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biitchcakes · 3 months

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@gammaragee asked: 🎥 - What’s your favourite tv show/movie? // ( accepting )

Okay, strap in ⸺ this is gonna get long I can feel it in my bones HGFDSGK I cannot. . . not talk about both of these things in a stupid amount of detail. I'm literally gonna just go ahead and stick the keep reading here.

Favourite shows ! I'll start off with SCRUBS. Oh, how I adore this show with every fibre of my being. My stepdad, someone pretty important to me, worked in the emergency room, and actually started his internship within a year of Scrubs beginning. So, watching it with him meant it was always going to cement itself into a special corner of my heart, but even with that aside ⸺ the show is just damn good. It's hilarious, it's heart wrenching, it's got a killer soundtrack each and every season. The characters feel so real, no matter how goofy they or the situations their in are at times.

I simply just think of the episode My Screw Up or My Fallen Idol and I feel a pit in my gut, I tear up. Everyone always brings those episodes up when talking about Scrubs, but there's a reason for that. MAN it's some good T.V. I hardly ever listen to podcasts, but the Scrubs rewatch podcast was one I tuned in for.

The way J.D. sees the world, his little fantasy cutaways, his rambles ⸺ hate to relate to the man LOL but boy does that hit home here. I was thinking about including a favourite scene but I couldn't. The whole show is just everything.

Next up: SUPERNATURAL. Man. I actually haven't seen much of the show past season nine. And even then, I haven't watched seasons 8 or 9 since they came out about ten years ago. And there's 15 seasons in total. That said, the first five seasons of that show. . . Holy hell. I can't begin to get into the way that show makes me feel 😭 It's so nostalgic, it's like coming home after a long time away. My one and only tattoo ( so far lmao ) is from that show. I know it can be cheesy at times, but that adds to its charm for me. I love how of it's time the first few seasons are.

The visuals of it, it's so aesthetically beautiful. And God, when the emotional scenes hit. . . they HIT. They punch through to the depths of my very soul.

There are things about both the brothers I find relatable. They're comforting to me, they're like family.

Last but certainly not least, THE GOOD PLACE. I nearly didn't watch this one. I got into it around the middle of seasons three, but I only knew the premise of "woman who should be in hell ends up in heaven by mistake". Which, if you've watched to show, you know is definitely not the only thing that happens DHGKSJ

I won't go into detail because I always want to avoid spoilers about it where I can because the twists the plot takes throughout the seasons are a lot of fun to experience first hand. And, even if you do know, the show is still super worth it. It sent me down my own philosophy rabbit hole for months. Already interested in it before, I've kept up on it since, I watch lectures whenever they pop up.

The finale. . . UUGGHGKSJDHGKS. One of the best on television. That show fundamentally changed me. I am chronically bad at finishing things, but I have finished both Scrubs and the Good Place. Boy am I glad I have. Best finales ever.

Alright this got away from me very quickly HGSDJK

I'll be brief here fhdskjfds so MOVIES ⸺ my top 7 are:

Willow

Meet the Robinsons

Shawshank Redemption

Everything Everywhere All At Once

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Stardust

Here is my LETTERBOXD account.

A list of MY FAVOURITE FILMS.

( bonus ⸺ here are my favourite horror movies, as well as my ranking for animated Disney movies; I'm currently working on a list of Jessica's favourite movies for a post on here at some point. )

#i am so co-dependent on my media i know LOL #my deepest apologies this is the wordiest of the lot today😭#i just love my shows and movies 🥺#( o o c . )#gammaragee

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skippyv20 · 1 year

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Telegraph article

Prince Harry was never going to miss the Coronation

The more time he spends with irritating Californians, the more he will know that Britain is genuinely homeTIM STANLEY17 April 2023 • 6:00amIf I were Meghan, I wouldn’t go to the Coronation, either. Aside from being stuck talking to people you suspect don’t like you, there’s the nightmare of being upstaged. No matter how much money one spends on a hat, the King’s is always going to be fancier.So, I get why she’s staying in California, land of the freebie. The question is, why is Harry coming to the Coronation? He has accused his family of briefing against him; his brother of physical assault. And then there’s the memoir, Spare, which he might not have written but he’s certainly read, because he recorded the audiobook, so he knows that it portrays the monarchy as borderline abusive.It is, the book seems to imply, a Ruritanian zoo – the royals kept as pets, deprived of autonomy and put on display. If William is the heir, Harry was born to be the “backup, distraction, diversion and, if necessary, a spare part. Kidney, perhaps. Blood transfusion. Speck of bone marrow.” There’s a lot of bloodletting in these pages (hunting stags, killing Taliban), yet the Windsors suppress their emotions, even in front of those they love. No wonder the spare was set to explode. No wonder he ran off to America, where, he says, he was relieved to be among people who say how they truly feel.Well, a lot of us have made that journey, Harry, and a lot of us have come crawling back.At first, Californian honesty is refreshing. The barriers come down, you feel understood. But then their openness becomes oversharing, and you begin to realise they haven’t really got that much to say, they just enjoy talking. By the millionth time someone tells you their chakras are out of line or “we can learn a lot from the dolphins”, you want to scream. Harry must be missing Britain’s brooding silences, our civilising damp. You can tell that from Spare’s description of Frogmore Gardens in April: “The trees were bare, but the air was soft. The sky was grey, but the tulips were popping. The light was pale, but the indigo lake, threading through the gardens, glowed.”I sense a tension between the ghostwriter, who thinks the monarchy is mad, and Harry, whose memories he has to interpret are bittersweet enough to suggest that, deep down, he bloody loves it. Hence, he can’t let go. Ever.Harry has traduced his family, but wants to be among them. He has suggested the monarchy is ridiculous, yet uses his title and so do his little children.As my communist friend Ash Sarkar once observed, the Sussexes have never asked for equality in the sense of being regular citizens; what they want is to be equal among aristocrats, to have their royal status recognised and honoured. Far from being republican Jacobins, they are closer in spirit to Jacobites, asserting a disputed claim from a foreign fleshpot. Except that they weren’t forced into exile, like the magnificent James II; they flounced off and burnt the bridges behind them. No one compelled them to speak to Oprah or spill their guts on Netflix. The Windsors have long said they would take them back, as the invitation to the Coronation proves. I’m afraid responsibility for this rupture lies squarely with the Sussexes, who probably imagined they could withdraw from royal duties yet enjoy the trappings of royalty.Isn’t that typical? So many of us want it both ways. We undervalue our institutions – from Church to education to the family – starve them of money or effort, yet still expect them to be there when we want them. The crown is just the most glittering example of a culture taken for granted. We have mocked the monarchy and made its members’ lives hell, yet for one weekend in May we will luxuriate in its traditions – including the people who, for the rest of the year, claim to find it repugnant.Were republicans sincere in their philosophy, they would volunteer to work on the bank holiday Monday, just as the Puritans carried on through Christmas. But I bet they’ll take the whole weekend off, wallow in the livery and street parties, and Take That playing Windsor Castle. They’ll agree that “nobody does this as well as the British” – and then the next day, Britain will resume its project to ensure we can never do it again, by labelling our customs “elitist” and our history “racist”. Even the monarchy is supporting a study into its relationship with the slave trade. One thing that does not put Harry at odds with the establishment is his wokeness.As he takes his seat in the 38th row, between Humza Yousaf and Valerie Singleton, Harry will find himself back where he belongs – for Britain made him and Britain looks a lot like him, too. We’ve always had a Robinson Crusoe complex, a desire to strike out and see the world, only to return to a country that will be as we remember it.And it is one of the jobs of the monarchy to be constant. After the changes Britain has been through, the fact that this institution goes on being itself is refreshing, almost a novelty. But it doesn’t happen by accident. If every royal behaved like Harry, and walked away when it got too tough, or too boring, there’d be no monarchy left – no home for Harry to come back to.So, I hope he says “thank you” to Charles and William for keeping things ticking along while he was absent. For doing their duty

Thank you. Very interesting🐼

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piggiebonez · 2 years

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HELLO. my name is GREASE HOG PIG BONE. any/all russian/english. adult. my english is NOT GOOD. but you can be mean about it if you want to. big enjoyer of gross out & sleaze

my main interests are HORROR!!!!!!, BUGS AND FISH, nasty transgressive shit and philosophy. I LOVE SLEAZY EXPLOITATION FILMS!!!! &I LOVE DUMBASS CARTOONS.... i am mentally insane about invader zim and do lots of fanart for it SORRY. go on pussy call me cringe in anons

i am aromantic and acespec i am an emabarrassment to all queers and a hateful bitter venomous hater. all hopeless romantics should be sent to prison camps and ground up into paste

minors can interact BUT please tread with caution i occasionally reblog sleazy photos of retro BABES for aesthetic purposes. none of them are nsfw but i do tag them as suggestive cw/nudity cw just in case. i might rb some kinda nsfw-ish shitpost untagged.

i rb gory gnarly stuff so if you dont like blood and guts this blog is not for you. i tag blood/gore/death warnings only on my art.

dm/ask me if you want anything specific to be tagged.

FANDOM NERDS SHUT THA HELL UP if i find out you do that "peepee poopoo angst au pee x poo" type shit i will make fun of you soooo fucking hard. shoves your dweeb ass in a locker

i check my follows btw if i think you're lame you get blocked lmaooo

DNI IF YOU'RE A TERF. DNI IF YOU'RE AN ARO/ACE EXCLUSIONIST. i suggest you jump under a moving automobile. any other regressive asshole who might be reading this i think you get the hint

shippers dni. "proship" and other pervoids especially. all of you suck balls. if you unironically call yourself a "shipper" i think you should take a hearty swig of fecal sludge just because youre annoying. proship dweebs boil forever

z4drs do not interact. applicable to other irken/child people as well. if you "ship" any iz characters i think you should be put in a mental ward and observed 24/7 but those people specifically are to be hunted down by a sex weirdo evisceration squadron. ZIM is an adult and if you troglodytes don't like that you should take a good long bath in a septic tank.....ingest some molten lead. etc

FEEL FREE TO DM ME ANYTIME im always open to communication.......i love #communicating

русскоговорящим салют. могу дать вк/тг если хотите пообщаться, я люблю попиздеть и с удовольствием ищу новых собеседников. только без маразматичных вопросов по поводу dni критериев - для этого есть аск. алсо я ссу вам в рот хаха

#my art #shit got flagged for no reason

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vitolielwrites · 2 years

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unrequited, unregretted

There is a bird that sits in my stomach Below my bellybutton, just under the cage of my ribs. I tried to capture it, to place it somewhere safer. I thought the heart might be a good resting place.

But the bird flits where it twill And when it landed on my heart I found That instead of a birdhouse my heart was made Of spanning ventricles and branches, aorta and veins. The bird made a nest where it could fly away unbothered From gut to chest to head, and therefore confuse me evermore.

To stop loving you should be as easy as assigning you a room and closing the door, To stop loving you would be easier if I could Catch the damn bird that flirts and flits and drives me wild With songs and flutters and whimsical swoops.

But free of the birdhouse, I find you in my thoughts my instincts, my heart.

You are in my very soul, said an obsessive man to his love And it was so cheesy at the time but feels so true now. If I could but snatch your canny bird in mid flight Perhaps I could chuck it out the window and leave you behind. I could admire you in your wild adventures out in the sun And not have a pesky sparrow making a nest in my aorta.

Instead, I find that my gut turns towards you. My instincts are honed for the turn of your hand, The twist of your smile, the warmth of your eye. If you are happy, I feel settled, when you are sad I feel it in the wind and my bones. A rushing Pulse of wing beats that the bird is not okay, that The wild bird needs seeds, needs a nest, needs rest.

Instead I find you in my mind, thinking of words you said Thinking of points you make and the way you made them. I want to find ways to make you laugh, I think of ways to make you Feel smart and wise and appreciated, where I can weave back Branches to give you a clear flight path to the Glens and woods you want to roam. I analyze your dreams and I come up with ways to give Them to you. And the thought of not doing so is Anathama.

Instead I feel you in my heart. Tugging me. Wooing me unintentionally. I know you mean Nothing in the way you look at me, the way you smile at me The way your hand touches mine. I know when you say “I love you” You mean something much less deep and complex than I do.

You are not a thing to be caged, you are not a thing to be possessed You are not a thing at all. You are splendid, and you make me See beauty just by how you brighten up when you speak Of the worlds you’re spinning. Your music, your poetry, Your philosophy and your common sense matter of fact living.

But truth of the matter is If I could catch you. If I could grab you. I would let you go. And let you fly where you would And endure the confusion And smile at the way my soul Tumbles in your wake.

For at least this way you are still here.

#themes: unrequited #unrequited love #poetry #Vitoliel Writes #my writing

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now.

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides.

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like.

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest.

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm.

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face.

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown. “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch.

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window.

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

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Kaedehara Kazuha writes poetry and comes to terms with the fact that he's in love.

Kazuha came home and I love him. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

When was the last time he felt the rain upon his face, wondered Kazuha.

“When I allowed myself to,” he said to himself, leaning low over the woodpile as he struck a match over his flint. The sparks were welcome warmth, just like the fire that brewed slowly. Kazuha closed his eyes as he listened to the crackling of leaves, the dry kindling he’d set together.

“Sun-tipped red leaves.” A low murmur as he reached out to hold his fingers near the flames. Basking in the warm glow. It was chilly that night, the dark cover of the stars bringing the cold with it. Liyue was often unpredictable in its climate, much like Inuzama. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot. Always the undercurrent of rain on the wind, humidity settling deep into his bones.

“Burning fire in my soul,” he continued, sighing softly as he watched the orange glow of his campfire. A tired moment after a long day of wandering. Soon he would find his way back to the fleet, but until then, he would enjoy the quiet.

The calm before the storm, as he often said, the wind settling across the vast horizon. The smell of the grass comforted him, but there was rain on the way. In a day or so.

