Tumgik
#I have never felt my actual life crash and collide with my internet life so hard
Note
hi i was just wondering what your pronouns are ? feel free not to answer if it makes u uncomfy ofc !
I prefer not being perceived.
#they/them to actually answer your question though#sorry for the shitpost answer. I thought I was being funny#I'm not. but that doesn't stop me from trying#p.s. I hope you read the tags or I look like such an asshole#I mean I am. but that's not the point#I do find it funny how the internet cares more about this shit than people in my actual life#i'm not having personal issues with this at all in fact. I am very normal and very fine and very stable#the curious clown#anonymous#idk why I feel weird about pronouns on the internet. maybe because real life is entirely shit about it and I project that onto the internet#too drunk for this ask tbh#I have never felt my actual life crash and collide with my internet life so hard#not even when I made a fucking meme about me telling someone they could fit into a fucking horse#gender is a fucking pain in my entire ass. sorry you had the Tag Essay Rant of the century#ignore me. its fine#also who are you#the idea any anonymous person wants to know about me is wild#do you talk about me. hello.#part of me wondered if/when the question would arise#and I answered it like the clown I am#no one is even reading this far into the tags#and yet I cannot stop talking#you definitely are not reading this far down but#thank you for asking!#p.s. that 'i am just about worn out with bitches' post was 100% related to gender :')#it got repurposed for other needs because people piss me off#but that day was hard#oversharing in the tags because no one reads them when they are this long <333
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thebiasrekkers · 4 years
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Fragmentation 0.8
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Plot: How does one measure freedom? Are our choices truly our own, or are they part of a preset design outside of our control? We all have a question burning inside of us, though few speak it out. It is the question that drives us forward, seeking purpose in our lives. What is The Matrix?
Rating: NC-17 // NSFW
Genre: Series | The Matrix!AU | angst | sci-fi | action | drama
Pairing: N/A
Warnings: Strong language, allusions to suicide, extreme angst, graphic violence
Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]
Word Count: 2,138
AN: Like all of my works, there will be OCs working opposite of the boys. In this story, we have three. The first in the Fragmentation series is Mackenzie. Like Yoongi and Hoseok, she is self-substantiated. How she does will be revealed! On to Crow’s origin story for Defragmentation! All information in the universe can be found on the official Matrix Wiki so please use that as a reference guide if you ever get confused!
Tag List: @aroseforyoongi​, @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432​
© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.
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“Goddammit Mackenzie! I thought I told you to be home by eleven!”
A pair of green eyes glared up at the rotund looking man. His reddish complexion was barely seen from the scraggly beard covering the majority of his face. Sweat soaked through the dingy wife beater he wore, half stuffed into a pair of faded cargo pants. There were a pair of dog tags hanging from his neck - something that always piqued the green-eyed owner’s interest, but never enough to ask about them. 
Mackenzie doubted he served anyone but himself, let alone the country.
Instead of answering him, she folded her arms across her chest. Normally this was the time when she escaped into her room, but he was blocking the way. He was always getting in her way. 
It was his fault. Life used to be normal. This was as far from normal as a person could get. He was as far from being a real father as a person could get.
“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
She rolled her eyes, doing her best to ignore the stink of alcohol on his breath. Mackenzie didn’t understand why he persisted on being like this. It was the same shit on a different day. Part of her wished that he would walk outside and get hit by a bus. But she knew that that was a miracle she would never be granted. 
“Answer me!”
“What do you expect when I’m closing?” Mackenzie asked, her tone flat and devoid of all emotion. 
Her father’s eyes narrowed at her. She didn’t even flinch. “What did you just say to me?”
“I didn’t stutter,” came her clipped response as she let her arms fall to her side, “now move. I still have homework to do.”
Before she could take a single step, her father was advancing on her. Mackenzie mentally braced herself for what was coming. Her body was used to it, but it was always that dark corner in the back of her mind that suffered the most from all of this. So long as that part was shielded, she could handle everything else that usually followed. 
The pain that exploded from the side of her head paled in comparison to the pain of her hip crashing to the floor. Her arms immediately shot up to cover the top of her head as her body curled into a ball. The flurry of kicks that collided into her caused her nerves to scream out in agony. But Mack refused to scream, instead choosing to bite the inside of her mouth. The taste of blood flooded across her tongue and she heard her teeth clacking together when the heel of her father’s boot hit the top of her head.
After what felt like hours, but were actually minutes, her father abandoned her there on the floor. Every square inch of Mack’s body throbbed from the pain. There would be bruises tomorrow. Thankfully he’d missed her face so she could still go to work and school without receiving too many curious gazes. It was none of their goddamn business anyway.
Mack waited until she heard the front door slam before picking herself up off the floor. She roughly rubbed the back of her wrist across the corner of her mouth, eyeing the blood smear and rolling her eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder if the old man would notice if she spit on the floor just to spite him. Would he even care?
Grunting, she made her way into her bedroom, locking the door after shutting it behind her. Her father would most likely be out getting drunk for the rest of the night. It meant she had the whole house to herself until he came stumbling back in at four in the morning. Mack just hoped that she’d be able to get all of her school assignments finished and have enough time to surf the internet. Something told her that she was getting closer to finding what she was looking for.
Or, rather, who she was looking for. 
Speeding through her homework, Mack pulled up several browser windows once she was securely connected to the internet. Her eyes darted across the screen, her fingers flying over the keys - pausing only long enough to use her mouse to click on a few links that spiraled her into another location. Mack reached out to everyone that might have a lead and she got just a little bit closer than she did the day before. 
After another hour, she was starting to get frustrated. Everything was forcing her into a dead end. Just when she thought she had a lead, it only caused her to go on a wild goose chase on the wide web. Mack roughly scratched at her head, attempting to tamp down on her slowly mounting anger. 
“Dammit!” She slammed her fists on her desk, rattling everything on it. “Why can’t anyone just give me a straight fucking answer?!”
Burying her face in her hands, Mack did her best to suppress a sob that she didn’t even realize was building up in the back of her throat. She was tired, in pain, and a little hungry. But most of all, she was starting to lose hope. And that was starting to hurt her more than she would care to admit aloud. 
“Fuck it,” she muttered, standing up from her chair, “I’ll pick this up in the morning.”
Just as Mack turned away from her desk, the ping from her instant messenger sounded from the laptop. Pausing, she craned her neck to look at the screen. The username consisted of a series of random numbers. But what made her heart nearly drop to her stomach was what the person said.
You’ll never find Michael because you don’t know The Truth.
Mack ran back to her desk, her fingers gliding over the keyboard. She could barely hear herself typing from how loudly her heart was beating inside of her eardrums. It was the first time someone responded to her inquiries with something credible. It was the first time she could actually believe what she was seeing.
Because it was the first time someone actually mentioned her brother by name.
Who are you? How do you know that name?
The cursor on her screen blinked steadily. Mack wasn’t sure how much more she could take because she was almost positive that this was the clue she’d been searching for after all this time. It was a solid lead just because someone was able to give her a name. If they knew her brother’s name, that meant that they also had a good idea of where he was. She couldn’t afford to let this person slip from her grasp.
Who I am doesn’t matter.
How I know doesn’t matter.
What matters is...
What are you willing to do to know The Truth?
She stared at the computer dumbfounded. Was this another trick? Was this person just jerking her chain, trying to lead her into a false sense of security before sucker punching her in the face like everyone else? It would be the most logical explanation. It was the only thing that actually made sense.
Mack didn’t know why, but she felt like that wasn’t the case. Not with this person. Were they trying to lead her onto the right path after having been on the wrong one for so long?
Narrowing her eyes, she began typing again.
Anything.
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The air was cold and frigid. Mack rubbed her hands together, her breath coming out in small white clouds. She peered through the metal fence as people continued to file through the city. She was isolated from the rest, sitting on a park bench and waiting. She looked at her watch, making a mental note of the time. She had five minutes left to wait. 
Five minutes until she would know whether this was real or a hoax.
