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#deep route
aurorangen · 20 days
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That morning's conversation replayed in Vincent's head. All 3 people sitting in front of him work at the police station, the very same station that led the disappearance case 20 years ago. Even though he felt guilty concealing information, he'll wait a bit longer and forget about it for the time being. But he kept on wondering - why was Isaac so tentative about detectives anyway?
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arkiwii · 13 days
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very sad still see the saria/silence divorce headcanon still going around
have you ever tried to consider that they never dated before lone trail because it would be unrealistic with the timeline and the events and also because it would be overshadowing the actual truth of why they couldn't get along
#i'll elaborate#firstly it's ok if you headcanon this i don't want to invalidate what people think#it's just that I think it's a fanon joke that have been going around for way too long#and I can't help but shed a small tear when I see people really headcanoning it#I personally think it's way more interesting if we consider that they never had something going on before Lone Trail#mostly because it's weird that they started dating in like some months when they barely knew or saw each other#but also because it adds nothing but just makes things even more harder for them#my personal headcanon is that Silence was maybe having feelings for Saria but like#you know these very premature feelings#like just “oh wow she's pretty and nice”#but nothing like really deep#but they never had anything going on before the diabolic crisis#and after lone trail after they made up and saw each other's true person#they start to actually get real feelings#I'm just complaining but I've been still seeing it around somehow and it's sad to me that this joke became a fact for many people#there's still a lot of fanfics about how they had been dating and now they're on bad terms#I think that going on the “they're exes” route is way too easy and actually hides the potential and interesting reason#of why Silence was mad at Saria#it's not because she hates Saria or blame her#it's because she's mad at herself for being so weak#really making them appear as exes just hides this really interesting truth and makes it all seem to be a sad love story#consider that they never had any of this and that this tension between them is because they blame themselves!!#their story is not a love story but above all a story about self love and acceptance#just my two cents enjoy my rambling i go back to bed now#(not putting this in the main tag I don't want to start a war I'm just rambling)
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queen-mabs-revenge · 6 months
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there is something so exceptional about the audio form and the kind of...meta-narrative (?) of horror it creates that really leapt out at the end of this re: dracula episode (25 Sept).
seeing the runtime of each episode sets the scene - 27:06? ok, i'm in for something here -- we have a few, uhhhhh, long-winded characters in rotation so it might not be an eventful something, but at this point in the story, we've already been gutted by episodes with longer runtimes so just glimpsing the runtime already sets the scene for heightened dread. you might set aside time to experience the dread instead of maybe quickly listening to a minute long episode wherever/whenever you are.
i luckily got to listen through without interruption and so i was only vaguely aware of the passing time in that approximate way one's body clock ever is. so as this episode came to a close, and mina asks van helsing to not reply if he agrees to meet for breakfast, the dread spiked
i didn't know how long was left in the episode -- the music was still lingering. how much time has it been? 27 minutes? it feels like it could be 27 minutes, but it also feels much shorter? can't be sure. and even if the runtime is nearly elapsed, we know from previous episodes that a telegram can take mere seconds, a journal entry just a few words. is van helsing going to be called away? is he going to cancel the meeting? is mina going to be left alone again with no answers and no friends? with the count and the 'bloofer lady' closing in? how long has the music been playing? holding my breath for the morse code. holding my breath for van helsing's voice. holding my breath for 'letter by hand'. holding my breath for 'letter unopened'...
"this episode featured..."
relief
when reading, you have the unread pages in your hand constantly telling you the story of the progress of the narrative's shape. unless every piece of ephemera of an epistolary story is set on its own separate page, you can see the next item in your eyesight. sure, even if they are on separate new pages, you can see through the printed page the shadows of the text on the next, giving you a subconscious hint of expectation.
with a film, you lose the tangibility of the physical object informing the narrative, but you have other sensory cues - something like a fade to black over the lingering music can manipulate your expectations of narrative completion (and either follow through or subvert them). if you're watching on a device, an accidental activation of the screen or cursor might give you a glimpse of the progression bar, again changing your narrative perception.
with an audio drama you're left with just the one sense as your guide. unless you're actively watching the progression bar as you're listening or actively watching a clock, you just don't know beyond your own imperfect perception of time what you're in for and fuck me the added anxiety because of that is just
whew
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wr-n · 15 days
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GOD i love dustard,,,,, GOD,,,,, yeah,,, yeag,,,,
they're just,,, SO GOOD i cant even,,,,
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revasserium · 9 months
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lie to me
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harrison; 1,872 words; fluff and a bit of angst; fem!reader a/n: in which harrison tells you five lies and just as many truths
01.