Much like the wind he coveted so much, Kaedehara Kazuha had traveled the world. Floated through time and space, like a soft and subtle breeze as he observed all those around him. It was enjoyable, of course. A young master with a name to claim, he always craved freedom more than the bounty of his family’s wealth.

But, the more that he traveled, the more he longed to settle down. To find companions. To understand the poetry of love. These things weren’t synonymous with the freedom that he sought, his flight on the breath of the world as he flitted from one place to the next.

So, those ideals remained that: merely ideals. Thoughts that he spun into poems on lonely nights like such as this. Whether it was on the Alcor, or here in the Guili Plains, Kazuha’s respite was found in weaving together words as he articulated his careful thoughts into volumes of poetry.

He sat upon a stump. Watched the fire roar. The first two lines of his haiku were fully formed and only waiting for a conclusion. He held his notebook in one hand, graphite in another. The book was heavy with words weighed down with feelings. Nearly full and close to the end until he inevitably started another.

Beidou teased him about his collection in his barracks on the ship. Kazuha only ever smiled back, his quiet grin speaking more volumes than words ever would.

“Sun-tipped red leaves,” he said, repeating his earlier lines, carefully woven together with tranquil intent. “Burning fire in my soul.”

He paused, tapping the graphite against his lip. Nothing came to him, thoughts empty like a dry husk.

You cannot force it, he thought as he set aside his notebook. Kazuha instead, decided to make tea. Pinched together an appropriate amount of leaves and tossed them into a small tin cup settled over the fire. Water from his canteen.

He and Beidou have often fought over this, the proper way to brew something. Cultures were intriguing things.

Kazuha found inspiration the moment he sipped at his tea. Sitting there on his stump as he watched the leaves on the trees rustle. Their colors have only just started to turn with the season.

“Autumn lingers,” he finished, tasting the words on his tongue.

He jotted the poem down entirely, his composition for the night finished.

He woke in the middle of the night, thinking of Beidou and the Traveler.

The latter, such an odd one. At first, Kazuha thought him quiet, but Aether turned out to have a devilishly branded sense of humor. Different than Kazuha’s quaint nature. Still, Kazuha had smelled the wind upon him and tasted the breeze.

Perhaps they were kindred souls in that way, craving for freedom in its purest form. Kazuha didn’t know what Aether wanted in Inuzama, but he feared for his safety. There was admiration, of course. Kazuha always found inspiration in those that burned so brightly in their conviction.

But many times, those people were fools. Kazuha was laying under the open stars as he thought of Aether. So similar to his friend of old, the one he’d lost to such foolishness. There wasn’t a doubt in Kazuha’s mind that a similar fate would befall Aether.

Beidou, of course, was the encouraging kind. All smiles and pats on the back if she thought that she could benefit from whatever arrangement was procured. “An eye for an eye,” she often said to Kazuha.

It wasn’t a bad philosophy. Still, it wasn’t always applicable and sometimes wreaked havoc instead of brought boon.

“Electric mayhem,” said Kazuha softly. He lifted a hand and gauged the deep night sky. Measured the stars and the galaxies between his fingers. “Ignites the sparks of fire, amid the darkened skies.”

Another haiku for another moment of observation. Kazuha was tired, deep in his thoughts. The fire was nothing but low-burning embers and he pulled his quilt tighter around him.

I will write it down tomorrow, he thought. The twinkling stars were a better show anyhow.

Kazuha had met Aether more times than he did most. Beidou’s gaze was a sly thing earlier that day as she watched them, thumb against her chin.

He didn’t like that look. It was her scheming one, and it bred more damage than it did good. Kazuha wasn’t in the mood to clean up any messes.

They were dispatched together to handle a minor inconvenience. Kazuha felt honored to watch Aether fight again. To taste the power he wielded so effortlessly on his tongue. Visionless, but no less a vision himself.

Kazuha watched, his throat going dry. Swallowing was hard. Looking away was harder. Instead, he watched Aether for most of the day, stringing together word after word in his mind. Aether’s form was poetic in its nature, so much like Kazuha’s own.

Aether moved with subtle and serene grace, weapons held aloft as he danced around their foes. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to draw his blade. That was something they shared.

Later that night, while sitting around a shared fire, Aether turned to him and said, “You were quiet today.”

“I am often,” said Kazuha in return.

“Beidou said otherwise.”

Kazuha smiled at that. “Beidou’s first and foremost trait is that she is always contrary.”

Aether hummed as he considered this. “There are worse things, I suppose. She’s upfront with her distrust.”

“Not distrust; Beidou just always has another motive, usually one that benefits herself.”

Their silence for most of the night was comforting. Aether was just as content to watch nature, as Kazuha was to pen his thoughts. His little notebook was a permanent fixture in his fingers as of late.

Particularly due to Aether’s enduring presence. Kazuha couldn’t help but think of the man. They’d spent much time together over the weeks, confirming Kazuha’s initial inklings: Aether was just like his old friend.

Perhaps a little more cautious. If there was a person who could end the Shogun, he might be it, though Kazuha wouldn’t hold his breath.

Beidou asked him a few days back. “What would you do if he challenged her straight on?” Perceptive as always, Kazuha had thought.

“Nothing,” he’d told her, though the words were hollow the moment they left his mouth. Fetid and ill. And she knew it too, her lips tugged into a neat little frown.

Beidou didn’t tell him what to do, though. She wouldn’t. He was a visitor to her fleet, a guest. Not one of her own. It came and went as he pleased, which meant that he could follow Aether to his doom if Kazuha so wished.

He hadn’t decided yet.

Kazuha focused on the moment instead, their tiny pocket of stillness in a vast world of contempt. The floating creature was off on her own, playing with the nature around them. Aether sat on a stump and drank his tea without complaint.

“What are you writing tonight?” asked Aether eventually, genuinely curious.

Kazuha paused. He rubbed his thumb over the rough page, his thumb smearing the graphite around, smudging his words slightly. Aether wouldn’t care about the content. Kazuha had learned that he just liked to hear his soft voice read the poems aloud.

“Behold our desires,” said Kazuha quietly, his voice gentle like the night breeze. “Like hot eyes of flame inside, Who will quench the fire?”

Aether, of course, thought Kazuha. He often looked at people, but always objectively. Not like this, where his heart was seized by such feeling that he had to pen it. The slow-stoked fire that burned low in his gut, widening further and further.

It would be bad luck to liken it to a forest fire, but that was what it felt like, the raging heat within his core. Before long it would be all-consuming.

Aether watched him carefully with a hint of a smile and his eyes calm and reflective. Then, he reached out, his hand stopping just short of Kazuha. “Come with me to Inuzama,” said Aether. Straight and to the point, as always.

Kazuha was the type to roam free on the winds, but there came a time where every breeze settled. Perhaps love and adventure truly could coexist. His hand found Aether’s, grasping it gently.

Perhaps it was his time.

#genshin impact #aether/kazuha #kazuther #aether #kazuha kaedehara #genshin impact fanfiction

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heyitsrcoor · 3 years

Text

Meet-cute

Genre: Fluff, unrequited love, friends-to-lovers

Pairing: Day 6 Jae x Reader

Length: One-Shot

Meet-cute [noun] /ˈmiːtˌkjuːt/:

(in a movie, etc.) a humorous or interesting situation in which two people meet, that leads to them developing a romantic relationship with each other. (Cambridge Dictionary)

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Absolutely Smitten (Dodie Clark)

───────────────⚪───────────────────

◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:17 / 3:48 ⠀ ───○ 🔊⠀ ᴴᴰ ⚙ ❐ ⊏⊐

•••

Your 12-hour shift at the hospital just ended. The census hasn’t gone down for days and while you’ve gotten so good at convincing yourself that you’re strong and resilient, you can feel the weariness seep in through your bones.

While walking to your apartment, you noticed that the bookstore on the corner of the street has finally opened its doors. A part of you wanted to walk past it, visit another day when you’re not wearing your nurse’s uniform, tired and sweaty. But the urge to scan the book selection was much stronger and so you find yourself pushing its glass doors. The bell chimes welcome you.

The warm lights and the smell of new books were enough to calm your weary soul. The bookstore was smaller compared to the well-known ones located at the malls, but it had the organic and cozy vibe of a library which you’re very much well pleased with. And the fact that it’s not crowded yet means you’ll be able to roam around freely.

You were feeling giddy when you finally reached the non-fiction section. Your eyes scanned each title, looking for any familiar ones that could be in your TBR list.

Finally, you see a white spine, “When Breath Becomes Air.” You grabbed for it hastily which caused the books beside it to topple down.

You bowed down to reach for the books but a hand beat you to it.

“Oh thank you.” You said as you stood upright. The person was really tall that you had to tilt your head a little bit to be able to see their face. You held your breath as you stood face-to-face with a handsome, bespectacled, human being.

“Was just looking for this.” He smiled as he held the book you accidentally dropped—Being Mortal by Atul Gawande.

You pretended to be cool about it like it’s not at all a big deal to meet your ideal guy (superficially speaking) in one of your most favorite places.

“Yeah? Sorry for accidentally pushing it to its death.” It sounded alright in your mind but having said it in words made you internally cringe.

He held the book and scanned it for dents. He shrugged, “Nah, it survived the fall—despite being mortal, oh God, that was so bad.” He let out a hearty laugh which you swore could melt an iceberg. “Anyway, thanks!” He smiles once more before turning his back.

Your heart deflated a little bit. Sharing a joke with a handsome stranger at the bookstore. Isn’t that the perfect recipe for a meet-cute? Except you’ll probably never meet again. Just another statistic of your “could-have-beens”.

Well, he could have asked for your name or YOU could have offered a book suggestion. Except he probably doesn’t find you attractive enough and you don’t have the guts to make the first move on a stranger.

You shrugged the thought away. Too much Kdramas and romcoms do screw your brain a little bit. You looked at your book once more. Right, maybe you should just fill your mind more with philosophies and thought-provoking stuff. Nonetheless, you can’t contain the smile forming on your face. Butterflies should stay in the gardens and not on your guts.

•••

When you said that book guy is just another statistic of a failed meet-cute, you were pleasantly surprised to find yourself wrong.

Two months later, you’re at a coffee shop waiting in line when you spot him sitting near the window.

He was wearing a white uniform, busy typing on the laptop in front of him. Unlike the scattered papers on his table, he looked serene. He adjusts his eyeglasses and you notice how slender and beautiful his fingers are.

“He’s a student.” You thought. Before you knew it, you started computing for your possible age gap. Given it has only been a year since you’ve graduated, 5 years would be the maximum gap if he’s a freshman. You cringed at the thought of dating someone younger. Moreover, you cringed at the thought that you’d actually date someone out of your league.

“Good morning! What’s your order?” The barista’s voice booms as if calling you out back to reality.

“Oh…yeah, uhh..” You proceeded to recite your order and another 5 orders of your co-nurses at SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit).

Waiting for your orders, you purposefully sat on a table that could give you the best vision of him in a very lowkey manner. Whatever that is.

You tried your best to be nonchalant but your eyes would subtly glance at him.

Oh wow, is that a great view from the window? You thought as you glide your eyes to where he was. To your surprise, he was looking at you too.

You dropped your gaze for a few seconds and looked up at him once again. He was smiling and your heart starts to palpitate.

Did he recognize you?

You watch him raise his hand, waving.

Entranced, you almost waved back but a person walks past you, her white skirt blocking your view of him. You watched her sit right in front of the book guy. Your book guy. She was wearing the same uniform as him. A classmate. A really pretty classmate.

You clenched your hand. You felt embarrassed, angry even. Angry at yourself for always expecting that someone would actually look at you. And stupid for thinking that meeting your soulmate would eventually be as exciting and memorable as the Kdramas.

The barista calls your name and you get up. You picked your orders and left without turning back.

•••

The thing about reality and romance is that not every encounter will be explosive. No, it won’t be as fast as love at first sight. Sometimes, love would come in the most mundane and gradual way possible.

A week later, you’d see book guy at your workplace. He’s one of the two med students on their clerkship assigned in your unit. He’d introduce himself as “Jae” and before you could do the same, he’d utter your name and everyone would be curious to know how you knew each other.

You’d dread the fact that he’d recognize your embarrassing moment at the coffee shop but he’d say that he actually recalls meeting you at the book store. And that he just read your name from your name tag.

Days, weeks passed.

Coincidence or not, your schedule would almost be the same and so you’d spend most of your shifts with Jae. You’d almost feel tired answering his seemingly endless questions.

You’d give him a heads up on what to expect on his first observation in the OR and he’d let you borrow a book in return.

You’d still catch yourself sneaking a glance at him but work would eventually drown his presence.

You’d sometimes spend your lunch together and you’d learn that you share the same taste of music and that he plays an instrument too.

You never seemed to run out of things to talk to and sometimes—a lot of times, you’d entertain that idea that he could actually like you.

But you knew that expectations lead to disappointments so you’d eventually settle your heart that whatever you had is just purely platonic friendship and you’d convince yourself that you are totally fine with that.

You thought that once he leaves your unit, whatever connection you had will mellow down. But then he asks for your number and his first text would be “Started benign in the morning, now I just assisted in delivering a baby. Is it normal to feel like crying?”

He’d send you memes about cats and your fave shows and soon you’d develop your inside jokes.

You tried your best to keep cool and ignore the butterflies but then something actually happens.

1 year later, he’d confess to you in the same coffee shop.

"I like you. I really like you." He said.

You’d be left speechless and be teary-eyed.

“How…? When?” You’d ask.

He said he could not forget how he was amused at your facial expression when you were picking your book at the bookstore. He said he would have stricken a longer conversation if not for his dad waiting on his car who was his ride at that time.

At the coffee shop, he noticed you while you recited the lengthy orders of your workmates and he was impressed.

He did smile at you but his classmate and partner in a school activity coincidentally arrived.

