#im writing this into a songfic

[river-blue]

I'm going insane and clawing at the walls. I wanna draw and write countryhumans again

[jorzed]

Charpim songfic send post

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 9: This December

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: It's hard to play the entire piano, end to end 88 keys, with just one set of hands. It's impossible to go through life totally alone, no matter how well you convince yourself otherwise. Itachi, Kisame, and the traveler discuss the little things that set her world apart from that of the shinobi.

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is This December by Ricky Montgomery, lyrics not entirely in order.

CONTENT WARNING: the overall warning for the fic is especially prevalent in this chapter. Allusions to suicide, suicidal behavior and ideation, self harm.

I also now have a playlist with each song in order of appearance :)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's just a little bit, it's just a little bit

Lonely in this home

It's always colder on your own

My darlin', I

I let the season change my mind

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kisame keeps an arm’s length about as well as the traveler can ignore how a full size piano could be taken back to the mansion with just a scroll and a puff of smoke. That is to say: it was, for certain, a noble attempt. She’s watching him now, bumblebees idling by as he re-sides the brick wall in humid summer air. Ivy pushes forth from its cracks, poison and otherwise alike, so he had rolled his eyes and pretended like he wasn’t going to be the one working on this chore anyways, having no allergy. As if Itachi would sully his pretty hands.

In this time together, the princess’s knight hasn’t been so bold as to ask...why? He knows she’s lonely. Damn, so is he! But she was told, right? That her first set of bouncers weren’t the exception but the rule for the rest of ‘em. It’ll be her fault, he excuses himself, if anything amiss were to threaten that lovely little neck of hers. He’s still stuck on the stage of denial where it’d just be for the mission if he did- and he should- make the offender pay dearly, direly, desperately.

The woman contemplates, too, but at a different pace, eyelids low and sleepy under the blanket of midday humidity. Contradictions are smothering: guilt for feeling guilty. But she’s an adult, and prolonging the sensation makes her weary. Best she can do is do her best, and in this case, it means to think about other things until that part of her psyche settles down. Ironically, this shift causes another part of her mind ramp up— a rather metaphysical sort about this predicament she finds herself in. Kisame, of course, is a part of it, but he is not the whole: she is unhappy about her happiness. Sadness can survive even in summer air.

Under the shade of the back porch awning, deep in a trance, it takes her a second to recognize a second shadow has layered over her, just a bit darker where she sits.

“Mm…? Oh. Thank you.” A cup of tea passes between the Uchiha’s hand to hers, ceramic hot to the touch, but not too hot as to burn in your grasp. It’s an uncanny skill he has, this perfect steep; a personality like his would be well suited for a cafe, she muses. Steam raises as the cup tilts at her lips, a mist collecting on her rose-pink lenses that sit on top of her head; they aren’t the best at being sunglasses, but they’re cute, and that’s a good enough reason to still have them. Slowly, knowing her as jumpy, the gentleman raises a finger and pokes the object, just enough that she can feel it start to part her hair.

“I haven’t seen these before.”

Despite his efforts, she blushes a little; memory of Kakuzu’s confusion over them have made her a touch bashful. “Glasses. Use them to read.” She points to the sky with a finger of her tea-holding hand, the other cupping her chin while its elbow leans on her knee. “Help with the sun.” There’s only the slightest shift— tilt of his head— as he contemplates the usefulness of tinted reading glasses.

...Strange girl, indeed. His own brew perfectly balanced above his lap, Itachi sits on the stoop beside his ward, his partner’s work and grunts as much of a buzz in the background as the bees in long-untamed rose bushes that line the property. Thoughtfully, he allows a relaxing pause before he prods the traveler further:

“Do many have such glasses where you come from?”

Lazily, a “mm-mm” negative-toned hum and shake of the head answer him. It’s like she’s sucked dry of energy. “Clear or black tinted, just like here. Bought ‘em because they made me happy.”

He takes in the details of her, lax in a noonday breeze. Rosettes— tiny and pink— adorn her white dress in vertical rows, frocked with thin, blue lines that match the powder tone of the sweater she’s tied around her waist. Certainly not attire she chose to travel in, the sort of ground to cover between here and Hoshigakure. This is merely one reason among many that she is not of Hoshigakure, of course, a fact so obvious he sees no point in berating the matter when he can get right to the heart:

“What brought you all this way from the stars, Miss Takara?”

He won’t be able to tell, but she isn’t nearly as eager as she used to be, back at the bar with her job and patrons. “I just… I don’t know... It wasn’t worth it anymore, I guess.” She shrugs, the weight of the matter much lighter upon her shoulders than it should be thanks to many, many hours of reflection. “I just wanted to be done with it all, end it the way I wanted to. On my own terms, you know? As much as I could.”

The man tilts his head even further, closer, as if proximity will assist their connection, and he answers softly. Her own words are tinged with a poison, regardless of her relaxed attitude. “...You speak of severance of an utmost degree…” His gaze is kind. It understands. “It must have been difficult.” But her eyes just look through the trees. For as warm as the cold man is, so is the warm woman being cold in turn.

