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emelinstriker · 1 year ago

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First off, I'm really sorry about everything that's been happening around your blog. This AU has been such a huge source of comfort for me in my everyday life, and it pains me to see jerks with nothing better to do than to ruin the happiness of others affect this blog so much. However, on a different note, if you would be so kind as to let me tell you about a daydream I had about your AU, that would be just the most!

So, I was revisiting some old fandoms of mine, and I suppose those began mixing with the ESAU at some point. You know the song "Drift Away" from Steven Universe? I was thinking about how sad it was when the ESAU popped into my mind and OH BOY. I thought about this little scenario! (I apologize for the poor writing):

One of the many Master reincarnations that stuck with Macaque was the long gone Master *Gertrude. It wasn't because she led an interesting life or had special affections for him, but rather that she abandoned him. Fed up with him for being the most affectionate and always in her space, she brought him out into a field. Alone. She smiled and hugged him, something Macaque couldn't have recalled her ever doing towards him in the past, before telling him to stand still in the open field and not to move until she came back. Macaque had wanted to ask her questions about where she was going when she gave him her next and final command, to not ask her questions. With that, she left, and Macaque sensed a feeling of strong joy coming from her and, well, if his Master was happy, than he was overjoyed! And so he waited. Minutes passed by, then hours, then days and a week. And before Macaque knew it, months had gone by, follows by years. Years of standing and waiting for his Master to come back with him, with nothing but the occasional bird or rabbit passing by, which he would snatch up and eat to feed himself and keep himself busy. But Macaque couldn't understand the situation, couldn't understand why any of this was happening, until one day when he saw the other champions coming his way. By this point, the grass in the field was overgrown and the flowers had withered. A few vines reached around Macaque, keeping him planted down to the Earth, as if it was reclaiming him. His fur was filthy and unkempt and he had dark circles around his eyes because it was hard to sleep standing up, in the open, alone. Macaque had watched as his brother and the other champions approached him, Wukong coming forward in swift strides to help pull off the greenery growing on him and hugged him tightly. Macaque... felt like crying although he could hardly understand why.

"Master is dead." Wukong had spoken with his usual monotone voice, but it cracked. Hearing his brother's voice crack broke Macaque and he hugged him back, feeling warm tears running down his face and he asked the question that had been racking his mind for decades.

"Why did Master never come back for me?" Wukong couldn't answer, no one could bare to tell him except for Mink.

"Master got rid of you because they didn't like you. But don't yell at us for never looking for you, because she specifically requested that we didn't and so here we are."

Macaque remembers how he broke down right there, tired after years of standing there with sleepless nights and little to eat or do. He remembers vowing to never trust their Master so blindly again, reminding himself to keep all the qualities Master Gertrude found annoying to a minimum. Macaque won't make the same upsetting mistake twice.

*I'm really sorry if this is the name of any one who might be reading this, I mean no offense! I just looked for a name that isn't frequently used in the modern day and that's what came up

I don't know, maybe I'll write a fanfiction with the next reincarnated Reader comforting Macaque after all this trauma of abandonment, poor baby boy... An AU of an AU, how thrilling!

This could work with any of the champions, in my opinion, because, I think, that if their Master wills it, no matter how harmful it is, they would just instinctually oblige. I only used Macaque because, if this happened to him, I would just break down crying and hug him till I die! Anyways, I hope you liked this, Emelin, and please please please give me validation! Thank you, you're the best!

OOOOOO i love this omg- THE ANGST- THE AAANGSSST- I also love the moment of Wukong's voice crack- it's literally lil moments like this where he shows vulnerability and emotions- fhgnfhgnfhg

Very well written and fitting character choice for this!! :D

But how dare that Master not like Macaque's affection and just abandon him?? HE'S THE MOST WHOLESOME OF THEM ALL- If we ignore the more murderous side of him of course- BUT HE'S SO FLUFFY TOWARDS HIS MASTER AND DESERVES THE BEST FLUFF IN RETURN- HDSFNDSHFNHDSFHNHDSNHSD

Like- this is so in-character for them though- Especially between the monkey bros since Macaque is usually so eager and happy about completing a task to make his Master happy- hgfnhgnfghf the feels of potential heavy angst, man- Gotta love it-

I'd definitely read a part two with a Master who actually gives him the fluffy comfort he deserves and needs gfhgnfhjgf

#lmk esau #eternal servants au #esau qna #esau fanart #angst #hnfghnfgh #holdup lemme pull up nate's version of drift away #haven't vibed to it in a long while #november incident

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mccoys-killer-queen · 1 year ago

Text

Give Me the Lights (Tommy x Reader)- Part 1

Words: 2,905

Summary: You live with Tommy on his farm in Michigan in the late 70s. It's almost time to start recording the next Styx album, but trying to make music seems to be Tommy's enemy lately. He's not acting like himself, and you know something's not right...