And no, he did not read your name tag. He knew about it when he heard the barista called you and he remembered.

When he saw the hospital he was interning at, he wondered if you’d be there. When he saw you at the unit he was first assigned at, his heart felt like it could jump out of his chest. He thought it was “fate” and it felt like fate because your schedules would usually coincide. He said knowing you more each day excites him and gives him joy. You were his kindred spirit and confidant. You just clicked.

And just like that, your unrequited-love streak comes to an end.

"Thank you." You answered and Jae's eyes started to quiver. He opens his mouth but no words came out.

Realizing your mistake you started to say sorry which made everything worse.

Jae forced himself to smile but you can see the pain in his eyes. He thought he was being rejected!

You took his right hand on the table and held it firmly. "I like you too, Jae."

His eyes widened and he started laughing.

"Oh God, I can't believe I'm capable of having 5 different kinds of emotions in less than 10 seconds."

"Cute," you muttered.

"Did you just call me cute!?"

You shook your head and smiled. "I mean... I guess you're my meet-cute after all."

-END-

#THAT WAS SO CHEEZY #i know #day6 #day6fanfic #day6 scenarios #day6au #meet cute #friends to lovers #day6 fanfic #day6 jae fanfic #day6 jae #park jaehyung

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cynicallyscorned · 2 years

Text

inbox. ||

@eggomaniac said: 𝄢 - For one song/piece each associated with the muse’s past, one associated with the muse’s present, and associated with the muse’s future.

— music headcanons. ( accepting ! )

past:

therapy - all time low

lyrics:

My ship went down in a sea of sound When I woke up alone, I had everything A handful of moments, I wished I could change And a tongue like a nightmare that cut like a blade In a city of fools, I was careful and cool But they tore me apart like a hurricane A handful of moments, I wished I could change But I was carried away Give me a therapy, I'm a walking travesty But I'm smiling at everything Therapy, you were never a friend to me And you can keep all your misery My lungs gave out as I faced the crowd I think that keeping this up could be dangerous I'm flesh and bone, I'm a rolling stone And the experts say I'm delirious Give me a therapy, I'm a walking travesty But I'm smiling at everything Therapy, you were never a friend to me You can take back your misery Arrogant boy Love yourself so no one has to They're better off without you (They're better off without you) Arrogant boy 'Cause a scene like you're supposed to They'll fall asleep without you You're lucky if your memory remains Give me a therapy, I'm a walking travesty But I'm smiling at everything Therapy, you were never a friend to me You can take back your misery Therapy, I'm a walking travesty But I'm smiling at everything Therapy, you were never a friend to me And you can choke on your misery

present:

burning pile - mother mother

lyrics:

All my style All my grace All I tried to save my face All my guts, try to spill All my holes, try to fill All my money been a long time spent On my drugs, on my rent On my saving philosophy It goes, one in the bank, and the rest for me It goes, all my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I change my aim Throw my troubles at the pearly gates Oh, oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh (Oh-oh-oh) My mama, lonely maid Got her buns in the oven and she never got laid My papa, renaissance man Sailed away and he never came back again All my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I change my aim Throw my troubles at the pearly gates Oh, oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh All your woe bygones be gone I said all your troubles, you don't need a thing All my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I'll change my aim Throw my troubles at the world again It goes, all my troubles on a burning pile All lit up and I start to smile If I, catch fire then I'll take my turn To burn and burn and burn Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba, ba, ba, ba

future:

icarus - bastille

Look who's digging their own grave That is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death Look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it And what will you have left? Out on the front doorstep, drinking from a paper cup You won't remember this Living beyond your years, acting out all their fears You feel it in your chest Your hands protect the flames From the wild winds around you Icarus is flying too close to the sun And Icarus' life, it has only just begun It's just begun...Standing on the cliff face, highest fall you'll ever grace It scares me half to death Look out to the future, but it tells you nothing So take another breath Your hands protect the flames From the wild winds around you Icarus is flying too close to the sun And Icarus' life, it has only just begun This is how it feels to take a fall Icarus is flying towards an early grave You put up your defenses when you leave You leave because you're certain Of who you want to be You're putting up your armor when you leave And you leave because you're certain of who you want to be, oh Icarus is flying too close to the sun And Icarus' life, it has only just begun This is how it feels to take a fall Icarus is flying towards an early grave Oh, oh Oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh, oh, oh Oh oh, oh, oh, oh, oh-oh oh...

#🚫 — everyone’s out to get me. ❪ answered. ❫#🚫 — nothin’ left to prove to you. ❪ mixtape. ❫#eggomaniac #haha pain

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rinusagitora · 3 years

Text

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Vera Oberlin, Polly Geist, Amira Rashid, Kale

Pairings: BriDamiVicky, OzZoe, AmiVera

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 10/?. WARNINGS- PTSD symptoms, drug use, fanart drawn by @spookyhugsandkisses; Everyone is home, and is processing the events that have so far unfolded.

AO3

It was one of those nights Oz just wasn't able to focus. Even snuggled against Zoe and watching a goofy, uplifting anime, he couldn't ease the pit in his gut.

Zoe's thumb rubbed his brow. It was nice stimulation, at least. She was sweet in every way.

It was just a bad couple of days, Oz reasoned. He lived through millions. The birth of predator and prey, the fall of civilizations.

Zoe asked, "Do you remember your very first day?"

"Maybe long ago," he replied. "My first memory is in the dark, just beyond an orange light…. I think. There are so many now, it's hard to sort through them."

"Me too."

"What brings this up?" Oz asked.

"This, that, the other," she said. "I'm trying to remember a time before now that I've worked to keep people alive."

He frowned. "We're not very good at it.'

"No," Zoe agreed.

"We try to save people, but… they just end up dying. Or someone does."

She said, "They're all too eager to. Vera happily forked over her soul."

"And they adore destruction…. I hate demons for that reason. The Aquino, the LaVey, gungho for ruination and bloodshed before diplomacy."

"We wouldn't be here without it," Zoe said.

"Don't you tire of it?"

"I never said it didn't."

Oz hummed. His vision was blurry. Phobias kissed Zoe's hand, hugged her knee. He barely understood what Sergeant Frog was saying.

But that was the least of his worries.

"All of this now… what we're doing… is it helping, or is it retribution?"

"That depends on our intentions," she said. "Neutral good and lawful evil can approach a problem the same way and the only thing that puts them apart is their intentions."

Oz sat up. His Phobias whined for her skin like grumpy children. "Do we avenge Vicky?"

"Is she our friend?"

"... she's not innocent in all this."

"No, but that's irrelevant at this point."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We walk among mortals for so long and they rub off on us." Zoe cupped his cheek. Oz's eyes fluttered shut as she pet his cheekbone. "You more than I."

"Are you saying we mingle in these partisan affairs?"

"We already mingle, love," she said. "We've gone this far for them. I don't mind going further."

Oz's Phobias smiled with him. "I love you, Zoe."

---

Vicky felt like she hadn't been home in years.

It was stale, but just as she left it.

Vicky lingered in the doorway as her boyfriends made a beeline for the bedroom, Damien stripping to his boxers en route and littering his clothes on the floor.

She wasn't sure how she felt about being back. Vicky felt foreign, different, displaced. She stood in the entrance, shoes and jacket still on, and tried to piece it together with a puzzled furrow in her brow.

How many times had Vicky died? Once… twice… thrice? What counted as death and undeath?

Philosophy made her head fuzzy. She pushed off her shoes, not even caring to toss them into the shoe rack inches away, and made for the kitchenette in search of moldy dishes and rotten food. She'd need laundry done too.

"Babe, chores can wait."

Vicky didn't even bother to check if that was Brian or Damien. She said, "I want my place to be clean. Plus, I need clothes for class tomorrow."

"I thought we should skip," Damien said.

"Been through enough to warrant a break," Brian agreed.

She huffed. "I want to see my friends. Liam and Blobert don't know I'm back yet. It's not fair to keep them in the dark."

"Yes," Brian said, sitting on the floor with Vicky, "so we'll call them. Or meet them after school. But Vicky… you're still in fight or flight mode. We need to get out of that."

She laughed wryly. "What, like Hugh isn't at large?"

"There are three of us, and one of him. If he does invade your home, I think we got him," Damien snorted. Brian glared at him over his shoulder.

"Not helpful," he said.

"What? It's true."

Vicky sighed and continued to gather her outfit for tomorrow. She got together something presentable and went to her closet for the wire so she could hang them up in the bathroom. She shook Brian's hand off her pant leg but was caught by Damien a second later.

"Yeah, we're going to bed and sleeping in."

"No," Vicky argued. "I want to go to school."

"Baby, he's right. I'm so tired I'm gonna pass out when I hit the pillow," Damien said.

"Like you don't already?" Vicky snapped. "Dami, let me go. I have to get ready for school."

"We're going to bed," he said, firmly, golden eyes boring into her own.

Her nostrils flared irritably. Vicky adored her boyfriends but everything, the second the door closed, once she was relieved of the worries of her loved ones’ livelihood, she was imprisoned in a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. Fear, grief, rage. Shame that she was annoyed that Brian and Damien breathed over her shoulder. They just missed her. Vicky knew she would have behaved exactly like them if she watched either Brian or Damien die.

But sometimes, Vicky felt like her loved ones forgot she had a threshold. In less than a quarter of a century, Vicky was routinely sexually abused, experimented on by someone even more horrendous than herself as a bank robber, killed someone, and finally, she had died twice.

Vicky felt like she had every right to a night where she didn’t have birds chirping in her ear.

“Move,” Vicky said. “I’m just doing laundry.”

“No. We’re gonna relax tonight.” Damien's voice was rising, he was getting angry. Brian gawked at the scene unfolding from the corner of Vicky's eye.

“I want to go to school. I want to see my friends, and I don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I do!” she insisted, her voice quickly reaching a shrill crescendo in her frustration.

“What is your fucking problem, Vicky?” Damien barked.

“Nothing! I just don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I go to school.”

“It’s safe to say we’re not winning this fight,” Brian grumbled. He tried to grab Vicky’s laundry, and she pulled them away. He scowled and swiped again. “Babe, please give it to me.”

“No.”

“Am I seriously the only one here who’s exhausted?” Damien said, storming into the living room and tearing at his hair. “It hasn’t even been a fucking week since you died. We’ve been through a lot. We deserve some fucking sleep!”

Vicky whipped to him and screamed, “Like I fucking don’t? Like I fucking didn’t?” Her hair bristled with static. “You can’t fucking begin to comprehend the pain I’ve been through, asshole. I’ll cope however I fucking please.”

“I just watched you and my dad die! Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“Guys,” Brian said as stepped between them, “let’s not get into this. I’ll do the laundry. You two can go to bed.”

Vicky shoved past Brian. “Guilt trip?” she squawked. “You want a fucking guilt trip, Damien? I’ll show you a fucking guilt trip. You could’ve fucking saved me! You knew who took me, but you waited days to get me. Do you know how badly I was hurting? How isolated and confused I was?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’re selfish and… and dictatorial! You got to grow up in a sweet little princely bubble where everything’s fucking rosy, but I was tortured, and killed, and raped, you son of a bitch, and when you guys had the opportunity to help, it you fucking days!”

Brian replied, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Vicky?”

Tearfully, she screamed, “Shut the fuck up, Brian!” She turned back to Damien. He was tearful. Irate. “What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

Damien bent over her and said, “I was in so much pain without you, Vicky. I wanted to get you every day. But if we stormed without a plan, they would have killed you.”

“They already killed me!” Every inch of her mortal skin felt hot from her anger. “All I want to do is something mundane to keep my mind of this bullshit, but you guys are breathing down my fucking neck. You don’t have to fucking help me, but I need some room to breathe.”

“You were just fucking murdered and had to fight for your fucking life just a couple of hours ago. Vicky, you can’t work yourself to the bone! I was worried about you and you jumped down my fucking throat!”

Brian pushed the pair apart. “We need to calm down before the cops get called,” he reasoned.

She slapped away Brian’s hand. “Don’t defend him,” she said, “you’re as insufferable as he is!”

“Vicky,” Brian said as he wrapped her fists around her’s, “we weren’t trying to breathe down your neck. We know you’re in pain, and we just wanted to help you feel okay.”

“I don’t get to be okay! I just get to be miserable and hurting!” Vicky slipped away and wept. She combed her fingers through her hair and blubbered noisily. “I’ve wanted so badly to just die so all my pain would end. I’m even in pain when I sleep. But when I die, there’s just more of it. I’m in Hell if I’m not on my way.” Her lip wobbled. “And I drag everyone down with me.”

“You’re not dragging us down,” Brian reassured her.

“Scott,” she argued. “He may as well be dead. He was just a good friend and now he’s a vegetable because of me.” While she cried, she sunk to the floor. “I have to live with all this pain. The second something good happens to me, it’s ruined. I was better off exploited.”

Vicky cried into the carpet. Brian and Damien laid down with her. She clung to them, she blubbered apologies for everything under the sun and cursed her suffering.

Damien stroked her hair, holding her so tightly her back popped. It was so hot between them. She wanted to writhe in pain, in misery, but they caged her. Made her remember her company and her family.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry."

Damien hushed her. "It's fine. It's okay."

"I love you all so much."

Brian pressed a kiss to her. Again, again, again, until she was short of breath.

She sat up. Damien laid his head on her lap.

"I'm thirsty," she said, raspy and tired. "I'm going to make tea."

Damien and Brian followed Vicky into the commons. Damien took a seat, and while Vicky prepared water in the kettle, Brian hugged her from behind. Kissed her scalp.

"I missed you," he said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Vicky swayed. Her eyes watered again. She hated how much she cried. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Brian hummed. His cheek laid in her head. "Water under the bridge, and all. Most of it isn't even you." She felt his frown. "Given the chance, I'd light your uncle on fire."

