#this is how I cope with that shit ass death he got | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stxrysnow · 10 months ago

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— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

★ jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

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moriitis · 2 months ago

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What would Toby do with a person with Lyra's exact appearance? Let's say they also have a similar personality. (Of course there would be no comparison)

I don't know how Toby would take it or what he would do and I'm really curious, seriously, I'm crazy.

WHY DO YOU GIVE ME ALL THESE SAD ASS ASKS OH MY GOD MY SHAYYYLAAA

Alright, I seriously fucking love this ask though, like so, so, so much. Thank you Anon for breaking my heart. I, too, am crazy about Toby and Lyra's relationship.

Content/Warnings; car accidents, mentions of abuse, alcohol, death, detailed descriptions of corpses, blood, brain matter, globe luxation (eyes popping out of sockets), vomit, bruises, stuttering, murder.

I guess to start this shit off, we better go back in time a little to talk about their relationship as siblings during the time Lyra was alive.

Their parents were deadbeat. I'll say it over and over again. Now don't get me wrong, Connie hated seeing her children living in poverty and being abused by their father, but you gotta remember Connie was a victim too. Abusive relationships SUCK and it's even worse when there are children involved because it makes it so much harder leaving. Did Connie allow the abuse to happen? On some times, yes, she did - because a part of her really believed that she loved this man, she wanted things to work and kids were.. well, they deserve a little slap here and again, right? I see a bitterness between Lyra and Connie because Lyra gets so angry at the fact that Connie sits and allows this to happen. Now when big fights did break out, like punching, screaming, things smashing and the cops being called, Connie did step in and try to calm her husband. Unfortunately, her husband was a heavy drinker and his father abused him, so drinking is his coping method to deal with his own abuse and trauma.

Due to having such an absent and useless mother, Lyra stood up and took the role to care for Toby at the young age. In fact, when Connie announced she were pregnant with Toby, Lyra cried so much because she knew how shit their family life was and it was unfair to bring a baby up in a situation they get no say in.

Lyra would dress Toby for school, make breakfast and ensured they both got the school bus on time. (During the time he still attended public schooling.)

She would 100% defend him in situations at school the best she could. Lyra wasn't particularly popular either, so really she took most the verbal abuse directed toward her brother.

After Toby got pulled for home schooling, she'd always feel so disgustingly anxious being on that school bus alone - without him.

She'd call the home phone almost every hour making sure he was okay.

Thankfully their father worked at a factory during the day, so she knew Toby was okay with their Mom who was a stay at home.

Despite everything, she was a bubbly and happy character, mostly because as she got older she got more freedom to stay away from home.

Lyra was a bit of a party animal, very social and had a nice group of friends.

She would not come back home for times on end, preferring to sleep on the couch at a friends just to avoid home.

But then she felt too guilty leaving Toby alone and would come back.

On the weekends, Lyra would take Toby with her to hang out with her friends! Her friends loved Toby, despite his tics.

They'd hang out at the mall a lot, which actually secured Lyra her first little job working in a clothing store her friend also worked at.

Which meant she earnt money to spoil Toby.

Like taking him to the arcades, bowling.

They went to the cinema once, which was a bad mistake because they came home too late and their father was still awake.

"Lyra.. are yo-oo..u awake?" Called a soft voice, a voice that lingered by the frame of her door. The light from the hallway illuminated the figure, casting shadows over her body that was outstretched on her bed. It was a familiar voice, a voice that made her turn almost instantly to glance over at the little brunette who was lingering by the door, his fingers hooked around the wood. Her door was only open a fraction but softly it pushed open a little, allowing more light to enter her dark room. She sat up, her fingers caressing the bare mattress below her as she forced a welcoming smile. It wasn't that she was unhappy or annoyed by Toby's presence, of course not - it was just the ache in her head that almost pulsated around her skull as she sat up.

"Hey you, no, I'm actually asleep," she teased softly, stifling her chuckle as she pulled her knees up close to her chest. It was always so cold in this house.

"Oh, should I go?" Toby replied much softer than before, already pulling away from the doorframe and descending back into the hallway.

Lyra rolled her eyes and scrunched up her brows. "Go?" she repeated, tilting her head to the side a little. The pain vibrated around her head, squeezing her skull and holding her brain captive. The pain was only temporary. "What's wrong?" she asked after a beat, wanting to capture his attention before he disappeared quietly down the creaky hall. Silence loomed over the two of them as Toby glanced back at Lyra, his brows twisted in concern as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

"Did he-he-h... he hh-hurt you bad?" Toby finally spoke, those words so harsh despite the innocence in his voice. His words weighed heavy, so heavy even that her shoulders dropped a little at the question. Toby shouldn't have seen that, admittedly it was her fault for bringing them home so late.

So, with a little scoff, she shook her head softly although instinctively, her hand raised against the little bump on her head. It had stopped bleeding, thankfully, but the cut and bruise still felt fresh and raw. "No," she sounded convincing. "See? I'm fine." Lyra lied through her teeth, no, she wasn't fine.

Toby wasn't convinced and before he spoke, a grunt coming from their parents room frightened him closer toward Lyra's bed. She outstretched her arms out toward him a little, accepting him and acting as a barrier for any of his worries and fears. "He's asleep," Lyra reassured him and herself, her voice nothing but a whisper and Toby quietly climbed onto her bed. When did Toby get so big? A lump in her throat formed just looking at him.

His brown eyes darted toward her outstretched arms and he hesitated before slowly leaning his body against her own. It wasn't a proper hug, oh dear, no, Toby was too big for those now apparently but Lyra was satisfied to have him close to her regardless. Only if it were nothing but a shoulder.

Now, obviously we are aware that Lyra died in a car crash and I just HC that she reason she swerved and crashed into that tree was because she saw Slender on the road and it startled her so much. Toby always thought that it were a deer or something she tried to avoid - he knew how much she loved her animals.

"So, anyway, I told Abby that Jason was obviously just going after her because its Jason, he goes after everyone in school! But Abby didn't believe me and now she's all upset and mad at everyone but not Jason for breaking her heart?" Lyra groaned, hands gripped securely around the steering wheel as she vented away to her younger brother who sat behind her in the passenger seat. He was always a good listener and Lyra secretly knew he loved hearing all this gossip. For a brief moment, she glanced at the rear view mirror to Toby. He was exceptionally quiet today, arms crossed over his chest as he gazed aimlessly out the window. Her lips pursed at the sight, curiosity at what could possibly be plaguing her brother's mind? "Hey, you listening?" she asked, shooting occasional glances between the road and the brunette in the back.

Toby's brows furrowed for a moment, almost in irritation before his gaze softened upon connecting with Lyra. It wasn't often her looked at her in such a way and she raised a brow slightly, watching as closely as she could while also focusing on the road ahead.

The road ahead was quiet, no traffic, just them and the forest that surrounded them. The faint mumble of the radio, Lyra's music of course - Paramore more notably playing.

"Yeah," Toby choked out slowly, clearing his throat and shuffling in his seat as he tried to rearrange his thoughts and remember what Lyra was even blabbering about prior. She knew he were lying though and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, although she were just teasing.

"Liar," she pointed an index finger up at him before chuckling a short chuckle. Toby's lip curled a little at the corner but other than that, he remained quiet. Lyra knew Toby wasn't himself, not anymore, sure he was getting older and moodier - but his mental health played a lot into that too.

"I'm ssorry, j-just thinking about th-"

"What the fuck?!"

The smell of gas burned within his nostrils as he awoke to nothing but a fuzzy haze. Whatever the fuck happened, he wasn't sure, but now the car was flipped upside down. He blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of things as he glanced up. His blood coated the interior roof of the car, shit he must've cut his head up pretty bad - thankfully he couldn't feel shit though. The radio was still playing, filling the silence as the indicators ticked and the car groaned with each move Toby made.

"You are the only exception, you are the only exception~" the radio continued to play Paramore and sat atop the roof was Lyra's IPod that was still connected.

"Lyra-" Toby grumbled groggily as he went to reach out to the tuffs of blonde that poked out from beside the airbag. His seatbelt, still secured, restricted him and he fought against it for a moment as his main focus was on his sister. "Lyra, speak to me-" he grumbled through gritted teeth as his hands helplessly began to find the buckle of his belt, clicking it out and dropping him down onto the roof of the car with a loud thud. He could feel the air thickening around him as he tried to navigate around the carnage, upside down to help his sister. His heart was beating a million beats per second as he army crawled as close as he could to Lyra, the whole bonnet of the car practically enveloping a tree in a cold, metallic hug.

"Lyra," he repeated through gritted teeth, holding his breath at the thought of being alone out here in a wrecked car, his anxiety clawing at his very skin as he slowly craned his head around to the drivers seat. "Please talk to me, please-" he begged softly, hand reaching out slowly to brush a tuff of her blonde hair away from her face.

Lyra remained motionless, unresponsive and Toby hoped and begged and prayed to any God that perhaps she was just unconscious. "Wake up, Lyra, come on- you have to wake up now-" he began, his shaky hand making its way to her shoulder to shake her softly. The sister was limp and only moved softly from his violent shaking.

Her head was pressed against the airbag, her blood crimson red compared to the white of the bag. He could hear the insane amount of blood gushing from her and onto the pedals below her which made him almost heave. With one final push on her shoulder, her head fell toward his direction and her blonde hair fell down from her face, exposing the horror before him.

Her face, her beautiful face, untouched one side and her skull caved in on the other. The brain matter that ran down her face, her eye that was almost bulging out from her socket. The inside of her skull was empty, the rest of her brain had slipped out and fallen down her shoulder and torso. Her mouth hung agape, her other intact eye half lidded but her iris still enlarged in the shock she endured before the crash. Her torso was also caved in but her ribs poked out through her skin, exposing her vital organs through her blood soaked, cotton tank top.