“Just seemed like the logical thing. That’s all.”

“Miss Takara…” She’s just an inch away, both as he leans in and as he pulls the curtain of her mind away. “...What in particular pushed you so—?”

“Can we talk about something else?!”

It’s the first she’s ever demanded anything of them, let alone in such a tone. The woman bares her teeth and pinches her brow. The change stands out enough to warrant Kisame look over his shoulder in concern. The calm of lazy days is broken, in pieces in her fists. As such, the woman is abruptly too seen.

“I—oh…" Immediately, as if on command, she becomes as small as before. "Sorry. That was out of place. Sorry.” Itachi masks his surprise well, dipping his head in acceptance of her behavior.

“It’s understandable.” And it's no lie. Such emotional affairs...difficult to unwrap without tearing a layer or two. But still, she’s too unsettled to continue this dance around speaking her destruction, and she picks herself up from the steps of the porch.

“Excuse me—”

The cup of tea is set behind in her stead, dappling light washing over and away until she’s walked back into her home. The knight watches in silence, up until the very last bit of her is out of sight. He frowns at his fellow Akatsuki. “Are you going to—?” He won’t admit it’s too good to be true, living like this, and so it’s a relief when Itachi shakes his head. The easy way of the Sharingan is not a necessary one, to accomplish the mission. Persuasion will remain as talk.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I wanna see you with your head wide open

Empty in the ground, gone without a sound

Just another white elm growing at the end of town

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Only in my

No...that’s not right.

Her wrists raise again to press the keys:

Only in my dar

Hm. No. No! This shouldn’t be so difficult. Her silhouette is framed by the wall of the newly dubbed “piano room”, walls blackened with indoor shade while the outside glows with color. Itachi takes it in before stepping further towards the musician, the fuchsia of her glasses becoming clearer as the branches outside fade into bright, blinding light of the sun with his changing position. She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t look. The music simply continues:

On

…Or it is trying to.

“What’s wrong?” the raven inquires from the doorway, interloping for his real concern. His eyes need not look at the piano. “Is it not tuned?”

“No…” the woman hums, unhappily. “It’s fine. It’s… It’s me. It’s the song.” There’s such a sharp frustration in her voice that was never present before, in this past week of daydreaming together, playing house. “I’m used to it sounding more full.”

Itachi blinks. “What’s missing?”

“Instruments that don’t exist.”

A rather blunt answer for how the woman typically presents herself, now a bit of a rose like her garden rather than a shrinking violet. Well-versed with thorns, the man draws closer behind the piano bench. As he does, he notes how this woman looks as if she was made to exist in this room, now that it’s been properly attended to; floors rustic but comfortable, a soft shade of brown wood that match her boots; a seat with a blanket and pillow neatly set atop, embroidery flourishing the edges of fabrics; the birds sing hardly some feet away as they do their best to peer inside, past antique curtains and old glass; a kitschy clock with tick tick ticks as a reliable metronome. Her fingers decide to go on their own, lyrics now wayward as she pins her thoughts too sharply onto black and white. Itachi, as always, listens, but he receives more than he anticipated.

It shouldn’t be so easy to catch an Akatsuki off guard.

“You are all...incredible.” Villains live on her tongue with such love. Could anyone but of another world treasure them? But that word has more meaning, here, than just to compliment. She refuses to look up. “You have wonderful abilities. Magic.” The performer has hardly seen anything of this place, but it’s more than enough to witness a man sink into the ground and a piano evaporate in a cloud just to arrive here in the middle of nowhere. She’s eager for more, but she is afraid— afraid, for obvious reasons, reasons like the magician’s red eyes.

“Why?” This question is so rehearsed that there’s no need to focus upon it, no need to stop playing idle music. “Why me? What makes me so special?”

Itachi answers simply. “You know why, Miss Takara.” But she shakes her head to this.

“Kind of. But. I don’t! Not why I’m here. Not what I’m useful for. Itachi, I-- I didn’t come here on purpose. I just woke up. And it had happened.” He furrows his brow, every so minutely.

“No explanation whatsoever…?” It’s hard to believe not even a clue in the laws of her dimension, what can and cannot make sense. “Do you not have higher powers, where you were? Chakra?” Another shake.

“I don’t even know what chakra is! What I had was just...reality.” The word is wistful under her breath. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Perhaps you can try," her confidant offers.

And perhaps that's a wrong move of his in this chess game of feelings and semantics, as now she’s fallen mute. Her hands stray from the piano. They fold on her lap. He’s right behind her, now, but she still won’t shift to see him. A phrase repeats in her head, one of the voices that’s resided like an itchy scar for years, that she’s pushed away into the crowd of the village bar, or the traffic at rush hour, or the meaningless chatter of a TV screen. Those sounds are not here to pacify the voice, to rescue her away. She has no place to hide from it now, as she wonders what color Itachi looks at her with:

What have you done today to deserve your eyes?

“And what if it’s worthless to you?” The voice objects to her worth, to how she can see what's so good about living when she contributes so little. It's a question that logically brings another next, sorrow heavy in the space between them. “What then?”