"Fuuuuck," Damien groaned. "If my dad and Hugo are fucking brothers, that means Dahlia is my fucking cousin."

Vicky frowned. "That may become… problematic," she said.

He scratched his ear. "I don't wanna worry about it now…"

"Mood," Brian agreed.

The kettle whistled. Vicky poured it over a tea bag and then took a seat between her boyfriends. They leaned against her, eyes glued to the television screen.

She sipped her tea. Brian and Damien drifted off. They were exhausted, truly. She didn't blame them. It was a long week.

But could she find a reprise? Never.

---

Something was exhausting about trading with eldritch creatures. Like her chest was scraped with a curette. Painkillers weren’t helping, and Vera was debating whether or not to undergo local anesthesia.

But she was so tired. With Vicky passing, Scott in a coma, and then Vicky returning, she was exhausted. That was the first day in years she hadn’t even checked her phone to work.

She missed Scott so much.

His machines beeped rhythmically. It should've been a peaceful sound. Like white noise. But the context almost put Vera in a fugue state. Catatonic with… with feelings she didn't quite understand.

Amira shook her shoulder. Morning light cast a shadow over the building. It was still dark in their room due to western exposure.

He said, "Baby, you look so… tired. Have you slept?"

"No. I don't think so, at least." Vera only then managed to pull her attention away from Scott. "I need to call in my absence."

"I took care of it," Amira said.

Vera hummed. Her chest still hurt.

"I want to stay here for the day," she told Amira. He nodded.

"Agreed." Amira pulled up a seat and crossed his legs. "He's got some color in his cheeks, though. The witches here are doing a damn good job."

"Nothing can fix everything." Not science, or magic, or what have you. But Amira squeezed her hand.

He said, "I know. But I'm optimistic."

"Aren't you always?" Vera looked back to Scott. He was intubated. Made to breathe. His heart was pumped by machines. Everything mechanical. Vera didn't have high hopes for his survival.

And it broke her heart. Scott could be obnoxious, but he was ultimately harmless! A victim in all this, the truest of them all.

Vera hated the Aquino family for victimizing someone whose inner light brightened the world like the sun. She'd be certain to rain terror on them from on high. To ruin them in every way she could.

Amira seemed to pick up on Vera's vitriol. He said, squeezing her hand again, "Do you want something to eat? Drink?"

"... just some water," she replied quietly.

Amira walked out. Polly floated in a second later.

Vera wasn't in the mood for conversation, but wasn't about to kick out a grieving friend, either. She wordlessly nodded to Polly. Polly smiled. She looked like she, too, was crying.

"I miss you," Polly croaked. "The hardest part of you being gone is that those of us left behind had so much to tell you, so much we wanted to experience with you, and now… now you're gone." She wiped her face. "I'd do anything to make you better, man."

Vera bowed her head, crying too. God, she missed him so much.

---

That morning, Vicky sent a text to Blobert and Liam to meet them. Of course, she was spammed with messages, but after proving it was her, and telling them she'd explain everything after school, they relented.

They waited in the parking lot hours later. Vicky smoked, and it reminded Brian that he could go for some weed. Everything was so uncertain. So tense. He needed something to ease his nerves.

The bell rang and students began to file out. Kale walked by, oblivious as he played what Brian was sure to be PokeMans.

He elbowed Damien. Both he and his girlfriend turned to him. "I'm gonna talk to Kale if that's cool."

"Go ahead." Vicky smiled a smile that made Brian swoon without fail.

Damien pecked Brian on the lips. "We'll hold down the fort, babe."

"Thanks."

Brian strode to catch up to Kale, before saying, "Hey, man! It's been a minute."

Kale turned around, bark crunching, and smiled. "Hey there. Glad to see you back." He pulled his headphones around his neck. "I heard Vicky's back too."

"Yeah. It's…"

"A long story?"

"You have no idea."

"As fun as the details prolly are, I'm sure you'd rather wind down."

"You read my mind." Brian pulled a baggie out of his coat pocket. "You got a minute?"

"Sure."

Brian and Kale found a secluded bench where the air smelled fresh and the only sounds were birds chirping. Traffic was completely absorbed by tall hedges.

They made their joints and then leaned back to enjoy them. It lingered in his lungs, making him buzz pleasantly. He could feel his stiff, rotten muscles easing.

"The fuck even happened?" Kale asked. Brian hummed dumbly. "With Vicky, I mean."

"Oh." Brian frowned as he ruminated. "She got into some trouble during a job. Some people didn't like it, and so they took her out." That was the simplest explanation, without the messy politics of Hell, and without a long story that was sure to just make Brian miserable.

"She's back now, at least."

"Equally as complicated," Brian told him.

"I bet." Kale took a puff. They sat in silence for a good minute. "It's fucked up, though. Are you sure you're cut out for this shit?"

Brian was a little hurt by that like Kale was suggesting it was somehow Vicky and Damien's vault she was murdered. It was a power grab. That's all.

But Kale was just trying to be a good friend, Brian reminded himself. He said, "Yeah. All this bullshit just reassured me how much I love them, y'know?"

"I'll take your word for it. I dunno much about that love bullshit, but if you're happy, man…" Kale trailed off and shrugged.

"Thanks."

Again, silence as they smoked. That was something he liked about Kale. How laid back he was. As fun as the insanity as Spooky High was, it was much nicer when insanity was a fraction of his day. Brian preferred sleeping like the dead or getting as close to it as possible.

Kale then asked, "What're you gonna do after all this?"

Brian pondered for only a second before he pictured Vicky and Damien in wedding garb from his home country.

"I want to get married."

#monster prom #bridamivicky #ozzoe #amivera #oz monster prom #zoe monster prom #vicky schmidt #damien lavey #brian yu #kale monster prom #amira rashid #vera oberlin

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rinnnyxr · 3 years

Text

I’m happy I’m sad I’m motivated I’m unmotivated I’m sick I’m taken I have a crush I’m in love I’m single I’m brokenhearted

I want to sleep I want to study I want to go out I want to stay home I have school today I have work today

I’m afraid of spiders I’m afraid of being alone I’m afraid of snakes I’m afraid of flying I’m afraid of failure I’m afraid of clowns

I took chemistry classes in high school I took math classes in high school I took English classes in high school I took geography classes in high school I took biology classes in high school I had gym in high school I took art classes in high school I took science classes in high school I took history classes in high school I took physics classes in high school I was in the theatre after school program in high school I had some sort of music classes in high school I had some sort of dance classes in high school

Bold the things you’ve never done.

I’ve never gone to Disney World. I’ve never been out of my home country. I’ve never kissed a stranger on the lips. I’ve never read a book over eight hundred pages. I’ve never painted a picture on a canvas. I’ve never sang in front of a large crowd by myself.

I’ve never had braces. I’ve never learned French. I’ve never had a fight with my dad. I’ve never updated my status through my phone. I’ve never used Nair. I’ve never cut my wrists. I’ve never wanted plastic surgery. I’ve never drank organic regular milk. I’ve never learned Chinese. I’ve never blew up a balloon. I’ve never changed a baby’s diaper. I’ve never lost my phone for good. I’ve never lost a friend through death. I’ve never met one of my grandparents. I’ve never met someone with my exact name. I’ve never dated someone with red hair. I’ve never put on eyeliner for myself. I’ve never took a dance class. I’ve never tried weed. I’ve never tried drugs. I’ve never cooked dinner for my family. I’ve never had anything besides my ears pierced. I’ve never had a tattoo. I’ve never went to the beach to tan. I’ve never kissed anyone on the lips that was younger than me. I’ve never dumped someone. I’ve never stepped in something nasty barefooted. I’ve never cheated on someone. I’ve never waxed anything on my body. I’ve never dyed my whole head a different color. I’ve never kissed anyone who was above the age of seventeen. I’ve never kissed in the rain. I’ve never gone a day without laughing. I’ve never got held back a grade. I’ve never stolen anything over twenty dollars.

Aries

Waiting until the last minute TL;DR (too long, didn’t read) Angry crying 4 am seamless Big flirt Hot yoga “Why are you so upset? I’m over it now” No filter Cutting in line at the store Skipping to the “good part” Ignoring the speed limit Tinder Shoplifting Exclamation points!!! Bad tattoos Caffeine addiction Toned AF Muay Thai “Don’t touch me” Breaking a bone Spelling errors Picking fights for no reason Lowkey really sensitive Skipping breakfast 7/24

Taurus Falling asleep on the subway Going barefoot Using hands as utensils Calling in sick Materialism Tree climbing Cuddling Controlling the aux Great British baking show “I deserve to treat myself” Aesthetics Spending the whole day in bed Anything that says “natural” on it Long-term relationships Expensive sheets Picnics in the park Essential oils Sex as exercise Tender Wearing the same outfit 3 days in a row Says a controversial opinion and then “I’m not going to argue” Calm, cool, and collected Silk everything 5 meals a day 7/24

Gemini Giving unqualified advice 50 different tangents “Prove it” Playing Devil’s advocate Can’t keep a secret Scamming Carrying a book around Arguing for fun Always knowing the latest gossip Adderall Spilling guts to the Uber driver Rationalizing emotions Lying to be more interesting Most active in the group chat Anxiety Telling the same story 10 times to perfect it Philosophy 1000 ideas per minute Sardonic sense of humor Full of interesting facts 23 best friends Internet memes Forgot how to cry Living a double life 4/24

Cancer Screenshots Same friends since high school Sleeps with a stuffed animal Vintage clothes Cries when yelled at Going home early Nesting Holding grudges Mood swings Drinking tea Supporting others’ chaos Social anxiety HGTV Super protective of loved ones Accidental emotional manipulation Cooking for friends Likes animals more than humans Meeting someone and immediately planning their whole lives together Empathizing with film protagonists Vivid childhood memories “Mi casa es tu casa” Serial monogamist Good emotional memory Big hugs 8/24

Leo Mid-day outfit changes Giving out compliments Taking an hour to get ready Accidentally flirting Making friends in the Uber pool Using a window as a mirror Passionate emotional outbursts Lowkey insecure Creating drama to avoid boredom Opening up after just meeting someone Going to the spa Needing to make opinions known Large but fragile ego Wanting recognition for your generosity Making a scene Pretending life is reality TV Giving really subjective advice Overdressed for the function Creative genius Social media as therapy Trying something and being instantly good at it Can’t take a joke Self-care Urge to stand out 7/24

Virgo Over-analyzing friendships Fact check Knowing a little about everything Helping people get their shit together Very specific tastes Fixing it or making it 10x worse Personal projects Health routines Pretending to have your shit together Repeating a task over and over until it’s perfect On good terms with your trash exes Stretching self too thin Stuck in negative thought cycles Noticing little things no one else notices Needs to quit like 3 things Nitpicking Self-sacrificing Hyperfocus Reading 3 books at once “Sorry for the late reply” Functioning on 3 hours of sleep Can’t turn brain off Neurotic Putting yourself last 17/24

Libra Fomo (fear of missing out) Saying yes to every opportunity A little bit of suck up Fear of being alone Flirting with everyone but your crush Tossing a coin to make big decisions Easily influenced Art films Strong sense of right and wrong Torn between being social and having much needed alone time New crush every day Going to museums Overthinking romantic relationships Truly admiring all your friends Adopting others’ hobbies and mannerisms Overdraft fees Showing up late or not showing up at all Avoiding conflicts at all costs Talking about past romances on the first date Gossipy but with good intentions Panicking when someone raises their voice Trying to see both sides Unable to end a bad relationship Pretending to hate drama 9/24

Scorpio Resting bitch face Keeping the right amount of secrets Has a “hit” list (either meaning) Needing to have control in relationships Knowing what you want and exactly how to get it Disappearing at parties Morbid thoughts Believes in “energy” Attractive Staring from across the room Stalking crush’s social media Fascination with cults Still in an emo phase Breaking hearts but sad about it Trust issues All black Existential angst Silently walking away from uninteresting conversations Chaotic emotions behind a calm mask Craving emotional intensity “What am I gonna gain from it?” Seeming intimidating, actually really sensitive Friendships of utility Loves crime 12/24

Sagittarius Losing interest and quitting anything that doesn’t come easily Giving opinions without being asked No inside voice Arguing as foreplay Backpacking trips Talking over people Stating opinions as facts Corny jokes Took one philosophy class and is basically Nietzsche now Always having the last word Using big words to sound smart Speaking more than one language Fueled by laughter Calling friends on their BS Asking for advice and then not taking it Needing to change activities every 30 minutes Telling it like it is Correcting people Unwaveringly optimistic Laugh can be heard from across the room Talking about a book after only reading the Wikipedia synopsis Learning a lot from travel Periodically getting rid of all your belongings Pulling out a party trick 9/24

Capricorn Fear of not living up to potential Overcommitting Anything ‘rustic’ Favorite song is the NPR jingle Has real, tangible goals Repressing trauma Always on time Slow and steady Minding your own business Prefers on one hangs to group hangs Work/life balance Putting more money into savings than you take out Acting 20 years older than you actually are Is prepared for the worst-case scenario Never asking for help Reading for fun Is actually normcore Taking care of business Taking things seriously Motivated by stress Minimalism Hanging out with the same 3 people Bashful around crush Holding friends to high standards 9/24

Aquarius Lowkey superstitious Obscure music David Lynch Weird makeup Self-given haircuts Bad at flirting Feeling like an alien Reding conspiracy theories on the internet Estranged from emotions Experimental poetry Martyr complex Being called a free spirit Abstract concepts Making plans and canceling them Intellectual superiority A little arrogant Loves an underdog Using a thesaurus Activism Fuck the rules Intentionally provocative Highly ethical Queer theory Niche knowledge base 1/24

Pisces Head in the clouds Misplacing keys Unofficially moving in with friends Easily overwhelmed Empathizing with plants Existential crisis #3 Really long showers Leaving clothes in a pile on the ground Using fantasies as an escape Romantic drama Need for constant validation Acts either 7 or 70 Incredibly active imagination Cripplingly self-aware Over-apologizing In love with 10 people at once Binge drinking Giving good advice but can’t apply it to yourself Secretly writes poetry Crying in the bathroom at work Can’t take criticism Mind reading #NoBoundaries Saying something deep out of nowhere 12/24

I am most like a Virgo (my actual sign)

You have an ex You don’t wear glasses You have blue/gray/green eyes

You’re pretty tall

You can drive a manual transmission car

You know how to change the oil

You know all about cars

You have a serious passion for photography

You’ve known your best friend since middle school You’re close friends with someone since elementary school You prefer Quiznos over Subway

You’re in a relationship You’ve had a rebound before You’ve been in a relationship for five years

You’ve cheated before

You’ve dated someone who was Asian You’ve dated someone who was Hispanic

You’ve dated someone of your own ethnicity You like to sleep a lot You were born in winter Your birthday is in February

You’re the oldest in your family

You have a younger sister You have a cat You don’t have step-parents You often work the night shifts at your job

You can play the drums

You know a lot about flowers

You’re allergic to shellfish

You like garlic You like a lot of cheese

You get real Christmas trees

You’ve been in a car accident before You’ve snuck people over to your house You’re part Hawaiian

You’re a Pisces

You have no tattoos You have no piercings You have brown hair You have a Steam account You don’t have a Twitter

You’re hardly on any networking sites

You have an XBox360 You don’t like Playstation products very much

You have relatives in Alaska and/or Hawaii

You have a Toshiba laptop

You love German Shepherds You love Welsh Corgis You are Republican

You are Methodist

Your room is rarely ever clean

You’ve drunk dialed someone

A nasty rumor has been spread about you You’re in college One of your parents was at one point enlisted in the military

You are close with your family You like paintballing

You don’t smoke You don’t do drugs

You have a habit of keeping things you borrowed longer than expected

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magioftheseas · 4 years

Text

Soul-Crushing

Summary: Komaeda's not his soulmate. Hinata yearns for him all the same.