“lie to me.”
“i love you.”
“ah, but that’s an easy one — how could you be in love with someone you just met, right?”
you smile, lacing your fingers under your chin as he looks you over, the smile on your lips simple and sweet and somehow unsettling in its simplicity. there’s something hidden there — he knows it. he just doesn’t know exactly what it is yet and… that in and of itself is intriguing enough to warrant a second glance, a second’s pause.
“go on, isn’t this supposed to be what you’re good at?” you ask, cocking your head, your eyes never leaving his.
harrison feels himself being drawn into you, the unflinching way you meet his gaze, the seemingly indomitable nature of your curiosity, your striking, painful honesty. ah — so is that what it is? has he gotten so used to the truth hidden beneath the lies that seeing truth hidden behind another veneer of truth has become strange? certainly, it’s not something he sees everyday but…
“alright then — i don’t love you, but i think that maybe i could —”
eh?
you blink, but harrison is already pursing his lips with a shrug, pushing up from where he’d been sitting across from you, your coffee mugs still steaming.
“there, ponder that one for a while, hm?” he grins, shooting a lazy wink your way, “and… that confused look on your face… i don’t hate it, y’know.”
02.
“lie to me.”
“my favorite color is yellow.”
“well, mine’s green.”
harrison looks up at you from across a piece of perfectly buttered toast, his mouth halfway open, watching as you slather your slice of toast in a truly impressive amount of jam. you’re humming to yourself and when you glance up to find him watching you, you shrug.
“what?”
harrison smiles, shaking his head, “nothing. just… ah — nevermind.”
“no, tell me.” you take a huge bite of toast and he can’t help the way his eyes snag on the smear of jam on your lower lip or the way your tongue sweeps out to lick it up.
“nope. don’t wanna.” he takes his own rather large bite of toast, washing it down with a sip of coffee that’s just a bit too hot.
“even if i say ‘please’?”
harrison pauses, considers. and then he smiles.
“for a second there, i just thought you were… cute.”
your blush makes something warm and tight unfurl in his chest. but you narrow your eyes and the tension inside his chest lightens ever so slightly.
“saah… was that a lie or was it the truth?” he muses, reaching out to tap a finger to the center of your forehead, making you blink, “well, you can believe whatever you want to believe. i don’t mind it either way.”
03.
“lie to me.”
“i actually don’t really like lying.”
you pause over the still-warm cranberry scones, your hand hovering over the butter dish.
“then why do you do it?”
harrison licks his lips, his eyes fixed on yours. he feels the beginnings of something cresting from his stomach up into his chest, over his shoulders, down the length of his back. it’s a strange thing, a nearly foreign sensation. but it leaves his whole body a mess a livewire tingles, and it makes him wonder about stupid things like truth and trust and belonging.
“because… it’s easy, i suppose.”
you nod, slowly breaking off a corner of a scone, and applying a liberal amount of butter to it before offering it to him. on the windowsill, there’s a vase full of bright yellow tulips, freshly picked and watered.
“my parents always said that if you tell a lie enough times, it starts to sound like the truth.”
“hm… they sound like smart people.” he reaches out to take the bit of proffered scone, popping it into his mouth and savoring the sweetness.
you watch him with a grin, “they were.”
a moment passes, and then another; harrison reaches for the sugar bowl at the same time you do and your hands brush. you pause; so does he. and then — laughter, as he pushes the bowl towards you and you shake your head, nudging it back.
“three sugars, right?” you ask, watching as he drops the cubes into his coffee and stirs.
“what can i say? i’ve got something of a sweet-tooth.”
“yeah. i know you do.”
04.
“lie to me… please — t-tell me everything’s gonna be okay.”
there’s blood everywhere, and the world is around you is a blur of rain and shadows. the streetlamps cast the air in a hazy glow and it would be beautiful, if it weren’t so deeply, horrifyingly terrible.
you cradle harrison to your chest, a hand pressed to the side of his stomach, where a sickeningly hot stream of blood is pouring from a bullet wound, your other hand holding his head upright.
