sad space dad had a bad (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shiro2hero) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-07-10 04:24 pm
shiro2hero) wrote in deercountry2022-07-10 04:24 pm
Entry tags:
i'm gonna leave my body ; i'm gonna lose my mind
Who: Shiro & YOU [open]
What: When the Beasthood hits like a truck.
When: July
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warnings: property damage, grief, self-worth problems, to be updated as needed
BEFORE ;; The House
He's remade this cup of tea more times than he wants to admit. More times than he should have had to. He knows the motions. He knows exactly what to do. But it never seems to come together. He's not sure how or why. The water heats. The bag steeps. But it's wrong. It's not coming out like it's supposed to.
It's just wrong.
It's wrong, he's wrong, the hole in his chest is wrong, there's silence where there should be bubbling warmth there should be shoulders to lean on there are no more containers in the fridge that smell like home he can't stop thinking it should have been different, it was supposed to be different, he should have been able to change things to stop things it should be fine, he should be fine he has to be fine.
I'm fine.
Yet again, he throws the wasted tea into the sink. It's stained brown by now with the sheer volume of discarded liquid. His hands shake. The right one hurts and he can't figure out why. It feels like something is disconnected under the metallic layer, sparking painfully with every motion. He should ask Hunk - no ask Varian no ask Chloe no ask -
- who is gone.
Pain writhes down his back. Warring with the sudden, nauseating rush of guilt. Because he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't good enough, he'd promised and they were all gone. All he can do is clamp down on the feelings, try to block the mental connection from being flooded with his own guilt, his own doubt. The aching, anxious grief threatening to choke him where he stands at the kitchen sink. His eyes burn, and he refuses to blink, lest the tears boil over.
I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐
He has to be fine.
The ocean roars in his ears.
He starts the tea again. Ignoring the raging ache in his hands, the tremble in his arms, or the slithering feeling of something oozing down his skin.
I̴̳̹͚͝'̶̡̤͂̿̎̅m̵̜͒͑ͅ ̸̰̪͉͕̀f̴̣̄i̴͚̽̎̍n̵̨͚̾̓ë̸͙̼́̽̚͝
All he hears is the sea.
DURING ;; The Streets
The sun is a deadly laser. It's high in the sky, high noon. Because of course it is. There are no clouds to be seen. But that hardly matters - a cloud of dust rises instead. Or maybe it's smoke. From this distance, it's hard to tell. The closer you get, the more apparent the source becomes. Especially when you see the Trenchies running from it.
From him.
Oh, it looks like Shiro. If all the color fully drained from his body. If the scars coating his skin turned to thick tar, and his eyes glazed to empty, glowing white. Something flickers around him, like a camera glitch. A dark outline, a shadow, the after-image of a bright flash. It moves, and Shiro moves in an answering echo. Reaching a hand into a pile of rubble - his right hand - letting it catch and burn with white flames.
It - he? - turns, then, head lolling to one side on its neck. Its face is utterly blank, expressionless. But the flickering, the blinking, jittery shape around it just smiles. An expression with far too many teeth. It speaks, and it speaks with the cadence of mimicry. Of a beast not understanding human words, human vocal chords.
" i̴͖̓͑͌͐̏'̵̰̰̗̂̌͐̊ṃ̶̳̠̈̆̋̆̋̕m̸̨̝̥͎̯̚m̵̺̒͑ͅ ̴̧͖͔̟͂̐F̴̦̹͈̲̊̄̈́Í̴̹͒̃̔̇n̸̦̅̌͘e̸̜̮͋̂͑̃͝.̶̡̢̘̠͈̜̽͐͘ "
That's it. That's all the warning. Before the Beast launches itself forward at nearby bystanders. Be they Trenchies, Hunters, or Sleepers.
It doesn't make a difference anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
DURING ;; The Shore
Ironically, the Beast's ultimate destination appears to be the Shore. The beach. The ocean. Where it continues to mutter and ramble to itself, pacing up and down the waterline. Occasionally, it will pick up a squid, examine it, and then hurl the creature back into the surf.