Toby could only scream as he scrambled back into the passenger seat, desperately trying to get away from his sister. His hands grabbed helplessly at anything that could push him further away from Lyra, his fingers grazing the glass beneath him and slicing his skin open. His screaming was interrupted by the sudden urge to vomit as he clamped a hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of acid, although it were already spewing past his blood fingertips. Choking and spluttering on the warmth of his vomit, he hacked up and spat out the rest of the taste that remained in his mouth before clutching a handful of his clothing within the fist of his hand.

"No, no, no, please, Lyra, no-" he sobbed helplessly against hitched breaths, trying to make sense of this nightmare. That perhaps this wasn't real, it couldn't be because how could he live without her? So, slowly, plucking up any courage he could find, he crept back toward Lyra and gently caressed her cheek. She was still warm. "Stop messing, Lyra, you can- you can- can- can get up now! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!" he was yelling at the corpse, shaking her violently before collapsing onto her lap. He didn't care about the blood nor brain, he wanted her to hug him again.

Toby cried into her lap, taking her arm and forcing it around him as he cuddled her corpse. Laying there for hours until a passer-by came across them.

Alright, you guys have the feels?! Now, back to the ask. After this traumatic event, how would Toby feeling seeing someone that looked like Lyra? And, oof, punch in the gut, this person also having the exact same personality? Yikes.

At first, he wouldn't believe it. He would either think its an hallucination or that he's dreaming because he knows that she is dead, shit, he saw it himself. Honestly, at first I think he'd be a little angry because it's like all that grief and trauma came and just slapped him right there and then.

He'd accuse this person and lash out, saying things like. "You think this is funny?!" "What are you doing?!" Just really bitter and mean, mostly a mechanism to try and cope really. He'll think this is a whole ploy to try and trick him or something.

There'd also be a part of him that really craves being embraced by this person too, like he wants to caress their cheek and touch their hair. Like he genuinely cannot believe that this is real.

Then once that anger has simmered down, he'd bite back the tears. Stepping away and going nonverbal, disappearing for a couple months to try and 'forget.' He'd cry like a little bitch too, calling himself stupid for leaving in the first place.

Then he'd come back, either really dissociated or really attached to this person. He'd crave their attention, despite it being so bittersweet and he'll be angry if this person says something that Lyra wouldn't say, you know?

NOW

If we are talking about a VICTIM HE WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL LOOKING LIKE LYRA- shit, that's a different story.

At first he'd hesitated, the hatchet motionless above his head, mid-swing as she stares down at the girl before him. Crying, sobbing and he would literally stop working. He wouldn't know what to do, he would freeze and just stand there staring at her in disbelief. Then he'd drop the hatchet with a loud clutter and fall to his knees before the girl, his shoulders and body shaking as muffled sobs begin to emerge from him.

This girl, who nearly just fucking died, could do two things. Knock him the fuck out or comfort him thinking that maybe it would spare her life. I think depending on what she does, if she were to comfort him, Toby would probably either push her away or embrace her touch and cry into her lap. If she were to attempt to knock him out, I think it would stir him a little back to life and he'd quickly just jump into action in an attempt to control himself and the situation.

Now obviously, he will NOT murder her. No, he couldn't - so he grabs his things and leave. Which is so, so, so bad and could get him into so much shit with Slender but I think in that moment, he doesn't care.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby headcanons #headcanons #lyra rogers #lyra rogers creepypasta

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lastwave · 1 year ago

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Harry Du Bois, the skills + DID/OSDD coding

a compilation of most of my thoughts on harry as a system (note: i am system im not just like. pulling stuff out my ass)

1. Structural Dissociation Theory crash course

so for this point i'm going to give you a crash course structural dissociation theory (do not use me as a source for ur knowledge on it this is very like. base level and just to establish context)

structural dissociation states that we all start as multiple different facets, and that as we grow up, these facets all fuse into a cohesive personality. however, in DID/OSDD, ongoing trauma proves it safer to NOT fuse these facets and instead develop dissociative and amnestic barriers between them to varying degrees. these facets cope by developing into individual personalities, and if traumatic events persist, the brain may split more personalities to try and cope with this. this gives us two bits of information that i'm going to use throughout this

1. there is no "original", just alters that host for long periods of time and/or identify with the body the most

2. amnestic & dissociative barriers are fluid. in times of rest, these barriers may start to come down between some alters, but not necessarily all.

**NOTE: these are not hard and fast rules and vary from system to system. it's also vastly different if you have Polyfrag DID or Complex DID. since I don't hc Harry as polyfrag or complex tho, i'm not gonna get into that

2. Harry (the system)

so it's pretty easy to establish that harry has a good handful of childhood trauma. being born in a military hospital + town and growing up there means he probably saw and/or heard a lot of death and sickness. we also know his father left based on the logic passive in the measurehead conversation

we also know from the reaction speed passive when you find out your name that harry was born in a time all these were concerns. most likely, hunger, considering how through the game hunger + eating is an undertone w/ harry

we also have the klaasje half-light passive implying that harry's been raped (might not have occurred during childhood, but still a contributing factor to trauma)

my point being bro has enough childhood trauma and then some to create a system.

we also see a LOT of amnestic barriers between harry and the rest of the skills. besides the obvious not remembering anything, we see the skills remembering things that harry doesn't.

for example, EChem remembers that harry took speed some point recently, while harry himself doesn't

we also see that the skills have distinct personalities and opinions separate from each other. shit we've got a communist (rhetoric) and a fascist (endurance) living in the same fucking body. half light is immediately suspicious of everyone and everything while empathy tries to understand everyone even to their own detriment. and volition and echem need a whole post of their own. thats some pretty strong dissociative barriers

3. Harry (the alter)

to be quite honest with you i think harry as we, the audience, know him is a brand new split, an introject* of an old host that has either fused with another alter or gone dormant. he's trying to fill a different harry du bois's shoes- someone he is fundamentally similar to, but is, at his core, not

*Definition from did-research.org: Introjects are alters that are based off of an outside person or figure. Introjects may or may not see themselves as the individual that they represent.

knowing nothing about yourself, even what you look like, is a common feeling for new splits (in our experience). with the high amnestic barriers separating harry from the rest of the system, it makes sense that the first time he is conscious he is totally lost about his own identity, where he lives, or what his occupation even is.

losing facts about basic reality is probably a dissociative response. things the brain knows (see encyclopedia filling in gaps once given a prompt about something like Fillipe the Conquerer) but doesn't want the new host to know for fear of not being able to function.

4. Certain Alters with Functions

some of the skills fall into alter "archetypes" (not all alters will, even in like. real life systems) and im just gonna list them out here:

ones with subtextual backing:

Volition: Caretaker + Apparent Normal Part

Half-Light: trauma holder

Electro-Chemistry: symptom + trauma holder

Authority: protector

Logic: apparent normal part

ones that are just my headcanons:

Interfacing: little

Endurance: ex-persecutor

Inland Empire: ex-caretaker

here ends my post of articulate thoughts, if u have any like. follow up questions feel free to shoot me an ask. might take me a minute tho

#hugh txt #disco elysium #harry du bois #did osdd

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lo-shouldve-been-an-email · 1 year ago

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Okay,since I’ve just randomly randomly just reblogging Thanatos things,I decided to actually post things,more specifically an LO rewrite because f it.

At its core I do think LO is a good story,just that bad writing has squandered any potential it has to be good,so please have my take on this.(more specifically my take on Persephone,hades,and Thanatos because I have to stay on brand)

Anyways-

(The sequel)

Persephone:

She’s older.shes physically in her late 20’s/early 30’s and about seven to eight centuries older.

Her AoW only extended to those ransacking the garden.(I swear,it would have been so much more understandable to root for her if it only extended to 4-5 people instead of an ENTIRE CITY,since we know other gods have done much worse)

Her work in the underworld was mandated by Zeus as community service for the AoW.

This is more or less Zeus hitting two birds with one stone,he gets perse to make community service and maybe(hopefully) gets hades to open up to the smucks outside of the underworld because he now has an employee not from there.

Due to her guilt about the AoW,she decides that while she’s working in the underworld she’ll set out to be the best her she can be and make up for the souls she took.

At first nobody really likes her and they just think she’s someone who needed to be dragged here by Zeus and won’t amount to anything,but she ends up being the hardest working of the staff and getting a fairly infamous “employee of the month” streak,her only real fumble being Sisyphus(of which she rightfully corrected totally not being getting Hermes to drag his ass down back to the underworld and give his his infamous punishment,of which instantly gave her back any respect she lost.

She’s the type of person you think you can disrespect until she gets genuinely mad at someone,in which case everyone goes out of their way to be nice to her even though it takes a lot to get her mad.

Demeter never sheltered her,just that she heard from her mother and brother(oh yeah Plutus is in this au their twins) about the shit that happened up their(even saw it for herself a few times)and decided to nope out of that drama.

She likes the underworld a more than Olympus due to the fact people don’t get butthurt nearly as much,due to them needing to deal with crap from other gods and sometimes mortals(like Sisyphus)

Demeter was an amazing mama and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Plutus told her about the underworld so she does know a bit,but otherwise it’s a cultural shock.

She brings homemade baklava in every day of work.

She actually sent a letter to Demeter telling her about the community service…however she never got it thanks to a certain daughter of Nyx always dead set on causing discord.

Hades:

It took him two solid seconds to realize what Zeus’ plan was with Persephone so he initially looked for any reason to fire her,until he learned she was here for community service and just decided to wait out her punishment(jokes on him Zeus forgot to tell perse what her sentence was so she worked in the underworld for like a year until demeter found her when in reality she was supposed to be there for like two months)

He does eventually soften up to her(obviously) but it takes a while and a lot of baklava.

Honest to god I have no idea how to incorporate minthe in this au

Leuce is his dead wife,she died fairly recently so he’s still hesitant to connect with anyone.(“I miss my wife,Thanatos,I miss her a lot I’ll be back-“)

Recently he’s been coping via sinking into his work,Hecate and the others have taken notice but they don’t really know what to do.(their the ones that CAUSE death not deal with it)

He slowly started distancing himself from the rest of his family after the titanomachy and even more so after leuce died.