He pauses, but unlike hers it is done in precision. The performer has her own answer that she wants to hear, and he knows another cannot become until this has its say.

“Itachi... Zetsu told me something." It's hushed, it's vile, it stings the way she speaks of him. It's like how you speak of a disease. "I’ve heard you’ve done something terrible. I’ve heard that you killed people.” It is true, and yet he must pretend he is unbothered, merely allowing she continue her interrogation. “Why not torture me? Hypnotize me again? Get it over with and go back to your lives?”

...

She waits. She waits and waits and waits like each tick of the clock above her head is slowly poisoning her air. There’s nothing she can do about fate; just make it quick. But Itachi sees her as his mirror, aware of what is behind the glass of their window, light shining bright enough to blind. He knows the tactic, the reflection of questions back without answering his.

“Why are you so eager to suffer?"

“Because...—” A justification so quick breaks so easily, and so does her voice, the answer so obvious. “Because…” But can she say it? She can’t catch her breath. As the truth is spoken, it nearly chokes.

“It’s...too good to be true.” She whispers something a sin to even acknowledge. “I still need to wake up."

No more flowery words or vague analogies.

"I still need to die.”

Without her conscious say, the woman's own hands have been fidgeting and rubbing so hard they might become raw, her fingernails pinching at her cuticles to tear skin away shred by shred. Maybe if the woman keeps pulling, she’ll unravel, and this will all be done. Crying shouldn't be so hard, but she’s already shed so many teardrops for her own sake. In the time they're needed most, they do not come. Surely, this is proof that dying would be of no regret. The crow looks with sad eyes, so hurt that he's expected to see her as a vulture does carrion.

“Takara-san…” So this is what she keeps inside. Burning intensity, ice-cold flame, feels intimately familiar. Who would he be to ignore such a plea? A black cloak shuffles like crow feathers around the unoccupied side of the bench and fills her lonely space. Because he knows this suffering so well, so too is there knowledge that this isn’t the core of her being but the veneer, the protection of something precious that you want left alone, lest a glass shatter so fine it becomes diamond dust. “You don’t deserve that.” A hand with a crimson plaque gently grasps her own, pulling bleeding fingers away from their small self-destruction. The player allows it, though her hissing mind does not cease. Please don’t waste your time on pitying me. Her blood will dry on his skin.

“It isn’t about deserving it. I told you. It just...made sense to do.”

He’s getting an idea, now, of how she ended up this way, so frayed and delicate and yet so wide open to whatever comes. It’s the kind of person you are when you meet the end. The raven weaves his fingers between those of the ghost. The muscles in hers tremble with effort, as they refuse to melt into his as they craves to.

“What if you can make it worthwhile?” he proposes. “Is there nothing to enjoy? You told me you liked the rain. That dragonflies shimmer so beautifully in the sun. ...And what of us? Do you not enjoy Kisame? Perhaps even me?” A bold addition, considering his reputation, but it finally makes her flinch. The queen has been captured, a move that paid off. At first her mouth grimaces, but slowly, surely, it’s a bitter smile.

“...The guilt card…” her voice quivers, the tiniest touch of gratitude amid playful seething. “That’s what we call this back home…”

With no worthy reason not to, just for him, she gives in. She lets him hold his hand, soft flesh giving way under his. A killer can comfort she who perhaps is the next prey. The wolf and the lamb need not carry on tradition, not just yet.

“Please promise me something.”

“...Anything.” She’ll never know the weight his vow holds.

“When it’s all about to end...tell me. Whenever that becomes the plan. I have no reason to fuss over it. I don’t have anything to lose.”

But you guys.

He already spoke his seal, his dedication, and so Itachi finds it unnecessary to taint the moment with a mere verbal confirmation. Her smile becomes more genuine, and gratefully, she rubs his knuckles with her thumb. Eyes close again, this time with a closer semblance of peace, and a blind hand raises by its wrist once more. It isn’t trying yet for the melody; she merely...appreciates the notes. She lets them resonate deep in her, its echo up her bent arm and into her heart. The player studies them individually and by their own merit rather than failure to replicate a certain song, returning to the basics of what makes a sound pleasant to the ear.

With two silhouettes side by side, layered into one person with two heads in the dark, maybe there’s a new version of what “complete” means. A rendition. A remastering. A rearrangement. How can one note mean so much? To seep such emotion into cold-hearted murderers...a talent, indeed.

The next step in healing is to try move on.

“Itachi,” she repeats, about to outdo herself. “What do you like?” She beats him to the cop-out: “Besides time with me.”

While a question he’s gotten sarcastically once or twice in the past few years, it has never been one with an answer. You either know him well enough to not need ask, or you do not. And with his own mission, it leaves few worth the time to see firsthand. However...her happiness, however brief, is part of this journey now. To indulge her is to unlock his secrets. It is a risk worth taking, and so he closes the gap until he’s right up to her side and can whisper innocent things from terrible lips.