“i — i think i’m gonna die,” he says, forcing a weak smile as he raises a hand to cup your cheek.
“h-harry! that’s not — that’s not funny —” but you can’t help the watery laugh that bubbles from your lips.
“you — you told me to lie to you… right? so…”
you bite back a sob even as it rips itself from your throat and you shake your head.
“y’know… you’ve gotten s-so bad at this…”
harrison’s own laughter is stuttered through with coughs. more blood, painting the soft of his lips so bright it almost looks like lipstick or strawberry jam. you reach up your hand to wipe it away, smearing the red across his cheeks.
he catches your hand in his, and the cliché of the moment hits you like a runaway train, veering off it’s tracks — the rain, the blood, the falling in love.
“what… at lying? ah… i guess that’s true… hey… look at me…” he presses his blood-stained lips to your hand before resting it along his cheek, holding it there even as more blood gurgles out of the side of his mouth. you try to tug your hand to wipe it away but he holds you tight, holds you dear.
“there you are…” he says, his eyes flickering over the plains of your face, “i su-suppose you might make an honest man of me yet…”
you shake your head again, fervent and desperate.
“no — i d-don’t want that — harry, please — you can’t —”
“m-my favorite color… didn’t used to be yellow… but now it is… and… i never did like lying… but i hated doing it to you… and… i never thought i could fall in love but… here i am… so there — i — i think that’s most of them —”
“harry, what are y-you doing?”
“i’m… telling you the truth. now… your turn — lie… lie to me.”
you let out another sob as you see the light from his eyes slowly fading, even as the distant sounds of shouting alert you to the ambulance racing your way.
“i-if you die, i swear to god, harry — i’ll chase you right into the gates of hell and pull you back with me —”
harrison laughs, his hand falling from yours, his lashes fluttering as his gaze goes wide and glazed.
“now that’s a lie… i’d be happy to believe…”
05.
when harrison next wakes up, it’s to a nearly pitch-black hospital room and a solid weight somewhere to his right. he lets out a soft groan and looks down to find… you, with your face pillowed on your arms, fast asleep by his bedside.
“she’s been here for three whole days.” victor’s voice is light but for once devoid of it’s usual levity.
“ah… of course she has.” harrison reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, a smile stretching his lips at the way your brows furrow slightly, your body shifting as he traces a thumb along the contours of your cheek.
“try not to excite her too much… she’s barely been eating or sleeping so who know’s — her heart might give out if you give her too big of a shock.” and with that, victor tips his head and slips from the room, leaving the two of you very much alone.
harrison revels in the quiet, in the patient pace of your breaths, the rise and fall of his own chest, his own miraculous heartbeat mapped in bright green spikes on a screen to his left. and he wonders briefly how quickly it’d have to beat before it would alert the nurses but —
“h-harry? oh… oh my god — you’re awake!”
“hm… really? ah, and here i was, thinking this was all a dream.”
you bury your face in his chest, gasping when he winces, but he chuckles and tugs you back towards him, his seafoam eyes so bright even in the relative darkness.
“i — i thought…”
“what? that i was dead? c’mon… i’m not that easy to get rid of.”
you bite your lips, shake your head, your eyes welling up with tears as you once again bury your face in his chest, this time careful to avoid his still tender wounds. he hushes you as you hiccup, running a soothing hand through your hair, down the back of your neck.
“i’m just… so glad y-you’re alive…”
harrison grins, cocking his head as you pull back to look at him, your eyes wide and watery and so, so beautiful. it’s unfair, he decides, that you should still look so daringly beautiful like this.
“come here… there’s something i need to tell you…”
you blink at him for a moment before allowing him to beckon you closer, to wrap his arms around you and skim his lips by your cheek till he’s whispering in your hear —
“i… i don’t love you… not even a little bit.”
and for a second, you freeze, your whole body going cold, but when you pull back, there’s a smile on harrison’s lips that makes you roll your eyes. you let out a soft little sigh, pillowing your cheek on his chest as he absently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“wow… when did you become such a terrible liar?”
at this, harrison laughs, and he hisses at the pain but he doesn’t stop laughing, and a moment later you join him, and the pair of you fall into the waves and waves of laughter until he tilts your chin up to press his lips to yours.
“if i had to guess…” he muses as he pulls back, running the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, his eyes flickering from your kiss-bruised mouth up to your shock-widened eyes and back down again, a distinctly fox-like grin stretching his lips.