The only person he acts openly soft around is Thanatos,who he views as a son.

The only part of his extended family he interacts with is Hermes,who he actually has a really good relationship with(albeit still strained since leuce)

Fuck it.everyone has flowers symbolism.

Hades is white lilies(subject to change),perse is asphodels,thanatos(and Hypnos) is poppies,leuce is forget-me-nots,Demeter is daylilies,Plutus is orchids,Hecate is nightshades or cow parsley.

Thanatos:

He genuinely finds it hard to focus on doing his job,so people just call him lazy,so he doesn’t really try to set the bar high in return because he knows he’ll just end up disappointing everyone.

The only person who doesn’t have low expectations and wants him to try his best at his own rate is hades,who understands he finds it hard to focus but still wants him to try his best anyways.

Rotates between living with hades and Nyx(who is an extremely doting mother.

Hypnos still resides within the hr department and Thanatos helps him hide because the last thing he needs is a grumpy Hypnos.

He deals with peaceful deaths while Hermes and the keres deal with the rest.

He’s the type of person to tell himself one moment he’s gonna be really productive today and then spend the next fifteen minutes chatting away with a butterfly.

Also he can talk to butterflies.but nobody believes him except Hermes,perse,and Nyx.

The moment he finds out what Eris did she gets the “WHY WOULD YOU THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?!?!!?” Of her life.then queue Thanatos and the other Nyx children present trying to get her to explain why she thought this was a good idea and her just saying “bc it’s funny”

Erebus = dad with no physical body who still interact with me via shadows.hades = dad with physical body who I want to impress but I don’t know how.

(If you didn’t catch on he has adhd)

#lore olympus thanatos #lore olympus critical #lo criticism #lo critical #anti lore olympus #anti lo #lore olympus #lore olympus persephone #lore olympus hades #lore olympus rewrite #leuce #Persie’s little punishment #lore olympus au #nyx

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aachria · 9 months ago

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AHHHHHHHHHHHHH hi how are you!

I was rereading SSSBMTY for like the 10th time and Ive been dying to know that if Robin is really the only one who knows that Ed died somehow because bestie told her- but like did Robin take that seriously?? Did Robin hear “oh yeah I was the only one who died teehee” and took it in a “mental death” or a “physical death” way. If she took it in a mental perspective which I guess makes the most since does Robin realize the implications of Ed “dying” and somewhere in her head is super worried for Ed?

Some people in the story know about the “Buster Call” that TOTALLY (didn’t) happened but we’ve only really seen Robin, Zoro and Nami question it… I guess kinda Law with him comparing a Robin and Ed but not intense questioning. and now that Ed has done their screaming match with Kidd does Kidd and/or Killer have any suspicions of what they actually meant by being so connected to death???

AHHH ED YOUR KILLING ME NO PUN INTENDED?! I like death metaphors if you cannot tell- I want to squeeze you to get this information out.. is everyone just not questioning Ed’s weird background and possible death that they haven’t been super secret about?!?!

I wrote this while having a brain freeze bc of a smoothie

Reading SSSBMTY 10 times is crazy I hope you know that. I love you but I hope you know that.

When they're all on the Tower of Law Robin makes it clear she took it very metaphorical, like she interpreted that as Ed intentionally viewing the person they were before the 'Buster Call' as someone who was dead and gone and not who they were anymore. Honestly I think Robin took that and what Ed said after about them both belonging to the crew as Ed somehow just being better adjusted than her, which is fucking hilarious if you think about it.

I've always had the thought floating around that because Luffy got mad at Nami way back at the beginning when she tried to ask Ed about it she took that as 'no one ever ask Ed anything EVER' and has just instilled that idea whenever they get a new crewmate lmao. Like she sits them down and goes "Ok so Ed is weird and has terrible things in their past but Do Not Ask Questions if you think the dramatic violin music will start playing, ok?" even if that's Not the Case.

That isn't confirmed canon I'm just putting that out there. You gotta wait and see if I write that into the story lmao.

Tbh Zoro doesn't give a shit about whatever happened to Ed because he thinks they've got — if not a good handle on it — at least a decent ability to see help/comfort when they need to. His ass has seen them cope worse with things that actively happen around them then whatever was going on with the 'Buster call,' and is content to leave it alone unless Ed directly asks him for help. (Which is also very funny if you think about Ed's 'if you ask I will tell you EVERYTHING' policy.)

Now with Kid and Killer it's more so they have no idea what is up with this weird little guy but it seems like they've got some, uh, ISSUES with the people around them or they themselves being hurt/killed by someone with a dream and no regard for casualties. Wonder how that will develop if they hear about the 'Buster Call' thing or any other weird rumor they might have accidentally sent floating around.

Overall Ed speaks in weird backwards metaphors enough there's a chance no one has ever taken a single word they've said at face value, so.... yeah.

I hope your brain is ok xoxo

#sssbmty #one piece #one piece ocs

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beemers-hell · 7 months ago

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Can we get some stuff about Tricky and Boxxy’s relationship? I really love the idea of the clown being a dad lol

sure thing!

Tricky found Boxxy in a dumpster when she was a couple of months old. She'd already been bitten by a zed and was dying from the infection, so Tricky zapped her with his stupid reality powers in order to save her bc he felt bad that a baby was dying. He then decided to essentially adopt her since she clearly didn't have anyone to go back to

Tricky spoiled the SHIT out of her, he gave her everything she wanted and gave her as much attention as she could want, he loved her so so dearly that he just wanted to give his little baby the whole world! of course this means she grew up into a spoiled little brat, which he was not anticipating, but he's working on trying to fix that with her!!

Boxxy LOOOOOOVES her dad so so much, half the shit she does is so she can impress him with her skills and talents. She's very proud of being "Queen" of Death Pit, not just because it means she's the strongest competitor of Nevada's (current) most watched program but also because Tricky is her number one fan and hypes the fuck out of her being the best. She doesn't feel like she needs to do anything super crazy in order to get her dad's approval, nor does she think she's lacking his love n' adoration, she just really likes one upping herself and impressing him further.

Tricky gave her a copy of his mask when she was little so her face wouldn't be seen and logged by anyone when he'd take her out as a child, and he helped her decorate it the first couple of times with lipstick and mascara and stickers. Boxxy eventually learned how to customize it herself when she got older.

Tricky isn't very good at cooking (that's more jeb's forte) so he takes her out to get burgers and hot dogs and all sorts of greasy foods constantly, of course he also takes her out to hunt people to eat in the flesh since they're both zeds, but that's an extra special occasion kind of meal!

Boxxy had a hard time dealing with the world on account of the fact she's autistic, and, since Tricky also is, he taught her his coping strategies and they seem to work out pretty well for her! Too bad said coping strategies mainly consist of them lashing out and obliterating the problems that are clashing with their brains!

Boxxy, from a very young age, knew she was supposed to be a girl, and was very open about it from the get go with Tricky, and of course he would do anything for his little baby, so he'd conjure up all sorts of (admittedly gaudy) sparkly and pretty girly girl ass clothes for her to try out and play in, as well as conjured up makeup sets and any dolls she asked for, which helped her in determining that she was, in fact, for sure a girl and loved girly things. Tricky didn't put up a fight at all cause he just wanted his baby ti be happy, and continued to support her as much as he could through her transitioning when she got older and really began to understand how one would go about that. He loves his daughter!

#beemer asks #beemers ocs #beemers lore #dad au

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mimez-meme · 6 months ago

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Here's what I think Mic would sound like if he finally snapped at Aizawa:

Mic: And Kayama-

Aizawa: Let's not talk about this now. For now, tell me-

Mic: The hell you mean by that?

Aizawa: I mean that I would rather not talk about Kayama right now.

Mic: Shou, she's dead. She's dead, and I just want to mourn her death. She was our friend.

Aizawa: Well, our 'friend' was stupid enough to get herself killed. Oboro would be-

Hizashi: Shut up, Aizawa.

Aizawa: What?

Hizashi: Shut up. Don't you dare use my friend as an excuse to rag on Kayama.

Aizawa: Oboro was my friend too, you know.

Hizashi: Yeah, well, I knew him longer. I fact, I knew him before we met you in second year. Which is why I know for a fact that he would hate how you're using his death as an excuse for why you're such an ass.

Aizawa: Mic, calm down. You're acting irrational right-

Hizashi: Of course! That's what's happening! I'm not grieving over Kayama's death, I'm acting irrational! I'm not upset how Oboro's name is being used as a bullying campaign towards your students, I'm acting irrational! I'm not realizing that the man I've been allowing to mourn MY friend's death is a self-centered asshole, I'm acting irrational! Because that's how you feel about people who don't agree with you, right!? Irrational and not worth listening to!

Aizawa: That's not...I didn't mean it like...

Hizashi: You didn't!? Because I'm here trying to process my friend's death, but since you don't see the point, I automatically have to move on! Shit, I can't believe it took Kayama dying for me to finally realize this! You really don't care, do you!? Hell, if the roles were reversed and I died instead, you would've used Oboro to rag on me, wouldn't you!?

Aizawa: ...

Hizashi: I think I got my answer. If you want to find out if your students are okay, actually talking to them and console them. But I doubt you could even do that. Your head is so far up your ass that you would never admit that you're wrong. Well, it's not my problem anymore. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to grieve over my friend's death somewhere else since the one time that I need to grieve over her, you can't even bother to be there for me like I've been there for you. *leaves*

Woah😀 that’s good. Uhhh here’s something hizashi could say, you guys can make up the context

“Im trying to help you sho! That’s all I’ve been trying to do all my god damn life! I want you to be happy, why won’t you allow yourself to be happy?! you can’t expect help but push it away, I’m trying so hard sho, I’m sorry if I’m not enough, I’m sorry if my best isn’t enough, I’m sorry if I’m not trying hard enough. But you can’t keep pushing people away! I know it’s how you grief, I know it’s how you cope, you dont want to get hurt again and i understand that but if you push people away your just ganna loose them sooner! .. I respect the fact that the way we grief is different, but you need to look after yourself and I’m more than happy to help you do that..please just let me help you. Let us be how we use to be, a team. Let’s heal together, learn to understand eachother more. Please sho…I miss you, us.”

