Till Death Do We Part — Upcoming Series
Warnings: (Minor and Major Character) Death, Death Mention, Gore, Violence, Sexual Harassment, Etc.
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You're a detective, well-known for solving all of your cases, marrying pro hero Dynamight, and a few other things. The two of you live a content life in a neat little gated community, safe from the dangers you both encounter in your work lives.
What happens when that content life of yours is interrupted by a virus that jumpstarts what can only be described as the zombie apocalypse? With everyone's quirks out of commission, how do the both of you plan to survive?
Or rather, will you?
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finsub Strahm AU chapter 3 preview
Over time, Hoffman’s hand creeps higher. Higher. It’s too high when, surprisingly, it draws back…
…only for Hoffman to slide a hand into Strahm’s pocket and start to trail his fingers over his wallet.
He’s got it in his back pocket. It’s a bit of a squeeze for Hoffman to get his hand in there while he’s sitting, but he does, and he feels him trace it back and forth, back and forth. It makes Strahm’s head spin. He’s surprised to see Hoffman looking casual as ever while he does it, just keeping up with the conversation that Strahm can barely hear through the ringing in his ears.
God. Oh, god, Strahm is so glad he’s sitting down. His slacks are tight as hell, and he’s terrified to so much as shift in his seat, lest someone look at him the wrong way and notice what’s going on inside them. Hoffman’s not even speaking to him, but just the feeling of those broad fingers tracing over the edges of his wallet is enough to have Strahm nearly ready to burst.
And then, Hoffman mutters, “I could go for a couple shots.”
“What kind?” Strahm blurts out before he can stop himself.
Hoffman grins. “I’m thinkin’ tequila.”
“You’re such a fuckin’ alcoholic, Mark,” Matthews says. “Never heard ‘beer before liquor, never sicker’?”
“That’s a myth,” Strahm finds himself saying. Almost defensive of Hoffman, which is weird. “There’s no actual evidence that—”
Matthews groans and tilts his head back. “Whatever. Your funeral. Bet you’re all for top-shelf shit to get you fucked up, huh, fed?”
Back and forth. Hoffman’s fingers skim over Strahm’s wallet slowly, back and forth.
“...Actually, yeah, I am,” Strahm says. “Hoffman, you— you ever try Don Julio?”
Hoffman grins.
He pulls his hand out of Strahm’s pocket and raises it, waving over a waitress. “Hey, tequila time, boys and girls! Fed’s buying!”
With trembling hands, Strahm pulls his card out and passes it off to the waitress so she can start a tab.
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I had to conduct a job interview today and started considering what I should wear to look super professional and cool and stuff
I put on a suit. It's a white suit. It's a size or two bigger than it should be for a gnome like myself.
On the bright side, I spontaneously cosplayed Bob Dylan
(Phagahahaga lol he's just as frumpy and crumpled up)
Ultimately, I ended up conducting the interview in my pajamas.
She hires.
Would you be willing to go the interview she conducts?
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"And don't look at me like I'm Harry Potter, but... Sometimes, it still hurts."
"What hurts?"
"The scar."
For a second before I think I might've... phased though something. But sometimes... sometimes I don't feel anything at all."
And that just really scares me, y'know?"
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I know this is my writing blog but look at this drawing I'm currently working on! 😍
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01:23 a.m.
Sleep appears like an old friend to me.
Like someone I don't know how to talk to anymore
but want to come close and ask them questions,
catch up with lost time.
I wonder why I need to be awake so late,
when everything's dark, when there's no noise
to distract me, when there's no evidence of
the life surrounding me.
In my own company, I feel loneliness.
In my own breathing, I hear death.
I want to remember what it's like to
close my eyes and not be afraid of the burst.
I want to hold on to this moment
for a little longer than my sleep,
only so I can do what I want to do
and not what I have to do.
I am tired of surviving, but every breath I take
reminds me of the bravery of keeping my eyes open.
I'm not ready for tomorrow to come,
I'm not ready to let go of yesterday.
But the sun raises up each morning
And I let it pull me out of bed
So effortlessly, like I'm not even there
like it isn’t me, it isn’t me, it wasn’t me
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So. I was reading some of the fe4 script and Larcei's quote when her lover is dead at the end of the game was of course sad.
She says it's her fault because she wasn't strong enough...
At least it confirms my headcanon that she wants to be strong to protect the people around her and that if she and Julia were friends, which I like to think they would be, She'd probably blame herself for what happens to her too.
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