“i’d say that it was the day that i met you.”
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majunju · 1 year
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moon route
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juminies · 7 months
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reliance
day 7, jumin’s perspective
jumin x reader, 1170 words
♥︎
If you asked almost anyone, those who know him personally or otherwise, they’d most likely tell you that Jumin doesn’t feel.
It’s not that straightforward, of course. There’s layers to it.
It would be more realistic to say he’s mastered the techniques of repression. He always only had himself to lean on. How could a lonely child cope with the consequences of gritty rejection at the hands of his own mother other than compartmentalise? How else could he handle the relentless harassment from the shameless women that his father willingly, repeatedly let into his life? It was easy as far as he was concerned—he let the threads tangle until they could barely be deciphered from one another and pushed them aside.
In the recent past, Jumin might have even considered telling you it’s a skill. Developed at a young age, perfected into adulthood. A skill that allows him to avoid inconveniences to his duties; fend off any sort of long term resentment or frustration. Dwelling on something like What extent of lacking consideration might make a good father a bad one? should not matter. Time will pass with or without him. So he simplifies it: objectively bad things happen, are tangled away soon thereafter, and life goes on. This way memories he needs are easily accessed and ones he doesn’t are easier avoided.
Before, on the occasion things did start to get overwhelming, distracting himself had been relatively easy. He had conjured up this idea of his cat being the catch-all to combat his discomfort. If ever emotions started to creep into uncomfortable territory it was simple to sidestep them. Elizabeth the 3rd had been… sympathetic enough to make him feel sufficiently comfortable again. Then if necessary he could pick up extended office hours here, a cat project there, an extra glass of wine to ease the transition from overthinking to composure.
The last week, though, has flipped everything he thought he knew on its head.
You’re at the forefront of it, really. You’re special to him in a way no one else is; he’s told you that much already. Even so, he will preface his thoughts with a point that he’d surely be jumping the gun to say he’s in love. He met you barely a week ago. In the moments where he tries his hardest to stop the unemotional part of him from slipping through his fingers, he almost believes (or maybe tries to convince himself) that it must just be that there’s so much happening right now. Sarah, her name bitter on his tongue, seems to have forcefully slithered her way into his life, though he’d rather have never paid her a second glance. There is no reasoning with his father surrounding the absurdity of the arranged marriage and the trust at the foundation of their relationship feels suddenly fragile; unpredictable. Not to mention the impact yet another divorce and planned subsequent remarriage quickly took on business (with Jumin, of course, being left to pick up the slack).
Then, as if things weren’t dire enough, his dear Elizabeth the 3rd is seemingly under threat. He is riddled with both the need to protect and a simultaneous abundance of confusion from the dawning realisation that she could never understand him like he needed. It plays heavy on his heart.
Amongst it all though, here you are—a pillar of light in the chaos. Someone who cares about him with a deep sincerity and understanding he thought he could have never pulled from the depths of another human. Someone who might just care about him in a way that not even Rika had. He’s considered informing you that it makes him feel terribly vulnerable. As though you’re cradling his heart in uncertain hands.
Still, Jumin keeps assuring himself that things will fall back into place. They always do. Things will fall into their rightful place, and life will return to what he is accustomed to.
…Then again.
What if he doesn't want it to go back to how it was before? What if this is a rare occasion where he welcomes a sudden change with open arms? An open heart? (It’s okay if hands shake as you hold it, he thinks. Be it his hands or yours.)
Because it just doesn’t feel right to tuck you away with everything else in his brain the way he’s used to. You’re too different. It comes too easy to ignore everything else for you. Thoughts of you are spread all around in an uneven jumble; disorganised, distracting. From his stares alone it’s impossible for you to begin to visualise the scramble. He feels like he’s been ripped from safety and comfort and thrown as far from familiarity as possible. He has never been so out of his depth. He has never, even as a child, felt so out of control.
Part of him, strangely, welcomes it.
It makes him think unusually, however. Perhaps even unfairly. And so along with the scattered joy of you, you, you, develops an internal battle to gain control again. He wants your eyes on only him as much as he wants no one else to look at you. Something pleads with him to keep you here, keep you here, while something else begs him on its knees to never hold you back.