“My brother,” he begins with the most obvious, the sun his planet revolves around. He hears her murmur of surprise. “I left him when he was small. But everything I do...I do for him.” He’s never...seemed happy before. Placid, yes, perhaps even content but...happiness is what this is. She can hear the smile just underneath his collar. “When he said my name...nothing surpassed that joy. He loved playtime with his big brother. He wanted his shadow to be just as long as mine, if only to keep me safe. He loved being where he didn’t belong, just to stay beside me. ” And Itachi regrets that he cannot do the same.

Itachi’s happiness stings.

The rose leans into him more, and the Uchiha welcomes the intimacy that scratches him with her gentle touch.

“He sounds...incredible,” she repeats, though different in meaning. A cracked eye sees his free hand raise, and a finger that has sent many to hell tries to join her in heaven with a single, harmonic voice.

Ding…

It joins her perfectly, something deep from her on one end and bright from him upon the other.

“He is. He always will be.”

And that’s enough. She needs to return the favor, thinks the crow: “And what of you? What do you like?” With the question, her finger inches just a little closer to his, just a little higher in tone.

“I…” Dumb things make her heart race, as ever. Her cheeks tinge the color of her glasses. “It’s the first thing on my mind, is all. Just the first. That I miss from home. Don’t laugh.” The woman knows he will not, and yet fear necessitates this verbal ritual, this disclaimer. She knows how he would answer, that any little thing that keeps her alive is worthwhile.

“I like...cotton candy. I like how puffy it is.” She pushes back shame for not praising things of grander value to the universe, as her own existence is so very small, and its buds deserve to be nurtured by the only one who can garden for it. “I like that it’s soft. That it can be pink. Or blue. Or yellow. It’s always so pretty. It’s like a cloud from your dreams.”

Itachi’s hushed voice betrays wonder. “...I’ve never heard of such a thing.” His receptiveness puts heavy shoulders a little more at ease, setting her burden a little more upon the ground.

“It isn’t...a sophisticated taste. It’s just sugar. But it’s whipped so, so fast...that it’s like silk. It’s like spiderwebs. And then as soon as it’s in your mouth...it melts so fast that it’s gone.” She holds back an ironic comment on how this could be like other forms of joyousness, but that’d be rude to him.

“I like…” She purposefully selects something alongside her grievances with an infinitely connected world. “...Pictures of cats. Where I come from, it’s so easy to share things. To show things. And so much of it was dedicated to just showing how silly or happy or cute your cat was.” Her smile widens, sweet as the sugar clouds he can only imagine. “I love cats.” Love. That’s progress in his purview; he didn’t even have to press for such emotion. “Do you like cats?” All of a sudden, she’s looking at him, and her eyes are as bright as the morning they searched for the piano standing in front of the pair. “I like all of them, but I really like orange cats.”

And suddenly, something clicks.

He sees it now. A part of her, deep inside, is so very, very small. She sheltered it so much from the suffering in her skin and bones that this piece of her soul will never quite grow all the way up. The magician takes her question very, very seriously.

“...The brown ones. With soft tones and darker points.”

“Siamese!”

And then it happens. She laughs. She laughs unhindered and out loud and without guilt. Itachi sees something familiar, and he remembers that this is what it means to be alive. This is what peace can be...

...Is, before him, for him, now.

This is how the rest of a lazy summer day passes by. Much to the ease of Kisame's mind, he finds the woman enraptured in joy and stories and so many- many- flutters of excited hands. Part of him is so goddamn relieved he didn’t fuck up so badly that rainy night prior that he sucked all the hope out of her precious bleeding heart… But also part of him didn’t know she had this kind of energy in her, that this kind of behavior was beaten out of her with no return. So after brief surprise, it returns to grateful ease. What is it with Itachi and women…?

...No, it isn’t worth framing like this so simply, Kisame surmises, seeing the way black eyes soften with her reflection in them. So even Uchiha can feel love...

Tentatively, with the guide of a red-ringed hand, the traveler gets some help passing barefoot past the road of coals and thorns and on the way to some sort of freedom, as much as can be found in a situation with no choices. The new man is greeted warmly as he enters.

“What’s all this about?” Kisame joins in, pulling up the chair to join one old friend and one new. Bashfully, the woman releases her grasp from Itachi’s— the hold unseen by the swordsman in the first place— and presses her reddened fingertips together. “I’ve been thinking about things that cheer me up. What do you like?” she invites so quickly it takes him off guard.

The taller man looks up to his partner and either receives the permission he is seeking or does not in those dark eyes. With hesitation, as if he could make her cry with just a word, Kisame engages the childish quandary, putting his true, bandaged favorite that's normally strapped to his back in temporary second place.

“Well…” he begins with a scratch of his chin, worried it won’t be up to par with whatever preceded him, “...I quite like seafood.”

“Seafood?!”

At first he’s afraid, she’s so much louder than he’s ever heard her, but those are stars in her eyes as she jumps up.

“I love seafood!”

With slow acceptance, the blue man raises a brow and one side of his mouth. “...Is that so…?” She nods, eagerly, and so it’s impossible to hold back a chuckle. “Then we’ll make a date of it, princess.”

