#◟ ❥ larry + yvette : i don't mind spending every day out in the gardens in the pouring rain. › galaxiasus. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonderloste · 2 years

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“ for gods sake, don’t do this! don’t you dare make me lose anyone else! not today! ” - larvette

& RE : my inbox is a circus, i am the clown / @galaxiasus.

SUCH A BITTER PILL TO SWALLOW , STARING DOWN THE EYES of what should be her enemy : Alice Liddell, Larry Johnson, the soul that all of Wonderland longed for with bated, desperate breath. Were it he would find his way to the singular person in the entirety of this world who wanted nothing to do with him, who wishes beyond every wish and every hope that they had never met. His heart rages in time with the horrified sea, its waves crashing against the jagged edge of the cliffside rocks she stares down at in pathetic bids not to look him in the eye. Her legs feel weak, body covered head to toe in gashes and bruises : rope markings around her wrists and ankles, phantoms of the injuries left behind from the night’s escapades. They tell the stories her voice doesn’t, ones that he doesn’t want to hear, but this is their mutual REALITY - he chose this. You should have left, she wants to scream, but the anger doesn’t rise in her, not like it does in him.

It’s not anger, some part of her corrects : he isn’t mad, not at her, it’s deeper than that. He’s terrified, she reckons. Scared out of his fucking mind, because this is a bloody nightmare, falling in love with someone like her. Equal parts tragedy and fate, he’s looking himself in the mirror in a way he’d never wanted to, but it’s so much worse than it had been in his world. She knows this only from the words of his own mouth, his attempts to relate to her, but he can’t.

She wants to jump. She wants to dissipate into seafoam, disappear from this world, never look back, forget that he ever existed, that they ever met, that he ever sat in that damned garden with her and tried to convince her that there could ever be anything in this dark, empty world worth living for. Love, light, hope, moonlight, waves, none of it is worth anything when the fates of those who yearn for them are to die.

“Your heart isn’t my responsibility,” she starts softly at first, guilt and sorrow deep within the tremble of her voice, but in spite of it, she rounds on her heels to face him, a drowned rat standing at the precipice of her fall. “You can’t possibly expect me to take on your suffering! I cannot handle MY OWN! You can’t makes promises to me : your FATE is to DIE! There is no future for us! We AREN’T REAL, ALICE, and you can’t SAVE me!” Her voice raises in volume, melodic and hypnotizing : once she realizes it, she winces, instinctively taking a bothered step backwards. In doing so, she stumbles, her body jerking to the side as she nearly slips off the edge into the pointed rocks that lay below. Her breath hitches in her throat, something not unlike fear of her own crossing her normally empty expression. It’s disgusting, how quickly he shoots forward to try to grab her and in her panic, she screeches, trying to evade him, in a way that nearly sends her fully over the edge.

But she is a siren ‘pon land : he is more agile than she, who is so sickly and frail ... before she can fall, he’s successfully grabbed her and yanked her to the side with him. The way they tumble to the ground is ungraceful and hard, nearly knocking the air from her lungs as her back hits the rock, only for his body to fall atop her seconds after. “GET OFF!” She thrashes and kicks, arms thrown out to push him off her, but although he scrambles to scoot back and give her space, he notably does not let go of her shoulders. She’s panting, weak, as she suddenly keels over, palms sprawling on the wet rock to keep her body from collapsing back to the ground.

In the end, it’s half him holding her up as they sit together, Larry’s intense gaze fixated on her once he’s caught his breath. Somewhere between the violent cracks of thunder and lightning that split the sky, her pants turn to sobs that wrack her entire body and fruitless though it may be, her nails claw at the muddy ground in a desperate, painful attempt to drag herself back to the edge of the cliff : though it will not matter, she tries, under her nails break and bleed and he has to lay half on top of her as he holds her to keep her from crawling off the side.

If he were anyone else, maybe she could hope, maybe she could believe him, in his little promises, in his begging and pleading and not todays. But he is Alice and she is the Mock Turtle : he is meant to be sacrificed to this world, and she is meant to forever dig her grave within it, unending.

☛ Why? ☚ She signs weakly against the rock ‘pon which she has now collapsed, cheek pressed ‘gainst mud, soaked through to her very bones. He hovers atop her, but she does not look up at him, finding solace instead in the blood-stained dirt. ☛ Why? ☚ Why is he doing this to me, she begs for an answer, though she does not ask her question. In the end, she does not know whether the question is directed at Larry, who hugs her now in a silent, desperate attempt to soothe her pain, at the Jabberwock, who has so unintentionally stolen from her the only chances of happiness she has ever had since being trapped on these lands, or at the White Rabbit, who has so cruelly broken her.

#stares at my hands.........#luna......... Y #ʚ o. in character ɞ ⁄ you’ll lose your mind wandering for hours‚ may even decide to start talking to flowers.#suicide tw —#ʚ c. mock turtle ɞ ⁄ facing the storm‚ i'm cast out at sea. i'll drown eventually‚ so don't save me.#self harm tw —#◟ ❥ larry + yvette : i don't mind spending every day out in the gardens in the pouring rain. › galaxiasus.

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wonderloste · 2 years

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[ SCAR ]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it. // larry @ yvette but its that throat scar from that one ask

& RE : actions prompts / @galaxiasus.

