sorry to the person who's idea this was for mangling it

7

I don’t know if this is common knowledge or not, but this scene here is the first, and only time Edward cries in the series. From the day he and Al burned down their home until now, this is the only time.

Ed didn’t cry when he and Al discovered what had become of Nina. He didn’t cry when she was killed. He didn’t cry when Scar destroyed most of Al’s body, or when Scar was moments away from killing him. He didn’t cry when Al accused him of creating a fake soul and binding it to armor, of inventing a brother as some kind of sick joke. He didn’t cry when he learned Hughes had died, or when he confronted Gracia and admitted the murder was likely his fault. He didn’t cry listening to Al admit that he was at his wit’s end, that he couldn’t stand all the nights alone anymore. 

He didn’t cry when he learned Scar had killed the Rockbells after saving his life, or when Hohenheim accused him of running away. He didn’t cry when he discovered the thing he’d transmuted wasn’t actually Trisha, or when Envy told him they were doomed to die inside Gluttony’s failed portal, or when Bradley took Winry hostage, or when the fight with Kimblee left him with a ten foot steel beam puncturing his side. He didn’t cry when Pride hijacked Al’s lifeless body, or when he let Al be locked up in total darkness with Pride, or when Father took them captive and used them to kill everyone in Amestris.

And he didn’t cry when Al sacrificed his own soul to save Ed’s life.

No. He’s gotten angry; he’s yelled; he’s exploded, but he’s never cried. This is the only time, and it’s when Hohenheim tells Ed to his face that he loves them, more than anything in the world, and only wants for them to be happy—that everything that happened had been his fault, as their father, as an adult, as the one who should have been protecting them, and not Ed’s.

And Ed bawls.

Here’s why: Ed hates Hohenheim, and will easily admit it, but he doesn’t hate Hohenheim in the way he hates other people. Ed enjoys talking smack about those he genuinely hates—he’ll talk about wanting to beat Scar bloody for everything he’s done, and wanting to kick the homunculi’s asses for trying to use him and Al as pawns. Hell, he even enjoys jabbing at Roy for the personality traits he dislikes. Hohenheim is different though. Hohenheim is the only person Ed hates that he also hates talking about. Every time Hohenheim is mentioned, Ed responds with a quick, scathing comment about the man and desperately changes the subject.

And this is all because Ed doesn’t feel right about his hatred toward Hohenheim. For all the others, Ed hates them from a blameless position. The homunculi hurt innocent people, as does Scar, as does Kimblee. Ed securely knows he’s the good guy who hates these bad guys. He’s the moral one, the blameless one, pushing back against a truly antagonistic force. And this is what Hohenheim is not. All of Ed’s hatred toward Hohenheim stems from a place of projected guilt and self-loathing. Ed decided to try to bring Trisha back to life. Ed performed the transmutation that got Al’s body taken away. Ed burned down their home and enlisted in the military, and Ed agreed to do awful things in order to try to fix what he’d done to Al. But, if Ed dials everything backwards, he can almost justify rooting this in the fact that Hohenheim left them first.

If Hohenheim had stuck around, maybe Trisha wouldn’t have died. And if she had, Hohenheim could have stopped Ed and Al from doing something so reckless as human transmutation. He’s their father after all. He’s supposed to be responsible for them. But he left, so Ed can almost rationalize the idea that it was Hohenheim’s leaving that led to everything bad in the brothers’ lives.

Ed knows this is grasping though, and he clings to it in part because he’s convinced Hohenheim hates him too. The clearest memory Ed has of his father is from the morning he left, standing stiff at the doorway, glaring down at Ed before heading out the door and never returning. (A glare which we later learn was the result of Hohenheim furiously holding back tears). Clearly, Hohenheim hated Ed and Al and Trisha enough to just walk out the door one day without saying goodbye. Ed’s probably spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what they’d done wrong as a family—what he’d done wrong as a son—to make his own father not want him anymore.

So when Ed talks about how he hates Hohenheim, it’s 100% intertwined with a hatred he feels for himself. And it’s an insecurity Ed would never, ever admit to.

Meeting Hohenheim again in episode 20 only works to confirm Ed’s fears. Hohenheim is unbelievably cold to him—Hohenheim confirms that, yes, all of this was Ed’s fault. Ed committed the taboo; Ed burned down their home as a means of hiding the memory. He’s disappointed in Ed. He hates him as a son. And he leaves, again, without goodbye, because Hohenheim didn’t return home with any sort of change of heart.

Learning the truth about Hohenheim only serves to scramble Ed’s feelings. He’s confused; he’s uncertain. He can rationalize Hohenheim’s departure in the context of preparing the counter-transmutation circle, but what about his memories of the man who glared at him, filled with hatred, and left? What about the man who accused him of being a scared, stupid child who’s to blame for all his failures? What about the man who—if only he’d stuck around—could maybe have stopped Ed from doing all of this? The truth makes sense, but it does nothing to alleviate all the guilt and self-hatred Ed feels in relation to Hohenheim, so he doesn’t soften to his father like Al does.

Until this scene.

Until finally, Hohenheim says everything Ed’s desperately wanted to believe for the past ten years. Hohenheim loves him. Hohenheim cares about him. Hohenheim blames himself for what happened—he should have been around for Ed and Al, he should have been there to stop them from doing the impossible, he should have been their father. He wanted to. More than anything in the world, he wanted to just be there for them. Their family was everything Hohenheim had loved in life, and he’s sorry, from the bottom of his heart he is sorry, for how he left them behind. So sorry, that he wants to sacrifice his life in order to fix what little of it he can.

And that’s what breaks Ed. He was strong enough not to cry at any other time, for any other reason, but in these few panels Hohenheim destroys the mangled, tortured sense of fear and guilt and self-loathing that Ed had been harboring for a decade. Hohenheim loves him. Hohenheim is happy to be Ed’s father, proud, and so so sorry.

For the first time, Ed cries. Because for the first time, he feels like he can call Hohenheim “Dad”.

anonymous asked:

Something that will always confuse me is how Ishida implies that Hide is important to Kaneki yet Hide appears so little in the manga that he's very easily forgotten, at least I easily forgot about him and I never really thought that he was /that/ important to Kaneki until chapter 75 :re and that really took me by surprise. Something else that really didn't make me think of Hide as that important was that Kaneki didn't think of him when he 'died' like with everyone else. Strange relationship. :O

So weird, I was just thinking about a question I answered like this last night and woke up to a new one lol :’)

But anyway, Hide was Kaneki’s singular means of support during his extremely important formative years as a child, and they were best friends for more than ten years. Ishida just said recently, “Kaneki would be a lot more depressed if it wasn’t for him”.

If I could speak very personally for a moment, just for the sake of example, my dad died suddenly from an aneurysm on my birthday 13 years ago. I still can’t remember that night– only little flickers of what happened, because it was traumatic. I also spent ten years aggressively trying to block out and hide away anything that had to do with my dad, because I hated the way his passing hurt me and hurt my family; I hated crying, I hated feeling scared, I hated feeling that physical pain in my chest… so I tried to ignore it (turns out did more damage than good– surprise!).

So now consider Kaneki, who is not only grieving the loss of his best friend, but trying to block out the thought that he might’ve killed him. Kaneki isn’t thinking about him or talking about him because it hurts and he doesn’t want to. He’s even twisted the memory into Hide offering himself– taking the pressure off himself by making Hide a hero instead– but still not enough to bring the whole memory back. 

Basically, Hide is still extremely important to Kaneki. The thought of him is what saved Kaneki against Arima twice. He just can’t bear the idea that it might be his fault that he’s gone, so his brain has mangled the memory and hid it away in order to protect him from even more pain. Kaneki is purposefully not thinking or talking about him because he’s grieving and it hurts

Work It Out

In which Eric Bittle officially comes out to his Mama. 

Read on Ao3

It was only hours into Christmas vacation and the Bittle Family’s quaint, sunshine yellow kitchen was already overflowing with every kind of pie-like confection imaginable. Apple. Cherry. Rhubarb. You name it, and it was probably perched on one of the many crowded windowsills.

This increased state of pie productivity was due in part to the fact that the elder Bittle had missed her son/best friend/partner in sugary crime something fierce while he was away at college, but it was mostly just because Eric himself was more nervous than he’d ever been in his whole life.

Today was the day. Today was the day he would tell her about Jack.

Keep reading

sansapotter  asked:

jon x sansa brown please :)

SOOO this kind of came out differently than I expected but I hope you like it!! And thank you for sending a prompt in <3 

+ colour au prompts + 


It’s a Monday morning when he stumbles into her coffee shop with a dark purpling bruise along his jawline and a white bandage covering the bridge of his nose. Sansa has seen a lot of strange people during the morning coffee rush – mostly disheveled and grumpy adults and occasionally the bleary-eyed student who hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours – but he’s certainly new. Sansa keeps him in her peripheral throughout the half hour he spends in her shop. She tries to tell herself it’s because he looks dodgy, but another part of her brain – the part that’s been single for over a year – traitorously tells her it’s because he’s got sinfully full lips.

She doesn’t expect to see him again after he drags himself back out into the world, but Thursday morning, he wanders back in. This time, the bruise is mottled with various shades of green and yellow. The bandage is gone from his nose but there’s a deep scabbed over gash across it. He still looks like shit, but better. Sansa is itching to ask him what happened when he comes up to the register and orders a large black coffee.

