

And somewhere in the building above them the clock continues to count down, fast approaching zero.

My Last Mistake

The last chapter of the My Mistake series. Recommended to be read in order.

Originally posted by tiggerslittlesister

I ran like my life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
I sprinted towards the corridor that would take me back to the tree. Anti’s cackling laughter spurned me on, filling my aching limbs with energy I didn’t know I had left in me. The blackened windows of other victim’s rooms loomed ahead of me, a cold reminder of what the beings here were capable of.
STOP!” Dark bellowed. I skidded to a halt, legs as cold and heavy as lead.
“I said R͉̰̩ͤ̾͗̌ͪ̃͢U̝͙͕̝̹N̜̹̱̺̯͍̒̾ͮ͗ͦ̄̑ ͇̍ͨ̒ͣͭ́̚y̹͍͂̍͊ͣ͑o̥̦ͫ̒u͊̄ͬͥ͏͕͍̖͕̼͇ ̪̼͍͆ͣ͟i̺͙̪̱̱͉̓ͪ̋̈d̶ͥi͑̄̆ͯ̓͝oͭͫͩͩ̀͑҉͇t̩͓̟̹̲͕̅ͫͦ̀ͯ!̵̪͖̘̋ͧͭ̓” Anti cackled, loud and shrill. Energy coursed through my body again, and I fled without a second thought. I heard voices further and further behind me.
“Haha! You need a shorter leash old man!”
“I will make one out of your sorry hide…”

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Like You’d Been Softened

Izaya wakes to pain.

It’s overwhelming, for the first moment. His jolt to consciousness is sudden, so startling he can’t make sense of what’s even happening for the first breath; and the pain is there waiting for him, surging through every fiber of his body before he can attribute any kind of source to it. He’s screaming before he thinks, before he can even make an attempt to restrain the sound spilling past his lips; his whole body is in agony, muscles seizing tight like he’s being tortured, like he’s trapped in a cage of his own physical form. There are blankets tangled around him, the fabric twisting under his hips and binding him to stillness for the first panicked moment; and then he gasps an inhale, reflex overriding the unbearable wall of pain for the time it takes to fill his lungs, and into the haze of red-washed agony there’s a startled inhale from behind him, and a voice: “Izaya,” no less concerned for the drag of sleep still weighting at the syllables. “Izaya, what’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” Izaya gasps. He can’t think straight, can’t form his awareness to any details beyond that overwhelming force: the pain, the rush of it blinding, the knot of agony twisting tighter in his body with every beat of his heart as if to scrape his nerves to endless torment. He wrenches a hand free of the twist of blankets around him, reaches out desperately for something to cling to, something to brace himself against; and Shizuo’s hand meets his, the grip of the other’s fingers unhesitating and solid as the wall they have always seemed to be. “Shizuo.”

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The Little, Blue Hyundai Sonata

Prompt: AS REQUESTED BY ANON: “hamilsquad x reader where reader gets into a car accident and suffers brain damage and kinda resorts to a child like state and the hamilsquad have to try and take care of her”

Paring: Could be interpreted as Hamilsquad with some Laurens X Reader or Poly!Hamilsquad (Whichever sweetens your tea) 

TW: Car accidents, swearing, loss of a loved one, abusive father figure, suicide attempt, reference to depression, suicidal thoughts, regression, trauma, panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety, breakdowns, refusing to eat, temper tantrums, mute, robbed, temporary character death, ambulances, vivid description of car accident/blood?

A/N: Thank you so much to the anon who requested this! I hope this is what you had in mind and I really hope you enjoy this! I hope this meets your standards! As always, thank you for all of your love and support! I love y'all! If you want me to tag something, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know! I want you to feel safe when reading my work! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 6140

You were fifteen when you got your first car. She was a blue, 2004 Hyundai Sonata, and you called her Sonya. Your father had driven her for a few years before you’d gotten her, and he took the new car. You didn’t mind though, you loved her. She had a few flaws like a busted air conditioner and cracked motor mounts-so she shook sometimes and rumbled when it was cold out-but you didn’t mind that. In fact, you loved her flaws. You found the rumbling of the engine soothing on the cold mornings. And Sonya had the fastest defrost you’d ever seen. You loved your car.

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I have low tolerance for pain. I don’t like to feel it and neither can I endure seeing it happening to others. I will look at an open wound and get dizzy.

Why am I saying this? I read that volume after Aizen betrayed everyone and we have a Fourth Squad guy admiring Orihime strength because she was healing a heavily injured Ichigo.

Orihime Inoue, 16 years old girl know for being empathic and kind, she can look at the boy she likes bleeding on the ground and is like “I have super healing powers, all good” and go to business.