“Oh my gosh!” Two fists pump the air, the woman’s expression as determined as one can be over fish. “Yes! Next time! Next time we’re out!” She turns to Itachi, just a notch quieter. “...Next time we’re out?” As if he’d do anything else, he pauses before giving his own quiet nod. “Yes!”

The shadows change shape over the hours, and the three silhouettes are now in color with it so dark outside. Normally such a figure in triple-headed shape alone would be more akin to a hydra, what with 2/3 being some of the most feared men in all of humankind, but the third makes their picture mean something else entirely. Unknown, what other analogy there could be for something with three faces, but it is remarkably more sweet.

“—And you can use it to watch videos!”

“Hm? Videos?”

“Like movies! Wait, do you have movies? Films?”

“Of course we have films, we aren’t cavemen!” Though Kisame doesn’t know her movies have sound and color.

“Okay, so it’s like a film, but it’s shorter— no, it can be as long. Or longer! But it’s usually pretty short. And you can say whatever you want in them, or do whatever you want!”

“Sounds trite.”

“It is! It was awesome. I liked one channel who talked about his farm—”

“Channel?”

“Yeah, where you would post your videos!”

“Post? Hold on, princess, I thought this wasn’t a physical place. How can you post on anything that’s not, say...a billboard? A pole?”

“That’s just the word for it, Kisame, I didn’t pick it!”

“How unusual…”

Itachi watches the two banter as she tries to paint them a picture, a mere sketch in the corner of a massive masterpiece that is an entirely separate manner of existence. For someone who hated it so much, these details still make her bubble with glee, grin like it’ll all be just fine. But then it grows late, and as the moon rises, so does the dreamer’s hand to suppress a yawn. Kisame offers her a hand, though she takes before understanding his purpose.

“We’ve kept the songbird up for so long that she lost her voice!” he teases, and even though she comprehends this tone, she still shakes her head in refusal.

“No, I haven’t lost it yet. Just one last thing. One more—”

It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be complete. But it can be something else.

“Itachi?”

The dying man returns her gaze. She does not flinch at his coal-black eyes.

“Help me with something?” Even as she requests, her hand is already taking his again, and an angel guides two fingers to make one chord on the piano, pressing for him in multiple lengths.

Dmmmm… Dm. Dm. D-d-dm.

“Just like that,” she explains. “Every so often, when it feels right. That’ll be a big help for this song.”

Having slumped onto the floor somewhere in the past couple subjects, she outstretches her fingers for Kisame’s hand again, signifying she’s ready finally for his aid, and she’s lifted off the ground. Once the wrinkles upon the lap of her dress are pressed off, the woman returns one again at the bench, Itachi having not moved from it. Their sides touch again. He’s numb to the thorns. The scent of rose is intoxicating, dizzying in its contrarian, painful innocence, and he notes to be wary of it in the long times to come.

“I’m going to sing for you guys.” Confident as the statement is, the next one makes it waiver: “...If that’s okay.” But she knows it’s okay, so she does not wait. An inhale winds up her nose and an exhale shoves out fear clinging to her throat. Two wrists raise and press the keys, once they pulled down her lenses so she can view her situation with rose-tinted glasses. Unspoken questions ruminate, fuel the engine of her soul:

Can we be friends?

But what if it doesn’t last?

Does it matter?

So she sings:

Only in my darkest moments can I see the light

I think I'm prone to getting blinded when it's bright

She sighs melodically, to her new rhythm, as she tries to describe to them what it’s like to want to hurt, to ache, to die, when things are getting better.

Well, this December, I'll remember

Want you to see it when I do

Oh, oh, oh

God knows I do

Suffering makes you doubt joy, joy makes you doubt that you’ve suffered. Both are veracity of being alive, and yet so easily they can be swayed to the benefit of the negative. Guilt for allowing yourself happiness: it’s something these men know, too. They need little explanation. The passiveness, as if existence is merely erosion of the self instead of the building of your mountain, your accumulation of many, great, little things. It's a form of self-harm. Itachi is perfect in his role; he knows just when to add in his given chord and give her strength.

I'm alright if you're alright

I'm okay if you're okay

It's this state, in this state I'm living in

It's just a little bit, it's just a bit

Maybe, this December, I'll remember

Want you to see it when I do

Oh, oh, oh

God knows I do

The ghost will ride joy out as long as it lasts. Maybe someday, Itachi will see how cotton candy compares to dango. Kisame tries in vain not to have this moment change him forever, for the better. Heaven doesn’t need to pass away just yet. And then as the song fades and it’s time to retire for the evening, single words between the three make each other a promise:

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

We will all still wake up for each other in the morning.