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot quickly brought her out of her thoughts. Mack stood up immediately, facing the direction of the noise. All she could see were the trees cloaked in shadows cast from the street lights. She couldn’t see anyone, but the crunching noise wouldn’t stop. There was a large lump forming in Mack’s throat and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d fallen into a trap.
Seconds after thinking that, a young woman dressed in gray and black appeared. She wore a long black coat with a hood just barely covering her head of thick curls. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. The rest of her outfit was some sort of gray jumpsuit that almost seemed to shimmer when it hit the light just right. The legs of the suit were stuffed into a pair of shin high combat boots - the heels continuously crunching into the gravel; releasing an eerie sound.
Mack puffed out another breath of cloudy air just as the woman stopped three feet from her.
“Y-You’re early,” she managed to stammer out.
The other woman smirked, her auburn curls accentuating her mocha skin even in shadow. “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. You’re late, Mack.” She reached up with a gloved hand to remove the sunglasses from her face, revealing a set of dark hazel eyes. “Or should I say, Crow?”
Mack took a step back, her lips parting slightly as the woman referred to her as both her name and her alias. Her heart hammered against her ribs, causing her lungs to tighten up inside. What in the world was happening? Just how much did this woman know?
Not wanting to look like some punk, she shook her head and straightened her stance. “You have information I want and yet I don’t know anything about you.”
The woman continued to smile. “I already told you that who I am doesn’t matter. It never will matter.” She shrugged. “Not until you know The Truth.”
“What the hell is this truth you keep talking about?” Mack could feel her anger starting to grow. “What does it even mean?”
She watched the other woman reaching into her pocket to pull out a cell phone. She punched a few numbers and then pressed it up to her ear. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a whole lot of time for me to explain. You’re going to have to see it for yourself.” 
Mack bit her lower lip, her eyes narrowing as she watched the woman reaching into her other pocket with her free hand. Half a second later, her heart froze as the woman trained the business end of a semi-automatic pistol at her. 
“Whoa,” Mack said, raising her hands up slowly, “what in the fuck are you doing, lady?”
“You have a choice to make, Crow, and you don’t have a whole lot of time to make it, so I’ll be quick.”
Panic began to settle around Mack’s chest. “What do you mean I don’t have a lot of time?!”
“Agents are coming. They’re coming for you because you’re sloppy and desperate, which, sadly, is making me sloppy and desperate.” 
When the hammer clicked back on the gun, tears sprung up in Mack’s eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Shut-up,” snapped the woman, the smile now completely gone from her face, “I already told you we don’t have a lot of time. You have two choices. You let the Agents take you or I force you out of the bubble you’ve unknowingly been put in. I’m giving you five seconds starting now. Five.”
She took another step back, but the woman advanced on her. Mack didn’t know what any of it meant. What did she mean by “agents” and why did it seem like this woman was trying to help her, despite the situation looking crazy to everyone else?
“Four.”
Her heart shook in her chest, causing her to reach up and clutch at the front of her jacket. Mack didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die without knowing the answers.
“Three.”
She still didn’t know where her brother was. She still didn’t know what The Truth was and what it had to do with her brother.
“Two.”
She wanted to live!
Mack ran up to the woman, wrestling the gun from her grasp. The woman took a step back, but the smile returned to her face. Mack pressed the barrel of the gun up to her temple as tears streamed down her cheeks. Multiple footsteps seemed to thunder through the gravel, but Mack could only see the single snowflake that began to fall from the night sky. The world disappeared into lines of green numbers before returning to normal.
She smiled.
“One.”
After the gunshot ripped through the night, Mack’s world darkened immediately. But she...she felt free, somehow.
“Welcome to the Real World.”
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thiefcat-niao · 5 years
Text
Ending the Session (Chapter 3)
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!   Characters/Ships: Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou Bakura); Ryou Bakura, Thief King Bakura, Atem, Yugi Mutuo, Zorc Necrophades Rating: T Length: Chapter 3 / 3; 4100 words
Summary:
Into Ryou’s lonely apartment comes a spirit, an ancient power that speaks and manifests through the Ouija board kept beneath the bed. It calls itself Tou, and claims to be human. Ryou believes.
Read on AO3 Previous Chapter – Next Chapter (Fin!)
Ryou Bakura, with shaking hands, unfolded the Ouija board. He fumbled to light a single candle, then tucked the lighter into his pocket. Though he'd set his phone to silent, he saw Yugi's name flashing again and again on the lit screen.
"Tou? Tou, are you here? Please, answer me!"
The room grew suddenly less empty, and Ryou felt a sweeping sense of relief as the pointer began to move. "im here... as you command...”
Ryou laughed breathlessly, almost hearing the sardonic tone. "I did something I shouldn't have, Tou. I—I wanted to know who you were."
"you could have just asked..."
"I figured you wouldn't answer."
"youre probably right haha..."
Ryou laughed weakly. "I have a friend—he comes from Egypt."
"figured out that much eh..."
"Yeah. But I couldn't find any records of someone called Thief King, on the internet, and so I asked my friend. He comes from Egypt, and travels there at least once a year, and he's an Egyptologist, actually, so I figured—"
"the point..."
"Well... my friend, he says he knew you. In a previous life."
There was a beat of silence, and then the pointer moved slowly in the shape of a question mark.
Ryou swallowed. "His name's Atem. He says he was the pharaoh, when you were alive."
The spirit didn't react as violently as Ryou would have expected; indeed, when the pointer finally moved, it all but crawled across the board. "so pharaoh atem lives again in this time..."
"He thought you might hurt me. I told him that you wouldn't, that that was ridiculous, that you would never, but he didn't believe me. He says he's on his way here, now, and I don't know what to do."
Again the spirit was silent for a long moment, then asked, "did almighty atem tell you anything specific about me...”
"No," Ryou lied, without hesitation. "He seemed... really freaked out, though."
"understandable..." was the pensive response. "we didnt see eye to eye the pharaoh and i...”
"With a title like Thief King, I can image not."
"haha... thats true... it was a bit worse than all that though...”
He said you were a demon... Ryou almost admitted it, but the sheer absurdity of the thought kept him from verbalizing it. "I know you're a good spirit, Touzokuo. No matter what happened, in the past."
There was a long pause, the air heavy with the spirit's presence. Ryou waited patiently, and felt a faint warmth hover over his hand when the pointer finally began to move.
"im not worth that type of faith nedjem...”
"But you are. I'm sure of if. I can feel the goodness in you," Ryou insisted.
The pointer moved restlessly, for a moment, and then spelled out, "thank you... ryou bakura...”
A pounding sounded at the door, then, and Ryou looked up sharply; didn't take his hand from the pointer.
"Bakura!" That was Atem's voice from just outside the front door. The pounding came again, harder. "Open up! Open the door, Bakura!"
"Are you okay, Ryou-kun?" came Yugi's voice. "Please let us in!"
"I wish..." Ryou whispered, feeling his hands begin to tremble; he placed both of them over the pointer. "I wish we could share a meal, Touzokuo..."
"so sweet nedjem..." was the reply, spelled out slowly. "but this is for the best... we have to say goodbye for now..."
"They'll take the board!" Ryou objected, tears in his eyes as he shook his head. "I won't! I won't say goodbye! I'll leave the board now, I'll leave the door open, and—"
"dont—" The pointer moved forcefully. "do not ryou... dont do that... do you understand..."
"Ryou, please!" came Yugi's voice, again.
There was a tremendous thud, and Atem shouted, "I'll break the door if I have to, Bakura!" Again, a crash that shook the house and undoubtedly woke a few neighbors. "Answer me, Bakura!"
"ryou dont—" the spirit said, jerking the pointer forcefully towards the "goodbye" in the corner of the board. "r-y-o-u-r-y-o-u-r-y-o-u-r-y-"
"You aren't a demon!" Ryou wailed, looking around the room as if he could see the spirit. Atem slammed into his front door again, and the wood creaked. "I won't believe it!"