Just saying, Orihime Inoue mental fortitude is amazing.

anonymous asked:

Hi! Looooveee your writing, you're so talented!! Anyway, im still sad that bellarke are separated for 6 years , could you do one where Clarke made it back in time to leave with the rest of the gang + bellamy , and like, how it would be if she were with them ? that would be cool. ❤️

Hi! Thank you, you are so kind!! This was interesting to write, since my hiatus project is all about them in canon-verse during those six years, but it was fun to think about.. Thanks for the prompt :D [ao3]


“It’s now or never,” Raven tells him, regret in every word she speaks.

Bellamy looks towards the upper level again, silently begging. Come on Clarke, come on Clarke.

“Just,” Bellamy says, refusing to look away from the landing, “just one more minute. Give her one more minute.”

Raven sighs behind him, and he can hear her shuffling at the doorway of the ship. “Sixty seconds. We can’t even afford that. I’m going to start launch, if you’re not in here in the next fifty seconds, I won’t be able to stop it from leaving you too.”

Bellamy nods, eyes laser focused on the spot where Clarke should emerge, where she will emerge.

He hears the others’ voices echoing out from the ship, but he can’t focus on them when he hears a loud crash from up above, right from where the lab’s entrance to the outside is.

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knots;

Or “This is what it feels like”

august @jilychallenge | @acciododie vs @tadasgay

The first wizarding war + “james thinks lily has moved on when he returns from a long order mission and she’s pregnant but omG he’s fATHERED a child”


Her heart is catching in her throat, twisting like a thousand snakes, and her fingers are numb as she presses them into his. It’s got to be like this. They all have a part to play, but it’s not supposed to be like this. There’s always the risk of dying, but Lily knows that she can’t let him die.

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Told you so

Summary: reader is self-conscious about their body but the boys comfort them and make them forget about their insecurities.

Warning: cursing (I mean it is Richie after all), angst, mentions of bullying, depressing sad themes, my shitty writing

Pairings: losers (boys) x reader, mostly stan x reader.

A/N: uses she/her pronouns, takes place after Ben joins the losers but before Mike does.

_______________________________________

Y/n stood staring at herself in the mirror. She despised the fact that you could see every lump and bump, even though she was wearing her baggiest swimsuit. She believed everything Greta had said to her during the school year. Because after all Y/n believed the bitch was right. She was fat. And now she was going to have to go out there, in front of the boys, in front of Stan, showing them just how right Greta was. Maybe they won’t want to be friends with me anymore she thought sadly, heart thumping from nerves. She let herself sink down against the door, thanking every holy deity she could think of, that the dressing room was empty. Her thoughts became to much and crystal tears flew down her face as she cried, folding in on herself in hopes to hide away from the world.

Stan, meanwhile was getting worried. The others were in the pool, splashing about and playing stupid games like Marco Polo. But he was too worried to join in on the fun himself. Just before y/n had walked into the dressing room, Stan felt the anxiety roll off of her in waves, but he didn’t understand for what reason. And know he was worried something had happened. He just couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong. He made sure the others weren’t looking before he hoisted himself up the side of the pool and stood at the edge, letting the water drain off of him a little. He looked at the others. They still hadn’t noticed that he was out of the pool yet. Good. He took of towards the women’s dressing room as fast as he could without slipping and hurting himself. He approached the door with the little female on the sign cautiously. He worried that there might be other women in there but his need to know that she was alright quickly over rode that thought. He strode up to the door with a sudden surge of confidence and gently started to push the door open.

Y/n startled as the door began to be pushed open. She quickly jumped up and turned to face the person entering the room, expecting an older woman to scold her for blocking the door but instead she was greeted with the familiar curls of her crush, eyes filled with worry and concern as he took in the partly dried tear marks on your cheeks. Stan.

His heart broke as he stared at her. Y/n, the girl who he’s had a crush on for as long as he could remember, had obviously been crying. He wanted to know why but the only thing he could do was hug her, comfort her, and hopefully she’d let him help her. She sunk onto his embrace, and quickly returned the favour, wrapping her arms around him just as quick. As her sobs started to subside within seconds of him holding her, he felt he could maybe approach the matter at hand. But he didn’t want to upset her more then she already was so he stood and offered her his hand instead.

“C'mon I bet the others are wondering where we are.”

Instead of taking his hand like he thought she would, she wrapped her arms around her torso, shaking her head violently.

“No, I can’t go out there! They’ll make fun of me!”

He could hear the raw panic in her voice but he didn’t understand why she was panicking. He crouched in front of her, took her hands into his own.

“Why would they make fun of you?”

He was thoroughly confused now and beyond a little pissed. If any of them had said anything to you to make you this upset, they wouldn’t be leaving this pool alive. Y/n shook her head as more tears began to fall. Geez, even when she’s crying, she still looks beautiful.

“They’ll make fun of me because Greta was right! I’m fat. Really fat! And they’re all gonna make fun of me because they’ll see she was right, and then they’ll leave me. Just like everyone else.”