Rating: T

Warnings: Death is referenced but really it’s just super angsty.

Notes: Y’all remember that time I posted the beginning of this because I was requested a soulmates AU...yeah it was a while ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure in-between starting this and finally posting a “finished” version of it that my cousin was born and started elementary school. Hmm. Uh. Well on that note, it’s still Ko day. Yaaaaaay Ko Day. Anyway this is sad.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He doesn’t remember when exactly he and Komaeda met, but there’s some strange part of him that tells him it was important. If Komaeda felt the same way, he didn’t know, but the thing was that regardless... Ever since they met, they meshed together nicely.

They didn’t belong together, though. He’d known from the get-go that Komaeda wasn’t meant to be his—and Hinata also instinctively knew he didn’t belong to him either. Whoever Hinata’s soul mate really was—he hadn’t met them yet. As for Komaeda... Well, his soul mate actually was no longer a factor. He was one of those cases—the very tragic but not that uncommon ones.

But that wasn’t a thing that Komaeda let upset him, and when he finally managed to ask him about it... Komaeda didn’t bother beating around the bush with how he felt about his ‘lost love’.

“I never knew who they were,” Komaeda had told him, arms folded with an air of nonchalance compared to Hinata’s chest aching with sympathy. “They died a long time ago—a little before I met you, I think. I haven’t mourned them... But I don’t think I even have the right to. I never knew them, after all.”

But they were your soul mate. Hinata wants to say but the words get stuck because he’s sure Komaeda knows that. And Komaeda still chooses to be okay with the situation when Hinata doesn’t know what he’d do. The knowledge his own soul mate is still out there, somewhere, waiting for him sits heavily in his gut. It’s the same knowledge that holds his tongue—because the last thing he wants to do is insult Komaeda by trying to understand something he has no idea about.

“Really, it’s fine,” Komaeda says anyway because he sees that sad look on Hinata’s face. He smiles softly, brightly at him in a way that stills his world. “But now you know, Hinata-kun. It’s nothing to worry about, see? I’ve long since gotten over it.”

But Komaeda had always been like that—downplaying his issues and the difficulties life had handed him with a smile and a laugh. Hinata, who would spend continuous hours mulling over his faults and insecurities, couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Because sometimes he would worry, for hours on end even when Komaeda was speaking to him, about what would happen when he met his soul mate. It already seemed too good to be true, the idea of someone meant for him, who’d accept him for all his failings and shortcomings—another person like Komaeda who would smile at him and then soothe his worries with a calming smile and a chipper ‘it’s alright’.

Another person like Komaeda...but wasn’t actually Komaeda.

Hinata wasn’t so naïve he didn’t see the problem with his feelings towards Komaeda but he couldn’t help it. Komaeda was the first friend he made in the area, he’s sure, and to Hinata that made him special.

He has other friends, of course, but Komaeda had always been the one to approach him first. He was nervous when he first arrived, sometimes he tripped over his words, more times than not the wrong thing would come out, and while he tore himself up on the inside... Komaeda was still patient with him. Komaeda laughed off Hinata’s blunt observations that could come off as rude, and would warn him gently if he unintentionally strayed towards a potential ‘danger zone’.

Eventually, he could talk to the other kids normally and laugh with the others normally but at the end of the day, it all came back to Komaeda. It had always been Komaeda. And, oddly enough, Hinata wasn’t that sure if Komaeda had any friends other than himself.

He’s asked others about him a couple of times, and he gets the general gist as to why. Komaeda, as nice and helpful as he is, can be...strange sometimes.

Hinata’s not unaware about the things Komaeda would say that weren’t so soothing to hear—about the hierarchy of society, the inherent worth of the haves and have-nots, and a lot of unsettling philosophy about soul mates that he already had heard in textbooks—about how they were always meant to complete one another, fulfill one another, and how their lives would always lead up to that fated encounter... Stuff everyone knows but coming from Komaeda, he found he personally had a bit more of a problem with it. With others, they were unsettled by the implications Komaeda may or may not have had in his tone while ranting.

“Really, you shouldn’t concern yourself with the things someone like me says anyway,” Then again another thing was that Komaeda always concludes his tirades with little statements like these. “I’m just paltry in the grand scheme of things, Hinata-kun. I really shouldn’t be talking as much as I do. But I just get excited.”

Considering also Komaeda’s own situation... Hinata’s only more concerned while others would be more suspicious as to the exact meaning behind those words. Hinata’s questioned it, but Komaeda always thought he was being straight-forward, so he’s never really gotten anywhere.

It’s frustrating—and Hinata doesn’t doubt it’s at least part of the reason why others avoid him. Even though Hinata still can’t imagine brushing Komaeda off completely to the side, not when Komaeda still tries to smile when he sees how bothered Hinata is, and insists he doesn’t worry. Sometimes, Komaeda might try to pacify him by promising to refrain from saying the things he does in the future.

He’s making excuses for it, but really Hinata couldn’t leave Komaeda even if he entertained the thought for longer than a second. Komaeda’s special. He isn’t special in that way, but he’s special.

He’s special. Hinata never could just let him go.

He doesn’t expect to be accepted, of course. He’s stupid. He’s indulgent. But he’s not that stupid and indulgent—or at least he’d like to think so.

“You hang around me so often,” Komaeda says, smiling kindly but with a frustrated gaze. “Don’t you have better things to do, Hinata-kun?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he refutes as if that’s all there is to it. His skin crawls before he’s cruelly reminded that it isn’t when Komaeda’s stare narrows. Those gray-greens are locked onto him, but they’re close to shutting. If Hinata could, he’d keep those eyes on him by any means necessary, even if it meant force.

Of course—he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force Komaeda.

Let’s wait until destiny does that.

“We’re friends,” Komaeda finally agreed after a while. When Hinata grins, Komaeda falters, his smile twitching. “We’re friends, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata presses closer him, closer than a mere friend should be.

As long as I have a say in it, I want to stay with you. Stick by you.

The romantic sentiments linger on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows that back. Instead of words, he encircles Komaeda with his arms, holding him close.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, almost pitifully. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Hinata nods against him, squeezing him.

“You’re the only friend I have,” Komaeda adds, wistful and wispy. As if close to fading away.

Hinata holds him even closer. Their chests press together so much so that the two of them may as well have been melded to one another. It might hurt, being held like this.

But just being this close came with unavoidable pain, because the reality of their situation hangs above. The shroud of death for the living—as metaphorical as it was physical.

The two of them were not meant to be together.

And yet, Hinata wished. He wanted. He yearned.

“I like you, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s responding laugh is even more pitiful than before, a crumbled up facsimile of joy. It’s too heart-wrenching a sound to be humiliating.

“You like me, too, right?” Hinata found himself asking, softly and tentatively.

“Of course I do.” The answer’s immediate. He can’t see Komaeda’s face like this, but he’s not willing to pull back so he just imagines a soft expression even if the words don’t convey it. “As I said, we’re friends. You’re the only friend I have. How could I not like you?”

It’s all true. And isn’t that such a pathetic way to put it?

Komaeda embraces him in return. Komaeda squeezes. Komaeda sucks in his breath. He sounds close to tears.

You’re his only friend—practically all he has. You have a soul mate—someone you’re meant to be with and spent the rest of your life with. He doesn’t have anyone except you, and you’re taking advantage of him and your relationship with him.

What are you doing?

What the hell do you think you’re doing to him?

“That’s not what I mean.” What he’s doing is being honest. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Komaeda quakes. He may have fallen to pieces if not for how he was being held tightly and mercilessly. Komaeda makes a strangled kind of noise, and Hinata’s quick to rub his back, running his fingers along that knobby, delicate spine of his. Komaeda feels more fragile than ever.

“I-It’s disgusting, isn’t it? To love someone who’s already promised to someone else.”

Komaeda’s voice is barely above a whisper before rising in fervor.

“To want to be beside that person even when you know in your bones that you don’t belong there.” His breath hitches. “Isn’t that gross? Isn’t it despicably indulgent? Isn’t it unnatural? That person—they’re promised to someone else. The best you can do is hope that someone else dies. Isn’t that just terrible?”

Hinata wants to ask him if he feels that way—but he thankfully stops himself. Komaeda is clearly spiraling and unraveling in his embrace. He doesn’t want that.

I want—

“You’re not disgusting, Komaeda. You’re a good person. I’m just a shitty friend.”

Because I want to be yours. Just like I want you to be mine—just the two of us. I can’t imagine being with someone else.

Komaeda makes another complicated noise. To Hinata’s horror, it sounds closest to a sob. He’s quick to squeeze him, to stroke his hair and coo at him and to try and reassure him.

“If I were your soulmate, I’d be a really lucky guy—”

“But you’re not.” Komaeda cuts him off, voice tight. “And I’m not your soulmate. I lost my soulmate—that person, whoever they were—but you still have yours. You don’t need me. When you meet them, you’ll...” Komaeda laughs quietly, mirthless and tense. “I know what to expect, but still. I don’t want to be discarded like trash, Hinata Hajime.”

His tone is unexpectedly venomous. Hinata almost flinched away.

Almost.

He instead stood his ground.

“I promise I won’t do that.”

“Don’t,” Komaeda sighed tiredly. “Please. Don’t.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “You’re special to me. You’re important to me. Cosmic bond or not—that isn’t going to change. I’m always going to like you, Komaeda. I swear it.”

Komaeda’s face crumbles, even as he tries to muster up another despairing chuckle.

“I like you, too. A lot. I’m sorry. I...” He tries to twist away. Hinata doesn’t let him. Komaeda’s breath catches, taking on a tone of desperation as Hinata pulls him even closer than before. “Wait. Wait. We mustn’t. Please, Hinata-kun, you shouldn’t...”

Hinata doesn’t kiss him. He does, however, keep Komaeda’s watering gaze locked with his own.

“I love you, Komaeda...Nagito. I love you, Nagito. I’m...”

I’m not your soulmate, but I want to do right by you as one should.

“I’m going to stay with you—even if it can only be as a friend..!”

Komaeda shook his head frantically, but after a while, he just slumps into the embrace, sighing heavily as he does.

“Hinata-kun. I really like you. More than I should. But right now—I think I hate you, too.”

“That’s...” Hinata swallowed. “Honestly, that’s fair. I’m sorry. I just...”

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Komaeda murmured tiredly into his shoulder. “In a world like this one—it would’ve been best to just keep your mouth shut.”

Maybe he would’ve been happier that way. Or least it’d be easier to pretend. This world—

“This world is garbage,” Hinata muttered darkly. “If someone like you is destined to be alone. I’ll defy it until the end of time. I don’t care. I’ll stay with you, Nagito. I promise.”

In what could only be described as a miracle, Komaeda’s soft bout of laugher was of genuine amusement.

“We’ll see, then. You’re already an incredible disappointment and infuriatingly defiant—even if it’s a source of despair, I can’t help...but be curious about you, Hajime-kun.”

Hinata’s grip tightened on him so much so that he couldn’t have escaped even if he wanted to. As if his will really was strong enough to rival that of the cosmic certainties of soulmates.

It’d be easy to believe that, with emotions running so strong. But Hinata Hajime only wanted to twist that passion into the truth, foolish as that endeavor may be.

Whether this was to be fortune or misfortune was something Komaeda Nagito could only dread and anticipate in equal measures.

#nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito #hajime hinata #hinata hajime #KomaHina #HinaKoma #Magi fics #why I finished this now is a mystery especially to me...#I guess I felt I was lacking in ANGST after KomaHina Week 2020

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gingernastyy · 4 years

Note

OOOU i saw your headcanons were open!! you’re an amazing writer and i love your characterization :) uhh do you got any fluffy headcanons to share for john/bonnie? if you want of course! again, wonderful writer you are!!! have a blessed day friend 💖😌✨

After the end of the gang John, outside of Dutch and what he taught him, really doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t know what he wants in life, or what he aspires to do.