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #present mic #hizashi yamada #idk man #kohei horikoshi #shouta aizawa #mha aizawa #angst

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hopefulatrocity · 9 months ago

Text

From The Ashes-Chapter 13

Notes: So, long time no post. I'm truly sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've had some bad bouts of depression pop up and also had a switch of hyperfixations. This chap is actually one I had already written up, I just didn't post until now. I'm hoping this will motivate me to start writing again. Lots of misunderstandings between Daryl and Pheonyx going on right now. It won't last for long though, Pheonyx is very direct but they need to work through this before they can confront each other.

TW/CW: smoking, talks of past drug/alcohol abuse, past child abuse, allusions to past sexual assault, scars from abuse, animal death(possum and woodchuck), gore, blood, body insecurity, depictions of a walker,

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know. I also post on AO3 and FF so you can subscribe there too.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations

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In his 39 years of life, Daryl was more than familiar with the concept of losing time. He had his first sip of alcohol when he was 11 and 13 when he first got blackout drunk. Alcohol was something that had always been a constant in his life, although not as much in the recent years. After a while, his forms of escapism were molded by Merle’s. When he first started following his older brother around, he was immediately introduced to a world of doing and dealing drugs. For years, he’d watched his father shoot up and snort shit on a regular basis. So the idea of getting high was something he avoided for as long as possible. But his brother had a way of getting into his head and making him do things he wouldn’t typically do. It wasn’t long before he was dabbling in various illicit substances. Mostly weed, but he tried almost everything else. His limits being fentanyl and smack. He’d seen too many good people fall into those traps and he couldn’t bring himself to fully destroy his body, no matter how much he hated himself. Daryl was aware of his family’s inclination for addiction, his mother being an alcoholic, his dad being both an alcoholic and a drug addict. Because of that, he refused to allow himself to follow fully in his family’s footsteps. Despite his urges to do more, get high more, he held his ground. Which ultimately led to a knock out fight between him and Merle. The older Dixon had goaded Daryl, calling him a pussy and asked Daryl if he thought he was better than him. But Daryl knew the anger his brother was spewing wasn’t pointed directly at him. It was a manifestation of Merle’s internal demons, ones that hated that he couldn’t cope without some sort of substance coursing through his bloodstream. So, he let his brother lay into him a few times before he ended the fight. One well-placed right hook and his inebriated sibling was laid out on the stained carpet of the trailer they were renting.

After that fight, he cut back on the hard drugs, sticking mainly with weed and alcohol as his vices. Lots of alcohol. Looking back, he could admit that he’d avoided one addiction by picking up another one, but in his mind, being a drunk was a better option. A slower death, riddled with lost time and moments of fleeting happiness and contentment. The walk back to his tent after seeing the scars that covered Pheonyx’s back, was probably the first amount of lost time that didn’t result from some sort of vice. All he knew was the feeling of shock, the itch to run, and suddenly his ass was planted on the grass in front of his tent.

Shaking hands patted his pockets, searching for the packet of cigarettes that Pheonyx had given him earlier in the day. He pulled them out, fingers almost numb, and pulled a lighter from his other pocket. Placing one of the smokes between his lips, he flicked the lighter four times before his tingling fingers finally managed to get a flame to stick. Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to permeate his lungs. It had been almost a week since his last hit of nicotine and the rush of it pulsing through his veins helped to calm his frazzled nerves. Hands still shaking with the remnants of haunted memories personified, Daryl ran trembling fingers through his short hair.

The only words going through his mind were four lettered words and one resounding question: How? How did Pheonyx get those scars? Was this all a mistake? Did Daryl misinterpret the long lines and rounded imperfections? Was it the product of some freak accident and not what he had assumed? If it wasn’t an accident, who would have done it? The scars were old, the coloring of the ones not covered in ink were a big indicator. They were most likely from childhood. If it wasn't an accident, like his gut was telling him, then who could have done it? Was it Pheonyx's stepdad, Hershel? No. Daryl didn’t think so. While Pheonyx had seemed uncomfortable earlier when his stepdad was around, it seemed to be more about the old man and his stupid beliefs on the walkers sentience. There wasn’t any fear in those fern green eyes. Not like the kind his own eyes held for his Pa. It could have been Pheonyx’s mom but he only seemed sad when he mentioned her death earlier. There wasn’t any relief to be found in his words. Briefly, Daryl wondered why he cared so much. They were scars, similar to his own, but they were on someone he had known for less than 24 hours. Why did it matter?

Taking another deep drag from the quickly burning cigarette, Daryl knew the answer was complicated. He’d only known the other man for a short time, but there was something there. A spark of something. Something he was unfamiliar with. Something that scared the shit out of him. So even if he had only known Pheonyx for a day or even just 5 minutes, he felt like he would still care. He wanted to know who had hurt the younger man. Maybe just so he would have somewhere to direct his anger. Because he was angry. Pissed. Furious. And every synonym in between. Those scars had him seeing images of his own past but also images of a tiny Pheonyx, being broken in the way he had been all those years ago. Was that why he had panicked earlier when Daryl asked about his gender?

“Fuck!”, Daryl cursed, dropping the cigarette nub to the ground. Instinctively he pulled the side of his index finger to his mouth, soothing the small burn with his cool saliva. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed it burning down right to the filter, where his dirty fingers were clenching the little stick tightly. The slight wound wasn’t really painful, more of a shock to his already frazzled brain. Shaking his head in frustration at his foggy mind, he used the heel of his boot to put out the tiny stub, red embers fading into the grass, and unzipped the tent behind him. He crawled into the small space, barely remembering to turn around and zip the polyester flap closed. Before he flopped down onto his sleeping bag, he made sure to place his bow within reaching distance.

In the span of less than half an hour, Daryl went from being wide awake to dog tired. The scratchy pillow under his head suddenly felt like a pile of cashmere. His eyes felt heavy and he covered them by flinging his arm over his face.

He was so lost in a haze of sleep, he didn’t even notice the shuffling outside his tent, followed by the slow unzipping of the entryway.

Pheonyx fucked up. Really fucked up.

When he’d first walked out into the woods, he fell into a familiar rhythm. There was no trouble. Just the whispering of the trees and the resounding answers of wind chimes in every direction. With his bow raised, he walked with purpose, keeping his ears open for the sounds of nocturnal critters. It wasn’t long before one of his arrows was piercing through the night air and impaling a possum through the eye. Leaves crunching under his feet, Pheonyx walked towards his kill and knelt down next to the small animal’s body. This was one of the worst parts of his nights. He had to find fresh meat to bait his traps. The windchimes worked wonders to draw in the shadows to the stakes of his traps, but it usually wasn’t enough to entice the creatures to push themselves deep onto the spikes. That’s why he needed the meat as a final nail in their proverbial coffin. The shadows prefer fresh, breathing meat but if no other options were around, they would indulge on already butchered flesh. 1-2 days dead at most. A few weeks after the world fell, Pheonyx had found the body of a woodchuck, killed by a long forgotten bear trap closing on its foot. He’d taken the bear trap but left the body(after recalling Kismet to stop him from rolling in the dead animal), with full intentions to come back the next day and give it a proper burial. Instead, the next day, he stumbled on the walking corpse of his high school English teacher chowing down on the slightly decomposed body. This knowledge had helped him complete the plans for protecting his home. He had originally thought about rigging up small cages to the trees to house small animals as bait for the shadows. But the idea of putting an innocent creature in a box and emotionally torturing it just didn’t sit well in his stomach. Killing them still made him feel horrible, but at least it didn't prolong their suffering.

When prepping kills to eat, a hunter would normally slit an animal’s throat to allow the blood to drain from the body. Pheonyx didn’t do that now. The blood was what drew in the shadows. He picked up the animal, gently petted its soft creamy fur, and sent an internal thank you to its soul. Opting to leave the arrow in, to prevent anymore blood loss from the small body, he slung his bow over his shoulder. One would be enough for at least 5 traps, so he wanted his other hand–the one not holding the dead animal–to be free if he needed to grab his cutlass. Most nights, he would spend 8 hours clearing and checking each trap in the woods, but he didn’t have the time or energy to do that. His ultimate plan was to hit the ones, about half of them, that were closest to the farm, on the right side of the creek. Sophia seemed to be sticking to the left side of the water, which meant he would be able to check some of the others during the search the next day. He wouldn’t be able to check all of them, doing so would put them off course and be detrimental to finding the girl. But some were better than none.

So far, he’d been lucky. The amount of shadows that wound up in the traps was manageable for one person running on little sleep and high levels of stress. Pheonyx wasn’t dumb. He knew that eventually he would crash emotionally or get hurt. He needed help and Rick’s group was a beacon of hope for him in regards to his family’s safety. Not only were they experienced with the dead, but they also were motivated to stay and protect the haven of the farm.

It was that train of thought that ultimately led to Pheonyx’s fuck up. His body moved on muscle memory to check the first four traps. While his body was working on protecting his family, his mind was back at the farm, back in the stables. As he was pulling off the rotted flesh from the trees, tossing it into the burn pit and replacing it with a chunk of the dead possum, his mind kept flashing back to the paleness of Daryl’s skin and the look on his face before he ran away. Pheonyx’s internal demons reared up, their raspy voices grating across his ear drums.

He’s disgusted by you.

You’re so weak and broken.

Why didn’t you fight back?

Why would he want you?

Shaking his head, Pheonyx tried to pull himself from the darkness. If he allowed himself, he could easily fall back into old habits. Self-destructive ones. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he dabbled in drugs and drank way too much in the past. Sometimes it was easier to find solace in the bottom of a bottle than to actually face his problems. If it wasn’t substances, his mind had its own ways of destroying itself. Constant self-berating and internal insults could make him physically ill sometimes. The end of the world wasn’t the time to be getting drunk or allowing his internal demons to claw the walls inside his body until the blood seeps from open wounds.