" Ń̵̛̪̍̄̈̈́Ö̷̙̦̲͈̜͔́T̴̮͍͕͚͑̎̄ ̴̢͈̻̙̟́̂͜g̶̢̼̘̃̇ọ̵͛͑̀͗ö̶̠́d̷͈̜̝̪̞̋̓ͅ ̸̰͙͋̒͛̚E̵̢̼̰͂N̵͚̦͉̝̿̆̈́́̌ȏ̸̡̮̖͖̤̠͌́̈́̀̌ȕ̶̱̗͛́̇̓̀g̵̘̪̪͍̑́h̴͓̰̣̤̣́̐̈́̂̕ "
At some points, it starts to race forward into the water, stopping when it gets knee-deep. Then it races back to the shore, almost scuttling. The black shadowy image around it snarling. Pulled back onto the sand by something it can't name, something it can't understand.
Whenever that happens, the Beast grabs rocks, or shells, or any kind of beach debris, hurling it into the ocean, angrily. Disrupting the Beast will cause it to turn that anger on any intruder. Anyone - friend, foe, new arrival, it doesn't matter. There's anger here, and it wishes to burn.
((ooc: Plotting comment is here, cure will be handled by Min-Gi, but all else welcome!))
What: When the Beasthood hits like a truck.
When: July
Where: Throughout Trench
Content Warnings: property damage, grief, self-worth problems, to be updated as needed
BEFORE ;; The House
He's remade this cup of tea more times than he wants to admit. More times than he should have had to. He knows the motions. He knows exactly what to do. But it never seems to come together. He's not sure how or why. The water heats. The bag steeps. But it's wrong. It's not coming out like it's supposed to.
It's just wrong.
It's wrong, he's wrong, the hole in his chest is wrong, there's silence where there should be bubbling warmth there should be shoulders to lean on there are no more containers in the fridge that smell like home he can't stop thinking it should have been different, it was supposed to be different, he should have been able to change things to stop things it should be fine, he should be fine he has to be fine.
I'm fine.
Yet again, he throws the wasted tea into the sink. It's stained brown by now with the sheer volume of discarded liquid. His hands shake. The right one hurts and he can't figure out why. It feels like something is disconnected under the metallic layer, sparking painfully with every motion. He should ask Hunk - no ask Varian no ask Chloe no ask -
- who is gone.
Pain writhes down his back. Warring with the sudden, nauseating rush of guilt. Because he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't good enough, he'd promised and they were all gone. All he can do is clamp down on the feelings, try to block the mental connection from being flooded with his own guilt, his own doubt. The aching, anxious grief threatening to choke him where he stands at the kitchen sink. His eyes burn, and he refuses to blink, lest the tears boil over.
I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐ I̸̙͠'̴̓͜m̸̨͒ ̶̨̑f̷̠͝i̶͓̚n̷̳̏e̵͖̐
He has to be fine.
The ocean roars in his ears.
He starts the tea again. Ignoring the raging ache in his hands, the tremble in his arms, or the slithering feeling of something oozing down his skin.
I̴̳̹͚͝'̶̡̤͂̿̎̅m̵̜͒͑ͅ ̸̰̪͉͕̀f̴̣̄i̴͚̽̎̍n̵̨͚̾̓ë̸͙̼́̽̚͝
All he hears is the sea.
DURING ;; The Streets
The sun is a deadly laser. It's high in the sky, high noon. Because of course it is. There are no clouds to be seen. But that hardly matters - a cloud of dust rises instead. Or maybe it's smoke. From this distance, it's hard to tell. The closer you get, the more apparent the source becomes. Especially when you see the Trenchies running from it.
From him.
Oh, it looks like Shiro. If all the color fully drained from his body. If the scars coating his skin turned to thick tar, and his eyes glazed to empty, glowing white. Something flickers around him, like a camera glitch. A dark outline, a shadow, the after-image of a bright flash. It moves, and Shiro moves in an answering echo. Reaching a hand into a pile of rubble - his right hand - letting it catch and burn with white flames.