“Name?” she asks, pen poised over the coffee cup. He blinks back at her like he doesn’t understand her question and she has to refrain from laughing. “Your name. You do have one, don’t you?”

“Uh… my name,” he repeats slowly, but then his eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, it’s – uh, it’s Jon. Sorry,” he adds sheepishly, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck, but the action causes him to wince and he drops it by his side. Interesting, Sansa can’t help but note to herself.

She smiles softly, waves his apology off and writes Jon in her neatest cursive.

It’s really hard to get him out of her head. Sansa even dreams of curly black hair, deep grey eyes and those unfairly tantalising lips. Men who look like him should not have lips like that. It’s really cruel.

Jon is back again on Monday, and this time, his bottom lip is split and there’s ugly red bruising around his left eye. Add all of that with last week’s previous injuries and he looks utterly terrifying. People in the queue, who are normally so tired they can barely muster up the energy to trudge forward, give him a wide berth, like they’re afraid he might suddenly focus his fury on them. But he doesn’t look angry or violent. There’s a softness in his grey eyes and around the curve of his lips when he catches her eye and smiles. It makes Sansa refuse to believe it. She really shouldn’t be so quick to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, especially not after sweet-talking Joffrey turned out to be such an arrogant, horrible wanker, but something about Jon is different.

When he reaches the register, Sansa gives him a slow once-over, which has him flushing from the neck to the tips of his ears. “How are you, Jon?” she asks, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him he looks like shit in case whatever’s happening is really bad nor does she want to outright ask him in case she’s wrong and he’s the bad thing that’s happening.

Jon looks surprised that she remembers his name and flushes even more. “I’m okay. Um, tired. How are you…” He squints at her nametag, which is a bit mangled from her accidentally throwing it in the washing machine a couple months earlier. “Sorsa?”

Surprising herself, she giggles at his poor attempt. “It’s Sansa. But close. Large black?”

He nods with a small smile.

When Jon shows up the following Monday with even more injuries, Sansa decides she needs to do something subtle because she’s positive he’s not the type of guy to get into bar brawls on the weekends for the hell of it. If he fights someone, there has to be a good, honourable reason for it. But in a distant part of her brain, she can hear her older brother chiding her for being so trusting of a man she barely knows, except Sansa does know him. After last Monday, he came in every day of that week, sometimes in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, but he would always spend time just talking to her. He’s courteous and sweet, a little bit awkward and kind of horrible with women, but it’s endearing rather than annoying. There’s no way someone like Jon could ever be the instigator of a fight unless provoked.

Jon returns again the next afternoon sporting his new injury – a slight limp – and Sansa asks Jeyne to cover for her as she grabs him by the forearm and drags him into the staff room. She sits him down and starts speaking without preamble.

“I need to know if I should be worried about you or if I should be worried about me.” When he only blinks back at her dumbly, Sansa sighs in frustration. “Jon, I know you don’t really know me very well but if something bad is happening, I can… I don’t know. I can help you.”

He inclines his head as if to study her, a mixture of bemusement and fondness on his face, and it kind of unsettles Sansa because she doesn’t really know how to handle that. No one’s ever looked at her like that before, not even Joffrey, and it’s hard to process that it’s coming from this virtual stranger.

“You’re worried about me?” Jon questions, but when she answers his question with a scowl, he chuckles softly. “Sorry. I guess I look a bit worrying, don’t I?”

“You could say that,” she deadpans, eyes roving over his injuries pointedly.

Jon laughs. “Okay, so this is going to be really anticlimactic for you but I’m apart of an amateur fighting ring.”

Oh.

“That was definitely not on my list.”

“What list?” he asks, smiling more broadly now, the amusement even more pronounced in those grey eyes.

Sansa huffs. “I might’ve made a list of all the possible reasons why you could be getting so frequently injured.”

Jon laughs and the sound is bright and warm, which has the effect of making Sansa smile in return in spite of the reddening of her cheeks and her sudden need to run away. She instead opts for a subject change. “So you’re in a fight club?”

“No,” he responds instantly, rolling his eyes slightly. “A fight club is just some asinine way for emotionally repressed guys to get their rocks off.”

Sansa can’t help the smirk unfurling on her lips because this is clearly a sore subject for him. “Okay, so what’s the difference?”

“I’m sponsored by a bar and I fight on the weekends for some extra cash,” Jon answers her. “It’s – yeah, it’s not ideal and you’re not the first person to come to me about it, but my mum died when I was seventeen and I needed the money.”

“Wait, you’ve been doing this since you were seventeen? Is that – that doesn’t sound legal, Jon!”

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “So maybe I fibbed a bit about my age. I’m twenty-two now and I’ve only got a semester left of my degree so it’ll be over soon.”

She frowns slightly and reaches over to touch his hand. “That’s terrible. This shouldn’t be something you have to do just to afford university.”

“It’s okay, Sansa,” Jon says, curling his hand over hers. “I’m pretty good.” He cracks a half-smile. “You should see the other guys.”

She’s about to tell him off for the really poor joke when Jeyne pokes her head through the door. “Hate to break up the socially inept flirting you two do but Sans, I need you back out there. I’m dying.”

Both Sansa and Jon flush from head to toe. He’s the first to reach the door after Jeyne disappears and Sansa is right behind him. But before she can slip through, Jon puts his hand out to block her in. “Um, you should – if you want that is, come see me this weekend?”

Sansa scrunches up her nose in distaste. “I don’t know if I want to see you get beaten up, Jon.”

His face falls for a moment and he removes his hand from the door frame. “Yeah, of course. That’s… That’s normal.” He gives her a faint smile and leaves her standing there for a few more seconds before she’s racing up to catch up to him.

“But I’ll go,” she quickly assures him. “Only the once, okay? I need to make sure you’re telling the truth after all.”

Jon beams back at her and she considers going to every single match he has just to make him this happy – which she realises is an absurd thing to want for a man she hardly knows.

“Great. I’ll text you the details!”

And that’s how Jeyne and her find themselves standing in a smelly gym with loud, intimidating looking men and women, who are shouting and laughing boisterously. The stench of alcohol is everywhere and Sansa links her arm through Jeyne’s just to feel safer. “This is a bad idea,” she whispers. “This is a really bad idea. I don’t even know him.”

She can’t really see her as her eyes are focused on the people around them but she hears the exasperation in Jeyne’s voice and she can guess that her best friend is rolling her eyes. “Uhuh, but pining after him and worrying about him is also a really bad idea.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Yeah, okay, Sans,” Jeyne chuckles a bit sardonically. “You two were practically just making heart eyes at each other over the counter for three weeks straight. Please don’t insult my above average intelligence.”

Sansa snorts and bumps her hip against Jeyne’s. “Your ego is unbecoming.”

“Piss off.”

The familiar bickering allows Sansa to forget for awhile where she is and why she’s actually here, but abruptly, a tinny voice cuts across the conversation, announcing the match will start in ten minutes. Sansa grips Jeyne even tighter as they near the front, staring at the weird metallic cage built around the boxing ring.

“Uh, that’s not normal, is it?”

“I thought you said he was a boxer.”

“He said he was a fighter but… cage fighting?”

A burly man beside her whose copper hair could give hers a run for its money laughs loudly. “It’s MMA fighting, ladies.”

“What is that?” Jeyne says with a mixture of apprehension and annoyance.

“Mixed martial arts,” he answers, still smiling in amusement, but then his smile changes and she thinks he’s trying to look charming. “So if you don’t know what this is, what are two lovely girls such as yourselves doing here?”

“Hey mate, back off,” Jeyne says with a scowl. “I’m taken.” She isn’t. “And this one here’s future baby daddy is one of those MMA fighters.”

The man stares squarely at Sansa with such focus it really begins to unnerve her, but then just like before, he bursts out into a booming laugh. “Does that mean you’re Jon’s little coffee shop girl?”

“I wouldn’t call myself little,” she says, bristling; although she realises a little belatedly that she doesn’t correct the man on his mistake that she’s somehow involved with Jon.

“My apologies,” he says, but he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “I’m Tormund,” he continues, thrusting out a hand for her to shake, which she does with some wariness. “I’m his trainer. That prick hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks now. Bloody pathetic, honestly, but I can see why.”

“Oh my god, right?” Jeyne exclaims, suddenly forgetting her previous irritation with this man. “She’s been the same way! You’re lucky though. You haven’t had to watch them flirt. It’s like watching a cat trying to swim.”

Tormund laughs again but her glare cuts him off quite quickly.

“Both of you shut it or I swear –”

Her threat is rudely interrupted when the tinny voice returns, announcing the arrival of the two contenders. There’s a sudden increase in jeers and shouts. It’s a lot to take in, and a part of her wonders what on earth she’s doing here. Sansa is a good girl. She works at a coffee shop so her parents don’t have to pay for her accommodation and living costs. She’s in her final year of Primary Education because she adores children. Her last two boyfriends were straight-laced boys from well-to-do families. She doesn’t do things like this.

But a small voice reminds her that both her exes also cheated on her so maybe straight-laced and well-to-do shouldn’t be categories she bases her next boyfriend on. Maybe a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who fights in a cage to put himself through school, is exactly what she should be looking for.