-----

(Michigan, March 1979)

It happens every year; the month of March is cold and gloomy, yet everyone is always surprised. People normally expect it to be springtime the second March rolls around, but mother nature— purely out of spite— never lives up to this expectation. Humanity is normally fed up with the winter gloom by this point of the year, so they like to forget that the majority of the month still qualifies as winter.

When it came to the inevitable winter gloom, one could normally head indoors in order to escape it. A nice blanket, warm lighting, and a different view were the best ways to do this. You couldn't do this, though.

The refuge of your own house didn't help alleviate the dreary, early March gloom- because the gloom was now incarnate as a person, and this person lived in the house with you.

Those winter blues had taken the form of your darling boyfriend, and despite the bright golden hair on his head, it seemed the rest of his shine was gone.

You had never known Tommy to experience seasonal depression before, but his strange behavior seemed to fit the bill quite well to you. Often over the past few weeks, you had picked up on him acting rather... differently. He was eating less, sleeping more, and showing little interest or emotion in just about everything.

There was currently a new Styx album in the process of conception. Tommy had been eager to get back to work and get lost in his own musical embryos as much as he pleased. This was normally an infallible source of joy for your bright-eyed lover, so the fact that you rarely heard his strumming or singing these days concerned you just a little.

You often caught him sleeping in much later than usual, or just caught him in bed too often in general. Nearly every time this happened, there tended to be a guitar on the floor across the room. He'd tell you he was "just tired", but he seemed to be tired all the time lately.

In addition to his lack of energy and interest in his music, you noticed he had elevated crankiness on some days, too. This side of him would sometimes make an appearance as frustration with an instrument, while other times he'd express self-doubt while attempting to write a song. Even something as simple as cursing out the washing machine or the weatherman let you know how he was feeling inside. A few times, he'd even been short with you over minute things that didn't seem to matter in the past.

What really raised your concern was when you realized that his typical, toothy grins hadn't made any appearances for a while.

Since there was rarely sunshine or warmth at this time in the season, you thought it made sense that a man from the south- who was practically made of sunshine- was acting a bit dulled down. It was no secret that Tommy was a nature-loving man, so you wondered if this meant that when the surrounding nature was down in the dumps, so was he.

You also wondered if he was aware of this himself.

One evening, you softly confronted the subject of his mood problems. You told him you had picked up on how upset and tired he appeared lately, and carefully asked him if something was wrong.

Almost immediately, he became teary-eyed at your intervention. He couldn't deny what you were inquiring about; he was well aware of it himself, and had been for some time.

The ensuing conversation resulted in a lot of physical tenderness from you, and a lot of venting from him. He confessed that he'd been feeling so indescribably "down" lately— both mentally and physically— and that he couldn't seem to be musically productive no matter what.

"I feel so empty-" Tommy told you, head in hands as you held him close, "-like there's nothing left inside me. And my body feels so heavy that I don't wanna move at all. I don't feel like myself, and I can't even tell you why- because I don't even know! Everyone else seems to be doing fine, and then there's me— who just wants to sulk for no reason, can't get out of bed, or write a song to save my life right now."

In addition, he threw in a grumpy comment about the monotonous weather being equivalent to purgatory. It was here you proposed that he might be suffering from a classic case of seasonal depression, and that it was probably interfering with everything; his creativity, his mood, and his energy. You also explained that, since he was acclimated to the mild winters of Alabama, his body wasn't used to being stuck in a real winter like this.

Tommy looked both surprised and a little guilty at your inference, but admitted you were probably right.

"I'm really sorry, Y/n," he shook his head as he dropped his vision with a sniff, "I know I've been so pathetic lately-"

His eyes sprung open in surprise as you covered his mouth with your hand.

You used your other hand to wipe the wetness from under his eyes, "You're not gonna call yourself pathetic, and you're not gonna apologize for something you can't control, okay?"

He squinted in confusion, then sighed from under your hand and nodded with closed eyes. You uncovered his mouth and kissed him slowly, assuring him that you'd both get him feeling better.

That night, like many others before, Tommy curled in close to you with the hopes that the warmth from your body was reminiscent of the sunlight he didn't know he craved. With his internal conflict identified, he felt less shame about feeling so 'empty' inside.