It - he? - turns, then, head lolling to one side on its neck. Its face is utterly blank, expressionless. But the flickering, the blinking, jittery shape around it just smiles. An expression with far too many teeth. It speaks, and it speaks with the cadence of mimicry. Of a beast not understanding human words, human vocal chords.
" i̴͖̓͑͌͐̏'̵̰̰̗̂̌͐̊ṃ̶̳̠̈̆̋̆̋̕m̸̨̝̥͎̯̚m̵̺̒͑ͅ ̴̧͖͔̟͂̐F̴̦̹͈̲̊̄̈́Í̴̹͒̃̔̇n̸̦̅̌͘e̸̜̮͋̂͑̃͝.̶̡̢̘̠͈̜̽͐͘ "
That's it. That's all the warning. Before the Beast launches itself forward at nearby bystanders. Be they Trenchies, Hunters, or Sleepers.
It doesn't make a difference anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
DURING ;; The Shore
Ironically, the Beast's ultimate destination appears to be the Shore. The beach. The ocean. Where it continues to mutter and ramble to itself, pacing up and down the waterline. Occasionally, it will pick up a squid, examine it, and then hurl the creature back into the surf.
" Ń̵̛̪̍̄̈̈́Ö̷̙̦̲͈̜͔́T̴̮͍͕͚͑̎̄ ̴̢͈̻̙̟́̂͜g̶̢̼̘̃̇ọ̵͛͑̀͗ö̶̠́d̷͈̜̝̪̞̋̓ͅ ̸̰͙͋̒͛̚E̵̢̼̰͂N̵͚̦͉̝̿̆̈́́̌ȏ̸̡̮̖͖̤̠͌́̈́̀̌ȕ̶̱̗͛́̇̓̀g̵̘̪̪͍̑́h̴͓̰̣̤̣́̐̈́̂̕ "
At some points, it starts to race forward into the water, stopping when it gets knee-deep. Then it races back to the shore, almost scuttling. The black shadowy image around it snarling. Pulled back onto the sand by something it can't name, something it can't understand.
Whenever that happens, the Beast grabs rocks, or shells, or any kind of beach debris, hurling it into the ocean, angrily. Disrupting the Beast will cause it to turn that anger on any intruder. Anyone - friend, foe, new arrival, it doesn't matter. There's anger here, and it wishes to burn.
((ooc: Plotting comment is here, cure will be handled by Min-Gi, but all else welcome!))
no subject
No one had told him about a 'pit'. At least, not that he could remember right now, but he didn't really trust his memory. A lot of things since arriving were kind of fuzzy between getting possessed and being mind controlled and a few other things. He frowned in concern.]
What do you mean? What's 'the Pit'?
no subject
[It's the contact that does it. His head jerks up, staring at Keith like he's seen a ghost. Words catching in his throat. They don't come out for a while, leaving him staring. Breathing hard.]
[No, the details don't match up. This isn't... Deerington. It's not Deerington anymore. But his mistakes are still here. They're still chasing him. He's still letting his friends, his family, his team down.]
... was in Deerington. It's not... here. Is it?
no subject
no subject
I ... I'm sorry, I don't - I don't know why I thought...
[Except he does. That was the first death, wasn't it? The first time when things all started to fall apart. But - no. He won't put that on Keith so soon after his ordeal.]
no subject
no subject
[And ... slowly, he starts talking. It's monotone, halting. Like he's reciting from a mission brief gone wrong. But at least he's talking.]
A hole opened up. In front of the hospital in Deerington. People started getting sick - the flu, but worse. There were things... down there. In the hole. In the Pit. But we thought it might lead out of town.
I couldn't - I couldn't go. Too sick, again. All of you went down there.
You... Allura. You didn't. Come back.
no subject
I'm here now. And that wasn't your fault. You didn't get sick on purpose.
no subject
[If his body hadn't let him down, again. Then he wouldn't have let them all down, in turn.]