Pushing down the nerves fluttering in her stomach, Sansa cranes her neck to watch as Jon is escorted into the ring. His upper torso is bare and it makes her mouth go dry. She’s only ever seen him in hoodies. She knew he must have had a nice body considering how well his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, but to see it on display in front of her is quite frankly exhilarating in a way she’d never tell Jeyne about.

“Is your boy going to win?” Jeyne asks Tormund with a sceptical raise of her brow, voicing the question that’s been bouncing around in Sansa’s head all week. “Because that other dude looks like he could lift a car without breaking a sweat.”

She turns her head to catch sight of Jon’s opponent and her mouth gapes at the sheer size of him. Oh god, he’s going to die, she instantly thinks, and a sudden wave of panic and nausea sweeps through her body.

“Don’t be so quick to judge. He may look big but they are in the same weight class for a reason,” Tormund answers, smirking. This is basically gibberish to her because she doesn’t know what a weight class is, but when he adds, “Jon’s got moves,” Sansa is determined to believe him.

Twenty minutes into the fight and Jon’s moves have gotten him knocked square in the face and another one in the stomach. He’s bleeding from his forehead, but his eyes are focused. It’s surreal to see this side of him. She may have only known him for a couple of weeks, but the Jon she met is sweet, shy and endearingly awkward. This Jon is anything but awkward. His movements are precise, lithe and calculated. Where the other man has size and power, Jon has speed and brains. He doesn’t just aim his punches anywhere. He knows exactly where he wants to hit, delivers it at the most opportune moment and capitalises quickly at the moment of contact. It’s the most riveting thing Sansa’s ever watched – and she’s been to the West End multiple times.

“Your husband is amazing,” her friend whispers, awe in her voice.

Sansa rolls her eyes, even though there’s a small proud smile on her lips. “He’s not my husband. But yeah, yeah he’s great.”

Jeyne snorts, and thankfully, doesn’t say anything else, leaving her to watch the fight without interruption.

They’re nearing the end of the last round, which, Tormund explains, means that the judges will decide on the winner. She doesn’t know how that works either because how can anyone tell who’s winning at this point? They both seem fairly matched; although Sansa completely thinks Jon is the better fighter. He’s graceful and makes it look like a real sport, whereas the other man makes it look like a bar brawl.

Suddenly, Jon spins and delivers a kick to the man’s head, knocking him backwards onto the ground, where he swiftly begins to drive forward with punch after punch. The referee finally has to pull Jon away from the man, and then everyone’s screaming and trying to push forward.

“Wait, what just happened!” Sansa yells to Tormund, who is one of those people trying to get forward.

He looks back at Sansa, eyes taking her in as if for the first time and then his hand is around her wrist, pulling her with him. “Your boyfriend just won, Coffee Shop Girl. You should go say hi.”

Sansa doesn’t get a chance to protest or even process what’s happening until Tormund is shouting to someone and she’s being dragged up onto the stage. Jon is getting cleaned up, but when he catches sight of her, he instantly jumps to his feet and sways rather violently from the sudden movement. Sansa races forward to catch him.

“Don’t move,” she chides, frowning at his goofy grin. “Are you concussed? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jon steps back from her grasps with that strange smile still on his face. “You actually came.”

“I told you I would,” she says, rolling her eyes, but her heart is beating a mile a minute. She doesn’t even know how someone could have this much of an effect on her. “Seriously, Jon, are you okay?”

“And you’re worried about me,” he continues on, his smile growing wider and wider.

“Of course I’m worried! I saw you get punched in the head!” she half-shouts at him because now she’s a little frustrated and he’s being really, really irritating.

That wipes the smile instantly from his face as his hands go to her shoulders. “Sansa, I am fine, you know? This isn’t really the worst that’s ever happened to me in the ring. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs. “You don’t look okay.” She gestures to his forehead where the blood’s dried.

The smile he offers her now is more hesitant and shy and it reminds her of the Jon she knows from the coffee shop. “I’m sorry. I’m just really glad you came. I know you didn’t want to and this is probably not your scene but… it means a lot to me.”

“It’s not,” Sansa agrees, smiling. “But you were amazing tonight.”

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks flushed.

“But Jon?” she presses on, swallowing the fear lodged inside her throat. “This is the last time I’m coming to one of these.” His face falls and she can’t help laughing softly. “Next time, just ask me out on a normal date, okay? Less bloody.”

The relief on his face makes her heart swell with so much warmth and affection for this man.

“Okay, next time, a normal date. I promise.”

Sansa’s cheeks are aching from smiling so much, but she doesn’t care. This, right here with Jon, is perfect. Even with the crowd still screaming behind them; even with Jon bloodied and bruised and sweaty. Nothing matters but the fact that Jon is the first man to ever make her feel like she’s the only thing of actual importance in his world. It might not be true, but it feels true.

“What?” Jon asks, chuckling. “You’re the one staring at me this time.”

Instead of answering, Sansa throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips firmly against his. He easily reciprocates by matching her movements and sliding his hands around her waist, gripping tight to her hips. When she scrapes her teeth against his lower lip, she feels him groan into her mouth, tugging her tightly until every part of her body is pressed into his. Sansa doesn’t quite know how long they stand there, but they both instantly jump apart as someone clears their throat pointedly at them.

“As happy as I am that you two figured things out,” Jeyne begins. “Your husband’s trainer keeps hitting on me and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to kill him and I don’t think Jon would want that.”

He stares at her best friend for a long moment. “Husband?”

“Ugh,” Sansa groans. “Don’t encourage her.”

born from resistance [can’t keep me tied down]

Fandom: Sanders Sides (duh)
Pairings: None, yet!
Chapter: 1
Read:  AO3
Notes: I have no idea where I’m going with this, but I promise you the next chapters will be WAY better!
Tag List:  @neetrash @lonewolfmemories @trash-can-so-do-i @half-blood-geek @topspintessa @sweetie2136 @tragicrevenge @babyboylittlepupper


Virgil remembered the nights when he was a kid, begging for someone to whisk him away from the constant judging. He could remember the shrieking and the crying, hoping that one day it would change.

It never did. ”

Sanders Sides Demigod AU



Virgil wasn’t normal.

That much, he definitely knew. Because as he walked down the street, he could practically count every side glance he’d get. So far, he was at twenty, but his high score was fifty in an hour. How bad was his life that his best achievement was how many people looked at him with disgust? Well, Virgil thought, it wasn’t that bad. He had known a lot of other of people who had it almost as bad as he did - sometimes, worse. And it was those people that he managed to befriend, in his own odd, weird way.

Honestly, Virgil wasn’t even sure how they became his friends, but he wasn’t gonna question it. Not now.

Virgil tugged at his hoodie strings, cursing under his breath as he bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered, looking down and forcing himself to keep moving. He could hear them groan about ‘Teens these days,’ and Virgil just kept walking, tightening his fists at the veiled insult. Keep walking, Virgil thought, just ignore them. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, since, at this point, it was practically routine. Go outside, crash into someone, get insulted, go home. It almost made him want to stay inside all day - almost. Contrary to the nosy middle-aged neighbors, Virgil did have a social life, thank you very much. It just… wasn’t as prominent as everyone else’s. Could you blame him, Virgil thought out, shaking his head.

With the looks everyone gave him constantly, you’d think people would understand that ‘Hey, this guy is outed by society! He’s screwed in the friendship department!’

Apparently, Virgil overestimated people’s intelligence. Never again, he thought, people were exactly as dumb as they looked. They didn’t even know him- yet… Everyone knew he was wrong. A dud.

Shoving his hands in his pocket, Virgil walked towards the train. The crowd was forming rapidly, and anxiety shot up in his spine. He licked his lips, fingering the small amount of cash before walking forward. Virgil quickly paid, practically jumping into the train before the doors slammed shut. He looked around for a seat, faintly noting that the train was a wreck. Sure, it wasn’t a dumpster, but… Virgil sat down on a mangled seat, thread sticking out of it on all sides. Yeah, the train was definitely high class.

He sighed, leaning back against the train’s walls. Virgil winced as the chatter of the train picked up. Sure enough, a group of tourists were blabbering right in front of him, and Virgil wanted to groan out. Of course… Virgil whipped out his headphones, thanking whatever higher deity in existence that they weren’t tangled. He popped them in, listening to some song before closing his eyes.

Virgil felt the train move, and he let his mind drift. What was he thinking about, again? Oh… right. According to literally every person in existence, he was a heathen with purple hair and an emo/angsty background. Yay. Virgil couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth at that description - damn, he was getting too good at being right. Because he knew that everyone thought of him that way - even people who didn’t know him at all. And it wasn’t even his fault - he didn’t want to be this way. Virgil remembered the nights when he was a kid, begging for someone to whisk him away from the constant judging. He could remember the shrieking and the crying, hoping that one day it would change.

It never did. Such was his life.

Virgil wished he’d accepted that fact sooner.

Everyone knew he wasn’t normal. He was an outlier, the unknown - Virgil wasn’t supposed to exist. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He was supposed to be this, act like that. But it never happened - he was just Virgil.

Virgil gave off this ‘bad vibe,’ according to literally everyone that walked past him. People always gave him that ‘look’, for reasons that Virgil didn’t even care anymore. Some small part of him broke whenever someone would cuss him out under their breath, but for some reason, it only managed to make Virgil come back with a furious hatred for the world.