A force seemed to hold Ryou's hands to the pointer, but it was weak—insistent, desperate, but feeble in the physical world. Ryou wrenched his hands away from the board and the pointer soared for "goodbye." It skittered to a halt just short of the word, and Ryou thudded back with the force of his own momentum. Atem threw his shoulder against the door again, and the cheep wood gave with a crash and shower of splinters.
"Bakura!"
"Ryou-kun!"
Ryou Bakura, however, was fixated on the board. It had begun to vibrate, and a strange little vortex of sand started to form above it even as Atem and Yugi careened, colliding with the door-frame and with each other, into the room.
"Great Ra, you didn't—!" Atem shouted, above the increasing, unnatural sound of wind. Yugi hurried to Ryou's side and helped his friend up, but Ryou pushed away when Yugi tried to pull him toward the door.
The sand began, slowly, to take form—to take the form of a man. A red robe cracked into being, scattering sand, and the man shook his head to scatter the grains from his mop of gray hair. He looked down at his powerful hands, at his chest, exposed beneath an open robe, and at his board shoulders. Then he looked up, a huge grin twisting the gruesome scar that marred the right side of his face.
"Great Anubis, I'm back! Look at this!" He held out his hands again, examining their backs and spreading his fingers. "I have missed this body so damn much!" Then his gaze fell on Ryou, eyes and smile softening to something that could only be called tender. He spread his arms. "Ryou... great gods, you are so stupid... so kind and so beautiful and so brave and so incredibly stupid... I told you not to..."
"Stay back, demon!" Atem snarled, as the Thief King moved towards Ryou. The Thief King stalled; blinked, and then began to laugh raucously. Atem indulged in looking insulted.
"Bwahahaha! You're just as tiny in this lifetime, Pharaoh! No luck in that genetic draw, ay? I think you've lost an inch or two, since we last met!"
"Fuck you," Atem spat, making a visible effort to stand straighter. "I'll kill you again, where you stand."
The Thief King's eyes widened, suddenly, and locked on the third person present, visible over Atem's shoulder; his face lost it's mocking grin, along with most of its color, and he breathed, "Prince?"
"Prince?" Yugi echoed, in confusion, and Atem moved between Yugi and the Thief King.
"Leave him out of this, monster!"
"My prince..." the Thief King breathed, and then dropped down to one knee despite Atem's furious objections. "You two are together, then... thank the gods..."
"You filthy, bastard thief!" Atem's fist drew back. "Murderer!"
"Stop!" Ryou grabbed Atem's arm as he threw all of his weight into the punch. They both lurched sideways; Atem had to fight to stay on his feet, but managed it, and flung Ryou off. Ryou yelped; fell, but never hit the ground.
Instead, he landed against the chest of the Thief King; he felt powerful arms close around him and turned to look up at that scarred face.
"Oh god, you're handsome..." Ryou breathed, before he could check himself. The Thief King blinked, dark red rising into cheeks.
"Release him, demon!" Atem shouted, and the Thief King granted him a baleful glare.
"I'm no demon, Pharaoh," he sneered, his lip curling as he set Ryou back on his own feet. He kept his hands on Ryou's shoulders, though, and Ryou didn't pull away. "I made a deal with a demon. My soul is fused with a demon. But I'm not a demon. There's a big difference, there."
"Your soul...?" Ryou breathed, and the Thief King looked down at him.
"I told you not to let me out, Ryou. I told you. If I get out, then he gets out, too."
"You make it sound like you had no say in the matter, Thief King," came a new, rumbling voice that shook the apartment walls. The Ouija board began to vibrate again—to bounce about madly on the ground. The Thief King drew Ryou closer to him, protectively, and Atem crouched slightly, head swinging around. "I never forced your hand. You made that deal with me, three millennia ago, of your own free will."
"And then you consumed me!" the Thief King snarled. "That was never part of our agreement!"
"You were a fool, to think you could hold my will at bay," the voice said, with an otherworldly chuckling. "Your bad judgement isn't my fault. I never said I'd let you keep any of your own identity."
"You never overwhelmed me, not completely," the Thief King growled, tightening his grip on Ryou's shoulders. "And you won't now, after three millennia." Ryou, without thinking, reached up and folded one hand over Touzokuo's.
"Couldn't even get rid of me in death..." the demon said, laughing again. "And then..."
"Shut up, monster!" the Touzokuo roared.
"... You swear up and down that you regret it, that you hate me, and then you go and make another deal with me, after all these hundreds of years!" The demon bellowed with laughter.
The Thief King closed his eyes; looked down, and whispered, "Three thousand years is a long time..."
"You'd make contact with a mortal, and charm them, and get them to let us both out! And then we'd both have our freedom, and you'd have your body back, and I'd have the body of whatever fool you got to open up the portal!"
Touzokuo tightened his grip on Ryou, who'd begun again to tremble. "I told him not to..." he breathed, then raised his head. "Three thousand years is a long time, but I'll take three thousand more! Not this one, Zorc!!"
The demon's laughter swelled; gained a manic pitch, and he shrieked, "Too late for that, Thief King!" The whole apartment rocked, and Touzokuo scooped Ryou bodily up. Though aware that it was probably not the time to be concerned with such things, Ryou couldn't repress a flustered wave of embarrassment as he was pressed against the Thief King's chest. A second later, the apartment floor buckled; shattered up, and Touzokuo shifted his weight expertly to keep his footing on the shards of carpeted concrete. Yugi screamed, but it was drowned in moments by the sounds of the collapse and the demon's cackling.
Ryou shut his eyes; clung to the broad-chested man who held him, and breathed in the musky desert scent of a distant Egyptian past.
The impact of landing jarred Ryou's eyes back open, and he heard the shrill shriek of the woman who lived in the apartment below him. He gasped; choked on the dust and debris, and coughed. Touzokuo's grip on him tightened almost uncomfortably. The neighbor woman paused for breath; continued to scream.
"This... is lovely..." came a chortling rumble of a voice, and Ryou looked up. A huge, draconian shape towered up through what was left of his bedroom floor; a thick, armored tail smashed into the wall, breaking through into the neighbor woman's living room.
"See, Pharaoh?" Touzokuo called over, as Atem heaved himself out of a small pile of rubble; Yugi staggered up beside him. "Not me! Clearly not me! Zorc and I are definitely not the same thing!"
"Separate, perhaps, but certainly connected." Zorc lowered his upper body to leer down at the Thief King, malevolent violet eyes glowing amid his deformed face. Touzokuo glared back, unflinching. "Selling your soul isn't without it's consequences, you know."
Ryou felt the Thief King's chest heave suddenly; clutched questioningly at Touzokuo's red robes. Touzokuo staggered; placed Ryou down, gently and deliberately, as he retched again, then sunk slowly to his knees. Zorc reached down; extended a clawed digit.
"Kneel."
Touzokuo's body lurched forward and he vomited sand and blood, one hand hitting the ground for balance. Ryou cried out and crouched beside him as the Thief King crumpled, a moment later, to his elbows.
"Damn..." Touzokuo breathed; grit his teeth and snapped, "Damn it, Ryou, why'd you have to let me out?!"
Zorc laughed as Ryou flinched back, then swung to face Atem. "I remember you—the Pharaoh! Strange how fate brings us all back together, millennia later... And even Egypt's young prince..."
Yugi straightened, even as Atem placed himself firmly in front of him. "Atem, tell me what's happening!" Yugi implored. "I had a past life with you, didn't I? Why haven't you told me?"
"Because he can't bear to recount the tragic tale of Prince Yugi of Egypt!" Zorc chortled. "But now that Prince Yugi's murderer is back among the living..."
"That's you, monster, not me!" Touzokuo snarled, pointing at Zorc. "I was only after gold! A thief! You were the killer, the demon!"
Zorc, with an almost disinterested look, flicked one claw downward, and the Thief King slammed into the ground with a curse.
"Leave him alone!" Ryou shouted, and Zorc swung to face him.