Ever since then, you'd done all you could to get Tommy out of this rut. You wanted to make sure he had constant reassurance that there was no need to feel lonely. There were a lot more cozy nights spent inside together where you would both sing for the sake of singing, and nights where you'd play guitar for him so he didn't have to. There were also a lot of nights where you'd simply hold him close to you as you both slipped into slumber.

All you could do was anything- anything in order to keep his spirits up. Hell, you even got him vitamin D supplements if it meant he might have perked up a little from them.

Something you also attempted to do from time to time was get both of you active and moving. If you yourself were active, then Tommy felt compelled to follow suit. As a simple way to do this, you began to go on walks more often when the winter weather permitted. Your usual walking route made a pass by the nearby lake where Tommy's own little row boat remained covered for the season at the shore. Every time you walked past it, you'd catch his gaze lingering on it.

"I really miss taking that thing out at sunset," he reminisced one afternoon as you walked hand-in-hand, "I feel like one trip on the ol' boat would automatically cure both of us of any winter blues.

You squeezed his hand, "Well, it is kinda your happy place."

"We're going out on it the very first chance we get, got it?"

"Maybe on the first day of spring, we can celebrate that way..." you suggested.

There was a quick, fleeting curl of the corner of his mouth at your idea. Getting him to smile at all was always a wonderful accomplishment.

He was appreciative of how much you cared about his well-being, but there were also a few times where he'd whine about being "babied" by you. Sometimes, you had to pull his arms or legs to get him out of bed. One time, you had to roll him. Other times, when his appetite couldn't be found, you attempted to spoon-feed him like an infant (which, at the very least, made him laugh out of embarrassment).

Some days were normal, some days were fine, and some days weren't so fine.

Once, after a rather rough songwriting attempt, Tommy came to you on the verge of tears because he was just that frustrated with himself. He wasn't sure how to exactly say what he wanted from you; what he'd done was take you in his arms and mumble that he needed you to tell him to "stop feeling like this."

Instead of honoring his request, you had him lay in your lap on the couch. As you watched the snow settle down outside the house, you aimed to reassure him that he was simply a little unwell at the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with you, sweetie. You're just a bit in the dark like the rest of the northern hemisphere right now; you just need some light, is all," you reasoned with him. Your fingertips slowly combed through the roots of his glowing locks as you went on, "And someday soon, every little thing that makes you happy— all those little lights in your life— they'll come back. They have thousands of times before when things seemed dark, and this time is no different."

"Hm. Maybe you should write a song," he mused up at you with closed eyes, "You speak like a poet."

"Maybe I should," you joked, "If it'll make you sit back and relax for once."

Tommy hadn't given up on writing songs, but he could also never seem to pull one together. Sometimes there would be random bursts of frustrated ambition, but that usually resulted in papers all over the floor, and Tommy walking away from it all before he tore up another potential idea.

When you realized him picking up the guitars never led to any good, you suggested he try a new instrument altogether.

"But all my ideas stem from guitar, and I swear I'm close to something!" he acted like what you said was blasphemous, "If I'm finally going to have an idea for a song, it's bound to come from a guitar. I can't just give up on it now...!"

"I get you're afraid the guitar muse won't last, but 'Renegade' did come from a piano, after all," you reminded him, "And I'm not saying give up with the guitar, I'm just saying find something different to take your mind off of guitars for a bit. Cleanse your palette, learn something new, and maybe new ideas will come from it!"

He sighed and shook his head, "Alright... I'll see if anything weird enough catches my eye."

Slowly over a week or two of gently pushing him and nurturing him, you noticed Tommy coming back more into himself. His healthy ambition was returning, he began to eat and sleep normally again, and his usual cheer seemed to be waking up from hibernation. When you first started noticing this, you also noticed Tommy was being more secretive about the potential music he was working on. He wasn't trying to compose often, but when he did, he wouldn't let you peek in on him anymore.

Despite this sudden secretiveness, he told you he still didn't have any songs yet, and that he was experimenting with something new like you proposed. Whatever he was starting to do, you were just glad he found some joy in it again.

One day, you caught a glimpse of a paper he'd accidentally left lying around. In his slightly scribbled handwriting, there appeared to be a few brief stanzas of a potential song.

"Thank you for caring, but tonight the lights will take me where I long to be Just like a thousand nights before

I can't explain It gives me some pain

Give me the lights, precious lights Give me light, give me hope, give me energy

You can turn the wrong into right, precious lights Illuminate me Won't you let me play?"