He’s watching you, sitting with your legs tucked up beneath you on his sofa. You’ve been quietly focused on some drama he’s never heard of and sipping a vintage wine he’d been saving for a special occasion. It makes him dizzy. Perhaps against his better judgement, he has wanted to kiss you since you walked through the door. A special occasion indeed.
The pleading continues, desperate screams of No matter what it takes! No matter what it takes!
But you have been so kind. He wouldn’t dare take advantage of it. On the contrary, he’d probably do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat as long as he could guarantee you’d be safe in the end.
Then he says your name. He’s not sure he intended to say it aloud. When you turn to him he scans your face for something, anything, that suggests maybe you’re losing your mind as much as he is. Instead he’s distracted by lips gently parted and vaguely stained red from the wine, and comes to no conclusion.
“Yeah?” you say.
You’re sitting in the spot where he’d usually sit, he realises. He’d been so shaken by your arrival that he somehow hadn’t even noticed. Not that he’d have made you sit elsewhere anyway.
He takes a sip of his own wine and wonders if his lips are the same colour as yours.
“Jumin? Everything okay?”
You seem too far away somehow.
“Yes.”
You tilt your head to the side slightly as you ask, “You sure?”
“Yes. Apologies, what I was going to say somehow slipped my mind,” he says.
“Alright.” Your eyes sparkle as you smile (always sweet, never pushy) and he has to turn away to stop himself from acting on foolish impulse.
He downs the rest of his wine in lieu of it.
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muninnhuginn · 6 months
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Wondering about Li Tianchen's powers being related to touch and how that informs his relationships with others.
There are three people we really see him interact with who know of his powers: Qian Jin, Li Tianxi, Liu Xiao.
Qian Jin always wears gloves in the present day, something that shows his careful personality, but is also likely habit from interacting with Li Tianchen considering he never wore them as a cop. Qian Jin doesn't truly trust Li Tianchen, even as he plans to use him for the same powers he shields himself from. Their relationship should be closer to parent-child, considering their circumstances, but is instead more a fragile balance of mutually using each other as tools. Qian Jin maintains distance, always seeking the next betrayal. There's no trust between them though, so betrayal is inevitable.
Li Tianxi doesn't wear gloves and willingly takes Li Tianchen's hand when offered. To some extent she is conscious of being used, but that's still her brother, and so she doesn't shield herself from him. For them as siblings, touch used to be a source of comfort, guidance, and protection all in one. Over time though, that's become twisted. But Tianxi still lets Tianchen use her and Tianchen still sees what he's doing as some form of protection. There's trust here at first, but it's stretched thin, and love can only try to paper over the gaps. Which is why Tianxi eventually reaches her breaking point and runs away. She didn't entirely give up on their relationship though. Even to the end, she was willing to save her brother, despite what he'd become.
Liu Xiao offers Li Tianchen his hand. It's reminiscent of shiguang, especially of the hospital scene when they do the Chen Bin dive by mutual agreement. But also a mirror of Li Tianchen offering Li Tianxi his hand as he uses her.
Liu Xiao's overall relationship with Li Tianchen is a dark mirror of both the twins' relationship and of shiguang, but with the added element that his "friendship" is conditional. With the twins and shiguang, there's still faith beneath any hurt they may cause each other. It's a two-way street. For Liu Xiao, he says Li Tianchen has to "earn" his friendship. The onus is always on Li Tianchen to prove himself in some way. And Li Tianchen is in a position where he needs to believe he's in control because the alternative is too horrifying to consider. So Liu Xiao says "jump" and Li Tianchen asks "how high?"
Liu Xiao can trust that Li Tianchen won't betray him. He is in control of the situation and in control of Li Tianchen. Li Tianxi is dead, Qian Jin in custody. He can't go to the police because they've cottoned onto the idea of powers and he's left a trail of bodies in his wake. At this stage, Li Tianchen has no other ties left but Liu Xiao.
Liu Xiao offers his hand. It's not gloved. It doesn't need to be.
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mistrdctr · 3 months
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@wildcxrds asked: "How did you find me?" - Thor
When Thor - yes, Thor Odinson, the one and only, the one Thor that's actually a god from Asgard - asks that question into the cool air surrounding them, looking up from where he's perched on the stairs...
...All Stephen can do is to arch a brow and stare down at him, coffee-to-go in hand and all, followed up by a quick succession of blinks and parting lips as he takes a soft breath.