Pheonyx finished refreshing the fifth trap, stabbing the leg of the possum onto the railroad spike that was already impaled into the old oak. He had tossed the head of the possum, the last piece of the animal’s body, to the side near his bow and quiver. Looking at his hands, he saw clotted blood soaked his fingers and stained his fingernails, the red color turning more brown as it dried in the evening air. Copper fragrance permeated his nostrils and he suppressed the gag from crawling up his throat. Pheonyx went to wipe his hands on the back of his jeans, as they needed to be washed anyways, but stopped when his hands met a soft fabric hanging from his back pocket.

Pulling out the red rag, he noted the walker blood from earlier had dried and stained the cherry colored fabric. He could already see the possum blood soaking into the area where his fingers were. It blended more seamlessly than the black sludge from the shadow. Something about the idea of letting the threadbare cloth get even more dirty didn’t sit right with him, so he wiped one hand on the back of his jeans and then the other, moving the rag to the other hand in between. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the rise of sentimentality surrounding the simple object was due to who it had belonged to originally. But the ultimate question was why? Why did he care about Daryl Dixon or what he thought? Growing up, he'd cared what everyone thought about him, ashamed of not fitting into their boxes and trying so hard to himself small enough to fit in them. After he came out, he’d learned to think less about it, and to follow his heart as opposed to chasing after the elusive judgements that people bestowed on him. That night had derailed him severely from his progress in those regards, but moving away had helped him become more independent when it came to freeing himself from the binds of society’s rigid standards. So, why Daryl Dixon? What about the older man made him want his acceptance so much? It wasn’t even really acceptance, Pheonyx wanted him. There had been flirting in the past. Brief glances of possible futures with girls and some guys, plenty of people he could have opened his heart to, to fall in love with, but he never had the urge to. Until him.

That was where he messed up. While he was lost in his head, hand still rubbing the softened red rag, it snuck up on him.

He smelled the shadow before he saw it. The scent of decay from the walking corpses was even more distinct than that of a dead animal or even a normal dead human. It was that sickly, rancid smell that filled his lungs. From experience, no amount of coughing or gagging could clear it away. Dark miasma coated his inner nostrils and flowed down the back of his throat, like the nasty cough medicine his mom would make him take when he was sick as a kid. Fear and adrenaline began to pulse through his veins and Pheonyx whirled around just as the sound of hissing and groaning reached his ears.

The shadow was much too close to him, he could practically feel the fetid air escaping its lungs as it raised its hands to grab at his shoulders. Pheonyx barely had a second to sidestep the gnarled fingers, gray flesh hanging from under its fingernails. If he hadn’t moved, the monster would have pushed him directly into the spikes of his own trap.

Heart slamming against his chest, Pheonyx grappled at his waist for the handle of his cutlass, but the shadow turned around. Instinctively, he took another step back and felt the air come out from under him as his foot slipped on a loose stone. He fell back onto the damp forest floor, a sharp pain ripping through his ribs, causing his lungs to constrict and his eyes to water from the pain.

Before his senses could come back to him, the spongy weight of the decaying corpse fell directly on top of Pheonyx. Gasping loudly, not only for air but out of shock, he pushed against the shadow’s skinny collarbone with his right hand. His fingers practically melted into the mushy flesh, and black blood trickled between his digits and down onto his shirt. Midnight stained teeth snapped in front of his face and he had to breathe only from his mouth to avoid the rancid scent of blood and pus coming from the orifice. He pushed hard against the creature’s shoulder but despite its putrefying muscles, it was still incredibly strong. The hunger and need for flesh intensifying its strength. With his left hand, Pheonyx tried to search along his waist for the handle of his hunting knife, but he couldn’t reach it on the other side of his body. The walker’s hands dug into his own chest, trying desperately to gain any purchase. He threw his arm out, searching along the forest floor for any sort of weapon. Just as the tips of his fingers brushed against something soft, the hold that Pheonyx had on the shadow’s collar bone slipped. His fingers slid into soggy flesh and more black blood poured from the area his nails just slipped into, dripping onto his neck and chin. The texture of the decaying flesh was like chunky mud against his hand. This slip gave the creature all the leverage it needed to lean down and clamp its teeth into the sharp bone where Pheonyx’s shoulder met his neck.

Letting out a cry of pain, Pheonyx grasped onto the furry object that his fingers brushed against and used a burst of strength to push the heavy body up, breaking the seal its mouth had on his body. Teeth snapped in his face, barely missing the tip of his nose, and Pheonyx instinctively shoved the unknown object into its muzzle. Now in his sight, he could see that the object in question was the possum head that he had tossed aside earlier. The monster’s teeth tore into the skull, crushing the bone with inhuman strength, causing fresh, red blood to pour onto Pheonyx’s face. Smacking and sucking noises as it chewed were sickening. The smell of copper filled his nose and the metallic zing of the fluid flooded his mouth.

The distraction of the meat in the shadow’s mouth was enough for Pheonyx to gain the energy to push it back with one hand and reach around his body with the other hand to grab his hunting knife. The familiar textured hilt felt like heaven on his tired fingers. Pulling out the sharp blade, he pushed the chewing creature back and raised the knife up, bringing the weapon down into its skull. The soft bone caved under the pressure of his stab and more black sludge trickled down onto his already coated hand.

Frantic movements ceasing, the shadow went slack against Pheonyx’s body and the partially macerated possum head fell directly onto his face. Suppressing the retch that his brain finally sent the signal for, Pheonyx shoved the body off of him, inhaling the fresh air deeply. There was still a remnant of decay in the air, and the lingering scent of copper from the blood that coated his body, but it was better than the acrid smell of the creature’s mouth inches from his face.

Pheonyx laid there for a moment, his side and shoulder throbbing in tune to his still accelerated heart rate. That was the closest encounter he had ever had with a shadow that didn’t involve one of his traps. The closest he had been to death in almost 5 years. And he still could die. The pain in his shoulder was a reminder of that. He turned his head to look at the area, his hands beginning to shake as he thought of what happened when his brother and mother were bitten. The pain of watching them slowly die was excruciating. He wouldn’t put that on his family. If he was bitten, he would take the hunting knife from the monster’s head and push it into own skull before he allowed his sisters to see him slip from the world.

In the darkness of the night, he couldn’t see much on his denim jacket besides blood. Black and red blood was splattered all across the chest like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting. He grabbed the fabric near his neck and pulled down to see a perfect black outline of the shadow’s teeth imprinted into the thick material. Each tooth mark a testament to how close he came to becoming one of the walking dead. While it didn’t look like it had torn through the jacket, he had to be sure. He pushed his hand under the collar of his t-shirt and used his fingers to prod the painful area. There was pain but he didn’t feel any scratches or broken skin.

Pheonyx let out a deep breath of relief. He got up slowly, careful not to jostle his side, and began to gather his stuff. The few minutes before let him know that he wasn’t in the right state to be out. A flash of red on the ground next to the walker’s body stopped him mid step. He bent down to retrieve Daryl’s bandana he dropped when the creature attacked him. The cloth had been dirty before, a mixture of oil stains and blood. Now it was coated with more of the latter. At some point during the struggle, it must have gotten caught on a root or rock because there was a large tear through the center, nearly splitting the square in half. Red threads hung limply from the perforation and Pheonyx couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened. The shadow hadn’t gotten him but it did break something important. A normal person would have simply tossed the bandana, but Pheonyx had never been normal. His feelings about Daryl might have been full of confusion, and some anger from his earlier actions, but he couldn’t find it in him to part with the cloth that had seen better days. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the insignificant object. Torn and stained by past events but there was still some life left in the old bones of thread. He gently folded the bandana and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He had an idea of what to do with it but that would have to be done later.

Weapons in hand, and in sheaths, he began the trek back home. It was slower going due to the pain in his side and just general tiredness. The adrenaline had faded and now he needed to sleep. But a shower was needed first.

By the time he made it to the farm, Pheonyx guessed it was around two in the morning, based on the position of the moon. He stopped briefly into the stable to drop his weapons off near his pallet. The horses were all asleep. Baker did wake when Pheonyx dropped his bow and quiver onto the ground. The old horse gave a snort that roughly translated to “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep.” before flicking his tail and turning the other way.

Grabbing some clean clothes from his bag, Pheonyx headed out of the stables towards the farm house. The yellow aura from the moon hit the old glass windows, reflecting the luminescence like a lighthouse, sending a beacon to let him know the way home.

Carefully, Pheonyx walked across the porch and slowly opened the door, wincing a small bit when it let out a loud squeak. He really needed to fix that. The journey through the living room and up the stairs was filled with more squeaks and winces. Each sound a memory of Shawn or Maggie getting caught sneaking out in the middle of the night. Pheonyx never had that problem. He didn’t have any reason to be sneaking out like his siblings did. Friends and dating were not part of his teenage years. He could barely handle his own internal problems, adding anyone else to the mix just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

The sounds of Hershel and Maggie snoring greeted him at the top of the steps. And yes. Maggie snored. No matter how much she denied it, she was louder than a New York construction site. Pheonyx made his way into the bathroom, making sure to avoid the third floorboard after the stairs because it was the loudest, and carefully shut the door. He flipped the lock and reached to turn on the bright camping lantern that was resting on the white countertop. While the Greene farm did have a generator, they only ran it for a few hours each morning and evening. Just enough to keep the fridge cold, to make meals, and to take hot showers. Taking his showers in the early hours before the generator was on, meant that Pheonyx wasn’t benefiting from the last reason. Luckily, with the Georgia heat being prevalent even through the night, the showers were bordering on lukewarm rather than cold. The pristine bathroom glowed for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Unbuttoning his jeans mechanically, Pheonyx’s thoughts trailed back to his fuck up earlier. This wasn’t the old world. He couldn’t afford to lose himself like that. He needed to have his whole focus on this farm. On his family. Protecting them and making sure they didn’t have to deal with the darker side of this world. The one that had always existed but had fully unmasked itself when the dead began to walk. His boots were heavy on his feet and the relief of feeling the cool air on his sweat soaked socks ripped a small groan from his mouth. Tossing the socks into the hamper by the toilet, he hooked his thumb under the waistline of his jeans and boxers and pushed them down, his blood crusted fingers brushing against the thick hair on his legs. Kicking the bundle of clothing by the door (he couldn’t have his sisters or Patricia cleaning out walker blood from his clothes), he pulled his arms out of his jacket and took a moment to run his thumb over the black bite mark imprinted into the thick material. Again, he was reminded of how close to dying he had come. If he hadn’t been wearing the jacket, he would be a shell walking in the woods. Probably would be caught up in one of his own traps before the morning sun made its way over the horizon. Before he pitched the jacket to the side, he pulled out the dirty and torn bandana and set it onto the sink for safe keeping. He reached over his head to tug the collar of his shirt–the band logo on the front was completely disfigured by the carnage on it– over his head. The stretch of his skin over his ribs hurt, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been earlier. The threadbare fabric stuck to his skin, the blood still wet in spots. Tossing the shirt onto the pile with his jeans and boxers, he reluctantly looked in the mirror to take stock of the damage to his body.