"Wait your turn, little sweet. I'll deal with you in just a moment."
"Stay back, Ryou..." Touzokuo murmured, struggling to pull himself forward, even slightly. The sight made Ryou's heart twist.
""i cant take much more of this ryou..." the spirit had said. "of being dead... i want to live again... id give anything..."
"being alive is the greatest thing... even if youre in pain... even if youre suffering... even if you have to struggle for every breath... its worth it... take it from a ghost ryou... its worth it"
"Leave him alone!" Ryou said again, striding forward towards the demon. Atem gave a shout of objection, rushing forward and grabbing his shoulders. Ryou struggled against him. "Let go of me!"
"You can't fight something like that!" Atem snapped. "We have to run!"
"Run?!" Yugi demanded, making Atem jump. "And exactly where would we go?!"
"Egypt," Atem answered, his eyes wild. "There are artifacts, there, that can—"
"Atem, we can't make it all the way to Egypt with something like that chasing us!" Yugi said, exasperated, with a gesture toward Zorc.
"He'll make a useful distraction," Atem declared, motioning to where the Thief King still struggled to lift himself from the ground. Touzokuo grinned sardonically.
"However I can be of service, Pharaoh..." he wheezed out, and Ryou wrenched again at Atem's grip.
"Then I'll stay behind, too!" Ryou snapped, and Atem rounded on him.
"Don't even—!" he began, but was cut off by a scream—Yugi's scream. "Yugi!"
Zorc's hand swept in; plucked Yugi up, like a doll, and held him aloft. Atem instantly released Ryou and started forward.
"Did you expect me to just wait until you finished your little quarrel?" the demon asked, with a chuckle that rattled what was left of the walls. Sirens shrieked in the distance. "Pity... look at the dear prince struggle..."
"A-Atem...!" Yugi cried out, and then gasped in pain as Zorc's grip around him tightened.
"Damn...!" Atem's hands formed fists, but it was a largely useless gesture. He closed his eyes. “Great Ra not again!”
Ryou’s hearing faded, as he watched Zorc give Yugi a sadistic little shake; he heard Atem’s defiant shouting, but only faintly. Turning, he looked at the King of Thieves—at the resurrected spirit, Touzokuo, driven cruelly to the ground beneath the weight of the deal he had made; struggling to rise despite the hopelessness of it.
With a strange lightness, Ryou started forward; walked, calmly and deliberately, toward the demon-god Zorc.
“Bakura! Get back!” That was Atem—Ryou ignored him. “Bakura!”
“Ryou...!” Touzokuo’s cry was far more tremulous; it didn't suit him, and it pierced Ryou's heart. But he didn't look back at the King of Thieves.
"Zorc?" Ryou called up, and the demon rumbled; Yugi choked as Zorc's grip tightened around him.
"Yes, little one?"
"Would you accept me as tribute? Will you release Touzokuo's soul, if I give you myself?"
"Ryou!" Touzokuo shouted again, and then cried out roughly.
Ryou didn't turn to see what had happened; kept his gaze on Zorc Necrophades. "I'll give you my body. So please, release him."
Zorc chuckled—a deep rumble that made bits of rubble bounce against the ground. "What gives you the impression that I wouldn't take that for myself, regardless?"
"Wouldn't my willingness make it simpler?" Ryou asked. He couldn't feel his feet touching the ground. He slid one hand into his pocket; held the other out in a gesture of surrender. "I offer myself as tribute. Isn't that what every god desires the most?"
Zorc laughed again. "Perhaps... perhaps." He let Yugi fall—a violent thing, Yugi's body striking the ground before he had the time to gasp out more than half a cry. Atem screeched his name, but Ryou didn't look back; didn't allow himself to look at Yugi, either. He just began walking, again, toward Zorc. "Come, then. I'll use your body to finish the job and kill your precious friends."
Ryou heard Touzokuo choke out his name once again; didn't let himself dwell on it. He concentrated on the slight scratch of wood against his chest, and ran his thumb over the smooth plastic of the object in his pocket. He couldn't afford an unsteady hand. He couldn't afford to flinch.
Zorc's flesh was like decaying crocodile hide; it reeked of rotten meat, and Ryou held his breath as Zorc allowed him to step into his palm. Ryou staggered down onto one knee as he was lifted close to the demon-god's face, but he stared into the blazing hellfire eyes without flinching; didn't allow himself to look away. His pulse quickened.
"So, little sweet..." Zorc rumbled, and licked his lips. He brought Ryou closer—close enough to be bathed in the demon's rank breath. "You'll—"
Ryou moved—his left hand yanking the pendant from around his neck, his right jerking the lighter from his pocket and flicking the wheel. The amulet—the one he always wore during sessions, the one made of anise seeds and holly and rosemary and St. John's Wort all wrapped up in a dried, woven amaranth plant—caught fire like the kindling it was. Ryou flung it, with all the strength he had, into Zorc’s open mouth.
For a second, as the flaming object flew, there was perfect stillness. Ryou watched it sail into the dark cavern, dimming in the dank shadow, and then it struck the back of Zorc’s mouth in an explosion of color and sparks.
Zorc roared; threw his head back and dropped Ryou, both hands flying up. As Ryou fell, he saw Zorc’s throat erupt in blazing rainbow, as though fireworks had been set off inside it. His body felt weightless, and it occurred to him that the fiery explosion was beautiful; his white hair whipped up, obscuring his vision, and he braced for the coming impact.
Ryou thudded into something soft; heard a pained, “Oof!” and felt something crumple beneath him. Bits of putrid demon-flesh came pattering down, followed by larger chunks, and Ryou was vaguely aware of being bundled backwards. Zorc’s body was beginning to steam, noxious miasma making it difficult to breathe, and Ryou clapped his hands over his mouth and nose.
“Pharaoh!” came Touzokuo’s rough shout near Ryou’s ear. “Have you got the prince?”
Atem shouted an affirmation, and Ryou felt Touzokuo pick up speed. There was a cacophony of wet crunching, then a tremendous crash behind them, and Touzokuo staggered. Atem reached the front door first—which the neighbor woman, presumably as she fled, had left wide open—and darted out into the hallway. Touzokuo was right behind him, though he stumbled again.
“I can walk...!” Ryou said, and the King of Thieves let him reluctantly down. Hand-in-hand, they raced after Atem toward the stairwell. The sirens were ear-splitting, by then, overpowering the sound of people shouting and screaming. Atem struggled with the door to the stairs, his arms occupied with Yugi; Touzokuo shouldered him aside to open it, but let Atem go through first. Once Ryou was through, next, Touzokuo slammed and locked the door behind them.
For a moment, there was only the harsh sounds of breathing—everything else muffled slightly by the stairwell. Yugi had regained consciousness, though he still appeared dazed. Atem set him gently down, then jerked his head towards the downwards steps.
“Back to our place. Now.”
Atem didn’t wait for acknowledgement, simply started downward.
Touzokuo glanced at Ryou, who nodded; squeezed Touzokuo’s calloused hand. “We can’t stay here,” he murmured. Together they followed Atem, slipping out of the building. Most of the emergency vehicles were crowed on the main road, in front of the building, so it was easy to slip through the back allies. The apartment that Atem and Yugi shared was only a couple of blocks away, and together the four of them ran. Touzokuo's hand never left Ryou's.
Atem motioned them all toward a side entrance of the building, pushing Yugi and then Ryou though the door. Touzokuo released Ryou's hand at last, pausing to stare at the once-King of Egypt. Ryou stumbled to a halt, turning back, but stayed instinctively silent as the two stared at one another.
"Get in," Atem said, jerking his head.
"You trust me enough to let me into your house?" Touzokuo asked.
Atem gave a harsh laugh. "Only if you trust me enough to enter. I've killed you once already."
Touzokuo's lip curled. "Fair."
Atem scowled; said, "Get in!" again, and this time gave Touzokuo's shoulder a rough shove in that direction. Ryou hurried forward to intervene, but Touzokuo only chuckled as he complied. Atem closed the door behind them, then let Yugi lead them up the stairs.
