(I took an angsty prompt, put it on the angst train, and chugged its ass to angstville. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go write fluff and lots of it…)
Being with Mikasa was less like crawling on broken glass and more like crawling over it, grinding down on it until it was embedded into his damn bones, and then lighting himself on fire.
Yeah. That was more like it.
so today in my history class we were talking about napoleon bonaparte and there were all these things about his height saying he was like 5’ 3” and how he was nicknamed “little corporal” and then my history teacher moves onto the next slide and this is what we see