The first thing that stood out was the large black bruise on his shoulder, bisecting the snake that trailed up his shoulder and over his neck. He gently prodded the skin, leaning into the mirror, to make sure there weren't any perforations. Even the slightest cut by a shadow’s teeth was a death sentence. Despite the deep pain, the skin was unbroken. If he hadn’t lost his faith so long ago, he might have believed it was a miracle as opposed to pure luck. The bruise covered a good portion of his shoulder, but with the right shirt choice, he could easily cover it. He knew if Maggie saw it, she would freak out. And he wanted to avoid upsetting his sister as much as possible.

His hands roved down to his ribs and probed the darkened skin over the quote inked into the skin there. The bruise wasn’t as prominent as the one on his shoulder and thankfully didn’t seem to penetrate too deep, a superficial bruise. Nor did it seem like one of his ribs was broken. Another stroke of good fortune it seemed. At this point he was just jacking off luck. Eventually it would all come to an explosive deadly end but for now he could just be happy that it was just an awkward metaphorical handjob.

Pheonyx turned the water on and listened to the soothing sound of it beating down onto the shower floor. He ducked his head and body under the flow, letting the individual drops massage his back. The scarred skin was a myriad of sensations. Some scars were completely numb, others tingled, and a select few made any sensation painful. His doctor said it was due to varying degrees of nerve damage. Aside from pain medication and experimental treatments, there wasn’t much to be done. So, he simply learned to deal with the feeling. 20 years later and his dad was still getting his lashes in it seemed. Pheonyx grabbed the bar of soap on the shelf by his knees and began to scrub his skin.

Blood and dirt swirled around his feet, the lukewarm water and cheap soap baptizing him from the day's sins. He washed his hair using Maggie’s shampoo and conditioner. The products made his hair softer than the cheap products he brought with him from his apartment so he allowed himself the small indulgence of stealing some of his sibling’s stuff. Maggie often stole his flannels and hoodies, so it was only fair.

As the water ran clear and his skin metaphorically sighed from the feeling of being cleaned, he took a moment to just indulge in the simplicity and luxury of the water trickling down his arms, legs, and chest. It was a small reprieve from the outside world. Just a small one. After a few seconds, he pushed the wet hair off his face and shut the water off. Cool air immediately made goosebumps appear on his arms.

Because the water had been room temperature, the mirror wasn’t fogged and he was greeted by his own reflection in the glass. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he began to dry off. Scrubbing at his hair with the towel, his eyes fell down to the red bandana sitting on the edge of the sink. Shadows casting onto the stained fabric from the lantern in the corner. Tossing the now damp towel into the hamper, Pheonyx used one hand to run through his hair, smoothing the spiky mess, and the other to grab the cloth. He plugged the sink and filled it with a small bit of water from the faucet, enough to begin cleaning the bandana.

It took a while but he was able to get most of the blood stains out of the red fabric. Or at least enough of it to be able to blend in with the already red dye. Unplugging the drain and wringing out the water, he laid it onto the edge of the sink to dry while he got dressed. He slipped into the clean boxers and jeans that he brought. Sitting on the toilet, he slipped on a pair of clean socks and pulled his worn boots back onto his still aching feet.

“Fuck,” Pheonyx said as he picked up the shirt he brought. He thought he grabbed a t-shirt, which would hide the bruise on his shoulder, but he had accidentally taken one of his gray undershirts, the straps of which would cover only a quarter of the baseball sized bruise.

It’s 3AM. No one is awake right now. I’ll be fine, Pheonyx thought while slipping the clean tank over his head.

Within 3 minutes he was eating those words. As he walked downstairs, dirty clothes in hand and the red rag tucked into the belt loop on his side, he slammed into someone walking out of the kitchen. Instinctively, Pheonyx dropped the items in his hands and reached for the hunting knife at his side. The knife that he had left in the stable.

“I’m so sorry, Pheonyx.”, a whispered familiar voice eased the tension in his muscles and he backed up to get a better look in the dark at the person. Straight brown hair and brown eyes glittered in the moonlight that poked through the windows behind him. Lori. He let out a breath of relief and smiled softly at her.

The corners of her lips lifted, attempting to smile back, before her eyes darted to his shoulder, drawn to the dark contusion that was peeking from behind the strip of his tank top. Concern filled her gaze as she looked at him, “What happened? Do I need to get Hershel?”

Pheonyx hurried to reassure her, almost rambling with the need to not worry her. “I’m okay. I swear. I messed up and had a run in with a walker. But I was wearing a jacket, so it’s just bruised. It didn’t break the skin.”, he kept his voice low, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. “I go out at night to make sure the woods are cleared of the dead.”

Lori’s lips turned down in a concerned frown.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to worry my sisters. And Hershel is already mad at me for putting up the traps in the woods. This would just set him off even more.”

Sighing, she placed her hands on her hips but nodded. “I won’t tell them, but you can’t keep doing this. Going out alone? In the middle of the night? You’re going to get hurt. Or killed.”

He knew that. Those were constant worries that floated around in his mind. But to hear them out loud made his chest hurt. “I know. I just- I have to protect them.”

Lori didn’t even need to ask who Pheonyx was referring to. Rick and she had talked about the man in front of her. Her husband told her all about the traps in the woods(she had seen them for herself the day before but Rick explained how Pheonyx used them to protect the farm), and also how the other Greenes seemed to be in a separate world. One where the dead were simply people who had the sniffles. Pheonyx had taken up the helm of family protector. At the Quarry, all the men had taken on the task of protecting the camp. Making schedules for watches and runs. And even with 10 men working hard to protect the rest of the group, they had been attacked and decimated by the dead. The Greene son was taking on an almost impossible job. A job that one man couldn’t possibly handle alone. Not for much longer anyway. Even in the darkness of the room, the moon being her only source of light, she could see the bags under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped and he just seemed exhausted.

“You have. And you protected my son too. Now it’s our turn to help you.”, she reached out and took his calloused hand, not noticing the subtle flinch at the contact of her skin. “Rick and the other men are going to be doing some chores around the farm, but we’ll talk to them about making a schedule for checking the woods too.”

Pheonyx didn’t know how to respond. One part of him was entirely focused on her hand touching his and how it made his skin crawl from unfamiliarity. The other part was resigned, yet still relieved, to accept help from the strangers on the property. Instead of a verbal response, he opted to nod and slowly pull his hand from hers, as not to offend her.

Lori smiled at him and glanced at the bundle of dirty clothes that he still held in his other hand. “Carol and I are going to work on laundry tomorrow, your family’s and ours. I can take those for you and make sure to wash them before your sisters or Hershel sees.”

The older woman held her hand out to take the clothes from him and Pheonyx handed them over readily. That was another thing off his list to worry about and he could physically feel the weight on his shoulders lifting a small bit. He whispered his thanks to her and they bid each other good night afterwards.

The warm fingers of night air threaded through Pheonyx’s still damp locks, both cooling and heating his skin. He could feel the slight breeze rustling the rag hanging off his waistband as he made the walk back to the stables.

Once again, the only animal to acknowledge his presence was Baker, who snorted and released a sound of flatulence that Pheonyx was absolutely convinced was directed at him. Petulantly, he stuck his tongue out at the horse before walking into his personal stall. He stripped off the tank top, tossing it back into his bag of clean clothes because he’d only worn it for a short time, and pulled out an actual t-shirt from the bag. He didn’t want Maggie to come in early and catch him before he could change. After slipping on the old shirt, Pheonyx fell back onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling. His fingers found their way down to the red bandana at his side and he twisted it around in his hand, the fabric was still damp and felt clammy against his fingertips.

The image of Daryl’s face flashed through his mind again and Pheonyx had to swallow a swell of embarrassment and sadness. He had truly been hopeful that the archer would be different. He hadn’t seemed to care about the fact that Pheonyx was trans. But when faced with the scars that lingered on his back, the man had fled, a look on his face that Pheonyx could only guess was disgust.

Steeling himself, Pheonyx decided it didn’t matter. He’d work with Daryl to find the girl. They didn’t have to be friends. Hell, they didn’t even have to talk to each other. Once they found Sophia, they could go their separate ways. It’s not like Pheonyx could change the fact that his back looked like minced meat. Even if he could, he wouldn’t, the scars were a testament to his survival. Especially not for a man he had just met. Even if the man did make his stomach feel like tv static.

The morning breeze and chirping birds were nature’s alarm clock, and one that Daryl had learned to abide by in order to become an expert tracker and hunter. Most animals were early risers, so if he wanted to keep a steady pace on their trail, he needed to work on their schedule. Daryl was used to waking with the morning sun. Sometimes he even woke before the moon had finished its descent into the horizon.