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mother-of-all-monsters  asked:

Mitjo prompt: Childhood friends au, where Mitch didn't fuck up, and they make a hide out together to get away from eachothers shitty parents, and go through pre-teen crushes on eachother, lots of hand holding

Oh god this took so long, I am so sorry… Suffice to say, life got in the way but I actually really like this so I hope you do too and you can forgive me for how long it took?

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Chance and Choice (Part 2 of 10)

Summary: Reader has just about given up on love. A gag trip to a psychic reveals the supposed name of her soulmate. Will she ever find him?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,157 (got carried away)

Warnings: psychic shenanigans, language

A/N: This is a drabble series I’m trying out. It’s my first thing ever posted.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Originally posted by papermagazine

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Please, Don't Give Up On Me

Word Count: 1219

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Injury, blood, language, angst 

Requested: No

Author’s Note: Well I had this idea and I had to write it in order to move on to other things. I was in an angsty mood let me tell you lol. Anyway enjoy everyone!

Masterlist


Originally posted by gliceria

You were cold - no you were numb.

The air slightly tasted like sulfur mixed with blood - your blood causing you to cringe in distaste.  In the distance, you could hear explosions one after another. They sounded so far off, you could vaguely tell what direction the sounds were coming in.

You couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from, only that there was a lot of it. It was dripping down your face, coating your lips, smeared across your hands, and surrounding you in a growing puddle. A lump in your throat rose as you choke back a sob. You needed to stay calm and remain strong; crying wasn’t going to get you out of this. You couldn’t believe you were awake right now, let alone even breathing. You should’ve died; you had no special powers, you were just another highly trained assassin.

Now, however, you didn’t seem like a highly trained assassin. You got separated from your team after the first ten minutes of landing and somehow you missed the grenade coming right at you. It was either the adrenalin kicking in or you weren’t as good as you thought you were. Your recklessness was the reason why you were in this mess, to begin with. You thought about what your friends would say - what your boyfriend would say. They wouldn’t be happy, hell they would be pissed. Going off on your own on a mission like this, it was practically suicide.

You were so tired.

But you needed to stay awake and stay alive. You needed to get out of here and somehow find your friends. They’re probably worried about you, especially your boyfriend. He’d always worry about you on a mission like these. The missions where there was a slim chance that you wouldn’t come back breathing. However, you could barely sit up without adding to the ever-growing pool of blood.

“Fuck this,” You hissed trying you push yourself off of the ground.

A sharp, tearing pain runs up your hold side as you gasped out in pain. Dropping back to ground you could feel the tears pricking your eyes. Some from frustration but mostly from the new found pain you were numb to before. You lay on the wet ground, gasping for some air as blood spilled out of your mouth. How were you going to get out this? You couldn’t even stand without searing pain shooting up your body. You could scream but that wasn’t going to get you very far. Your voice was hoarse, to begin with and no one was in sight.

A sob wracked your body as you struggled to breathe. You were going to die here, in a torched wasteland where other agents once stood with you. You were stupid - so stupid. You should have listened to everyone and maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess. Did you want to die? Not even in the slightest, you still had much of your life to live. You were finally happy but that happiness was slowly slipping away from you as you felt the life drain out of you.

Everyone was going to be a wreck - you knew it. You were going to die and they would blame themselves for a while. But your boyfriend was going to take it the hardest out of everyone. You were the first person he opened up to after he came out of cryo. You grew close with the loveable soldier and the next thing you knew, you two were in a relationship together. Tears freely fell once you realize you weren’t going to see his face again.

You weren’t going to hear his amazing laugh he rarely showed, his stupid nicknames he called you, and the way your name rolled off of his tongue. You were going to miss sticking magnets on his metal arm just to annoy him as well as pulling his hair up in different styles just for the hell of it. Most all, you were going to miss the way he made you feel. The way you felt butterflies in your stomach every time he walked into the room and how no matter what he made sure you felt loved.

And you were leaving all that behind because of some reckless move. That thought made you cry louder than you were, making it even harder to get air to your lungs. Your strangled sobs filled air when you suddenly hear a voice calling your name just off in the distance.

“(Y/N)!” The voice resonates near you.

You’re slightly more awake now trying to figure that’s calling you. You turn your head slowly and squinted at the figure running towards you at increasing speed. At first, you didn’t know who it was but then you saw the figure’s metal arm. Your eyes widen as you painfully reached out for your boyfriend, wishing that he, in fact, was real. Soon enough, his metal hand grasped yours tightly as he hovers over kneeling in the large pool of your blood.

Then he swears a lot.

“Stay with me.” You feel his hands tenderly wiping away your tears as he softly tapped the side of your face snapping you out of your daze. “Hey (Y/N), stay awake.”

“B-Buck,” You whimpered in pain as tears clouded your vision. “I-I’m so sorry.”

After he wiped your tears, he started putting pressure one of your wounds as you screamed in pain. You let out a mangled cry telling him to stop but if there was a slim chance of you living, he was going to do everything he could.

“D-Don’t talk babe just keep those pretty eyes on me, ok?” Bucky said as a small tear rolled down his face.

You began falling in and out of consciousness as you watched Bucky yell something into the comms to the rest of the team. Blood was still draining out of you and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon. At least you could see Bucky’s face one last time.

“B-Bucky,” You rasped as he shushed you. Ignoring his protests you squeeze his arm tightly. “N-No… I-I love…you.”

You stared into his panicked eyes as you felt all your strength leave your arm and it fell quickly to the ground. Gasping for air, you tried to stay awake and listen to your boyfriend’s words.

“Please, don’t give up on me,” Bucky cried still trying to stop the bleeding. “The team is coming any minute now.”

Normally that would be reassuring but you could only focus on how much pain you were in. Bucky continued to tell you to stay awake but your eyes challenged him as they stayed shut for longer periods of time. This was it; everything was coming to an end. You didn’t hear the roaring of the jets from above coming to get you; instead, you only heard the cries of your boyfriend.

You took your last chance and memorized those ocean blue eyes staring down you, the same ones that stole your heart the day you first met him. Your vision started to become hazing as more figures appeared above you clearly panicking. But it was already too late - you were losing the battle. As your breathing slowed you managed to rasp out three words.

“I… love… you… “

Then your eyes shut for the final time.


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Breathe ~ An Avenger’s Story  (9/15)

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

AU Summary: Y/N’s powers had a reaction to the Hulk which resulted in Dr. Banner’s resurfacing. 

Notes: brucetasha is real on this fic. just a heads up ok. if you don’t ship it, well then. i dont know what to tell you, bud. this crap works in my fic so yeah. im a huge shipper for buckynat but im sucking it up for this series. ok cool

Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

MASTERLIST


“Natasha!”

Y/N called out as she ran up to the top of the tower where Steve, Tony and Natasha were. All three pairs of eyes looked at her and they knew that something was wrong. Tony dropped the iron man arm he was working on and the smiles in Steve and Nat’s faces disappeared.

“We found him.”

“What?” Tony asked as Natasha froze in place.

Y/N nodded. “We found Banner.”

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sleeping beauty

My relationship with (y/n) ended on good terms, we were civil at the end. Eventually we both saw that we wanted different things, and although we knew we loved each other; we didn’t feel as though we completed one another.

Even though I had been with other girls since, none of them looked as beautiful or as peaceful as (y/n) did as she slept. I never found out if she knew I would spend a while just watching her sleep, if I happened to wake up before her or fall asleep after her. I would gently brush away any sparse hairs which laid across her freshly cleaned face. Sometimes, if she had not made any slight movement; I would place my forefinger under her nose to feel her breath - knowing that she was still alive. Sleeping Beauty I used to call her.

It was a Friday morning, traffic in every direction; people wanting to get the final day of work over and done with before the weekend.  The odd horn echoed through the streets, mainly from people far back who had no idea what was happening ahead. I was round the corner, from where the jam seemed to have started from, when a guy came running out into the road. “Someone help, I’ve knocked someone with my car” he cried, waving his arms frantically in the air. For some reason, I felt no hesitation before I climbed out of my car and rushing to his side. “I didn’t see her, she came out of nowhere, I swear” he said, his face sweating. “Where is she?” I asked, grabbing the side of his arms to keep him still. He pointed round the corner, before leaving my grip and placing his hands on his head. “Call an ambulance,” I shouted at him before jogging away.

Small crowds of people started to gather as I turned the corner, glancing round the street which seemed to have been frozen in time. As I got closer to the bodies that crammed round in a circle, gasps and words of disgust were heard. I barged through, telling people to move out of the way. Once I had pushed past the last person, and the sight was now in front of me, I immediately collapsed to my knees.

The splatters of blood, the seeping cuts or inflamed bruises did not seem to bother me as much as they did everyone else. For I had seen this girl before, I had seen her looking radiant; looking alive.

