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"But I am just a doll," she whispered

As the caretaker’s hands

Pulled off her clothing, pulled off her armor

Pulled off her defenses mercilessly

"But you are not a doll," they said

And forced her under the water

Washing her porcelain skin, washing her plastic hair

Washing away all she had built up for herself

"I am a doll, meant to be used and played with," she said

Or she would have

Had she not been simply a toy

Meant to be used and played with

"You are a princess," they said

And pulled her from the water

And dried her off and dressed her up in bows and silks

And set her on the shelf

"You are not a doll," they said

To her lifeless, fragile body

That they had used and played with

skullcandycharmer:

Please see this post for the inspiration of this fic and also the context behind the entire thing. (Also, I’m very sorry about my theme’s font.)

This was it. Today was the day that Sendou Aichi Zendou Aiji was going to confess his feelings to the amazing, handsome, absolutely fantastic cardfighter Kai Toshiki.

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rally-dawson:

“Honestly, Kaito, if we didn’t hate the same people, we’d have a friendship based on nothing.”

“I don’t know about that, Ryoga. I’m pretty damn sure there’s more to it than that, especially given that you’ve shoved me up against a wall for this conversation.”

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rally-dawson:

At first you’d thought it’d be easy, reaffirming yourself into the position of Mituna’s Most Important Someone. You hadn’t been the first to find him, after whatever it was that had happened to make those scars cut down from his forehead, but you’d cared for him until he woke up, every day doing more, giving more, even to the point where everyone else was worried about you, too. Even Kurloz stayed away, though it was his duty as a moirail to watch over and protect him. You’d hissed out spitefully, when he came to Mituna’s side to try and aid him with you, “Maybe you should have done that earlier, you stitch-mouthed, overly religious freak.”

It was terrible of you to say, you know that, and even now, you still regret it a little bit. But it’s not your fault that Mituna didn’t wake up for almost two perigrees afterwards. Maybe you might have been able to save him if you’d just been there sooner…maybe you even could have prevented it altogether. His words of doom, his prophecies, you’d heard him tell them before, sometimes when he was sleeping, sometimes when he was awake and screaming from visions you couldn’t understand. You, of all trolls, should have believed him. He was your matesprit, after all.

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rally-dawson:

One of the things that Karkat remembers about his best friend was that one time, when his computer was fucking up royally and he needed help, after Sollux had fixed it, he’d smacked Karkat on the back of his head and said, “I’ll come whenever you call for me, okay?”

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rally-dawson:

The Dolorosa and the Disciple were out for the night, and it was always on nights like these, which came few and far between, when the Signless would curl up in the Psiioniic’s arms and talk to him. Sometimes, it was in their payhive room, snuggled up together in their double-sized recuperacoon, their bodies pressed against each other as he sleepily murmured things into the Psiioniic’s ear, and sometimes drunkenly, over a few beers at the nearest pub, either being sobbed over together or being whispered quietly as the Signless was nestled in the Psiioniic’s lap, layering kisses on his neck.

But right now was one of those times when they were just together, happily, at least for the moment.

The Signless broke their comfortable silence first, as he leaned against the Psiioniic’s shoulder on a couch, mostly just staring blankly at the book he was reading. “Mituna,” he stated flatly, “that was your name.”

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rally-dawson:

The Signless awoke in a panic, in the middle of the day when he should have still been sleeping, and his first reaction was, much to the disgruntlement and annoyance of those sleeping around him, to scramble over everyone in a mad dash to where the Psiioniic was sleeping.  Or, well, had been sleeping until he was rudely awakened by having the redblood roughly tug him up from where he was sleeping on the cave floor and into his arms, hugging him painfully tight. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, although it was certainly the first time it had been accompanied by fat red tears streaming down his face and choked-up apologies.

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rally-dawson:

The meeting place was the Hulle Granz Cathedral, which wasn’t the typical place for meetings. The Arche Koeln Waterfall was typically where Ovan would make people wait for almost half an hour until he showed up with apologies and excuses about how he’d gotten busy with something related to his work. He never elaborated, of course, and so when Haseo pushed open the doors to the cathedral proper he hadn’t expected to see the enigmatic man sitting on one of the pews.

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rally-dawson:

this fic is a sequel to this one.

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Ovan never talked about what he was like in the real world, and that never really sat well with Haseo, for whatever reason. It had even gotten to the point where he’d ask Shino about it when they were alone, although the only answer he ever got was a slight smile and “He’s exactly what you’d think he’s like.” It was like everyone who could have possibly known him in real life (which there was only one of, as far as Haseo knew) just refused to talk about him—of course, he always could have asked the man himself, but that’d just be embarrassing in the end. What if he was one of those people that didn’t like talking about themselves, anyway? It’d all just be useless in the end.

This was why Ryou felt completely justified when he found himself doodling notes about a real-life Ovan—er, Masato Indou on his school notes.

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rally-dawson:

Hinata’s hands shook with anger as they wrapped around Komaeda’s throat.

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