"You aren't hurt, Ryou?" Yugi asked, as he ushered Ryou and Touzokuo into the apartment.
Ryou shook his head; watched as Touzokuo wandered into the living room, but then turned to Yugi. "No. A bit shaken, that's all. You? That was a nasty fall you took..."
"I'm fine, I'm fine! You were incredible!" Yugi grasped Ryou's hands. "You took him down! We all would've...!"
Ryou shrugged, growing slightly uncomfortable with the praise. "I mean... I summon spirits. I've thought about worse-case scenario before. I was prepared, that's all."
"Prepared to fight a demon-god?" Touzokuo asked, from where he'd plunked down onto the couch. "Y'never would've needed to if you hadn't let me out, though."
"That wasn't an option!" Ryou said, surprised by his own insistence. Touzokuo, too, seemed mildly startled, and didn't argue.
"You," Atem said, pointing to the King of Thieves. "You don't leave this room. I don't want you snooping around my house."
Touzokuo held up his hands. "As the Pharaoh commands."
Atem scowled, but then turned and stalked into the kitchen. Yugi followed, leaving Ryou to shuffle over and sit—lightly—beside Touzokuo. He glanced over; met the Thief King's limpid gray gaze.
"Are you alright?" Ryou asked softly.
"I can hear myself think clearly for the first time in three thousand years," Touzokuo said, his voice warm. He smiled, and it wasn't an entirely nice expression—it was close, though, and Ryou felt himself soften.
"I'm so glad."
... ... ...
Two weeks after the incident, Ryou moved into a new apartment—the old one, for reasons that remained unknown to authorities, had been destroyed by a demonic entity. In those two weeks of investigations and paperwork and insurance claims, Yugi and Atem had been good enough to loan out their couch to him.
Ryou didn't miss his old apartment. It had always felt a bit empty, a bit dark, sadness hanging stagnant in the air. The new apartment felt alive.
"It'll be weird not sleep smushed together on that tiny lil' couch," the King of Thieves crooned, coming up behind Ryou. He wrapped his arms around Ryou's midsection and gave it a little squeeze. "I like having our own kitchen, though."
Ryou hummed in agreement, skewering a piece of beef and offering it over his shoulder. Touzokuo snapped his teeth down on the chopstick, then murmured with delight at the taste. He swallowed, then kissed Ryou on the cheek.
They shared supper at their dining room table, then retired to the bedroom. Though it wasn't as small as the couch in Atem and Yugi's apartment, the full-size bed was still cozy and intimate, and they cuddled together beneath the blankets.
"I love you, Ryou..." Touzokuo breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Ryou's neck.
Ryou laughed softly; kissed Touzokuo's forehead. "I love you, too. I'm so glad you found me."
Touzokuo scoffed. "Idiot... just... no Ouija boards in this house. Ever."
"Never," Ryou swore, and he meant it. There would be no need.
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pr-pr · 7 years
Text
Long suicidal rant.
Clickbait? Yes, unapologetically so. Just for that fractional chance that someone would give a damn even though this post is super useless and shitty and pointless, like me.  
.
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So I remember high school very differently from one of my best friends. He said something I thought I’d never hear, that I was always happy. I guess I was happy around him. He was and is a happy person—the most stable person I know, in fact. We just talked a lot, and we got to talk about a lot of things and still do. Still, I remember high school so differently. We hung out during break times when I’d fawn over a crush, chat, or just chill. Or sometimes we’d cut classes together and just chat. Or go for a jog and end up just eating ice cream.
I remembered high school differently. I remember coming home from senior prom and hysterically crying myself to sleep because I’d failed to make one romantic connection the whole four years and it made me feel ugly and unloveable to the bone. Prom simply wasn’t special for people like me—ones who didn’t star in the romcom, random background extras, a snippet in the burn book. I remember going home and hating school so much I felt suicidal every night. I remember writing a short story about killing myself with shrimps and ascorbic acid—I was a nerdy kid. I remember diagnosing myself bipolar because of the experience. I remember being bullied and just sticking to my diaries. I remember failing at math no matter how hard I tried. I remember begging my parents to put me into a different school.
Of course, I also remember finding ways to cut classes so I can paint and debate the whole day—two of my favorite things to do. I also remember the great times with friends and hiding behind a pillar just so we don’t go through another boring class. I remember the laughs, the platters of instant noodles, the spots I’d linger at to see my crush. I remember it all.
I think of high school and I feel so many things colliding, so many colors bursting. All my memories are like so. And my friends tend to remember them differently. I was this, I was that. I was bubbly, I was friendly—but inside I was battling with social anxiety. They don’t know about how many hours I battled in the morning just to get up, just NOT to give up entirely. There were days I hated my friends because I just didn’t want to wake up and meet them—I just wanted to die instead.
I forget that people don’t actually hear my thoughts out loud. If they did, they’d be so turned off. I’m just such a party pooper inside. I’m always scared, always just wanting to fucking die. It began when I was four—that feeling that everything would be better off with my disappearance. My inability to carry on a suicide plan, really, up to this day, I consider a weakness, a form of indecisiveness, lackluster ambivalence.
I’ve had many dreams, of which dying has been the only consistent one. This doesn’t mean that people see me as emo, gothic or always wearing black. Far from it. I dress in rainbows. My favorite color has always been yellow. Specifically egg yolk yellow, Mercedes de Brazo yellow or that yellow dress I had as a child with the corset back I stopped wearing once it freaked out my mom because I had sleep walked in it.
No, I’m actually quite the party with the people I trust. I get it going. Ask around, you’ll see. It’s called hypomania after all. Still, it all crashes. It always does in a ball of flames and I get lonely again. I feel like a fucking freak again.
And I’m sooooo tired. I’m so tired of all this cycling. People don’t actually see me at my worst. Only my mom and sister do. They don’t see me when I just can’t fucking move. They don’t see me when I have panic attacks. They don’t see me when I descend and break down. They don’t see me starving for days. They don’t see me crying uncontrollably. They don’t see me curl up in a ball. They don’t see me shaking and twitching in a corner. They don’t see me when I bang my head on the wall or start hitting myself. They don’t see me when it hurts and I feel my brain is on fire. They don’t see me when I’m all alone and everyone is asleep and I’m still typing all this shit out trying to make sense of something, trying to find a reason to stay alive.
It’s so fucking hard. Sorry for the French. Sorry ma. Sorry God. Sorry! But life feels like torture right now. I’m just so tired and everything is forcing me to move like I’ve caught my foot on a roller coaster.
Life can be good. Of course. Life can be so fucking good. Especially when I’m in love. But life right now is hell for me. I’m doing stuff I love, sure, but fucking shit! Motherfucking  goats on a ladder, monkey fucking balls, jizz dripping dick, shit show. I’m fucking lonely as fuck. I feel like I’m on an island away from civilization. If I want to be cute about it, I feel like I’m stuck in a tower with fucking guard dragons named Penniless and Insanity.
Life feels like hell for me. I’m fucking burning and I just won’t die. Sure, hell is much worse, but fucking shit, you haven’t been in my head. God! Why? I just feel so fucking frustrated. Is there no way out?
I’m writing my shit, right? Just fucking finish this shit so I can pass it to Palanca which I won’t win anyway. I’m not getting my hopes up. But I want to finish it for the sake of finishing it. I know it’s not much. It’s just about time and unrequited love after all. There’s tons of other stuff like it. Still, STILL. I just want the satisfaction of finishing something. Having some sort of closure. BUT IT JUST WON’T END. I have the middle and end, but there’s that chunk, that problem solving part that just won’t come. You know why? Because I’m trying to write the solution to a problem I currently have no answer to. I’m asking questions I don’t know the answer to. It’s high school all over again, reading the same math problem over and over again and still having no fucking clue, that i wind up fucking crying. 
How do I cope with rejection? How do I become a better me? How do I be independent? Can i just insert “to be continued” in the middle of a screenplay?