It was then clear why Tommy was hiding his current work from you; he was inspired by you. Perhaps he was just too bashful to admit it yet.

The lyric melted your heart, not only because he was referencing your own words of comfort in his music, but also because he was now finding inspiration in his bout of gloom. You knew his soul desperately wanted it to be spring, and he knew he desperately wanted to be back to normal. The lights of springtime, to him, meant just that. It only made sense that he was to write a song about this.

As much as you instantly fell in love with it, you didn't tell Tommy that you found the lyrics he wrote. You let it be, and just let him carry on with his own process. You weren't meant to look at it, and didn't want to jinx the wonderful thing he may have started.

After the personal rollercoaster that was the first 19 days of March, the first day of spring arrived at long last. Unfortunately, however, there was still no spring in sight. There was a forecast for freezing rain and wind that day, with no sunshine to be found.

In the days recent, Tommy did show he had more energy for a change, as he could feel the impending season around the corner. Whenever he disappeared to practice whatever new thing he was trying out, you just let him be. That day being no different, you went ahead and slipped out to run some errands before the weather hit. However, the weather did hit while you were gone, leaving your other half on his own longer than expected.

Meanwhile, alone in his own private little work bubble, Tommy strummed his new instrument quietly to himself.

"It's done..." he whispered, "It's actually done... but it's not... right."

It was a particularly frustrating day for him in terms of music- as he was making progress based on your advice, but something just felt off about the finished product he'd made.

Yes, Tommy had finally finished a song. It came rather effortlessly, too- much to his surprise. He was almost proud of it, but he didn't know how to tell if it was truly completed.

He knew you were right about needing to cleanse his palette, so he went out on your word and bought a mandolin. His reasoning for this choice was simply the fact that he knew he was a guitar player, so how different could a mandolin be? He was sure he could play it. The second he tried to, however, he quickly realized that he couldn't. As it turned out, the tuning was otherworldly, it was tricky to try and learn chords on, and it was small.

In the process of trying to figure out how the hell to play this new tool, Tommy decided to just make up his own chords. The second he strung a few of these 'chords' together, something immediately set off a little spark in his heart.

Finally, at long last, something took to his creative side and awoke it from hibernation. It was something he had wanted so badly, and it was something that felt so wonderful to feel again.

When it came time to set a lyric to the fresh music, Tommy figured it was only best to write about something else he wanted so badly.

He couldn't wait to play his experimental tune for you and tell you that you were right all along, but there was this inexplicable thing that was missing from it. Naturally, as a musician, he spent several obsessive hours trying to figure out what it was, but had no luck. He just didn't know what needed to be changed- if anything.

On the verge of his motivation burning out on the matter again, sleet suddenly began to pound against the windows outside.

Immediately, poor Tommy felt the musical motivation rapidly leak away from him. His mood and energy suddenly plummeted, and he felt himself slump back into an insufferable, lazy state once more.

It was here that he realized he was expecting March 20th to be a day of hope and light, but instead, winter was laughing in his face yet again. It was officially spring, yet there he was; still stuck in the cold with another incomplete song.

He missed feeling whole. He missed feeling completely like himself and making complete works of art.

Tommy shamefully hid his mandolin away again, deciding to once again give up for the day. His feet seemed to automatically lead him to the couch, as if they already knew what to do, and he horizontally resigned himself to its cushions.

You were always telling him to just lay back and relax as best as he could when the thought of making music caused too much stress. You'd additionally tell him, as a joke, to close his eyes and go to his "happy place", just to make him smile. With your voice suggesting this in his head, Tommy figured that at the very least, some extra sleep might flush away the depressive cloud that was eating at him yet again.

Besides, he had a (supposedly) completed song; he figured he deserved a nice nap as a reward.

Dejectedly letting the sound of the freezing rain scrape against his eardrums, he allowed his eyes to close as every confused thought in his mind began to form the foundation of a midday dream.

----- (Part 2)

#MY FIRST TOMMY/STYX FIC AAAAAAAAAAA #tommy shaw #styx #styx band #tommy shaw x reader #tommy shaw fanfic #i haven't started writing the second part yet so it'll be a while until i post it #(there's only going to be one more part)#i was NOT planning on this being a two part thing but i got so long winded in this one that it kinda turned into that #styx fanfic #also i took the top middle photo myself and im in love with that song and felt it had the vibes for this part #pls give it a listen #stan the steve miller band or perish #i just decided to keep the working title too bc nothing else seems right

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