I crawled on my hands and feet, scurrying to her side. I gently lifted her head so it was resting on my knees. “(Y/N)” I gasped, glancing down at the rest of her body which laid mangled. Her eyes remained closed, so automatically I placed my finger under her nose to check her breathing. She still was, but only just. “Someone get help,” I cried, my voice trembling as I looked up at the surrounding crowd. I looked back down at (y/n) as people started to mutter amongst themselves, and I forced my eyes shut so that the burning tears would fall. They settled on (y/n’s) blotchy face, which was covered in grazes and blood. I inhaled as her eyes began to flutter open. “(Y/N)” I said softly as I stroked the top of her head, avoiding the gaping cut nearby. Her eyes were clouded, nothing like the bright, blue eyes I had grown to love. Soon they focused on my face, and I watched as she recognised me. “Shawn,” she whispered. “Is that really you?” She blinked quickly as tears began to appear at the edge of her eyes. I nodded frantically, smiling. “After all this time,” she said softly, swallowing hard before tears streamed down her face. I hushed her as her eyes looked all around her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m here to save you, you were hit by a car moments ago” I told her in a hushed tone, not wanting to scare her too much. Her eyes turned dark, like when a storm is on the horizon. “Shawn,” she said, her voice not as weak. “I can’t feel anything.”

My heart skipped a couple of beats as the words made it sink. “You can feel me though right?” I said quickly. “You can feel my legs under your head, my hand on your hair?” She shook her head, ever so slightly, as her face scrunched up in frustration. I let out a gasp, letting my forehead fall to hers as we both cried quietly.
“An ambulance is coming, it’s about ten minutes away” A woman from in front said. My head shot up, a sign of hope. I looked down at (y/n) who was staring blankly up at the sky. “Did you hear that, you’re going to get help. They’ll make you better, you’ll be ok” I said loudly, feeling as though I was telling myself and not just her. My eyes froze on her once I realised the colour of her skin had suddenly changed, looking paler than before.
“She’s losing a lot of blood,” a man said softly. I looked in his direction as his head nodded towards (y/n’s) stomach. I stared down at the puddle that had ruined her top, and was now crawling out from underneath her.

A painful groan escaped my lips as I looked back at her face, watching as she slowly began to slip away. I moved slightly, so that her head rested more on my knees, placing both hands on her head. “Stay with me (y/n),” I said confidently, ignoring the tears that trickled from my eyes. “Come on, you’ve got to stay with me.” Whispers spread through the crowd as they all began to predict the worst. “Remember you used to tell me that I’d never be able to get rid of you,” I laughed slightly, feeling a rush of happiness like I felt when she used to say that. “You said that once you’d entered my life, that was it. I was stuck with you forever,” I said, brushing my hand over her matted hair.

My head shot up as the guy from before ran through the crowd and froze once he saw (y/n) lying in the road. His eyes were puffy as he breathed heavily. “I am so sorry,” he said, looking at me; his skin pale with horror. “Shawn,” I heard (y/n) say, and it sounded as sweet as the first time she had said my name. I faced her again, her eyes open ever so slightly. “I’m here (y/n), I’m right here” I said, picking up her hand and pressing my lips against it. “I’m,” she whispered. Her eyes closed briefly before she spoke again. “I’m…I’m glad it’s you.” I stared at her blankly for a few seconds, too many things rushing through my mind at once. “What do you mean?” I asked quickly. “What’s me?” A faint smile appeared on her pale face. “I’m glad it’s you” she took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m glad you’re the last person I’ll see.”
I shook my head frantically, refusing to believe what she was saying. “Don’t say that,” I said, my voice shaking due to the rush of tears. “Don’t say that.”

My lips parted as I watched her eyes close for the final time. It was as if a light inside her had been turned off, and any form of life had been swept away. I groaned in agony, crouching over so my upper body covered her head, rocking back and forth. I screamed, I shouted; I did whatever I could to express the overriding feeling of pain and heartbreak. I glanced down at her; and once again admired how beautiful and peaceful she looked whilst she slept.

Too Little, Too Late - Sehun

Originally posted by veriloquentmind

Sehun (soulmate!au)

Word count: 4,035


You would have turned 40 today.

There’s not a day that goes by without me imagining your handsome face, aging with grace. I imagine the wrinkles by your eyes growing deeper, marking the ever childlike smile you had, and the stubbles on your cheeks long needing of a shave, but let’s face it, you looked dashing with them.

I would’ve woken you up today, with a big grin on my face, hoping to plant a garden upon your skin. But you would’ve also beaten me to it. I never could wake up to gaze at your face in serenity like you always do to me. It’s quite unfair, you know? I want you back.

Sleeping beside me again.

I would tell you to never leave me.

And you would promise me that there’s not a chance for you to ever think about leaving.

But I didn’t.

And you didn’t.

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Skylines & Teacups Part Eight

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven

Pairing: You x Suga

Summary: It was a quiet lonely night at a cafe right outside of the city when a mysterious looking man approached you. There blossomed something you never expected in your wildest dreams - not after everything you’ve been through.

Genre: Angst and Fluff 

Word Count: 4330

Warnings: another intense chapter. Strong physical violence, physical abuse, emotional abuse, an abusive relationship, and implied sexual abuse

Author’s Note: THE FINAL PART!!! I’ve been working on this story for so long wow. Thank you to everyone who read my story, sent me wonderful messages, and endured the amount of time it took to finish this (you should be happy that I actually finished)

Originally posted by dreamyoongi


Unexpectedly, you heard a noise in the previously silent building. It sounded like heavy footsteps in the distance. “Are you here?” You whispered, hardly able to breathe and hoping it was them.

“Not yet.” Mystery Man informed on the phone. Oh no. The footsteps were growing louder and you had a terrifying suspicion on who they belonged to. “Oh my god… please hurry.” You whispered frantically into the phone while trying to position yourself where you woke up. “Y/N? What’s going on?” Mystery Man asked fearfully.

Someone was at the door now. You heard the rattle of keys as they tried to open the door. It was him. You fearfully waited for him, trembling at every noise while clutching onto your phone. Mystery Man repeatedly called your name on the other end but you were too scared to say anything or even hang up.

There was no mistaking him when he entered. His arrogant posture and villainous aroma drowned the room the minute he entered. He always loved to let everyone know he entered. When he stepped in, you quickly hid the phone underneath the pillow you were laying on and pretended to ‘act normally’. He made his unwelcome entrance by smirking evilly, “Someone’s awake. Did you miss me?” The way he spoke made you want to crawl into an abyss and completely disappear. “You wish” You spat, inching your way to the wall to get further away. “After all this, you still treat me like this? You’ll never learn.”

He sat on the bed too close for comfort. You heard Mystery Man faintly on the phone, “Shit! Sojung! He’s there!” but if you could hear it, then he could possibly hear it too but it didn’t appear so. 

You were laying on your back, pressed up against the wall, too weak to do anything else. He reached his arm out to you but you immediately smacked them away. Right as you did, an unbearable pain surged through your wrist and you whimpered in pain.

You knew what was going to happen. It happened before and it’ll happen again. It may have happened earlier today. He slithered to you like a snake. His hand crawled up your bruised legs and it felt like a spider was inching its way to infect you with its venom. That’s exactly what he was going to do. You shut your eyes tightly as if it was possible to not feel anything if you couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately, your sense of touch betrayed you.

“That’s right, stay still—” He began but then you interrupted, “Hell no.” Well if he was going to tell you so, you just had to disobey. You were happily the rebel. Although it caused you agonizing pain, you bent your knee and kicked him right in the chest. The impact threw him off-balance and caused him to fall over on his back. “You bitch!” He roared, finding his way up again.

A kick of adrenaline rushed through you and you were fully ready to give him another one. His face was a deep red from anger and he was ready to pounce. You didn’t want to be his prey - you never did.

Everything happened so fast. You were fighting back with everything you had left in you - kicking, screaming, pushing, hitting, and anything you could think of. It wasn’t enough. You were too weak and tired to make any damage other than greatly frustrating him. He was fuming a fiery anger from every pore of his skin when he screamed, “I’m so tired of you!” and threw you off the bed as if you were you were the snake invading his space.

The floor was a heavy metal, unlucky to you. You landed so carelessly that you were almost knocked out - but not quite yet. Your vision blurred and the world went into slow motion. Your limbs lied helplessly and mangled up underneath you, but you couldn’t really tell. Everything felt faded and distant. There was noise but it sounded like it was happening behind a wall. The only noise in the present was your harsh, ragged breathing. You desperately searched for something close, any other sound or feeling. It was as if your soul was slowly slipping away and you were chasing after it.

Another obscure noise occurred but this time you recognized its source. Sojung? Although your eyes sought to stay open, it was incredibly difficult as you faded away. Through the struggle, you saw a female figure enter the room near where your feet lied. She spoke, it appeared like a yell but to you, it sounded like a floaty stab at anger, “Do not touch her!!” and she punched him proudly in the jaw.

He was knocked backward out of your view and Sojung lunge towards him. You wanted to watch the show but found your lungs felt like they were swelling up inside of you like your wrists. Before you could catch another breath, your eyesight was taken over by your eyelids as your weakness intensified.

Before you succumbed to your unfortunate instability, a voice flooded your brain. It was a male voice but it was soft, slow, and didn’t spark any sort of fear. The voice called your name as a hand went under your head. The owner of the hand picked you off the ground and cradled you delicately. Your fragile arms searched the owner to fully understand who was holding you so gentle.

Their voice was like a dream. You knew who it was but you couldn’t quite match it. All the details were there but they refused to bleed into where they belonged. The voice called your name repeatedly, softly moving you to capture your attention. Somewhere in the background, voices spiraled out of control to where nothing was clear anymore.