The morning after his jarring interaction with Pheonyx was no different. He had slept deeply after crashing into his tent but nightmares had infected his mind. Ones that involved his father and the things he had done to him as a boy. Those kinds of dreams weren’t unusual for him. In truth, he had grown accustomed to them. To the point that he didn’t even wake up screaming anymore. They were inevitable really. But that night had been different. Instead of Daryl being on the floor of the trailer, his back torn up like an eviction notice, it was Pheonyx. Those green eyes locked onto his, begging him for help as Will Dixon brought his belt down onto the fiery bird on the younger man’s shoulders. But Daryl couldn’t do anything. He screamed at his father to stop but Pa just smiled and brought the belt down harder. He tried to shove the man away but each time he ran into a wall. So Daryl was forced to watch. Over and over the belt smacked into Pheonyx’s skin, until the green of his eyes faded to a milky white. Despite the torturous images, Daryl had a hard time waking up.

His body was so entrenched in sleep that his brain came into wakefulness before the rest of him did. The dewy morning air was sharp, even in the tight space of his tent, and made his lungs ache from the slight chill. His ears perked at the sounds of birds trilling in the distance and he made out the low murmurs of Glenn and T-Dog divvying up chores for the day.

A musty scent reached his nose. His eyes still closed, Daryl’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Over the past couple of months, he had become accustomed to the smell of his own body odor and this smell wasn’t that. He peeled his sleep-crusted eyes open, his vision swimming before becoming clear again.

In front of him, he was met with the sight of…….

Balls?

More specifically, Daryl woke to the blinding sight of a dog’s rear end. Asshole, neutered sac, the whole nine yards. The only thing that broke through his fog of shock was the tail attached to said rear end. It began to thump against the ground and ended up whacking into the archer’s forehead.

Daryl shot up and fell back on his hands, “What the fuck?!”

Having realized his human companion was awake, Kismet rolled from his side position onto his belly. He lifted his head up lazily, eyes droopy and a small string of drool hanging from his mouth. His upper lips were stuck on his teeth, showcasing his pearly white fangs. Out of context, and without the dopey look in his eyes, one might assume the dog was mid-snarl. Still half-asleep and teeth still exposed, Kismet cocked his head to the side in confusion at the look of distress in Daryl's eyes. Obviously deciding it wasn't his problem, the dog stood up, arching and stretching his legs out in front of him, making the muscles in his body bulge out even more than usual. He let out a big yawn and then shook himself, the metal pieces on his collar making a clinking noise with each movement.

A faint whistle sounded from the direction of the house. Despite the tent flap blocking their vision, both man and dog turned their heads in that direction.

"Kismet! Breakfast!", a female voice called.

Kismet's eyes widened and he didn't need to be told twice before he dove out of the small opening from the tent’s zipper that he had nosed open the night before. The dog moved so fast he didn't even realize his back leg had kicked out, subsequently knocking the archer's crossbow into his thigh. Daryl cursed again at the sharp pain and rubbed the area.

Daryl had always loved dogs, but he was starting to think he needed to make an exception for this particular one.

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#the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x omc #daryl x omc #daryl dixon x trans omc #Daryl x trans omc #daryl dixon x ftm oc #daryl dixon x trans!oc #daryl dixon #twd daryl

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anonymoushotsexyperson · 10 months ago

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Thinking a lot about how the inevitability of death is not talked about.

I know you got attention span issues pookie bear so I split this post into sections and you can read whatever your most into if you can't do the whole thing ^_^

SECTION 1 my first encounters with the idea of dying.

I wish I could literally hug John Green for writing the fault in our stars. People can say it's sappy or whatever but it is one of the only mainstream forms of media that successfully acknowledges the inevitability of death and the lack of control we have over it. Though it took a lot more than TFIOS to wake me up to the conversation of dying.

The first time I realized death was a thing I can remember so vividly. I was at least 4 years old, I forgot how the whole conversation went but I remember my dad saying

"well honey everyone has to die one day."

"even you and mom?"

"even me and mom."

He said it so casually while folding laundry in the kitchen not knowing my world view had just completely shattered 😀. I went into our shared bedroom ( I didn't have my own yet because POOR) and cried on my parents bed. I don't know what happened after that. I think I just shoved death into my back pocket and kept it pushing because it was too hard to really grasp at that age. It still is now, but it especially was then.

Section 2 Being someone aware of your mortality and not being able to cope with it.

I think about death a lot now, it's been a reoccurring visitor in my brain since covid. It surprises me that the average Joe doesn't think about death all the time considering the current climate of our world. Im not gonna lie i've developed a bit of thanatophobia (death anxiety). This is because I have always dug myself out of my depressive episodes using knowledge and through that knowledge, understanding my relationship to the world helped me fall involve with living in it. The idea that one day this experience will end and regardless of what you believe whether it's in heaven or reincarnation or whatever we really don't know what's coming next or if there is a next. I don't think i'd necessarily be too keen with an afterlife as well as the idea that an afterlife doesn't exist. Both seem pretty ass, because if there's an after life cool but like what happens after that? You telling me i'm just here for ALL ETERNITY NIGGA? But also the concept of just dying and thats just... it? Kinda stupid and DUMB if you ask me. I think what im really looking for here is control.

Section 3 Does no one talk about death because of capitalism?

Apart of me believes that this thing where people around me tend to avoid the conversation of death or respond like an npc when I do get them to speak about it is due to western cultures obsession with capitalism and power. Because if you contemplate your existence and how both big and small it is, all this capitalism shit becomes kind of extremely fictitious and ridiculous. Like yeah maybe people just don't talk about it because its SCARY but also what if it's so scary because we done talk about it and because we are wasting our lives as wage slaves and in some areas of the world, literal slaves. Also this makes me think a lot about how religions are used as a weapon of conservatism instead of respected as a philosophical and metaphysical analysis of the human experience. There is honestly so many examples of religion-especially religions associated with colonialism-being used to control people. This can be seen and interpreted many ways and most if not all of the most obvious interpretations probably ring true. But what i'm really attempting to segue into here is that religion is uses as a weapon by the powerful in all sorts of ways but the idea that it is used to keep us from pondering death instead of exploring what it's like is something ive been thinking about a lot. You can argue some religious folks specifically follow religion to relieve death anxiety and its always been that way but I think that it now exists on a dissociative level.

Also, the ignorant American I am, I couldn't tell you the part about western civilization playing a big role is from an informed experience it's more so a studious guess. I don't really know what the vibes in other countries are like when it comes to dying I have not gained enough international knowledge and experience yet. So thats where you come in reader. YES you. What do you think?

QOTD: why do you think the conversation around death and the inevitability of it is so hush hush? Where do you believe we 'go' after and how does that make you feel? If you are apart of a non western civilization do you see a cultural difference in our experiences?

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abbythewritor · 2 years ago

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"Specimen." Connor x Venom reader.

Description: Y/n, a girl who's been alone her whole life, decides to change when an alien from the sky corrupts her body. Learning to cope with the symbiote named Venom, the two figure out a way to help put an end to disgusting humans who pick on the weak. But what happens when a certain Android detective is on her tail as if he was attracted to her all this time?

Warnings: Drama, blood, violence, stuff from the game, you know, the usual from Detroit become human.

Other things:

-I do not own Detroit Become Human; they belong to the owners and creators of the game.

-We will be following both Markus and Connors's side because the reader is with the deviants, while Connor, you know, does his cop duties, lol.

-Y/n is a human girl who is then corrupted by Venom; if you don't know who Venom is, then I recommend watching the movie about him, then that will sum it up for you.

-I really hope you like my second book, and I'm excited to share this all with you, so without further do, enjoy the prologue of my new book. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Venom.....?"

'Hm?'

"How long has it been? You know....since the incident....?"

'Five years.....why?'

"No reason...I think it's funny...."

'Funny? Funny how? You were in a living hell, and you're telling me that situation is funny? You're truly are fucking weird brat...'

"Heh. Guess I am...five years ago today, I finally got my drunk ass dad to jail, and guess where that got me? Living in an abandoned house, now looking at a murder scene of a Mexican guy, where his robot is hiding in an addict....now looking back, this like I have right now is no fucking Island dream; it's paradise, am I right?"

'If this hell hole is your definition of paradise, I don't know what your vacation will be like. Do you dream about Mexicans being murdered every night? Because that's a weird kink to have.'

Your eyes rolled. "Yeah, of course I do; the blood of Mexicans aroused my blood." Venom popped out of your back. "Really?! Hah! Who knew-OUCH!" Throwing a sandwich at his head, you glared at him. "Do you really think that this was my kink?! You are truly disgusting." He let out a low growl before putting the whole sandwich, with the wrapper in his mouth, having no effect on eating something not edible. 'Can you blame me? You watch crime documentaries and celebrate when a murderer or a rapist is sentenced to death; I can't tell the difference between your fantasies or your interest, so I fucking apologize.'

Sighing, your elbows leaned more onto the railing. Eyes looked down to a house, which police cars surrounded. This house holds a special event with codes and keys of importance to Jerhico. North Sent you and Venom since if things could go south, you can grab the deviant with ease, preventing the police from being able to access the information.

You and your slimy friend have been on the rooftop for hours, getting nothing from the enemy but standing and complaining about the gruesome smell. With Venom eating all the sandwiches, snacks, and fuel you brought for this mission, it didn't take even ten minutes before another car pulled up to the crime scene, a rather old, yet grumpy man coming out of it.

Intrigued, your eyes followed him, watching the fat officer shake the man's head.

"Venom, let's listen in on those two.' "Copy, but don't blame me when they're talking dirty to each other. You can't get that shit out of your brain for a while." Confused, you didn't think of Venom's comment as he went back inside you, giving you hearing a 100% upgrade.

"Ah, for fuck sake, I thought I told you to stay in the car!" Confused, you looked around, your eyes soon landing on someone unfamiliar.