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"Well, uh...", he starts, pausing, bright gaze averting briefly, flicking along their surroundings... before it focuses back on the other.
"---You're sitting in front of the Sanctum's door. And I live here."
Strange pauses - once again - then takes a sip of his coffee, brows lifting, a somewhat expectant expression lingering on his features.
"You okay? Do you... need anything? Something I can help you with?"
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gummi-ships · 7 months
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Kingdom Hearts - Monstro
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cxs-workshops · 2 months
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get it together Arlo
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dorindameddler · 3 months
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would kms if wyll said these things to me
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justiceforjumin · 2 months
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Deep Story, Day 3 — 12:02 Chatroom (Translation)
This chat... holy crap this was a mess to translate. If I didn't have the ability to add footnotes, a huge chunk of it would make no sense. I really do not blame Cheritz for switching things up in this one. Hopefully I don't have to deal with this sort of stuff again bc OOF.
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snavian · 4 months
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Fascinating
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mari-lair · 1 month
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I love asks cause sometimes a goofy question makes me go down a rabbit hole i would have never went to on my own
EDIT: I give up for now, what am i even talking about help
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darth-sonny · 10 months
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Can you just imagine if someone else in the family has a kid and Kirby can see how different they're treated. Like loving a new and wanted kid would be so easy for the family and that's something Kirby can't really have.
There was a new addition to the family: a baby, a little girl, named Lita. She’s Uncle Raph’s kid, one he had with a nice lady called Mona Lisa or something. Both of them are standing proudly as everyone holds the baby. She’s pretty and pale and has soft pink markings all over her body.
Kirby doesn’t meet her. They don’t want to meet her.
They watch, from the moderate safety of a doorway, as everyone cooed and fawned over the new addition. They watched as the little baby girl was given kisses, rocked back and forth, cuddled, and nuzzled closely. Everyone was smiling at the baby, loving her.
It’s not fair.
Nothing about this is fair.
None of them are awkward around the baby, no one was stilted, none of them looked at the addition with looks that clearly showed how uncomfortable they were with her.
Even Uncle Donnie was smiling at her – no cold looks, no barely hidden disdain, no nothing.
None of that.
They hate this.
They wished that the baby didn’t exist.
They just want that small illusion back, back when they could pretend that things were slowly getting better.
But as everyone keeps fawning over and passing the addition around, it becomes increasingly clear that the illusion is broken. Irreparably so.
They sniff, feeling their eyes sting.
Kirby leaves before the baby is handed over to Dad.
They’re sitting on their bed, blanket over them, holding two small dolls and playing with them. Or pretending to. They move the dolls around, shake them as if they’re talking, but their mind is somewhere else.
They decide to hide out in their room.
They think about the new addition, and how everyone acts around her.
They move one of the dolls, a small pink and white rabbit, to lay down in front of the other doll. The other doll was a red horse. Kirby raises the other doll and brings it down on the rabbit. Once, twice, three times. Over and over and over again until the pink and white doll is a mess of plastic bits and scattered paint flecks.
The new addition is a newborn, right? Newborns are weak. Right?
It should be easy.
Just go up, grab her, and-!
Kirby shakes their head.
They pick up the broken doll and throw it away.
They don’t feel horrible about what they did. They never do after they have those moments. That’s what makes them feel horrible.
They know why they’re like this, and it makes sense to them why their family treated them like they do. And, in some cases, continue to treat them like that.
But it’s still not fair.
They didn’t do anything.
And yet…
How come they weren’t treated like that? With hugs, cuddles, kisses, and cooing?
Why?
They look at the red doll next to them.
It was the same color red as Uncle Raph’s bandana.
It only takes a second.
Another broken doll is thrown in the trash.
It’s not fair.
They curl up in their bed, using their blanket to hide themself, biting back any whimpers and pathetic sounding chirps that try to escape. Their eyes sting like no other, but Kirby won't cry. They refuse to cry. They won't add more fuel to that fire. They won't.
Leo finds them later, curled up into a ball and crying.
He doesn't say anything. He picks them up and holds them close, rocking back and forth.
He ignores the clicking hiss, or the multiple eyes that glare down at him from the corners of the room. He just holds his kid and mutters that he understands, and that it really isn't fair.
He holds them tighter as Kirby continues to cry.
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