He kind of just follows what others want, sometimes for better or worse. In this case it’s building the house and barn that Abigail wanted. He feels guilty for how poor of a father he has been and feels he’s obligated, but also genuinely wants to help both Abigail and Jack in any way that he can.

It was more of Abigail’s dream to have the farm, but it gave him a sense of purpose. He enjoys the ranch life, it’s the busy work he misses from the gang.

Over the years, John and Abigail realize their feelings for each other- or in other words, the lack of romantic feelings for each other.

With Sadie being back in their life, healing from the stab wound in her side from hunting down Micah, Abigail becomes aware of the deep love she has for her. Maybe it was always just the forced pressure of others why she felt she needed a husband and the pressure of them having a kid together that made her feel she had to be with John. Sadie, Abigail and John have a long conversation about how they feel for each other. They come to the conclusion that though John and Abigail love each other it’s more in a platonic and friendship type of way.

Sadie quits the bounty hunting business. She teases the both of them about giving her the family bug but she is happy as all can be with Abigail. She had a bit of ranching under her belt from the time that she and Jake were together so she and Abigail continue working the ranch with Jack.

The four of them live together for a while, getting the ranch up and running. Sadie and Abigail, a happy couple and the three of them work to raise Jack together, John and Sadie working day after day to keep the ranch going. John and Abigail still present themselves as married to the public, to protect her and Sadie’s relationship.

Everything goes pretty smoothly until the consequences from finding Micah catches up with them. When the Bureau of Investigation takes Jack and Abigail, it’s both John and Sadie that work on figuring out how to get them back. All the time he took to get out of the life he gets roped back into having to hunt down Bill, Javier, and Dutch. He’s not exactly smart about it, he’s not proud of going up to Fort Mercer and getting shot.

He’s grateful that Amos and Miss Macfarlane find him when they do or he’s sure he would have bled to death.

It seems that whenever John is bed ridden, he wakes up to a pretty lady watching over him. As wonderful as that it is he would like to not be mauled by wolves or shot in the gut in order to see them. He also hates that the first time he meets Miss Macfarlane he’s in such an unpleasant position.

Right as he’s waking up she’s bombarding him with questions about what he was doing at Fort Mercer, how he knows Bill Willamson and in the same breath calling him an idiot. He likes her immediately.

When John gets the chance he sends a telegram to Sadie. Explain what happened to Abigail and Jack but leaves out the part about him being injured. It’s harder than getting a dog away from a bone for John to tell Sadie she should stay back and take care of the farm while he handles the situation. There’s nothing more threatening to him than, even though it is only the text read from a telegram, Sadie saying “I don’t care what you have to do, you go get my wife back John Marston.”

Unfortunately, until he’s healed he can’t focus on getting them back. But in the meantime, while he’s healing he grows quite fond of Miss Macfarlane and is a farmhand for her. She teases him more than any woman he knows but… he kind of likes it, keeps him on his toes. He certainly gives her plenty of things to tease him for.

John’s not always been the best with words, so when he’s explaining the situation he’s in to Bonnie he might have led her to believe he was actually married. It’s habit for him at this point, to protect Abigail and because he had been living for years believing he would marry her one day. It’s not exactly an issue until he’s been openly flirting with Bonnie. She puts her foot down and confronts him, poking him in the chest, “I ain’t that kind of woman John Marston so you need to quit that.” He knows he’s being scolded but he’s pretty sure he falls in love with her right there. John stumbles over his words and does his best to explain his situation with Abigail and Jack to make it clear that he’s not being unfaithful. But that just leaves them to stand there flustered because he was flirting with her and Bonnie might have let slip that she was attracted to John and enjoyed his advances but had been upset because she believed him to be married.

They might avoid each other for a little after that but if you asked them, they would deny it. John just got caught up with helping Marshal Johnson and Bonnie had the ranch to worry about.

They’re only able to avoid each other for a few days, John did need to work back the money he’d cost them and they missed each other. Bonnie asks John to walk the perimeter with her in the evening, which was clearly an excuse be he ain’t gonna turn her down. She tells him her father is real fond of John, “says your good husband material I believe is how he phrased it.” Drew finds John hardworking, reliable, and he appreciates his philosophies. “Thinks you’re much rather suited for me than any other farmer he’s met.”

John of course laughs, from the shock of it all and because he’d never thought someone would consider him husband material. As they head back to the house, John flusters Bonnie with his reply, “While marriage seems a little fast, I do appreciate having your father’s approval. But more importantly, do I have yours?”

John falls a little harder as he sees her pretend to think it over, “I ain’t decided yet,” but she’s grinning so big at him.

Every night after that John sees her off to bed, standing at the bottom of the porch stairs, wanting nothing more than to follow her inside but trying to somewhat take things slow, he takes his hat off and says real soft and sweet, “Goodnight Miss McFarlane.” Bonnie of course rolls her eyes at him and tells him to just call her Bonnie already, “I swear you’re such a gentleman it’s annoying.” John laughs in that way that makes Bonnie smile back and want to kiss him forever. “You’re the first person to ever tell me that,”

John keeps working around the farm, playfully asking Bonnie if he’s got that $15 covered from his doctor visit. She likes to pull the “hmm not yet, there’s plenty more work for you to do” and he responds with fake disappointment, “guess I’ll just have to stick around longer then,” all while smiling and winking at her. And maybe sometimes they end up holding each other and kissing for a little too long but who can really say?

After John helps with the barn fire, he asks if Bonnie would be willing to send some cattle to Beechers Hope after he’s finished. He plans to get some cattle for the farm for Abigail and Sadie, almost as a housewarming gift for them. He also brings up in that moment that he’s been thinking of gathering some of his things and bringing them to stay with her.

To say Bonnie was traumatized after everything with Bill Williamson’s gang would be an understatement, but she isn’t alone and John reminds her of that. Bonnie’s always had to be strong and independent, so she tries to keep it in and hide it from John but he won’t have that. He sits with her during late nights, after nightmares and when she’s too tense to sleep. He opens up to her about his own trauma, specifically the hanging from when he was a kid. They were already close but after that, they feel an even deeper bond. After one emotional talk, Bonnie opens up about how afraid she was, John sharing the same fear, he tells her he loves her.

When John has to go to Mexico, he sweeps Bonnie off her feet and pulls her into a kiss. Anything could happen as he goes after Javier so he makes sure to kiss her before he goes. It’s a habit he develops every time he leaves to go somewhere.

Abigail and Sadie both insist joining John in his trip to McFarlane’s Ranch after they get settled back in, taking corn with as a thank you and because they want nothing more than to meet the woman who’s got John Marston so flustered.

John discovers a new ring of hell with all three of them together to torment him and he expresses as much but really he’s smiling and to see the smile on Bonnie’s face is all worth it. He knows she loves him.

Sadie elbows him at some point, both of them watching Bonnie and Abigail chat away, and smirks at him, “She’s real cute, I can see why you got that dumb look all the time.” He of course tells her to fuck off as she laughs and laughs.

Abigail and Bonnie like each other a lot, Bonnie respects Abigail immensely and Abigail believes Bonnie is good for John, will keep him in line because god knows he could get into some trouble.

Bonnie pokes at John when she finds out that he doesn’t know how to swim. She questions him on how he is supposed to teach Jack if he doesn’t know how to swim and how does a grown man not know how to swim. She drops the teasing when she realizes that John is insecure about it and insists that she will teach him. John pulls a whole “not worth it or I’m not teachable” excuse with her and she returns with a “Oh are you just going to turn down my feminine charm and seeing me wet in swimwear?” It sure convinces John to get into the water. Bonnie is the only lady he knows that would still find him attractive after seeing him flailing as he tries to swim. He admits to her that it ain’t too bad but can’t help but still feels like a cat to water.

Even though they’re living together and really running the ranch together, John reminds Bonnie and everyone else that it is her ranch and he’s there to support her in any way he can.

Whenever John misplaces his hat, Bonnie is always the one who can find it. She says he’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached and kisses him as she places his hat back onto his head.

Bonnie is usually the one to wake up first but the rare times that John wakes before her he kisses his fingers and places it on her forehead or cheek. He doesn’t know how to put into words on how much he loves her.

At the end of their work day they talk and watch the sunset together. Bad days and sometimes even the good days they have a few drinks while they talk. Depending on what they are doing, there’s times that they don’t see each other until sundown. It’s not just chicken and cow talk, or just talk about the ranch, they bring up what they want to do the next day or what if they took a day trip somewhere. Amos and the other farmhands surely can handle the ranch for just one day.

They rebuild the barn together, John telling her about the first barn he’d built. Maybe he’s crazy but he swears, there’s a Bluejay sitting near and watching him this time too.

If Bonnie stares at John a little longer than probably appropriate while he’s working without a shirt, she’d never admit it and maybe John would stretch and show off a little when he catches her staring.

John and Bonnie get married in front of the barn at sundown, Hennigan's Stead was always gorgeous in the evening. Abigail, Sadie, and Jack are all there of course and they all spend the night laughing and talking together, celebrating.

Every night, Bonnie asks John about a different scar as they lie in bed together. He’s covered in them and after each story he tells, she kisses the scar. She teases him for being an idiot for a lot of them, most of them from his dumb choices. He gets the quietest about the bullet wound in his shoulder.

Fishing and practicing shooting is what they often do in their free time. Even after being in a gang for years, John thinks Bonnie is better than him when it comes to both. Seems like the years of him being out of the gang has made him a little rusty. At least with fishing he never was too good at it.

John, for the first time in his life feels he found happiness being with Bonnie and running the ranch with her. He’s found his purpose and he wants to hold onto it forever.

#rdr1 #rdr1 headcanons #John Marston #Bonnie Macfarlane #headcanons #rdr2 #Thank you so much tho! I'm glad you like my writing and I hope you like the way I wrote them!#also shoutout to Kell for reading over and helping me edit this!

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

Text

The Anchor

So I literally wrote this in one day because I was having a lot of feelings about last night's episode and Fjord and Jester's relationship and how complicated and nuanced their relationship is in general.

This is not written to be particularly shippy, however, feel free to read into it as you like. I leave it purposefully open ended in that regard because, well, their relationship is open ended right now. I am just more interested in these characters and the way their different life philosophies interact.

Enjoy!

Preview:

The days in the north seemed to end much faster than those in the Menagerie Coast. The further that Fjord and Jester traveled the keener he felt that to be true. The air lacked that certain sumptuousness that it did along the coast where it was full of the sea, humidity, and a warmth that bled from the ground and swelled until everything shimmered like it was made of something costly. Even in the dregs of summer that bled into fall, the season felt austere. Fjord had known all his life that the Dwendalian Empire was a strict place, but even the rolling hills and forest lacked a sort of color that he was used to. It reminded Fjord of the washed out grey of a sea at storm, when there was barely any difference between frothy waves and storm clouds on the horizon.

He was sure that Jester felt it too, though she tended to attempt to fill their days with color in her own dizzying and breathless sort of way. Jester loved to talk but hated conversations, and that was why they had gotten along so swimmingly from the first moment they met. Fjord offered none of himself that he couldn’t spare, and Jester was an open book whose text needed to be decoded by someone who had a degree, and so they could spend all day circling a point like they were circling a drain. Fjord had never met anyone else in his life who knew how to dance over what they meant to say as deftly as he did before. He wondered where she had learned those valuable lessons, but didn’t pry. It was mostly for his sake because he was supposed to be using her. He had thought she had carried herself like someone who had money and such a person would be useful to travel with, and she did have money...at one point. Not any longer. It was just another one of those truths that both of them acknowledged but neither of them addressed outright. Eventually though, one of them had to crack open and offer the olive branch. For both of their sakes, Jester seemed to steel herself and bridge that divide.

“I’m sorry Fjord,” she murmured as she curled tighter at the base of the tree, offering that branch to him though she sounded like she loathed every second of it, like a child forced to pull a baby tooth before it was ready to fall on its own. Fjord let his eyes drift over to her for a moment, as he sat rod straight against the bark. Her hair wreathed her hair and dark blue curls like a crown and she didn’t move to fix it as she flopped around like a dying fish. “I shouldn’t have spent all that money.”

“It’s alright,” Fjord promised her as he gazed up into the boughs of the tree. A hawthorn tree contains multitudes, blossoming with beautiful flowers and sharp thorns, it was a song that an old sailor had crooned between puffing at a pennywhistle. It was too bad it was out of season, Fjord thought, he would have liked to see a hawthorn bloom for the first time in his life. His gaze drifted away and then settled beyond the wide dark plains of the empire. “We’ll figure it all out.”

“You always say that,” Jester grumbled, and Fjord could hear a pout in her voice as clear as day, see her violet-flushed cheeks and her furrowed brow. He felt a smile pull at his lips and the scars that lined the inside of his mouth from nail files and dislodged bones. It was typical, that even in these small moments that were happy, he still had to remember those things he wished he could have left behind.

“Have I been wrong yet?” Fjord asked, nudging her with the toe of his boot. Jester turned over like a roly-poly and stuck her tongue out properly at him. Fjord released a hearty laugh in return that felt far more natural. Laughter has been a frequent friend since he had met Jester, and he liked that most of the time he meant it with her. Even if he didn’t like to share himself, he disliked being dishonest. Lying by omission hurt much less.

“But I am sorry,” Jester admitted, her eyes wood-violets cast in shadows. Her blanket was wrapped up to her chin as she did nothing to extricate herself out of her cocoon. “If I had the money we could have traveled with the caravan.”

“My old captain once told me that if we live from our mistakes we ought to learn from them,” Fjord told her quietly, twining his fingers in the grass to anchor him. He pulled at it half-heartedly, feeling the dirt swell and contract with his gentle tugs.

“I won’t make that mistake again, the horse didn’t even appreciate her clothing!” Jester huffed. “I promise Fjord, when we find my dad it’ll all get figured out. We’ll be able to get new horses and find our way to that academy.”