Stans heart tore itself to shreds listening to her. When the new term starts up Greta was going to be one door bitch. He started running his thumb over the back of Y/n’s hand in soothing circles.

“You know that’s not going happen, OK? They’re not gonna make fun of you and do you know why? It’s because you are quite literally the most breathtaking girl any of us have seen and we all think you’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.” he paused debating on whether he should continue or not but before he could stop himself he blurted put what he’s wanted to say for a long time" I think you’re perfect. In fact, I think you’re that perfect I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for a while now. So here it is, will you be my girlfriend? “

He held his breath and cursed under his breath. But he didn’t realise her breath had caught in her throat, his words leaving her speechless. Well, almost.

"You think I’m perfect?” her voice was soft, disbelieving, talking to herrself more so then him. She gently tugged your wrist out of his grasp and tilted his head up towards hers. Before she lost her courage she kissed him, properly, before pulling back and whispering a shy ‘yes’.

Stan grinned up at her, slightly dazed, before standing up and pulling her with him.

“Let’s go show everyone that I’m dating an angel.”

She laughed at the cheesiness, forgetting her worries, just like Stan always somehow made her do. She couldn’t believe he thought she was perfect. She was so lost in thought, she didn’t realise they had reached the pool edge until Richie yelled.

“There’s the lovebirds. Have a nice quickie?”

She watched as Stan slowly lowered himself into the pool before sending an almighty wave of water at Richie, striking him head on. She joined Stan in the water and nearly jumped out of her skin when Bill spoke from right beside her. She hadn’t even noticed he was there.

“Yuh-yuh-you l-l-look nice y-y-y/n.”

A blush darkened her cheeks as Bill complimented her, the others sounding their agreement. Stan turned towards her with a smug smile and mouthed three words at her :

Told you so.


im broken, aren’t you?

so i heard someone needed angst???

here’s a bomb drop have fun.


Keith swung his bayard around, blocking a laser and ducking behind a pillar.

“Lance, buddy, I need your backup!” He called into the comm and heard a noise of agreement, and then swung back around into the fight. He slashed and rolled, taking down another few soldiers. He ducked into another small corner where he could take a minute to breathe and shake his head, because god his ears were itchy. He must have left shampoo in his hair or something.

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“What is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.”

- John Green, Looking for Alaska

Okay so I’m an idiot and I managed to delete the ask (don’t ask me how I have literally 0 clues) - anyway, here’s the Gramander flashfic for the lovely @ladyoftheshrimp​. 

Gramander + Spy/assassin AU

Send me prompts

Percival slides off the windowsill of the carved window, and starts to creep up the corridor. His feet, wrapped in lamb-skin boots, were almost soundless; only the wide eyes of the maidens and knights weaved in the tapestries witnessing his passage. Back at the inn, Percival has wrapped a kerchief against his nose and mouth to muffle his breathing, dressed in dark-grey robes, before slipping on his Trade Mask. There’s no sound, no rush of motion showing his presence; passing in front of a mirror of polished copper, he can only glimpse the bone-white of his mask – a skull floating in blackness. It’s almost as if he were not really here. It’s almost as if he were really the Ghost – and that weren’t just some fanciful name peasants and nobles love to gossip about, the uncatchable assassin terrifying and charming their land.

A ghost - which in a way, he thinks, he supposes he is. The thought tears a pang off his chest, but dulled, fainter than even a fortnight ago; somehow, it makes it all even worse.

The alderman Kowalski’s room is two doors down the corridor. Slowly, carefully, Percival draws up from his memory the map of the castle, the blind spots and the guards routes his Master’s informers have hastily scrawled on the parchment page. With a flick of his wrist, twin blades drop in his hands from the straps holding them against his forearms. He watches them glint in the shadow for a moment, like grins of ghost gods, and then fade back in the blackness. They’re humming against his skin, greeting him, and even if he grits his teeth and braces himself against the sensation, he can’t help the rush of relief and rightness flowing through him, all the way from his palm to his head to his heart.

Soul-iron weapons are faster, better, stronger than any sword or dagger forged by human hand. They’re so in tune with their owner they could not be wielded by any other warrior, but they come with a price. Only a Wizard can weave the magic of soul-iron, and only tearing off a piece of the warrior’s soul to tie it to their weapons. They’ll be formidable, owning skill and swordsmanship like no other – but never feel truly complete again.

The twin daggers, burnished to the dark-grey of smoke, have been the greeting gift of his Master when he became his servant. Like with so many things in his new life, Percival loves his blades, and simultaneously hates them.

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Choose Your Mistakes #12B

Part twelve B of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you haven’t already, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to hum to yourself.

Originally posted by howlyshit

Anything was better than silence, so you allowed yourself to hum. The tune was nervous and shaky at first, as soft as you could manage without the sound cracking, but it did help calm your nerves a little on the descent into absolute darkness.

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