Maybe my shrink knows the answer. I haven’t seen her in a while. Honestly, because I can’t fucking afford her like I can’t fucking afford meeting people right now even with isolation fucking driving me fucking mad.
Questions to ask my shrink:
What am I supposed to do when I’m suicidal?
Some people think I’m always happy, should I correct them?
How to not be a party pooper when telling people I’m fucking crazy?
 I think I might have over skinned my lips. Fucking burns. 
This feels just so dumb. Writing this shit down. No one’s ever going to read it. No one’s ever going to understand me. All my life has been about trying to make people understand just so I can feel a little fucking less lonely. Nothing’s changed. People don’t know me. I’m either sunshine or a storm cloud.
Sometimes I wish I could chop off my legs so people could see why I can’t run, walk or just stand. Like yeah. At least now they can see. It’s not like I want a pity party. I don’t. But I want to be understood. I want someone who gets it.
I wish I could treat this. I wish meds will make this go away. But it’ll just manage it. And when I get rid of the deepest blues, I get rid of the brightest yellows and I’ll just have nothing to live for anyway. How the fuck do I live?
I constantly feel fucking worthless and useless. I know it’s the disorder, but it’s not like I can get rid of the disorder. It might as well be an organ on its own really.
I just want to die so badly. I’ve just just had enough. My head’s hurt for what, how many decades now? It just burns and aches and vibrates and spreads throughout my body and nobody understands. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be scared.
The paranoia doesn’t help. Yeah, you can say it’s kept me alive, the whole panoptical life caused by years of trauma of mom reading my diaries, notes, letters, and text messages. Fucking motherfucking shit. It’s kept me alive in a way. I don’t do drugs, sex and very seldom drabble in legal potent substances. I very seldom lie. I can’t even leave the house without telling my mom. I’m “good” because I just live in constant fear of myself. I feel like everything is a gateway for worse things. I can’t let go. I can’t breathe. I wish I could just be.
I wish I could just breathe. I wish the pain would stop. I wish someone would get it. I wish I was worth it. I wish people believed in me. I wish he never had to leave me. I wish he loved me back. I wish my dad wasn’t an asshole. I wish my dad just loved my family. I wish my mom was ok. I wish I wasn’t so traumatized. I wish I could travel. I wish, I wish, I wish. We can’t have everything we want now.
Look, I have a lot. I got a great education. I got good grades even. I got an okay face. Mom says I’m too pretty, but she’s my mom, of course she’d say that. My mom also says my ass is wide but not big—which is bad because I don’t do enough exercise.
Fuck.
I have a lot to be grateful about. I can write—though no one fucking reads me. I can paint—there’s a giant blank canvass upstairs but no fucking paint (for weeks I SOUGHT). I can cook—as much as the next internet aficionado with taste buds. I can…
I can die.
The thought soothes me. Comforts me. I’ve told my doctor many times before but drowned it out with jokes and I’m okays. She counter checks with my mom who still wishes that all this was controllable, was just imagined. Can’t blame her. I, too, wish this was just a nightmare I could wake up from.
Pinch. No! Haha!
It’s reality. I’m suicidal and I don’t know what I can do about it. It’s not like I’m actively trying. I’m just always considering how much better it would be on the other side. I keep thinking about overdosing on chocolate or eating too much fatty stuff that liver cirrhosis occurs. I keep thinking of finishing something great, an obra maestra, then just jumping off a building or some shit. Anything really. I don’t know.
Sometimes, it scares me, up close. Like that heart attack scare, I thought I wanted to live. But wanting to live is such a fleeting thing. What is more constant, what nags at my brain everyday is what if, what if!!! WHAT IF THIS ALL JUST ENDS.
Maybe this is just a call for attention. But I’m sort of tired of the attention too. I’m so tired of telling people how miserable I am and them filing it in a folder under my name. “Jasper, sap.” “Jasper, toxic.” I’m tired of wearing people thin. If I die, it’ll be like pulling off a band aid, really. Quick. Not like this. A long torturous whine. My existence is like the nails on the chalkboard.
I scratched the blackboard once or twice and it caught my crush’s attention. I kinda enjoyed it. Few times I existed in his orbit, even if it was in the world’s most annoying form. Gold.
This is why my humor is dark. It’s the only way I fucking survive. Laughing at myself. At the in-credulousness of it all. Of existing in spite. Of living through pain for nothing. Ha! Pathetic! To detach myself from myself, so I can look from above and laugh at me as I trip on my own fucking feet—my reason for living.
I’m hilarious. How I blunder through life. How I almost got suspended once because some girls gossiped about my armpit hair. How I fell in love with a man who felt absolutely nothing for me. You know why I fell for him? Because I’d never felt so loved before. Ha! Amazing. Just hilarious.
I don’t want your pity. I don’t even want you to fucking worry. I’m not going to kill myself. I don’t need you to tell me that I don’t seem crazy. Telling me that makes me feel like I just imagined my whole diagnosis you know, and that my brand of fucked up is way beyond medical science. I just want to be underfuckingstood.
Is that so hard?
I didn’t know that a movie about aliens was going to be the movie of my life. I’ve never felt so understood until the movie Arrival, it’s hilarious. I feel like I’m just talking alien and the only solution to my problem is to write a book in the future about it. Fucking shit. I experience life, also, I realized like an alien. Always experiencing everything in the context of the future and past. Everything to me is in medias res. I don’t understand linearity. That’s why I’m always lost. Left and right is a circle to me. Everything is so fucking nonlinear my brain is constantly overwhelmed. Am I happy? Am I sad? I don’t know. Hence my trademark HUHUHAHA/HAHAHUHU. Sort of sounds like a monkey.
WHINE WHINE WHINE
Who the fuck will ever read this shit.  NO fucking one.
My whole life I dedicated to be understood--my whole college thesis all about it. In the words of Ursula: Pathetic.
I remember in fourth grade was it? Yeah, probably. I used abstract art to tell my dad that I knew his deepest darkest secret and he was the asshole of my life. Of course he didn’t get it. I abstracted it for a reason.
Life is like a knot. I don’t know where it ends or begins—all I see is that it’s a tangle I can’t solve.
I’m so fucking needy.
I know the answer isn’t love. Pop culture would tell you it is. It’s not. But what if medication doesn’t help? HOPELESS FuCKiNG SHIT.
One day, I ask the wind, the farts I make when everyone is asleep, will I grow thin? Will I just snap? Will I just finally have enough? Will the guilt of leaving my family behind finally be secondary to my suffering?
Someone has it worse—they say. I just don’t like that saying. Like fuck that shit. FUCK THAT SHIT. Someone always has it worse, doesn’t cancel out the fucking chronic pain of my life. Now I have to feel guilty for feeling bad on top of feeling guilty for being alive? FUCK THAT SHIT.
I can’t sleep. It’s been 5 fucking pages. It’s 3 am.
I used to arrive with sappy you can do its. I don’t think I will this time.
Cheers to one day dying. Cheers to death that comes to all. Cheers to death the great equalizer. Cheers to death, my brain’s last hope for a silencer.
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stan-holland · 7 years
Text
Collide - Tom Holland x Singer!Reader
Songs that inspired this: “Stealing Cars,” “Yorktown” (strange, I know), and “True” (Spandau Ballet!). It was all very strange.
The next one – which I’ve already started, so let’s hope it’s done soon – is going to be based on a Hamilton song, so woo!
Again: thank you for reading and if you have any comments, questions, concerns, etc. please feel free to inbox me/message me.x
The reader is as inclusive as possible.
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“Hey, Y/N, how are you this fine morning?” Your publicist was on the phone and he sounded way too happy for a 7 am phone call. 
“Hey Pat, I’m doing alright.” You yawned and tried to stifle the sound, “How are you? Doing alright?”
"Well, I’m doing really, really well now that I’m talking to you!”