[vipermirage]

heat hazed days (x) viper x colonnello

a fucking idiot. colonnello was a fucking idiot. viper couldn't help think over and over, the nostalgia that took the tip of their tongue tasting more bitter than sweet. viper hated him, hated his guts, hated the fact that he had someone he would dedicate his world to. detested that he would willingly take the curse they so desperately wanted to break. and what for? she's still suffering, no one's a hero. congratulations.

the annoying blond witch laughed at the suffering of their toddler bodies. it reminded them a little of bel. oh bel. viper didn't like the thought of him, not now. that was quite uncharacteristic, a little disgusting, if you would.

if there was anything they hated more than being owed payments, it was owing payments, no matter the amount. this must have been the moment those annoying time travelling gremlins from the vongola was thinking about years back, them being saved by colonnello, something like that. ridiculous thoughts, but when they could hear the semblance of this same thought in reborn's mind, it has to be true, right?

but him of all people? bleugh, bleugh, bleugh! lover boy? he's not even good enough to sit with them. viper detested that thought, that knowledge, and the thing is he doesn't even know. unfortunately, this wasn't the right universe where the vongola saved the earth is it?

they couldn't even bother with the fucking witch, the radiation stung, it was a losing battle and they knew they, plural, were both dead. but the knowledge from reborn's mind was eating at them. god fucking damn it.

"you know, i fucking hate you," they looked at colonnello one last time, "hate that you have lal and lal has you and i hate your fucking guts and your not-good-enough ass that somehow assed your way into the strongest seven."

"and you may not even know this," they said as they took another blow for him, stupidly, "or you may be far too stupid to even think this, but i think i don't owe you shit anymore."

"don't kill yourself." they said ominously before they let the last shot hit, pushing him away.

[realnielsbohr]

this is literally poetry to me

[becauseplot]

Can’t stop imagining the current kidnapping (egg-napping?) arc with Blackout from In The Heights. Like, the confusion? The panic? The varying states of distress? Voices overlapping, calling out to people (the missing eggs) in the darkness? Clinging to each other and lashing out at each other and overall being an emotional mess? “We are powerless, we are powerless, powerless!”

(I linked the movie version, but the original Broadway version has a verse where Kevin (Nina’s dad) says “Please find Nina, find Camila, if you see my family bring them home!” and I think that works really well here too, but I like the movie version of the verse with Sonny better. More focus on working together in this time of need while still addressing the danger and urgency, “Illuminate the community!”)

[detroit-become-dyke]

Welcome to the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written: high Connor having an existential crisis about the idea of Hank dying. Mind the triggers.

"Stop smoking," Connor has begged Hank on more than one occasion. There’s a part that always goes unsaid: "I love you, and I don’t want you to die."

OR

A songfic for "High to Death" by Car Seat Headrest. Listen here.

TW: drug use, altered state of mind, existential crisis, fear of death

[kintrash413]

Animations vs Minecraft Songfic ("Ready as I'll ever be" from Tangled The Series)

"Any moment now, Chosen One," King Orange mocked.

TSC could only glare, hands tight around the bars of his cell.

King Orange narrowed his eyes, making the few steps to be right beside TSC, only the bars a separator. "believe me I know," he admitted, "I've sunk pretty low. But whatever I've done, you deserve."

"King Orange-" TSC tried desperately to reach him.

King Orange pointed his staff menacingly at him, shutting him up quickly. "Quiet! …I'm the bad guy," he shrugged, "that's fine." he turned around, facing away. "It's no fault of mine. and some justice, at last, will be served." never a moment went by that he didn't remember his goal- to destroy the world that had murdered his son.

"Please listen!" TSC cut through his thoughts, but King Orange ignored him easily.

he wiped his forearm against his eyes. "Now, it's time to step up or it's time to back down." he made his way away from TSC, towards his balcony. "and there's only one answer for me." he threw the glass doors open. "and I'll stand up and fight cause I know that I'm right!" He walked to the edge of his balcony. "And I'm ready!" The army of piglins below him gave their full attention. "I'm ready!" He spread his arms wide. "I'm ready!" a great grin spread across his face. He was so close. "Ready as I'll ever be."

-

Red put his fists to his hips. "Now, it's time to rise up or it's time to stand down! And the answer is easy to see."

his teammates glanced at him, faces etched with uncertainty.

-

Blue swung his sword through the air for emphasis. "and I swear by the sword if you're in get on board!" He offered a hand to Yellow. "Are you ready?"

Yellow nodded, taking his hand. "I'm ready!"

"We're ready!" the villagers cried.

-

"We're ready!" Reds teammates declared, and his heart surged with pride as he turned to the nether portal.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

-

"Are you quite sure we can do this?" Purple asked, pulling his legs in close to his chest.

Green pushed himself up to his feet. "Together we will guarantee." he held out a hand.

Purple hesitated, just a moment, before taking it with a determined expression. "I'll make them hear me!" he declared.

-

"Prove they can trust me…" TSC whispered as he finally broke free of the cage.

"I'll save my home and family," King Orange spat, hands gripping the balcony tight enough to dent.

-

"And I'm ready!" Red cried, crossing the nether portal.

-

"I'm ready!" Purple declared, following Green closely behind.

-

"I'm ready!" Blue and Yellow called in unison, weapons raised.