“Get some sleep so we can switch,” Fjord told her, amused exasperation creeping into his voice. Jester rolled back over and curled up again, breath even though she was clearly not asleep. Fjord settled in again, against the trunk of that old tree. There was a promise in the north, like the promise of a shooting star. It was something ephemeral and hopeful that conflicted with that dark fear that roiled in his guts like churning black ocean water. If he could get there, perhaps he could find out what had seeped into his bones on that dark night and hadn’t let go.

Fjord shook his head, attempting to shake out those thoughts from his mind. Things were easier when Jester was awake for many reasons, but that was the main one. It was hard to focus on the past when she was dragging him along to the beat of her own drum, but as soon as he was alone all he could do was stew in those feelings that he had long wished to forget. Jester was kind and good and saw those good things in Fjord that Fjord knew that only existed like flashes of lightning, but Fjord knew he could have been better. He could have convinced that caravan leader who had turned them away, he could have done what he had needed to so that they would be safe and comfortable in a world that wasn’t nice to either of their kind.

Vandren had always been able to make people listen to him. Some people were just like that, they could command a room or a group of men with the ease of breathing. No one had ever listened to Fjord. He had practiced the art of disappearing until he was barely made of anything more than sea mist that dissipated in the morning sun. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t drown, Fjord had thought once. Fjord was nothing, as weightless as driftwood broken off from a whole and eroded until he was battered beyond repair. Though he knew that it wasn’t that. His lungs had filled with water just the same as any man. The miracle that had saved him and flung him to shore just as carelessly, intertwined with him and grew in him...deep in his heart he knew it wasn’t a miracle at all. Miracles don't happen to children tossed aside as easily as a stone. There would be a price to pay soon enough, he just hoped he would find someone who could help him before that.

If he could be more like Vandren...be the type of man that Vandren would trust, then maybe Fjord could make sense of the outside world. Jester deserved a friend like that at least, Fjord thought with a wince. Not whoever this pushover was. When someone joined with you in friendship there was a responsibility shared...a responsibility to be actively working towards the common good. He would take responsibility, Fjord decided. He would be the type of person that people could rely on, and if he had to discard that other person...well, there wasn’t much of him that he hadn’t discarded before to suit the needs of those who needed him.

This would be no different, but far more important.

_____

He pressed the breath in his lungs into her mouth as the weight of the ocean and all of his horrible decisions bore down on them with teeth and tendrils and hungry yellow eyes. Live, Fjord begged her. Live.

It wasn’t a kiss, Fjord thought pressed against the wall of a captain’s quarter later as Avantika’s fingers danced across his skin. Kisses were things freely given from the heart. Fjord had nothing left in him to save. It was just easier to think of that, of anything else, besides the things that were as plain as the nose on his face. It should have been her choice, but it hadn’t been. So it wasn’t a kiss. It was merely a desperate attempt to save someone else beside himself...to save someone deserving for once in his life. Somehow Fjord was always failing at the simplest of tasks.

And then he was saved. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Fjord was the worst kind of thief, the kind that took other’s precious things and pretended they were his own and that he was worthy and deserved them. But the goddess looked upon him, and told him he was worthy and that he did deserve to be saved. He supposed he just had to figure out what She saw in him that he didn’t.

Fjord would make it right. He had to. For all of their sakes, to deserve their trust and their love. Patched together Fjord and driftwood Fjord and empty Fjord wouldn’t cut it. He would be a Fjord that he could be proud of, that was his promise.

_________

Fjord never understood how such big consequences could be decided by such insignificant moments. He could trace a million split second decisions that had somehow led him here. And yet all of them seemed small compared to the moment he had hesitated and the moment that Jester had pushed forward into the hag’s hut and left them all behind. Beau released a strangled noise, her face still sallow. Yasha’s face had gone as hard as stone. Nott looked as if she wished she could sink into the center of the earth.

He was supposed to be different now, Fjord thought helplessly. He was different. He was no longer cutting himself apart to please others. He had been given a second chance by a fateful meeting, and had taken it. He was supposed to be stronger. He was supposed to protect them all. But instead it was Jester walking in alone, and then rushing out like the hounds of the nine hells were nipping at her feet.

Jester-Jester! Are you sure? Fjord had asked, begged as she came running out once more. There was panic under her smile that stretched across his features, magic pulsing under her skin and filling the air in a harried rhythm. Her veins were full of her god’s favor, that Fjord knew. She made them all shimmer like the diamond dust she had scattered across her skin, but never for her own sake it was always for someone else’s. It was that lack of care that had Fjord so deeply disturbed. There wasn’t much that Fjord couldn’t believe she wouldn’t trade away for them. She would trade her tongue for a person's life as he was tossed about in a storm, regardless of if that man deserved it or not. She would give beautiful scales for feet if that meant she could dance with her friends, regardless of if needles pierced her skin every step.

Everything’s fine, she reassured, her voice carrying a half-lullaby as if she was trying to soothe not only herself but the rest of them who were teetering between the edge of despair and terror. There was a lock of hair twisted around her horn that she didn’t fix, her tail lashed nervously about her legs, her smile was so tight he was afraid it would snap her lips. Fjord helped her gather their traumatized friends up and set them on course again.

Is it fine? Fjord wanted to beg her. Are you fine? I thought I was going to lose you all to a decision we couldn’t make together again. I was terrified. I was scared, I am always so scared. Are you scared? If you are scared then couldn’t we all be scared together? We are together, but I feel alone. Do you feel alone sometimes, Jester? Is that how you can face a creature like that alone and live to tell the tale?

But Fjord’s throat was too slick (with sea water, no something thicker, blood, maybe the sea serpent had taken his tongue this time) and no words could escape. Neither of them talked, because that’s what they did. How could one talk when silence was the price you paid for your wishes?

__________

In the chest there were two sets of silk clothing, gingerly folded and placed alongside a child’s doll that was damp to the touch. Amongst those items, there was a silver pocket watch. On the back of the pocket-watch Fjord caught a glimpse of initials as she turned it. B. V.

Big Viridian, Fjord thought, feeling a chuckle attempting to escape his throat as he thought on the woman who had taken them through the village of Rumblecusp. Veth turned the watch over in her hands, pulling out a small kit of tools and began to fiddle with it in an attempt to make it work. She grumbled as she did. That was Veth to a tee, Fjord thought idly amused, fixing something so small in such a huge clusterfuck of a situation. She gave up with a sigh, and Fjord watched as Jester reached across and fluttered her fingers. A mist of green and blue caught on the silver edge, and Fjord heard the ticking of the watch.

“You aren’t planning on keeping that are you?” Fjord asked Jester as she cupped it in her hands.

“Keeping what?”

“The pocket-watch,” Fjord clarified.

The doll’s leg was wet with mildew, and it had raggedy string hair. It had been a human perhaps, a girl doll of some sort. Fjord wondered if the little girl was still on the island, if she had grown up here or if she had washed up on shore like what felt like a lifetime ago and just kept the doll as some kind of momento. Did the clothes belong to her parents? To her? To someone important that she could never replace? What was the difference between these villagers in him? The only one he could think of was that he had just been lucky in the place he had landed.

Or maybe not, Fjord thought irritated as Jester explained her plan of interrogating the villagers to find B.V.

“What if they do remember? What if it’s important to them? What if they do remember and they don’t want to speak up for...I don’t know fear of retribution or being outed or something. We shouldn’t take it,” Fjord tried to explain the taste of a cold blade on the tip of his tongue, watching Jester’s face draw in like storm clouds in a grey sky.

“What if someone hears the ticking sound that follows us everywhere?” Caduceus added from where he was currently inspecting the box itself. Fjord found himself grateful to him for the millionth time since knowing him. Caduceus was steady at the wheel in a way that Fjord found himself lacking. Deep breaths, Cad had advised during one meditation. She can only hear you when you are breathing.

“Yeah, we know the initials we can put it back. It’ll be a nice treat to open a box and find it working,” Fjord attempted to explain to Jester, but she drew even further away from him.

“It was pretty dusty, but sure. Put it back, Fjord’s feeling honorable,” Jester said with a scoff and a look she shared with Nott as she tossed Nott the watch. Fjord leveled a glare at them both, and realized that he didn’t think he had ever glared at Jester before. He hadn’t liked how callous she had sounded...it made his stomach feel funny. It made him wonder if she was serious about things he had thought she was joking about like letting people blow up in a volcano or forget in a strange mist about her god-who-wasn’t-really-a-god. It made him doubt her...even though she had been the single constant in his life since this craziness had all begun.

He looked at her that night, with Yasha’s music still ringing...haunting and sad and beautiful in his ears. Jester slept fleetingly and restlessly, turning over in her sleep like she was on the verge of waking. Fjord wished for a moment he could make it stop. When had it happened? When had they drifted apart and become so disconnected? Their goals so misaligned? There were a thousand scattered memories, and yet Fjord couldn’t pinpoint one.

It’s just stress, a part of Fjord-the analytical one explained. She doesn’t know what her god wants. Hell, her god isn’t even a god. You know that feeling well enough, how it is to attempt to appease something far greater than you that you have no idea how to appease.

And what if he is disappointed in her? Another part of Fjord, the one terrified of turtles and scary noises in the dark and larger children with grabbing hands that pushed his head under water in buckets cried. We could barely protect any of them, or ourselves, from the wrath of one entity. What will we do if...what can we do?

They would have to talk, Fjord thought. For once, they would really need to talk.

He just hoped he didn’t lose her in the attempt to anchor her.

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #fjord #jester lavorre

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carmenlire · 5 years

Text

Dead to Rights

Happy Birthday to the wonderful @bytheangell! I hope this incorporates the elements you were hoping for, including angst with a happy ending and something with enemies!

read on ao3

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

No, Magnus thinks as he watches possibility turn to ash. He never thought that this was how their story would end.

In half a millennia, Magnus has both suffered and created terror the likes of which most will never know. He’s had a hand in razing cities, been lucky enough to rebuild a few others. Before Alec, he’d thought his heart carved from the most stubborn stone. Ennui became his constant companion and despite what he told the world, he’d been inching closer and closer to Camille’s mercenary philosophy on the life of an immortal.

It’s not until now, though, that he realizes with bone shattering certainty just how much the shadowhunter had changed things.

Magnus yells but over the roar of battle it makes little difference. From the corner of his eye, he sees the parabatai fall to the ground, his blonde hair matted with blood and his face pure, gut-wrenching pain.

Barely paying it any mind, Magnus rushes to Alec’s side.

He’s heedless with his magic and it scorches whoever-- whatever-- comes too close. The demons in his way are incinerated with negligent hands bathed in crimson. By the time he gets to the Head of the Institute, Magnus has managed to kill every last one of the enemy.

Bitter, all he can think is that he’d still been too late.

As he falls to his knees beside the eldest Lightwood, he can hardly remember all those perfectly valid, logical qualms that had kept them away from each other as first the bitterest of enemies, before their relationship had grown into the most steadfast of allies.

Never anything more, but it had been everything all the same.

Looking down, Magnus raises his hands and the shift to blue is gradual for all that it happens in a moment. Even as he starts pouring healing magic in to Alec, however, he knows it’s a waste.

Terror scalds his throat and it takes more effort than he’d ever admit to keep a reign on his emotions.

Still, his magic reacts to them all the same and the wave of blue is dense, impenetrable as Magnus tries to save Alec with everything he’s got.

“Magnus.”

His indrawn breath sounds like a gasp, like a sob around the edges, but Magnus doesn’t move his gaze from where he’s trying desperately to heal the appalling wound.

He gags when he sees Alexander’s torn, ravaged heart through broken ribs but his magic does not falter.

There’s a choking sound and then in his peripheral, Magnus becomes aware of a hand he’d know anywhere landing on one of his own. His magic doesn’t stop but it does dampen and he sags down onto his knees until he almost thinks he’ll fall right through the asphalt.

“Magnus.”

Magnus finally looks up and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying when the body before him is blurry, soft at the edges as it only is when the loft’s morning light surrounds them.

He watches Alec’s lips move, though nothing comes out except the barest suggestion of air at first. It’s painful-- it feels like a vise is gripping his own throat as Magnus watches for his love’s last words-- and Magnus finds himself bending over, his spine a stark curve, until their lips are almost touching.

“Enough, Magnus.” Alec’s hand covers his.

While part of Magnus wants to blame the fact that Alec’s on death’s door for the way he doesn’t flinch as blue wraps around his hand, his wrist, most of him knows that even if Alec were perfectly sober and healthy, the blasted man would still have the same reaction.

Magnus grieves for that as much as for the rest of it.

“Oh, darling, look at you,” Magnus whispers and he closes his eyes as he feels Alec’s breath on his lips for the last time.

He shudders and Alec’s hand tightens around his and it’s all so goddamn unfair that Magnus wants to shout at the injustice of it all.

Behind his eyes, he relives dozens of memories and regret tastes like ash.

As though he can follow Magnus’s thoughts-- and Magnus wouldn’t even be surprised if it were true-- Alec murmurs, “Remember the first time we met?”

Magnus laughs and they both ignore its ragged edges. “How could I forget. You saved my life and then brought me into the Institute for questioning.”

Alec’s mouth quirks up into the faintest grin and when Magnus opens his eyes, he can almost believe it’s a normal evening and they’re bickering right before he portals them to dinner. He sees the threads of silver that have just barely started at Alec’s temples, the lines at his eyes that speak of the thousands of times Alec’s grinned at one of his puns, and his eyes.

Oh, his eyes, Magnus thinks. They still hold both heaven and hell in dueling shades of hazel.

“Yeah,” Alec says, bringing Magnus back. “And then you called me an opportunistic, self-aggrandizing bastard and opened a portal up right into my Institute’s command center.” He’s quiet for a moment and his voice is quiet when he next speaks, his words piercing Magnus to the core.