“Oh, really? Something good happening?” You tried not to sound too excited – sometimes Pat’s excitement wasn’t correlated to your excitement. You tried to forget your disappointment from that one time he got you a “great” gig and you ended up playing 7 songs for elementary school aged children. Considering you’re one of the “most influential musicians in the world” (thanks, Forbes), you figured at least half of those kids should have been able to recognize you. 
“You are not ready for this- you will never be prepared to hear the news I have for you!” He sounded slightly winded, but he continued without pausing for breath,  "After this, you’ll completely forget about those snotty kids from a couple months back.“
"Well, spill your guts then…”
“Guess who I got a call from about getting you to perform in September?”
“Dunno Pat… ” You heard him trying to maintain the suspense and sighed, “Come on then buddy, let’s hear it!”  
“MTV.”
You gasped and you felt your heartbeat speed up, “What about MTV?”
"They want you to perform at this year’s movie awards in NYC!”
“NO FUCKING WAY!” You started laughing and giggling – there was no way this was actually happening! You had spent so much of your life working to get a chance to finally be someone that was recognized worldwide and this felt like the perfect opportunity to do so. You had spent so much time and money to get to this point and MTV was finally going to help make you a household name – it felt like good things were finally beginning to happen to you. “DO YOU THINK I’LL FINALLY MEET ED SHEERAN?!”
“You’re going to perform on live television in front of the entire world and your first question is whether or not you’re going to meet Ed Sheeran?” He laughed at you light-heartedly, he tended to forget that you were still young and naive about the music business.  “Well, yeah, duh.” You rolled your eyes and continued to feel giddy about the whole situation, “Do you think Anderson .Paak will be there too?! Oh, my god, this isn’t happening!”
“Well I don’t know who’s going yet,” You could hear him shuffle through some papers on the other line. “But if Anderson is there, we’ll definitely be getting our photos taken.”
You laughed – you and Pat had bonded immediately over the celebrities you both loved. One of your fondest memories was of you and Pat flipping out over the fact that Lin-Manuel Miranda once used the restroom of the Starbucks you guys visited once in New York. And considering it had become a ritual to hum One Direction songs before you did any sets, you figured you were both bound to freak out over someone at the award show. “How’d we manage to get this?”
“Well, I guess they took notice of your song – I mean, it was featured in a Samsung commercial over the holidays, everyone was bound to see it…”
“Wow, this is amazing!” You remembered when Samsung reached out to you about using your song and you also remember how excited Pat was about “using the holidays to your benefit” – this was definitely benefitting you. “So when are they? What am I wearing? What am I playing?!”
“Y/N, calm down!” Pat laughed but you continued to panic slightly – this was a pretty big deal and you’d never done anything like this before. “You’ll be fine! We’ll figure this out soon, you have two months to prep for the show – we’re okay!”
Although two months was a long time, your anxiety about the event just made you continue to panic about it. You knew that the time would go by quickly – you knew things would fly by and that you’d be facing the audience in no time. “I’m going to throw up,” you whispered into the phone.
“No you’re not, you ball of drama,” he teased you, “You’re going to be perfect. But if you need reinforcement, I have something that’ll help you out…” Pat used his sing-songy voice to tease you.
“Spit it out, then.”
“Close sources tell me James Bay will be performing, too…”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
@MTV: We’re here at the sick red carpet in NYC for the MTV Movie Awards tonight! Catch the live stream of the red carpet here: bit.ly/28378djhd
“Hey MTV fans, we’re here with the new-comer Y/N, who’s performing on tonight.” The interviewer with the awesome bow tie turned to look at you, causing the camera to switch focus onto you. “So, how excited are you to be here tonight? Nervous?”
“Definitely,” you laughed a bit nervously. “But I’m excited to get see the crowd tonight and I’m excited to embarrass myself in front of some of these really talented people.”
The interviewer laughed genuinely – he could sense how nervous you were about the interview. “Well, we’re definitely rooting for you – who are you most looking forward to running into tonight?”
“Well, if we’re being totally honest, I don’t even know who’s here,” You scratched the back of your head and kept the smile on your face – you definitely didn’t want to be the dork who blanked on everything on live television.
“Let’s see then –” He pulled his cards out of his pocket and asked you to hold the mic for him. He flipped through some of them and go to one that seemed to hold 50 different names. He thanked you and took the mic back, “Alright, we’ve got: Emma Stone,”
“Hm,”
“Ryan Gosling,”
“Hm,”
“Diego Luna,”
“My love,”
“We going Diego?”
“No, I want him to be my actual father,”
“Oooookay then – Tom Holland,“
"That’s Spider-Man, right?”
“Yup,”
“Him!”
“Really?!”
“Yeah!” You sounded offended, so you tried to laugh it off so you wouldn’t seem like the crazy fan. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing!” The interviewer held his hands up obviously sensing some kind of hostility. “It’s just that I’m not surprised you like him.”
You smiled confusedly and crossed your arms across your chest, "What is that supposed to mean?”
The interviewer’s eyes bulged a bit and he seemed at a loss to justify his reasoning, “I mean – he- he’s British and all you know. The whole ac-accent thing and all.”
You laughed, threw your head back, and touched the interviewer’s arm. You composed yourself and looked back at him. “I’m just fucking with you man,” you and the interviewer gasped and you both covered your mouths – you knew you weren’t supposed to cuss on TV – especially live TV – and you knew you were in trouble. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You held your face in shame as soon as you saw the interviewer laughing at you.
“This doesn’t happen often, but we’ll give you a free pass because you’re new to this.” You smiled and he continued to talk, “So you’re excited for Diego Luna and you’re excited for Tom Holland. Anyone else you’re excited for?”
“Well I’m a big loser, so if anyone comes up to me and knows who I am or recognizes me or something, I’ll probably freak out about it for the next year…" 
He laughed and patted your shoulder lightly, "Well, Y/N, we wish you all the best for tonight and we hope you run into Diego and he adopts you tonight,” you put your hands together as if praying and mouthed ‘thank you.’ You said your goodbyes and then felt someone grab your elbow to help you get down from the mini-podium you were at and walked off to continue down the red carpet. 
Pat was by your side the second you turned to continue to walk down. “Well, that was unprecedented.”
“What was?”
“You confessing your obsession with Spider guy.”
“I did not confess to anything,” you scoffed.
“To the internet, you pretty much just confessed to having a shrine of the kid.”
“Not true!" 
"Just you wait,” he sang. You laughed and looped your arm through his. “I’m very happy you made this happen.”
Pat smiled and patted your hand, “I know you are. You’re welcome.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down at the screen. “Now that the sappy moment is over, let’s go see who we can snap photos with before the show begins.”
“Can you believe Diego actually spoke to me?!" 
"Honey,” Pat rolled his eyes again, “All he did was ask if you knew where the restrooms were…”
“But he spoke! To me!” You threw your hands in the air, “He basically said he wanted me to meet him in the restrooms so we could figure out how to tell his kids they have a new sibling…”
“No, he didn’t…”
“Okaaaaay, but imagine this,” you smirked, “He totally did.”
“You’re such a child.”
“Who nearly shit his pants because Michael B. Jordan brushed against him?”
“That’s not the point of this story.”
You laughed again and sat up a bit, “Speaking of bathrooms – I need to use one.”
“Please don’t, Y/N.” Pat began to plead.
“I’m not going to stalk Diego,” You got up and stretched a bit. “I genuinely need to pee before the set.”
“If you saaay soooo." 
You laughed and walked off towards where someone had mentioned the restrooms were earlier. Considering you had run into a handful of people already, you were surprised by the amount of people who had said they had heard your song before. Although the song did receive a lot of views after the commercial, it still freaked you out to know that there were people in this world who liked your music.
You had always been someone who was easily starstruck – you liked to meet people you were a fan of because it reminded you that they were normal, too. And while you tried to keep "inventory” of everyone you had met today, you were completely caught off-guard when someone completely crashed into you from the right side. 