“Y/N…” In one last moment of strength, you opened your eyes to see two faces. One you recognized faintly as Sojung and the other was someone you expected to be Mystery Man but found the man to be maskless and vaguely familiar. His eyes were the ones you knew from Mystery Man but everything else was something else you’d seen before. But how? As your body melted into unconsciousness you clung onto any inspiration to how you recognized him but you were gone before it came to you.

——————-

Consciousness found it way back to you as the light begged its way into your eyes. You tried to ease them open gently, fighting back the irritation of the light and the agony in your head. A rustle of papers and a deep breath alerted your ears that you weren’t alone. You turned to the source to find Sojung next to your bed, looking through stakes of paper with a frustrated expression. You attempted to speak, but nothing came out but an ugly croak. She looked at you hopefully and sighed a breath of relief when you saw your eyes looking back at her.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Sojung spoke warmly. Your only reply was your best effort at a smile - and it felt good to smile. “How do you feel?” She asked, setting the papers down on the floor beside her. 

“I don’t know. I’ve been better.” You successfully spoke. 

“Yeah,” She breathed with a hint of laughter. 

“What happened?” You questioned, slowly gaining small bits of life again. 

Sojung looked down to avoid eye contact, “Too much…” You weren’t going to take that an answer, “I want to know.” You insisted. 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him again.” Sojung smiled successfully, but now you were more confused.

“What do you mean?” You attempted to sit up, but your body immediately screamed at you for doing so. You let your body win and sunk down in your original position.

“Blackmail.” She said it so simply that you couldn’t tell if she was serious or messing with you. You settled on her being serious, so you replied, “That’s a terrible idea,” still on edge with the possibility that she was joking.

Her full belly laugh let you know that she was, in fact, joking. “No, no, I wish I had material for that. Blackmail could pay for my wedding!” You were almost offended at how amusing she found this all to be. “Actually, he decided he doesn’t want to bother with girls who have people who are willing to break his nose for them -” Sojung explained, but you immediately interrupted, “YOU BROKE HIS NOSE???” It hurt to shout so loud, but it had to be done.

“Yes, but don’t worry about it. He won’t get the police or anything.” Sojung continued. “How do you know that?” You probed, trying to sit up again. This time, Sojung assisted your efforts. She held you up, adjusted your pillow, then helped you settle in a sitting position. As she finished nursing you, she answered your question, “Blackmail.”

“Sojung.” You said, annoyed. She laughed probably thinking she was the funniest person to exist, “I’m s-sorry” she giggled, “I’m just trying to l-lighten the mood.” Although you appreciated the change in tone, you wanted answers, “Please…”

“I think we terrified him.” She spoke with a laugh, entertained at the memory, “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of. You just need to rest.” Sojung comforted, standing up. 

“Okay…” You desired more and felt defeated, but you decided to trust her. Maybe you could get answers from Mystery Man… wait!

Sojung was about to leave the room but you spoke before she exited, “Wait, Where is Mystery Man?” You questioned. She paused for a moment then responded, “He’s a busy man. He told me how desperately he wanted to wait until you woke up, but his responsibilities outweigh everything else. He had been putting so much off for you but now it’s caught up to him. I told him you’d understand. He said if you are feeling okay by Thursday, he wants to meet you at the cafe.” She smiled softly at you, leaning against the wall by the door.

You beamed with joy thinking about you and him at the cafe again, how things should be. Except, a spark of worry came about, “What if I’m not ready by then. How will he know?” you asked. “I’ll just text him.” She said simply. “You have his number?” You didn’t even have his number but nor did you think about getting it. You still didn’t know his identity… did she know it?

“I do… Don’t think anything of it. I’m engaged, remember?” Sojung chuckled, showing off her ring. “I wasn’t going to,” You laughed as well, “I’m just surprised. You know a lot… how much did you guys talk?” You inquired. You didn’t think she actually knew who she was but a little voice in the back of your head probed at the possibility and you couldn’t help but ask anyway, “Do you… know who he is?”

“Yes.”

You were not expecting that. The shock of it left you staring at her with an astonished look. Why would he tell Sojung before you? Sojung popped off her spot on the wall and said, “Don’t worry about it and get better so you can see him Thursday.” before leaving.

“Okay….” You said hallowly to the empty room, feeling a melancholic confusion and a desperate desire not to overthink anything.

—-

Thursday came and you weren’t ready.

Your therapist said weren’t ready the Thursday after either.

He was busy the week after that.

Finally, schedules aligned and you both planned to meet Mystery Man on a Wednesday night, a month after the incident occurred. You insisted to resume things normally so you walked to the cafe alone before sunset. This time, you dressed nicer than you normally would have in the past. Your therapist insisted that you dressed up for the occasion, advising that dressing up can boost your mood.

As you walked the familiar street, your hands shook and sweated. You fought to calm your nerves and smooth any hesitation. There was the strongest impression in the depths of your stomach that he was going to reveal himself to you. You were excited to finally know what was eating away at you, but terrified at what the answer was.

Reflecting back on that night a month ago, you remember Mystery Man being there but your memory was blurred at how you recognized his unmasked face. You pondered the possibilities, How could have known him before? Had you passed him on the street and remembered for some reason? Was he someone well known? – Could your earlier prediction be correct?

The sky was painted a dim blue as the sun made its preparations for the moon to take its place. People scattered the streets as they stumbled their way home from work. All of them spoke harshly but you smiled thinking about how you were on your way home too.

When you arrived, the cafe was practically at its maximum capacity. You squeezed yourself inside, ignoring the line and went upstairs and to the balcony. Before you stepped out the door, you stopped when you caught sight of him. 

Mystery Man was sitting in the usual spot, his body turned to the sky, but writing something down in a notebook. He wasn’t wearing his hat like he always did. There was a light illuminating his head, allowing you to watch his black hair catch the wind then find its way back into position.

Pushing past your fearful self, you skipped over to him and neatly sat down in the seat next to him. Mystery Man glanced up towards you and to your dismay, he was wearing sunglasses. “Is it too bright out here?” You teased, folding your arms and leaning back in your chair. Although his mouth was covered, you knew from his chuckle and bend on his head that he was smiling. 

He didn’t respond, so you continued teasing him. “Do you have really bad teeth that you don’t want me to see? Do you have a hideous scar on your lips?” You pondered with a mischievous smile on your face. You pretended to think deeply on the issue, staring over at the sunset.

“You should be happy to know that my lips and teeth are perfect.” He matched your teasing attitude with some of his own. “If it’s not your lips or your teeth, then there has to be something wrong with your skin around your mouth.” You analyzed him playfully but he refuted it anyways. “Sorry, I’m perfect.” He said smugly. “Oh? Are you now?” You snorted but shortly transitioned into something serious, while maintaining an essence of teasing, “Prove it.”

“Ha!” He snorted, similarly to you, “I missed you, Innocent Stranger.” He spoke genuinely while smiling behind his mask. Normally, you would’ve immediately appreciated the sentiment but it felt you feeling unsettled, “You don’t need to call me that. You know my name.” The playfulness in your voice vanished and was now replaced with a sterner tone.

Mystery Man’s reaction wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted his dramatic reveal on your queue but he wasn’t obeying. He simply responded, “It’s not fair since you don’t know mine.” He was still fighting to remain a secret - so you had to fight in retaliation. “Then tell me yours,” You spoke almost in a whisper, leaning in close to him and resting your elbows on the table. He looked down in thought and just when you thought he was going to unveil himself, a waitress came to the table.

She placed two teacups on the table; one in front of you, smelling strongly of cinnamon, and the other in front of Mystery Man, which gave off a perfume of vanilla.  "Free of charge.“ She smiled softly, then skipped away.

Mystery Man awkwardly scratched his head, dragged the teacup towards him, and ignored your question, "Are you doing okay? Sojung has been giving me updates but I want to hear from you.” There was no mistaking his concern and it was most likely the only thing to get you to push aside your earlier question. “For you, I’m always okay.” You spoke as you took a sip of your tea.

“You don’t have to be okay.” He was concerned, but he wasn’t full of pity. He was generously instructing you. You twisted your body away from him to look at the sky. The sun was at the point where the colors began to erupt near the bottom of the horizon but not quite gracing the entire landscape. Taking another sip of tea, you shook your head and changed the subject, “Thank you for being there that day.”

Your eyes remained on the sky as he spoke, “I apologize for not being there as you recovered.” but went right to him after, “Don’t apologize,” you insisted, “I’d rather you see me like this than how you last saw me.” You spun around back to fully face him and continued, “Sojung told me you carried me all the way back home. She said you insisted on coming although you had circumstances that prevented it. She told me that, at first, you thought I died and started crying…” You were to continue, but Mystery Man cursed under his breath, “Ah, Sojung…” He was embarrassed. His head sunk low and he attempted at hiding his face even more with his teacup.

“I never told you anything about him besides that fact that he wasn’t a good boyfriend did I? You must have been shocked.” You felt guilty about it all, but were surprised when he didn’t agree with you, “Actually I knew. Do you remember that night you were so drunk I dragged you to my place? You drunkenly told me everything.” He confessed, maintaining eye contact with you.

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?” You couldn’t help but feel a bit angry. You distinctly remember Mystery Man telling you that you didn’t do anything of the sort. “I didn’t think you wanted me to know. I felt guilty that I knew everything but you didn’t know me.” His words were careful and remorseful, it almost made you feel guilty yourself. 