“I need to know, babe. If things were different-- if we weren’t in the shadow world, if it was a hundred years in the future, if either of us just cared a little bit less about our work-- do you think we would’ve made it?”

Magnus’s heart bleeds at the question and he looks down instinctively at those piercing eyes. His gaze lands on Alec’s wound and he swallows desperately against the bile that rises in his throat. Still, there’s not a doubt in his mind about the answer to Alec’s question.

Before he answers, though, he does something that he’s waited a lifetime for-- he’s thought on more than one occasion that he doesn’t remember a time when his every wish wasn’t centered just on this.

He closes that last crucial bit of distance between them and kisses Alec. His love tastes mostly like Magnus always figured he would-- he tastes like coming home. There’s a bitter thread of fear that runs through the kiss, though, and Magnus can’t forget for a second why he’s allowing them both this final goodbye.

So he pours everything he is and everything he’s held for Alec all these years into that goddamn kiss. He feels more than hears Alec’s moan and thinks that it’s only partly from pain. He doesn’t pull away, though, seems to instead sink into Magnus’s touch and so Magnus doesn’t pull away either.

Not until his lungs threaten to give out and he loses his anchor.

Distantly, he thinks that he’s already lost his anchor-- Alec, who’s held him steadfast for damn near thirty years. Even when they didn’t speak, even when they couldn’t, Alec’s remained the sun from which his own life revolved.

The prospect of losing that would bring Magnus to his knees if he wasn’t already there.

When the kiss breaks, they both breath harshly in the post-battle silence. No one nears them and Magnus doesn’t even want to think about the aftermath of that kiss.

So he doesn’t.

He focuses on Alec, instead, and they smile at each other. Their eyes say everything they can’t but their hearts know all the same.

“Of course, Alexander,” Magnus finally replies, voice hoarse. “In another world, I have every faith that we live happily ever after.”

The phrase should be trite, laughably inappropriate for the High Warlock of Brooklyn and the Head of the New York Institute. They should be sworn enemies and yet.

And yet.

Magnus doesn’t take it back and finds he’s loathe to when everything in Alec seems to relax at the confirmation.

Magnus takes his free hand-- the one not still held in Alec’s stubborn grip-- and sweeps a thumb over his cheek, following the path of a heavy five o’clock shadow that's as familiar as his own goatee.

It’s just a few moments before Alec no longer has the strength to keep his eyes open but Magnus’s hand doesn’t stop it’s gentle caress and Alec sighs as he turns his head imperceptibly closer to his touch.

Magnus leans down one last time-- only the second time, he thinks with bitter resignation-- and lays another kiss on Alec’s mouth, so soft that he could almost believe it was all a dream.

“Sleep well, my darling.” Magnus bites his tongue but finds that he doesn’t want to keep these last words to himself, not after all this time. His voice cracks on a whisper as he adds, “I love you.”

He watches Alec’s face light up, muted in its joy, as he replies on a breath, his chest rattling with the effort. “I love you too, Magnus.”

Magnus squeezes his hand a bare second later but gets no response back. His back bows over his love-- his enemy, his friend, his constant companion since that mission all those years ago-- and his grief is a blinding wave that threatens to bring the world to its knees.

Magnus wakes with a gasp. Morning light streams through the curtains of their bedroom and he almost breaks his neck as he searches the other side of the bed. His panic is mostly subdued when smells coffee, even as he sees the empty bed.

He takes a second to get his breathing mostly under control. Briefly, he wonders if that was what a heart attack felt like-- like his chest was caving in, everything centered on what felt like a heart breaking in all the ways that mattered.

Resting a hand over his heart, he closes his eyes and focuses on what’s real. He feels the coolness of his wedding band on his chest and the warmth of the sun.

Magnus gets out of bed and doesn’t even bother reaching for his robe before he’s striding to the kitchen.

He stops on the threshold and feels everything slide into place at the sight that greets him.

Alec looks over at that moment and quirks a brow. “You okay, babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Straightening from where he’d been leaning against the door jamb, Magnus uses those last few steps to get everything under control. His smile is soft as he slides one hand around his husband’s waist, the other going to the half-full coffee cup in Alec’s grasp.

Alec just shoots him a deadpan look. “I made you your own cup, you know.”

Laughing a little and feeling lighter for it, Magnus leans into Alec and places a lingering kiss to the pulse at his throat. “But yours is so much better, darling.”

He feels Alec huff but neither one says anything else for a little while. Magnus is busy cataloging all the ways this is real and the furthest thing from that fucking nightmare.

His thoughts shift as Alec tilts his head up with a finger under his chin. “Seriously, are you okay? You looked spooked when you came in here.”

Magnus shrugs, looks down at the coffee mug between them. “I woke from a nightmare.”

“That bad,” Alec jokes and Magnus raises his head with a level look.

Whatever he sees makes Alec sober up and Magnus shivers a little before he sets the cup down and wraps both arms around Alec, squeezing just a little, just enough to know that dream is not reality.

He doesn’t really want to get into the particulars, however, so he settles for resting his head against Alec’s heart and feeling the steady beat calm him down to his bones.

It’s quiet in their loft for long moments, until he loses track of time. Finally, Magnus rouses when Alec kisses the top of his head.

Pulling back a little, Magnus catalogs Alec. He knows his husband as well as he knows himself but it’s still a little shocking to see the laugh lines at his eyes and the hair that’s definitely more gray than it was a few years ago.

Alec’s still the most attractive person Magnus has ever met but it strikes him sometimes that they’re not in high school anymore, that they’ve been together twenty eight years next month.

Before he knows it, Magnus asks, “Do you believe in alternate dimensions?”

Instead of laughing it off, Alec takes a moment to think about the question. Finally, he hums a little, replies, “I think I do. I think it would be foolish to assume we’re the only ones out there, the only versions of ourselves. That would be a little arrogant, don’t you think?”

“I think I dreamt of another us.”

“That bad, huh?” Alec’s voice is steady, serious, as he takes his cue from Magnus.

Magnus shudders as his husband sweeps a hand over his back in long, soothing motions.

“They loved each other,” Magnus murmurs, sighing a little as he closes his eyes and gives into the comfort Alec loves to give. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do, babe. Even if it doesn’t work out.”

Magnus smiles a little, tightens his arms that are slung low around Alec’s middle. “We’re damned lucky, Alexander.”

He hears Alec chuckle and it’s familiar even if it still makes him breathless after all this time. “Relationships take effort, Magnus, and we’ve both worked hard to make it work.” There’s a beat before Alec begrudgingly admits, “We might have had a little luck, though.”

The dregs of the nightmare still cling to Magnus and he mourns all the lives where he doesn’t live happily ever after with Alec. He knows without a doubt that he wouldn’t give this up, though, for anything-- the two of them spending a quiet weekend away from their law firm with just each other for company.

It’s everything he could ever want and luckily, it’s everything he could ever hope for. Knowing what Alec looks like bathed in the gold of morning, not being able to sleep without those adorable little snores in his ears, coming home to the love of his life every single goddamn day-- those are facts of his life far more precious than all the gold and silver and diamonds in the world.

“I love you,” Magnus murmurs against Alec’s chest.

There’s not even a breath of pause before Alec replies and he hears the smile in his voice as he says, “I love you too, Magnus.”

#i hope you like this elle!#and have a beautiful perfect birthday!!!#my writing #dead to writes

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years

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INTERVIEW: The creative team behind DEATH TO THE ARMY OF DARKNESS chats about making multiple Ashes.

Ash Williams is a larger-than-life character, but is the world ready for more than one of him? Readers are going to find out in Death to the Army of Darkness #1 from Dynamite Comics. Taking place just after the Army of Darkness movie, a bad translation of the Necronomicon is at the heart of the problem, leading to versions of Ash such as the female Ashley Williams, the erratic Lil’ Ash, Dash aka Doggie Ash, Skeleton Ash, and Chainy, Ash’s now sentient chainsaw.

At the helm are writer Ryan Parrott (Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Batman: Gates of Gotham) and artist Jacob Edgar (Savage Tales: Red Sonja), with colorist Kike J. Diaz (Sherlock Frankenstein, Ether) and letterer Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou (Red Sonja, Peter Cannon: Thunderbolt) completing the creative team.

The Beat chatted with Parrott and Edgar about the upcoming comedy-horror book.

Deanna Destito: What inspired the premise of this new series?

Ryan Parrott: My editor, Nathan Cosby, actually called me up one day. He’d read some of my work on Power Rangers and was tossing around the idea of doing a “Team Ash” book. Ash is such an iconic character and I loved the idea of trying to surround him with his own team of misfits. At first, we talked about it being Ashes from other realities, but we realized there was already a precedent set for clones and dopplegangers with “Evil Ash” from “Army of Darkness.” And character-wise, we started to really gravitate toward forcing Ash to come face-to-face with different parts of his own personality and it slowly started turning into a story about responsibility and what it means to be “The Chosen One.”

Destito: How big of an Army of Darkness fan are you?

Parrott: Have I read Bruce Campbell’s autobiography If Chins Could Kill? Yes, I have. Have I been playing exclusively with “Ash” for over a year on the horror game, Dead By Daylight? Yes, I have. I actually saw the trilogy backwards in college because of a friend and, I will argue that to this day, there is no better horror hero than “Ash.” Being able to put words in his mouth and add a brick to the legacy wall of a character I love is an insane pleasure.

Jacob Edgar: I came to it late. Right when I took on this project, if I’m being honest. I’ve been familiar with the franchise for a long time, I had seen a lot of Bruce Campbell’s other work (can we do a Brisco County Jr comic next??) but not Evil Dead and Army of Darkness. So immediately after signing on I got to dive in and binge the movies, the Starz show…it’s been a blast. I don’t have the history with it that Ryan does, but I loved it immediately.

Destito: Where does this fall in the mythology and can new fans jump in easily?

Parrott: My approach to nearly every comic series is to try and make it accessible to both hardcore and casual fans alike. And since you can’t guarantee everyone has seen every movie or read every comic series beforehand, I built this story so a person could pick up the first issue only knowing that Ash was the hero of Army of Darkness. Now, since I’m also a fan, there are definitely elements and Easter Eggs for people who are paying attention… but this one is its own story that simply takes place in the world of Army of Darkness.

Destito: Do you find it easier or harder to illustrate something so well known and played by such a distinct, animated actor like Bruce Campbell?

Edgar: I think it’s easier in a lot of ways. Ash as a character is already built for me, that work is done. I know what he wears, I know what he drives, I know what kind of guy he is which informs set design and character acting. I love Bruce Campbell, and I love how expressive Ash is. That’s definitely something I’m trying to translate into our book.

Destito: What was your process for designing each Ash?

Edgar: For Ash himself, I wasn’t ever interested in trying to make a realistic depiction of Bruce Campbell. I don’t think my style lends to that, but also…you really have to nail that EVERY panel, or the panels that are off are going to take the reader out of it. The other thing I wanted to be conscious of was not exaggerating his chin too much, or his build. I think that’s a pitfall sometimes. Ash is fairly fit, but he’s not Batman.

When it came to Ashley, I really wanted her to have a unique look of her own. Reminiscent of Ash, but with some twists. And those twists were never going to be cleavage and booty shorts, which is another pitfall for something like this. Ashley is probably the most tactical and dangerous of the bunch, that’s what needed to come across.

The others are pretty straightforward. Dash is a Boxer dog and we gave him a blue bandana to echo Ash’s shirts. Bones is based on that famous Evil Dead 2 poster, the skeleton with eyes. But I’m getting to add costuming to him in issue #2, which is making him much more fun (and easier to draw!). Then we’ve got Lil Ash who is an exaggerated and extra crazy version of the Ash gremlins from Army of Darkness. I hope readers will love all these weirdos as much as we do.

Destito: How has it been working with the creative team to bring the series to life?

Edgar: This has been especially fun for me because it’s my first time doing multiple issues of something. Ryan’s scripts are a blast to draw and Kike is going to be a superstar colorist, I love the energy he’s bringing. Hassan is one of the best letterers around and I just hope I don’t make his job harder than it has to be. Nate’s been my editor since 2017 and he always gets the best out of everyone, we’re in great hands.

Destito: Of the Ashes, which clone is your favorite?

Parrott: Oh man. I have to tell you which one of my kids is the favorite? This won’t come back to bite me. Oddly enough, it has kinda depended on which issue I’m writing. In the second issue, it was Ashley, Ash’s feminine side because I loved that she wasn’t afraid to call Ash on his tricks. In the third issue, it was Dash, the dog version of Ash, because he started to become the leader, but in the fourth, it became Bones, the walking Skeleton version of Ash, because I started to realize just how in over his head he felt, and that was fun to write. Maybe that’s me dodging your question… but I like the voices of all the characters, it feels almost unfair to choose.

Edgar: At first I was telling everyone Dash, the dog. Because dogs are always best. But I’m really starting to love Bones, the cowardly skeleton. His character is so different from everyone and everything else, he’s really fun to play with.

Destito: What can fans expect in future issues?

Parrott: I think if you love Army of Darkness as much as I do, well… I tried to put in all the hallmarks of the series: Action, adventure, horror and humor. We’ll have Deadite possessions and chainsaw decapitations, and it wouldn’t be complete without a little time travel. For hardcore fans, we’ll get into some of the reasons behind the creation of the Necronomicon Ex Mortis and even the philosophy behind the Deadites themselves. Hopefully, if people like it… this will be the first step into some epic mythological Army of Darkness storytelling, because… we have plans… but if not, I hope people will be happy with a lot of blood, guts and boomsticks.

Death to the Army of Darkness #1 can be preordered at your local comic shop this month. The issue hits shelves in February. For digital, head over to Comixology, Kindle, iBooks, Google Play, Dynamite Digital, ComicsPlus, and more.

#Army of Darkness #Dynamite Entertainment #Dynamite Comics #comic #comics

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