-

King Orange stared darkly at his army as they began movement. He'd kill them all. He'd destroy this worthless game. To himself, he growled, "ready as I'll ever be."

[epim3des]

no thoughts

just dumbass Total Drama cosplays i made on roblox

[kiwibirdlafayette]

chaos and balance- the capsize

"i don't think you understand what's actually happening here. If you'd just open your bloody fucking eyes, it's pretty obvious."

Chaos and Balance is a narrative playlist that basically comprises, in a chronological order, my headcanon for the progression of cTom Syndicate and cJordan's relationship through the course of S1, S2, the divorce arc (post-canon part 1), Mianitian Isles and the Aftermath (post-canon part 2, aka Gays on A Boat, Aitheaca, etc.) It started mainly because I really love the potential of using music to tell stories, and how lyrics can be representative of feelings seldom expressed any other way- based on both canon moments, moments I've interpreted as significant to their relationship/overall arcs, and little interludes I've written that take place in between episodes/"off camera" that connect things together in my head. All this being said, it is primarily headcanons, and is purely for fun. dont like dont read lmao

This specific being how keeping in the canon nonsense of capsize x jordan plays a role in cSyndisparklez from my pov :] enjoy!

(Red lyrics are representative of Jordan’s voice, green is Tom! Bolded black is both of them)

The shenanigans of Capsize happen just after falling for the villain,

in which Jordan is forced internally for the first time to come to terms with the fact that yes, he is in love with his friend/enemy/however you wanna put it. Despite how much he annoys him, despite all of his questionable behavior, despite it all, he has fallen head over heels for this absolute bastard of a man, and hates to admit it, but deep down has longed for a kind of affection that he could have.

I'll take my timeI'm not the forward thinker; you read my mind-

But a part of him still remains hesitant, and for one reason or another, refuses to give in, to openly admit it to not just others but himself. It’s at this point (I’ve written in) that Tom’s kissed him twice. The first, just a little peck on the lips he was able to brush off as a joke, just a hahaa ok cool bro that's funny. But the second time, as a cheap play by the zombie to get a purge kill having already caught the Ianitee off guard. It's irritating for sure, to have him weasel his way into free points by taking advantage of a distraction that worked a little too well, but why could he not get it out of his head? It hadn’t felt so wrong, actually, and… he had almost hoped it had been genuine. If it had been genuine, maybe he would have returned the gesture.

Better to leave it unsaidWhy can't I leave it unsaid

Instead they dance around it in banter, blathering on and on to one another in often complete nonsense, refusing to address what’s really on his mind. (You know I talk too much) He could confess, sure. But what happens then? All the meanwhile, Tom is scared he’s losing him. (As I hold your face, I can't find the words I need, and soon the opportunity is drowning)

Never someone all that good with words, he kind of hopes that Jordan will catch on. He has to catch on, sooner or later.. Right?Z

And then Capsize and the Ianitee pirates show up. To Jordan, it seems like she’s interested in him beyond him just being another follower of Ianite, and there’s his escape. Play along, play the part and maybe- maybe he’ll get over this.

You know my type, tightrope across the table I can't keep holding my breath

She seems to be into it. She’s responding to his flirting at least. See. He doesn’t need Tom. An Ianitee and another Ianitee seems more acceptable to him in his head, and maybe would be easier. That about, he’s not really sure.

New wave, no time Red velvet under pressure

But what Jordan does know is that he’s drawn to her. To him, it could be a way to forget about Tom. To the varied onlooker, it could just be that he’s happy to have another Ianitee around. Someone who can relate to his experience, someone who’s out to find their goddess just as much as he wants to. But he continues to conflate the two and pursue her in a way that he won’t realize for years is less than ideal.

It sparks my memory when we parked aside the shore, I kissed you there, the ocean air enchanting It escapes me quickly

Tom on the other hand, is for lack of a better word furious. Not in like a “I’m gonna murder this pirate captain for stealing my man” (because if he’s honest she’s one of the coolest people he’s met and he’s gonna befriend her whether Jordan likes it or not, with him claiming it to be ‘Mr. steal your gal’ which is??? Because does it really seem like he wants Capsize, if not as a spiteful thing)

When Jordan’s not around, Tom and Capsize hit it off, as she finds this zombie who doesn’t want to flirt with her at any given moment a lot more of an interesting person. As a Dianitee, he’s supposed to be their enemy, but for someone so supposedly dedicated to his god, he knows how to carve his own path away from being more than his god’s messenger- something she’s always admired in champions.

You call me poison, but you won't stop coming around- No, you won't stop coming around

For the purpose of perhaps getting Jordan to get the hint, Tom plays into their supposed love triangle, pretending to do things to ‘steal away Capsize’, only feeding into Jordan’s confusion. *Now Tom’s interested in her too? Is he trying to move on from me too? *- clearly to dense to realize Tom’s trying to get his attention back. She even admits to Tom that it's amusing that men seem to keep coming after her, when she’s very much more into women (abridged, but direct quote)

All I want is you- Your violet disposition, My unsound intuition

It all sort of culminates in that moment on Jordan’s ship where Tom, annoyed from his perch, watches his friend make an absolute fool of himself over Capsize, and decides to intervene, taking on the role of “fighting” Jordan over her. Capsize in a way is having a good laugh watching them roll around on the deck of the ship (I’ve drawn this, this is where it all started), starting to see it all sort of come together as to where Jordan could be coming from. At some point, Tom’s got Jordan pinned to the deck, and as one last desperate attempt at trying to communicate what he’s been trying to all along, he kisses Jordan, and much to his surprise, he kisses him back. They pull away, to Capsize’s approving nods, and it's all over.