“So why didn’t you tell me?” None of it made sense to you. What would make him so secretive? “When I take off my mask, you’ll know everything.” He informed, looking down at the table and tracing several patterns with his index finger. 

“How do you know that? Maybe it won’t.” How was his face suppose to tell you all his secrets? “Because I do.” was his only response. “Then do it.” you taunted in a whisper.

To your dismay, he avoided your response again, “How is your tea?”

You sighed audibly, feeling guilty for the circumstances surrounding your relationship with him.You were too stubborn to let him put it off anymore. “I bet this wasn’t what you expected that day you started talking to me at the cafe.” You spoke, staring into your cup, stirring the mixture around with the spoon for the sugar. “What?” Mystery Man asked for clarification, so you gave it to him, “You weren’t expecting me to have a crazy ex-boyfriend who ruined my life. I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this. I never wanted that to happen.”

“No,” He chuckled, “No, it wasn’t what I expected.” You laughed in response, appreciating his honesty. He chimed in again, “But I don’t regret it.” The teacup no longer had your attention and you looked up at him in a way you couldn’t describe. His words were solid and confident like he had pondered them for months and was one hundred percent certain of them. “How come?” You questioned, hesitantly. You weren’t quite sure why you were hesitant but there was a possibility it came down to fear. A nervous, insecure of his feelings toward you, kind of fear.

“…Innocent Stranger…” He sighed. Now he was the one stirring around his tea. “Yes?” The playfulness in you returned. It was like when one of you became insecure of the situation, the other became confident in it. He took a deep breath. His hands trembled as he prepared his words. You watched him, thinking about how it was actually adorable.

“What if…” He hesitated, took another deep breath, then spoke, “What if I told you I loved you.”

All thoughts were interrupted by the excessive pounding of your heart. You resisted the temptation to let yourself succumb to your nervousness but you fought through. “What if…” you began, portraying an act of confidence, “I told you I didn’t believe you.” When you spoke, the words felt reminiscent of your first conversations with him. Your words were the truth though. You were so insecure and unsure about everything that even a confession still had you unsure.

“Why not?” Mystery Man was on edge - You both were. The tension in the air was unbearable. You wondered for a moment if its strength was felt by anybody else on the balcony. You decided to answer honestly. The main reason was that all you wanted from him was transparency - and you weren’t going to leave without it.

“There’s no reason for you to feel that way about me.” You dropped your head in shame, “All I am is an embarrassing mess.” You thought about the past view months with him and the chaos you created just by being you. “I like the mess. It adds a little color to the world.” He responded, a sparkle of brightness in his voice. You smiled shamelessly, closing your eyes.

After a deep breath of your own, you uttered another truth, “Mystery Man. What if I told you that I loved you.” You mimicked his earlier words and shortly after, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you with the most gentle expression.

“I wouldn’t believe you.” He played off your earlier words just as you did. You considered continuing this charade but the anxiety the whole situation left you desperate for real answers, so you asked, “How come?”

Mystery Man sighed. He quickly finished off his tea and stood up. For half a minute you believed he was about to leave, so you stood up as well. Thankfully, Mystery Man only walked towards the edge of the balcony. You watched as he leaned against the railing and concentrated on the stellar cityscape. He sighed again and spoke, “I haven’t done a good enough job at showing you who I am. You probably think you don’t anything about me… and that may be true.”

You walked towards him and leaned on the railing right next to him as you responded, “True.” He now looked at you as you continued, “I don’t know your name. What you look like besides a general idea of your body shape and your eyes.” You lifted your hand and went to touch his face, but right before you did, you dropped your hand down. The look in his eyes confused you - you couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed you didn’t go through with it.

All you did was simply continue, “I don’t know your occupation, or your family, or your close friends. Except, I know you.” You both stared at each other with unbreakable eye contact. It felt like there was a tether between the two of you that made it impossible to escape. “Can’t you know all of those things about somebody but never actually know them? I’ve just skipped a few steps. I know you, Mystery Man. Besides a few silly things, you are no mystery to me.” You were confident in your words. You planned to stare him down until he broke into agreeing with you.

He broke away, but only in silence. Mystery Man just looked out at the sunset, thinking deeply. “No comment?” You questioned, looking down at your feet and giving a slight chuckle. Although he his face was covered by various things, you knew he was smiling when he responded, “You got me there, Innocent Stranger.”

His words made you feel different. A happier kind of different. You hadn’t heard him say that in so long it ignited the reckless and mischievous feeling you had in the beginning of your relationship with him. “So you believe me?” You smiled up at him, relaxing from the earlier tension. With a smile still on your face, you watched as Mystery Man took off his glasses and put them in his back pocket.

You observed him intently. Something about him was so familiar. It wasn’t just his eyes, it was more than that. It was there on the tip of your tongue and you were embarrassed for not knowing there in the moment.

Before you had a chance to think on it more, Mystery Man eased in closer, “Yes. I believe you.” He whispered, barely audible behind the mask. You halted breathing or making a single movement at his closeness. You stiffened and stood a little taller, frozen in time. “Why now?” You whispered as well. “Because I already said the same thing back to you.” His voice was velvety soft, making you dissolve into another reality.

“I already said I didn’t believe you.” Your quiet response was met by one of his arms wrapping around your body. “I’ll prove it.” If the intensity from before was strong, it was nothing compared to what it was now.

“How?”

“Like this.”

He pulled the mask from his face but before you can capture its entirety, in one swift moment, you are pulled towards him, his other hand moves behind your neck, and he pulls you into a deep, yet light, kiss.

It was incredibly soft, allowing the world to dance in shades of purple while making the butterflies in your stomach sing, all warming the cold air of the night.

Clutching onto his arms, you pulled him further towards you then wrapped your arm around him to bring it possibly any closer.

He pulled away and so did you. When you did, you finally caught a sight of Mystery Man’s face.

He was right. His face revealed all the answers to your questions.

Your suspicions were correct.

There was no denying it.

It was Min Yoongi who just kissed you.

The love you felt sparkled and radiated off you. The glow gave more light to the dark than the skyline ever could. The perfume gave more comfort than a cup of tea. It felt healing.

The months of skipping to the cafe to share secrets without your or his identity known were healing. Slowly falling in love with the way he walked you home, the way he would listen intently, the way he would speak to you, what he would talk about, the way his brain held so much wisdom and passion, and the way everything else inside of him lived. You felt like you knew him better than if his identity was known from the beginning. You were confident that everything would have been different and it gave you comfort to why he hid for so long. All this knowledge made it more enjoyable. You knew you weren’t completely healed, and maybe you’ll never be - but having him and the small moments that give life and a shimmer to the sky, help heal and maybe that’s just enough.

“I love you, Y/N”

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”


The End

seolangel  asked:

221, jacob, and sfw, if you want to? thank you in advance <3

A/N: “I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you and- Oh screw it!” {Haha, good choice. Much love, my dear, and I hope you’re doing well~.}

Originally posted by lamefreek

“There’s no point lovin’ a woman such as that, boss—she might as well be a bird flying miles away from you.”

The words stung with every passing day after a Rook encouraged Jacob to stay from the artistic (Y/N). She was a well known pianist that played at only the best venues and wore the most beautiful dresses that accentuated her figure and gave an added glow in her eyes. While Jacob had the money to attend most of her concerts, he preferred to be a bit more adventurous and took to sneaking in when able.

The music she often played sounded beautiful, but he couldn’t help but notice how lonely it seemed as well—each melody touching upon the ideas of a far off dream that could never be reached.

Sometimes being at the top could prove lonely, and while he worked in the shadows and knew what loneliness was, Jacob found his new talent in writing her mysterious love letters that he refused to sign at first. He merely left a feather of a raven or rook in the letter in question to be his sort of calling card for whenever he would send such personal detailing of his inner emotions.

And then, he had proven himself to be bold…

Jacob found the opportunity to introduce himself and asked for a mere moment of her time at the local pub she had been passing by. He thought for sure he would sweat right through his clothing. She was the embodiment of perfection just as the Rook warned, and Jacob did everything he could to hide how imperfect he felt in comparison to her when joking and talking as he did…refusing to admit he was the one who had been writing her the love letters.

“Something wrong?” (Y/N) asked, her fingertips caressing her teacup tenderly as though she worried she may break it.

Jacob stuttered in a sort of awkward laugh, running his fingers through his hair upon removing his paperboy hat as he tried to get himself together. “Oh, I am just not used to actually seeing you face-to-face as this, love.” Her head tilted in confusion, and the assassin continued. “I just…never thought I’d have the courage to approach you at all.”

“So you’re a fan of my works then?” she inquired, not offended or anything of the sort but she seemed to be waiting for something…hoping for something, and Jacob began to fret he was losing her.

“Of course! Who isn’t in this part of town?” Jacob exclaimed quickly. “I’d be bloody surprised if your name isn’t even beyond London at this point with how beautiful your music is and how you are as well.”

(Y/N) smiled, but it all was praise she’d heard before. “I thank you,” she sighed, sounding unimpressed.

Had he said or done something inappropriately? The musician was acting as though she wanted the evening to quickly be done by this point. “Have I said something wrong?”

(Y/N) shook her head, a smile forcing its way through. “I just thought for a moment…” She moved her lips inward, eyes dolled in paints drifting downward before she waved the idea away. “It’s nothing. I guess I was just hoping for somebody else…”

“I-Uh-Who…?” Jacob stuttered, trying his best not to let his jealousy get the better of him in this moment.