“AHHHHH!!!” You and the person – male – who collided into you both yelled and then groaned in pain. You felt your head hit the ground with a sharp thwack! You closed your eyes in pain and tried to focus on the sounds around you. You heard a couple people around you and they were all shuffling to do things – properly trying to make sure no one was bleeding on the floor.
You tried to open your eyes, shielding the ceiling lights from your sensitive eyes. When you really tried to look, you saw someone staring at you, completely red in the face.
He began speaking and looked nervous, “I am so so so so so sorry!”
“Where did you even come from?”
Someone next to him spoke up, “He was filming some backflips for the promo and he hit you, are you okay?”
You sat up, a bit quickly, and cringed when the room spun a bit. “Yeah – just a bit dizzy. Sorry.”
The guy who spoke to you first held his hand out to help you and you took it. When you were up on your feet, you saw that about 10 people were surrounding you guys. They were wearing all black and headsets, so you assumed they were part of the MTV crew. One of the ladies was calling for an ambulance and it definitely did not take you any time to know that that would be a bad idea. 
“No, no a paramedic would be just fine.” You reached out to her a bit, “I don’t need the whole ambulance crew, just a check-up would be okay – I’m completely okay.” You knew you were close to begging, but she must have sensed your desperation because she nodded once and started talking into the headset again.
“Words cannot express how sorry I am.” said the guy again. When you turned to look at him you were not surprised to see that it was Tom himself. After the surreal day you were having, it only made sense for the universe to embarrass you in front of one of the most attractive guys you had ever seen. He grabbed your arm and tried moving you over to one of the nearby sitting areas. “I’m really clumsy, I feel terrible.”
“This is definitely not your fault.” You smiled as someone came to you with an icepack and thanked them when they passed it off to you. “I should have been paying attention.”
"Here let me,” Tom took the ice out of your hands and helped place it on the bump that was forming on the side of your head. 
“Thank you,” you whispered and smiled shyly at Tom. He tried to be gentle with the placement and you felt yourself giggling at the way he was very concentrated on getting this right. 
“Are you laughing at me, Y/N?” He said, with a playful smile on his face.
“You know my name?” Your eyes went wide and you tried really hard not to screw this up.
“Of course I do!” He looked you in the eye and continued to smile, “You are one of my favorite artists – your covers are amazing!”
“Shut up.”
“What?” He laughed and scratched the top of his nose.
“How in the world do you know who I am?” You were shocked.
“I told you! I’m a fan – a big one if we’re being honest.” He became shy and tried to divert your eyes.
“Me too,” You said and continued to stare at Tom’s head. You heard him laugh and you closed your eyes and laughed too. “I’m a fan of you – not of myself.” “You’re pretty awesome, you should definitely be a fan of yourself.” He said with a teasing smile.
You rolled your eyes and tried to move your head, but had to wince when you felt the ice bump harshly against your head. 
“Oh god,” he huffed and began to blush. “I’m flirting with someone I’m a big fan of after I nearly broke their head, nice one Holland.”
“You’re flirting with me????” You were completely appalled – nothing in the world could have prepared you for having Tom Holland confessing to flirting with you while he held ice to your head.
“Of course!” He continued to look away from your eyes, “You’ve been my celebrity crush since I heard you cover James Bay on that one morning show two years ago.”
“No way…” You whispered it, your shock wasn’t allowing you to fully comprehend what was going on.
“What? You put off by the fact that I’m not Andrew Garfield or something?” He smiled a bit bitterly and continued to fiddle with the ice.
“No,” You reached out to touch his wrist, “Definitely not – I’m just shocked by the fact that you know who I am…”
“Why wouldn’t I know who you are?”
“Because I’m a fucking nobody?” You smiled self-deprecatingly but continued, “And I’ve been a fan of yours since The Impossible. And I only watched that movie for Ewan McGregor.”
Tom laughed, “The only reason my dad was okay with me being in the film was because Ewan was in it." 
You both laughed together and felt somewhat relieved that you were both caught in a situation that was awkward enough. 
"How you feeling about your performance tonight?” His question brought you back to reality about the situation. 
“I’d feel a whole lot better if the paramedics could clear me to play,” You sighed a bit but you didn’t complain about anything because you knew Tom would you go and try to blame himself for what happened.   "Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry about what happened–“
"Excuse me, hi.” A female paramedic approached you guys, smiling apologetically. “We’re here to check out your head.”  
“Thank you.” You smiled and watched as Tom distanced himself from the situation. You wanted him over to your free side and smiled up at him. He smiled back. 
“Well, you are doing well. No sign of any major issues – we’re just going to ask you to try not to slam your head against anything anymore, at least not for another 3 months.” You all laughed and you were quickly filled with relief because you had to be up to perform in an hour. 
“Thank you so much – I hope you guys have a nice day.” They departed and you glanced up at Tom. 
You were surprised to see him already looking down at you – his face was filled with some kind of wonder and you figured he was just wondering how he managed to run into such a mess. 
“What’s that look on your face?” He asked. 
“What’s that look on yours?” You responded and laughed at your own childish ways. 
Tom smiled and went and sat next to you like he had been sitting earlier. He tried to get comfortable and managed to almost knock the ice out of your hand again.  “You’re a mess Holland, get it together!" 
"Shut up,” he laughed and leaned his head back. “I’m so nervous for tonight.”
“You’re nominated, yeah?”
“Yeah, twice." 
"Wow,” you whistled, “Must be pretty cool.”
“It’s cool, for sure.” He sat up again and blew some air out of his mouth, exasperated. “I’m just not sure what to say if I win." 
"When you win." 
”If.“ 
"Well, thank the people who got you there. Thank the people who believed in you. And thank the people who inspired you.” You smiled when you saw Tom roll his eyes. 
“And you’re right, of course." 
"I know I am!" 
"So now that we’ve got my potential speech out of the way,” He looked at you, “What song are you performing tonight?" 
"Oooo…” you made an “I-can’t-say-anything” face and sighed. “Sheesh, wish I could tell you. But it’s a secret, pal." 
"No way!" 
"Yup,” you popped the p exaggeratedly. 
“No! That’s not fair!" 
"It is what it is." 
"Evil,” he shook his head. “Alright. So if you can’t tell me the song, tell me about you then.”
“Me?” You were caught off guard and you raised an eyebrow at him. 
“Yes, you.”
“Like what?" 
"Like, what’s your favorite color?" 
"Hello MTV Movie Awards,” you paused to make sure your mic was on. “This song goes out to that one boy who asked me out on a date 2 hours after he nearly broke my head.” You chuckled and turned around to face the band. You shouted, “Let’s go!”
“And the winner for the actor of the year goes to…” Anna Kendrick did a little shimmy and opened the envelope. “Tom Holland, Spider-Man: Homecoming!"  The entire venue cheered and roared and the camera panned to Tom hugging the people around him. He rushed up the steps and accepted the popcorn award from Anna. 
"Wow,” he started, staring at the award in disbelief. “This is incredible. Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my parents and my family and friends for always believing in me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I want to thank the cast, crew, and production company for making this happen. And to Marvel for creating this universe.” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words. “And I’d like to thank that one artist who spent so long trying to find themselves, who spent so long fighting to be seen and heard,” he glanced at the crowd, searching. “I want to thank the person whose head I nearly broke tonight, for having music and a story that helped inspire me every day – thank you.” He bowed a bit and turned to walk off stage. 
You clapped, astonished at what had just happened in front of you. You felt Pat place his hold on your arm and lean in to whisper, “You nearly cracked your head and you got a boyfriend out of this, I hate you." 
“MTV fans, we want to know: can we take credit for bringing Y/N and Tom Holland together?” 
1: YES! THANK YOU! 13%
2: No, they brought themselves together. Fate! 26%
#: It was the damn floor that brought them together.  61%
So this was inspired by lots of things:
One of my favorite bands – Colony House – had a song that was featured in a Samsung commercial (check them out, their new album is fucking amazing).
The title comes from James Bay’s “Collide,” but I listened to “Stealing Cars” more than anything else from that (amazing, perfect) album.
Thank you, again.x
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