(Jordan’s attempts at saving this are my interpretation of this conversation, aka one of my favorite chat threads of S1)

In the aftermath of all of that (If I had any semblance of a memory I’d pinpoint when exactly this interlude takes place, but im just ballparking it somewhere after Jordan dies in Tom’s vault bc Capsize doesn’t save him); in which he’s still thinking about what happened that day. Jordan reluctantly confronts Tom who spills it all. He tells him how much and how long he’s been in love with him, and how frustrated it made him that every time he kissed Jordan, Jordan never seemed to reciprocate no matter how obvious his feelings were. He’s tried so hard to make it clear that all he wants is Jordan, he wants to be loved back, he wants to be able to call him his lover. He did what he did in front of Capsize cause the fake ass courting set him over the edge because it pissed him off that Jordan would so quickly go after someone he just met just because she was an Ianitee or whatever to get away from him, because was he really that bad that Jordan had to try to hard to stay away from him? Tom knows he had himself to blame as well, but it felt like a step too far.

Always been looking for something to lose, when I needed something to hold onto.

(This sequence is followed by Pull Me Up, which. If you haven’t seen my CMV that’s the one xD)

Note. For my sanity I choose to perceive that any capsize x jordan moments following are more related to Jordan’s ‘holiest of all Ianitees’ attitude and feeling like he has to be her savior (which is a different aspect of his character arc from the romantic side, which is what I mostly wanted to focus on with this ramble, but i do touch on it a little. It's not as ever present as it could be because I haven’t found the right song to incorporate it into outside of Violet and Talk Too Much) But there is definitely more. This is from what i have notated in my stuff for these two sequences :] enjoy!

[urmomsfavelesbian]

……please

[trbotunnel]

i hate this fic

charthur lovers and writers i need ur help,, alpha reading,,,,,, lmk if any of you would like to alpha read my draft.

i can send a rundown of my idea and possibly a sample of the fic in tumblr dms if that sounds fun to you 👍👍

thank you loves xoxo

[jeanmoreauagenda]

just realised 'never quite free' by the mountain goats is THE kevin/jean anthem and im being so supremely normal about it

[heycerulean]

they murder me

[chirpybirdy]

can someone listen to erik koskinen's song Both of Me and tell me if these lyrics look right? spotify claims to have them but i dont have spotify lol

------

i know a girl they call baby and she's on my mind i could stay yeah but maybe i would leave this time and i ain't living with a woman for a year or two or three it could drive me out of my mind yeah the both of me yeah the both of me

yeah i'll plant a little garden and see what grows fix up that paper shack that's where my money goes and i'll come back for a visit for a day or two or three this town could drive me mad yeah the both of me

i think ill take that job up north my pa's there working four to twelves with three days off and it don't pay shit but i don't care you don't need much money up there yeah right and i know someone will buy me a beer and plenty of women that'll jabber in my ear all night

my momma kinda thinks i'm a bad man well maybe momma i am

and ill go fishing after midnight with the moon up high and take my date shooting turkeys yeah it's christmastime well it ain't poaching when its dinner and i've got mouths to feed and i'm just stocking my fridge for the both of me

i think ill take that job up north my paw said they're working 4 to 12s with three days off and it don't pay shit but i don't care you don't need much for living up there yeah right and i know someone that will buy me a beer and plenty of women that'll jabber in my ear all night

my momma kinda thinks i'm a bad man well maybe momma i am

i know a girl i call baby and she's on my mind i think i'm kinda going crazy out of my mind well you can piss on those cold nights i don't care what you say cause right now shes cooking dinner for the both of me yeah for the both of me for the both of me yeah for the both of me for the both of me

[becauseplot]

im going insane anyway Cosmic Love by Florence & The Machine as q!roier post-purgatory with this tangled mass of grief and anger and longing longing longing sitting in his chest, missing his husband and hating him and hating the universe all at the same time because god roier loved him. he thought this time would be different. cellbit was supposed to be his to keep, he wasn't supposed to let anyone or anything take him away, separate them, pull them apart. roier loved him and he lost him and he should have known better at this point because this always happens and it’s his fault and it’s cellbit’s fault and there’s nothing he could have done but he should have done something. they loved each other. they exchanged vows. cellbit’s hands held roier’s hands held cellbit’s hands and they held each other close, always. through sun and wind and rain and blood. always.

roier’s love wasn’t blind, but he would have followed cellbit anywhere becaude there was a darkness in them both. that should have meant something. that should have meant something.