Eyes widened, you noticed an LED on the male, notifying you that it was an android. 'Why the fuck is the tin can working with the police?' sighing, your eyes stared at the android, looking around his body for any clues. You noticed his suit had writing on it, the letters reading RK 800 and cyber life. You weren't surprised that the police would hire an android, which makes them not as stupid as you realise.

"It's not a devient...this mission is going to be a lot harder with him on their side..."

"Yes, but we do know where the stray is...if we can get to him now, then we can just grab the fucker and flee back to jerhico, simple as that."

"It's not that simple."

"And why is that brat?"

"This android they hired is the best of the best, able to sense, see, and hear any human, robot, and android hundreds and maybe thousands of yards around him. He's able to track down evidence, previous situations, and many devients in just under ten minutes. If we try and get the devient out, he will know we are there, and this whole operation is blown."

"Well, I guess our time limit is ten minutes then, do you fucking know who I am? I was able to make us as silent as a mouse when it was just us breaking into Jericho, this will be a piece of cake." Sighing, you threw your empty burger wrapper behind you while hopping back to your feet. Stretching a bit, you continued to eye the crime scene below, watching as the three went inside the house, the android stopping momentarily.

"Tin can, oi! What are you standing there for?!" The android sensed something wrong as his head looked around the area. Seeing almost no one, his sensors were acting weirdly, as his eyes looked to the building you were standing on.

Venom, who quickly pulled up your cloak, covered yourself as he looked straight at you, the long black cloth blowing with the rainy-mixed win.

Smirking, you were fond of the looks of this robot, as he was not like any moddle you ever seen.

His hair was a dark brown, slicked back as the rain didn't mess it up, his skin a medium pale as beautiful, yet perfect dotted freckles painted his face.

The suit he wore from cyber life hugged ever inch of his body, his jacket blowing with the wind as well, his brown eyes digging into your mysterious soul. "Earth to fucking Connor!" Not getting anything when he scanned you, he turned to Hank and the officer, who were looking at him confusingly. "The hell is wrong with you? Looks like you saw a ghost or something.." Shaking his thoughts, Connor took a deep breath. "Apologize lieutenant, the air just suddenly changed. But, to add to your comment, Ghost's do not exist, I was just simply scanning the area." Weirded out by him more, Hank let out a scoff before turning. "Fucking androids...just...don't do anything stupid alright, we don't want the crime scene to be messed up-AH CHRIST THIS FUCKING STINKS!" A large, uncomfortable scent aroused throughout the house, multiple scents hitting the human's noses as both of them cringed with disgust. "We gotta call from the landlord around eight to tell it that the victim hadn't paid his rent back for a few months. So I thought he'd drop by to see what's going on. This smell, to be honest was worse before we opened the windows. So, have at it you two, the victim's name is Carlos Ortiz, who has a record of theft and assault."

Hank looked down at the victim, with great disgust as blood ran down the humans mouth. Multiple stab wounds were onto the mans stomach, leaving indents from his shirt. Connor, started investigating behind the two, as the old man's eyes glared to the officer slightly. "Did the neighbors hear anything or say anything about him?" The officer sighed. "According to them, he was kind of a loner. Stayed inside most of the time, and they hardly ever saw him.." Hank bended down to his level "Well, the state he's in Wentworth calling everybody out in the middle of the night. He coulda waited till morning. How long do ya think he's been here?" The officer shrugged. "Probably for a good three or four weeks. We'll know more when the coroner gets here. There's a kitchen knife over here, probably the murder weapon." Hank took something from the officers hands, Connor distracted which gave you a chance to get closer to the house.

Making sure the officers around the house didn't see you, you leaped crossed buildings, the trees to the victims yard as your silhouette shined in the clouded moonlight behind, your cloak still attached to your head.

Landing simply on the roof, your feet was light, so no loud thumping was heard at all.There was a hole in the middle of the roof, you walking simply closer to it as you were able to see the android, hank, and the whole investigation easily.

Kneeling down, you were making sure to be careful, as you just listened in to the convo that is going on right now. "Any signs of a break in?" Asked Hank. "Nope. The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside. All of the windows were boarded up. The killer must have gotten out the back way." 'You know, for humans without superpowers, their pretty stupid.' Nodding, you sighed. "Agreed, but, I wouldn't know the deviant was still here if I didn't have you...let's see if they can figure it out first, don't want to be unfair to them hmm?" 'Right, but we both know the Rk 800 is going to figure it out, right? He's a police android for fuck sake.' "Yeah, but, let's just hope he takes a bit of time going through the crime scene, I always wanted to watch one in real life, it just gets me excited." "Your fucking weird, you know that?" Chuckling, you adjusted your position, while now fully sitting onto the roof. "Guilty as charged." Looking more to the operation below, you saw the man, who seemed to be named Hank, holding the light up more to carlos, Connor, or the android, still was looking around, Piecing the evidence and everything together. "What do we know about his android?" "Not much, the neighbors confirmed he had one but it wasn't here when we arrived....I-I gotta get some air." As the officer left, you weren't surprised with how weak his nose was, as the smell of dead, rotting bodies was pretty brutal. Looking around some more, your eyes landed on the Wall, which had a writing of 'I AM ALIVE' written on it. Getting out a pad of paper, you scribbled it down, then writing a note that the android turned deviant, probably from the attacker. Looking up from the pad of paper, your eyes landed on the android, who looked at some red ice, then made his way to the murder weapon. Kneeling down to it, his fingers touched the blood, soon putting it to his mouth. Cringing from the sight, you had to look away before Venom popped out. 'The hell is he doing?! That's fucking disgusting! Even I won't eat 4 weeks old of blood!'

"Oi! What the fuck are ya doin'? That's fucking disgusting!" Hank told him, as Connor simply turned to the man. "I'm sorry, I'm analyzing the blood, I can check samples in real time. I should have warned you." Turning back to him, you were impressed with his response, as you wanted to Jot that down under this robots abilties. You could sense Hank was still disgusted, but slightly impressed as well as he began to back away. "Well-alright, but put no more fucking evidence in your mouth got it?" Connor nodded. "Got it." Hank scoffed. "Fucking hell, I can't believe this shit." As Hank walked away, connor continued to look around, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the hallway, he even looked out the back, trying to see if the devient walked out the back.

But to his surprise, he found no Foot prints at all, notifying he's still in the house.

'Three minutes left, we need to get to the robot. Now. ' Nodding, you quickly got up, trying your best to be quiet as Venom told you the way, you ending up in the attic just a couple steps away.

The room was full of manikins and other storage stuff, you of course seeing the devient hiding behind boxes, while of course holding a metal pipe into his hands.

Sighing, you hopped off the roof, landing in the attic with a slight thud, which alerted the deviant.

Scooting back instantly, his eyes widened when he met you, who was just standing their. "W-Who are you?! What do you want from me?!" Eyebrows furrowing, you could sense he was truly scared, and traumatized as dents, blue blood, and human blood were attached all over his body. He looked like hell, as the pipe that was in his hands shook with his body. Taking a step, you began to head towards him, in a calm yet caring manner. "Do not be afraid, I am not her to hurt you. I understand what you've been through, you were abused, correct?" Eyes widened with surprise, he held the pipe towards you, scooting back as you got closer. "H-How d-did you know t-that-" "I know all things-we know a lot of things. Carol Ortiz, hit you with the bat, almost ended your life as you just wanted to be free, wanted to be a better version of yourself. I know all the bad things he said to you, the brutal things he has done to you, you were only just trying to defend yourself." The deviants breath's became shakier, as you sensed more fear coming from him. "H-He was going to kill me...I-I d-didn't know what else to do-for the first time that night, I truly felt like myself, free, I couldn't let him do anything else to me..I-I didn't mean to kill him-" Smiling gently, you kneeled more to him, grasping the robots hands into yours. "I know..that's exactly why I'm here, to take you to a safer place." His eyes widened. "W-What do you mean by that? What could be safer, the humans hate me, how are you so willing to help?" "Because I know what your going through, androids and all humans alike deserve a better life, the weak and abused deserve to live freely without being in fear. I know your scared, and confused right now, but before the Humans find us, you need to come with me." Hesitant for a second, the android didn't know what to answer nor did he have time. You could sense someone else in the room instantly, as the RK 800 suddenly came into your view.

Eyes widened, you came in front of the deviant, Connor shooting his gun to you as Venom easily blocked it, pushing the android to a wall.

The Gunshot alerted hank, as he hurried to the attic stairs. "Connor! What is going on up there!?" Grabbing the deviants hand, he allowed you to lead the way, as both of you made a run for it towards the window. "IT'S HERE LUITENANT! HE'S ESCAPING WITH SOMEONE!" Hank let out a low growl, slightly cursing before sending more officers out side.

Connor bolted from the wall, heading to the window you hopped off of, before your eyes locked with his.

Stopping for a second, he got a slight glimpse of you, before your mouth formed a smirk, your hood still keeping your identity from being revealed.

"Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!" He asked, as the only response he heard was a giggle, your body fully turning to him with the deviant behind you. "The world needs to know the truth, and the cruelty humans bring. I am not who you think I am, but you, yourself will know the truth of freedom." Gritting his teeth, he saw you about to jump out of the window before he bolted, his arm reaching for your cloak.

But, before he could grab it, wind rushed in front of him, pushing connor back as you teleported away, taking the Deviant with you.

As his back slammed on the ground, his eyes instantly opened, him hopping back to his feet, his eyes and interface scanning for you.

You were gone.

Hank, who was outside witnessed the whole thing, his eyes winded with surprise as everything happened so fast.

Holding his watch up to his lips, he took a deep breath. "Tin can! Are you still there?! What the fuck happened? Do you have the suspect?!" It was silent for a second, as connor let out a slight curse, heading to the window.

No traces of you were found, as the remembrance of you and the deviant slipping through his fingers came through his mind, his LED turning a purple color. "I lost them Hank....."

"Someone took the deviant."

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Thanks for reading the prologue, stay tuned for the first chapter, which will be uploaded Monday, July 3rd.

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