SHE’S SELF CONSCIOUS IN THE WAY SHE SIMPLY EXISTS : from how she walks, to the timid yet biting manner she responds to those around her. It puts her on the defense, any time she’s aware of his presence. More-so, when he’s just aware of her. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, ill content to sit hunched ‘pon the wet, sharp ground of the wilted rose gardens surrounding Heart Kingdom’s once vibrant castle. He makes her curl further in on herself, perhaps through no fault of his own. It’s her nature. It doesn’t make for a pretty sight and yet day in and day out, he follows her there, as is routine. She always does this when it rains. The little gazebo keeps her from getting enough water on her to be stuck as a mermaid, but unfortunately for her : it’s big enough for two people, so she can never ‘ enjoy it ’ alone anymore. He’s like clockwork, like a cockroach, a clockwork cockroach. He sits in front of her ( it used to be beside her ), cross legged and attentive as she sulks, starting her morning as she sobs into the wilted flowers.

She’d given up telling him to go away. He refused, and her voice was always so, so sore. It’s a wonder anything comes out when she cries, wiping her eyes with ashen petals that left black smeared down her cheeks. He’d learned not to say anything. Whatever it is she does, it’s a ritual. At least, it felt that way. Every day, it rained ash and every day she say ‘neath that gazebo to cry until the sky would clear up. It was never sunny here anymore, clouds casting the kingdom into eternal darkness : but the rain didn’t last forever.

His willingness to occasionally stay quiet did not equate to a willingness to leave her be. He was affectionate, scarily so, particularly in the sense of physical touch. There are things he’d do that she had come to expect, though she had not grown used to them. Oft, he’d pry her fingers from cutting her palm, hold her hands in his own so that she could not make it worse than it already was. Palm to palm, at first, and then finger laced through finger. And so she’d let him, unwilling to fight against him when she both feared and craved that attention. He holds her now, his knees touching her own as he cradles her hands. He mumbles something she can’t make out over the sound of the storm, but even still she lifts her head to look at him, her posture straightening only slightly from where she’d been hunched between them, the top of her head previous against his chest.

“What is it, Alice?” she murmurs, voice cracked and hoarse. Her throat hurt again, likely a product of her own crying and screaming. Perhaps it didn’t help that the wounds around it looked fresh again. Nothing ever truly heals, not on her, not when she’s left to her own devices. Systematically, she pulls every piece of herself apart, again and again, hoping for different results. He must’ve noticed, too, because whatever he’d meant to say had clearly died on his own lips although he had been looking at hers only seconds before. His gaze, now, seemed to have drifted to the area of interest. It doesn’t take her long to pick up on it, because she goes rigid when he releases one of her hands to reach for her.

It occurs to her how odd it is, the way he moves. He looks almost like he’s scared, the way he hesitates, stops and starts, likely giving her time to slap his arm away or screech at him to stop. She doesn’t, of course, because she doesn’t care. Although she flinches because he is a man with his fingers at her throat, it takes her only a moment to calm when he reacts with caution to her discomfort. Its only when she seems to have returned to weeping nonchalance that he lets his fingertips graze the largest of the scars on her throat : the one straight vertical from her chin to her collarbone. It had gotten longer. Maybe she’d tried cutting deeper, that time, with a longer drag of the knife. It doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t remember it and it hadn’t worked, clearly.

But it does matter. It matters to him. And what a hideously mad thing that is, because Yvette Auclare, pathetic, pitiful, disgusting little waste of a life that she is, is the last person in all of Wonderland who deserves the undivided attention of this realm’s beloved Alice.

She can sense it, some part of her. He wants to ask her why, but he both knows and fears the answer, the same that she is scared to ask why he cares in the first place. ☛ What do you want from me? ☚ She settles on, fresh tears forming on her lashes as his hands move to cup her face instead. She doesn’t even know if she expects an answer from him. What she doesn’t expect for certain is that he pulls her forward, lessening the space that exists between them. Rather than the obvious, Larry’s head lowers, his body shifting so that he can more easily tilt her head upwards, giving him further access to the very scar ‘pon her neck he’d been staring at. She remains practically limp as he tilts his head, warm lips pressing against her own wet, cold skin.

Yvette’s eyes do not close, but they narrow. Even still, her expression, tormented by apathy and sorrow alike, remains soft, her attention trained on the center of the gazebo’s roofing. A stray raindrop from a hole in it hits her cheek, but it blends with the ever-falling tears that stain her face. She feels one of his hands seek hers back out and he takes hold of it, but that singular kiss is not the only one. He trails a line of soft, empathetic kisses along that scar and beneath the gesture, her heart strains.

Do not try to save me, she had warned him, It is my fate to drown.

“You’re torturing yourself,” she whispers, her free hand shakily, nearly petrified, raising to rest ‘pon the side of his neck. Fair is fair. He trails kisses along hers and she feels his pulse within his. That is the difference between the two of them, at their core. His heart is beating. There is a frightening answer behind the question of why he cares, indeed, that she does not know what to do if she hears : for if it is possible for Alice to fall in love with a maggot, then surely it is possible for an immortal to die. “Why are you doing this?” To me. To yourself. To us. To them. To Wonderland. Her heart hurts : so surely his must, too.

She tries so hard, to keep herself quiet. She can’t speak long, for risk of enchanting him. But she wants to talk. In a twist of her own fate, she has so much to say, and so very little voice to say it with.

“Please, Larry.”

#🤪🤪🤪#i'm in tears can you tell #🤪🤪🤪🤪#I NEED TO MAKE THEM A SHIP TAG FUCKING HEJBRGN HOL UP #galaxiasus #ʚ c. mock turtle ɞ ⁄ facing the storm‚ i'm cast out at sea. i'll drown eventually‚ so don't save me.#ʚ o. in character ɞ ⁄ you’ll lose your mind wandering for hours‚ may even decide to start talking to flowers.#self harm tw —#suicide tw —#◟ ❥ larry + yvette : i don't mind spending every day out in the gardens in the pouring rain. › galaxiasus.

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