She sighed through her nostrils, looking lovingly and dream like up at the ceiling as her gloved fingers tapped upon the teacup once more. “There’s an admirer of mine who keeps writing me nearly every day, and it makes me feel whole inside.” She smiled brightly, recalling one of the letters in her memory as she moved her body inward like she was warm in an invisible blanket. “Every word he writes is like poetry, and the only reason my song writing and playing has gotten any better is because of those letters.” Her smile faded and she gazed down at her reflection in her tea. “I was thinking you were him, but I guess not…” (Y/N) took one long final sip of her tea before moving out of the chair she was in. “I thank you for your time, Mr. Frye, but I must be going.”

Jacob was so stunned in realization that she was talking about his letters that he almost didn’t move at first until he saw she was indeed leaving. “(Y/N)! Wait!” he called, fumbling to his feet as he hurried after her.

(Y/N) shook her head, fixing her shawl over her neck with a somber expression. “I am sorry, Mr. Frye, but I have business—.”

“—If I could, I would serenade thee bird with songs long past, to bring better tidings to such melodies of regret and sorrow! But, yee bird of snow and innocents, would you desire a raven—a rook—as black as night, blooded with woeful doings to better thy cage as your comfort!” Jacob shouted eagerly, reciting a line from one of the letter he wrote her and making the woman stop dead in her tracks. He had her, and as his heart beat wildly in his chest, he did his best to lure her onward as she confessed already that she loved his writings. “Each song you play is but a cord of anguish and solitude, and I wish but to take your hand in mine and play but a better melody of love and rejoice together in perfect harmony.”

(Y/N)’s eyes glossed over with tears, the winter winds stinging them so as she fought on what to say to the man before her. “You…?” her words trembled forth, appearing before them in a white vapor of disbelief. “It was…indeed you…?”

Jacob moved forwards, opening his hand for hers to take if she so wished. The musician hesitated, but in time, she found the courage to accept it and that perfect quality of fabric in regards to her gloved hand slid upon the mangled, dirtied fingerless gloves Jacob wore, finding that warmth he so spoke of. “(Y/N), I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you and—.” He paused, noticing her looking to him with mouth agape, and Jacob knew if he didn’t act then, he could lose the precious dream of making her his forever. “Oh screw it!” Grabbing firmly at her upper arms, he tilted his head to the side and kissed her feverishly as he so desired to do so.

The warmth of her body like a sweet drink spilling over his lips, Jacob rolled his tongue over hers to sample more before finding the encouragement to tenderly massage her own wet muscle in a rhythmic manner to seduce her and make her his.

(Y/N)’s body tensed, eyes wide at the bold move upon her, and while Jacob appeared to be of the lowest class possible in Victorian society, she relaxed…and fell into his affectionate and loving act that warmed her from the inside out. Only he, out of millions, knew how to sing a song that brought a sense of joy to her life and her heart.

anonymous asked:

I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously anymore. Fight Club is an expression of toxic masculinity that is worth nothing? Hell, everything about that ask is wrong, but that one in particular... Wow.

Just so we’re clear, this is the book about a man who feels so emasculated by modern society and consumer culture that he visits a self help group for men who have, literally, had their testicles surgically removed. When he encounters a woman invading his territory, his only response is to engage in increasingly violent and destructive acts, culminating in a failed terrorist bombing? We’re talking about the same story, right?

Yeah, can’t imagine how anyone could consider that toxic masculinity.

The novel is actually quite good. It’s not a pleasant read, and I wouldn’t recommend it as entertainment, but it is worth reading. Chuck Palahniuk is a very skilled writer. He has a visceral, “gross-out,” style that obfuscates just how sharp his material is. It’s easy to pick up Fight Club and soak in the hyper-aggressive elements and miss just how critical the book is.

But, that’s not what we were talking about.

We were talking about the fight club itself. The organization in the novel and film. The one which morphs into Project Mayhem. That is worthless, and without redeeming value. The fight club started by the narrator is an expression of toxic masculinity. It doesn’t teach people how to fight, no matter how awesome it makes the narrator feel about himself in the moment.

(I’m just going to refer to the narrator as Jack from here on out. The name comes from the film, not the book, but it’s faster to type.)

The fight club itself, is a tantrum, being thrown by a man child who has no model for what it means to be an adult, and isn’t satisfied by the options he sees in the world. Looking for a venue to release his pent up aggression, he resorts to violence. Jack moans about how, because his father abandoned him, he has no concept of who he should be. Ultimately, he is terrified of being an adult. Everything that follows is Jack acting out against the world.

There’s a weird element where you can intentionally read Jack as a teenage rebellion, a few decades too late. This is probably why the Calvin & Hobbes misread plays so well. At several levels, Jack is still a child, and written as such. Remember, before the novel opens, Jack’s job is to look at horrifically mangled bodies (auto insurance investigator). This is an adult version of a little kid looking at, “gross stuff,” and then enthusiastically inflicting that on people around them for shock value. Which should also sound familiar when discussing Tyler Durden and Marla.

So, yes, the novel Fight Club is about toxic masculinity. The fight club itself is an expression of the same. It’s easy to read the surface message and run with the idea that the book is advocating the position of the protagonist. Until you remember that the entire third act of the book (and film) is Jack losing control of Project Mayhem, and trying to stop them from bombing buildings.

Fight Club isn’t exclusively about toxic masculinity. There are very strong themes of establishing a personal identity, and learning to communicate with others scattered through the novel. They’re mixed in with large quantities of puerile behavior, and aggressive missteps by the various characters. Toxic masculinity is a major part, because it’s the first place Jack goes, and it colors the rest of his experiences, even after he’s decided on a different approach.

It’s a very good, and quite challenging book. Certainly not for everyone. However, the fight club itself is, ultimately, a self destructive exercise. You don’t learn to fight by punching your imaginary friend.

-Starke

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The film adaptation is pretty good as well. As with the book, it requires some critical thinking to fully parse, but don’t let that scare you off.

FIC: space, nightmares

kiribaku week 2017: day 2

The din of the room doesn’t prevent them from having their own conversation. So no one else notices how Bakugou’s brow knots painfully. He glances at him like wild, cornered prey, and then Kirishima’s frown really deepens after that.

“What’s up, Bakugou?”

AO3

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Finding Neverland (6/?)

Summary: History has a funny way of repeating itself. Juliet Jones learns this the hard way as she finds herself thrown decades into the past, and tasked with ensuring that her parents fall in love. (CS movie redux) 

Notes: Praise hands to @unfolded73 for the beta!

Read on AO3.

Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Emma forgets Neal is dead.  

There’s a dark humor to be found in that, how she had once wished for nothing more than for him to die, and now that he is, she forgets. For so long while he was alive, he haunted her, a ghost or shadow that would remind her how foolish it is to trust others with her heart. It only ends up broken. She carried a torch for him for a decade, but now that he’s gone, it’s like a weight has been lifted.

She feels guilty at that. He’s dead. Gone. People don’t come back from death. It’s permanent. She should feel upset, or more upset than she does. Her mother acts suitably distraught, like she is grieving more than Emma, the one who loved him, the one he left behind. Even Hook sounds more broken over Neal being gone than she. But at least he has – had – a connection to him.

“He gets it from his mother.”

Keep reading

Hit and Run (aka another depressing af Victuuri fic)

This is unbeta’d so please inform me if I forgot to remove any unintended grammar mistakes!

Thanks to @ppastelderpp, @gays-on-ice, and @such-sparkly-trash for encouraging me to write this fic and letting me discuss my ideas with them.


Chapter 1…

Victor knew the instant something was wrong.

Yuuri had been laughing and grinning with him just a moment prior, but as soon as his eyes flicked to the left, his face paled significantly.

It took a moment for Victor to process just what was happening, as Yuuri sprinted to him, arms outstretched. Victor knew that something was amiss from the pure horror on Yuuri’s face, so he glanced in the same direction that Yuuri had looked just seconds before.

A truck. It was a truck, barreling at speeds that should be illegal in this part of Hasetsu. And it was only four yards, no thre-

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#2

“You are annoying.” Chihiro followed him, grabbed the cup that was offered even though he doubted Seijuro had the strength to hold it up for himself.

“Yeah? Well so are you. So is Sei.” Shuzo tugged him along by the wrist. “And yet here you are, stuck with the both of us. Tough luck.”

pairing: nijiakamayu
words: 2770 

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Reminiscences Ch.4 (Trixya)-Scoobert

Trixya high school au: so this is set when they’re both adults but each chapter has a flashback to their high school days. It’s loosely based on a song ‘caught in the crowd’, by Kate Miller-Heidke, an Australian singer I really like and saw live the other day. I cried when I heard her sing this and yeah I know it’s a little bit sad but I thought of the awesome Trixya au it could be. The song’s about Kate reminiscing on how she should’ve helped this kid out when he was being bullied in school, so this is basically the extended version of that.

An: This chapter gives a bit more of an insight into Trixie’s past and what she’s been through, get ready for some fluff in the next chapter, it’ll probably be the last one because this story was supposed to be a oneshot but I just kept writing and feel that I don’t want it to continue into the real world once the flashbacks are finished.

Hope ya like it

Xx Scoobert

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