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The Post- AlternateUniverse! Izaya Orihara Oneshot
You know that feeling, when you feel completely, utterly, and embarrassingly hopeless? That happened to me just about three years ago. Up until the last few weeks of school, my grade had been just on the borderline of average and a high D. Every day I got home my mother would tell me, “It'll be okay,” and “You'll pull through, I promise..” I had recently found the effort to pull my grades up with the help of my friends through 5th grade. Sometimes you needed others to help pull you through. My final hope was this final all powerful project on World War I, that could pull my grade up to a high C or even a B to pass the grade on a the highest note I'd been all year; let alone pass
The Treachery of Izaya - Durarara!! AU - Myth
Author's Note: This was a "myth" written for a school project not long ago, and since I based the characters off of Shizuo and Izaya (their names spelled differently in the story by intention), I wanted to post it and share it with you all just as a small treat while I catch up with updating my main fanfictions! I really hope you'll bare with me long enough ^^" Really sorry for my ever-lastingly long update periods.
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The Treachery of Isiah
You may wonder where thunder, or lightning stings from. Where exactly do those electrifying bolts that rain down from a dark cloud truly come from? Well, there was once a serene man that lived in those very clouds. He still lives there, but he is not afraid of the thunder or the lightning, nor is he serene, His name was Heiwagima, and this is a tale of a friend's, repulsing treachery.
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“Heiwagima, sir, the Lett sisters are having troubles. Should I assist them?”
A coy, almost whisper-like voice rang out. The
Stuck With You... ShizuoXKid!Reader Request Part 2The house was quieter than usual, he had grown used to the silence provided by the solitude of the house, but now it seemed different. He wasn’t going to say it was because he actually missed the kid, he hardly knew her after all. He looked at the table, and decided to clean the mess she had made before she left. Through all her fighting she had forgotten one of her small all be it dingy stuffed animals, and some crayons and paper. Silently he picked up the items, and then glanced at the sheet of paper she had covered with bright colors.
In her best efforts she had drawn a stick house in the back next to a green sun. The pictures on the bottom of the page caught his attention though; two stick people, one greatly larger than the other much smaller one. The larger stick person had a frown noted by a zigzag mouth, scribbled blonde hair, and the title “Meanie” written above its head.
“Am I supposed to be offended?” He thought to himself, knowing who she was t
Stuck With You: Shizuo x kid!Reader Part 1The sound of knocking on the rotting apartment door, echoed down the long hall. The hall itself representing the economic situation of the person shut up in the apartment. Dingy carpet torn away at some spots faded distressed paint peeled from the walls leaving them a sickly grey color. The sound of people laughing probably due to the assistance of some narcotic substance, and coughing.
"Hey anyone in there?" Tom called, after another response from silence; he glances back at the tall blonde in the bartender outfit, who leaned against the opposing wall a look of annoyance very evident on his face. "Looks like no one’s home."
"There home alright, the bastards just want to piss me off!" Shizuo glared before kicking the door from its hinges, causing it to crash to the glass covered ground inside.
Tom walked inside and inspected the abandoned apartment building. It was probably one of the cheaper ones in the whole building which was saying a lot. There was only one room and the
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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