Yeah.
[But he doesn't sound convinced.]
no subject
You can't control getting sick, Shiro. [Haha, look at this hypocrite. Hi, pot. Meet kettle.] If you can't control it, then it's not your fault. Okay?
[If only Keith could take his own advice.]
no subject
[And yet? Shiro laughs. But it's a bitter sort of sound. Yeah. He knows all about that - you can't control getting sick. Was that part of the original problem? Maybe. Did recognizing it help? No, not really. But then he hangs his head. Takes a slow, ragged breath.]
Sorry, I - I didn't mean to make this - about what happened before.
no subject
Hey. You're my brother. I'm here for you as best I can be. If you need to talk about what happened before, then I'll listen.
[He hated Shiro holding back. This had been a thing through their entire relationship, Shiro always trying to prevent Keith from worrying about him. Was it because he understood how scared Keith was of losing people after being essentially orphaned as a young kid? Keith wasn't sure. But he didn't want to be protected like that. He wanted Shiro to feel like he could talk to him.]
no subject
[He does. He logically knows that. He knows the people around him are there for him, that they want to help. But the real problem is him. Is reaching out. It's not them. It's not their fault he can't do it.]
... I know you will. I know all of you will.
[But I can't do it.]
no subject
Yeah.
[He took a long breath in, and then let it out quietly.]
We all will.
[He looked down at the floor, going quiet.]
no subject
[That was, always, the hardest part.]
... I want to, you know. [Is what he finally, finally gets out. I want to be able to talk to you.] Don't... know why I - [He grinds his teeth, stiffening until the final word drops.] - can't.
no subject
Is... Is it me? [Because, of course, Keith would think it's just him. And, of course, he thinks it's because of some failing that Shiro feels he can't talk to him... something he did wrong and upset Shiro with. But he tried to push that aside for the moment.] Or is it just... always like this... for you?
[Keith often had trouble finding words to express himself when he tried too hard. It was one of the reasons he hated planning out speeches. It took him a long time. Off the cuff, for some reason, he could do it. But a planned thing? He hated it because the words didn't come easily. Expressing himself was hard, and it just had to be an 'in the moment' kind of thing for him.]
no subject
No. [No, it's not just Keith. It's never been just Keith. Shiro's buried his feelings for years - even before the dreamworld snapped him up, and started this cascade of weird.] No, it's - it's not you.
[It's everyone. It's everything. Shiro's complete inability to voice his feelings, stand up for himself in the face of his mistakes. It's always been there. And maybe if it hadn't, things on Earth would have gone a lot differently. Something he'd been over time and time again.]
[Give him a speech, give him people to motivate, support, any day. The second anything turned to himself... the words stopped. He couldn't impose. He couldn't ask. He couldn't tell.]
It's never been you.
no subject
Okay.
[It was a small comfort... but better than it being just directed towards him. He knew Shiro tended to keep things close anyway, even without Galra captivity, without Deerington, and now Trench. It had taken Keith calling him out and downright demanding answers to even find out that Shiro had that illness back before Kerberos... when that seemed to be their biggest problem in the universe.
But, yeah... it wasn't easy when the person you wanted to help the most refused to talk. He was trying to be better about that himself. He knew he wasn't the best at opening up, either.]
I know it's not easy.
no subject
[He is. He truly, sincerely, is. He wishes he were better at this. He wishes he could give Keith the answers. Just open up and speak to him. To just about anyone, who cared enough to ask. Who wanted to know.]
[It's no one's fault. And it's definitely not Keith's.]
Please. Don't think it's you. It isn't - I promise.
[That's... about all he can do. Make that genuine promise. That sincere statement. If he could open up to his brother, he would. He absolutely would.]
no subject
It's okay. Really. I know it can be hard. [It was still a little rough to think about. Even if it wasn't just him, it worried Keith that there was still something... some reason that Shiro didn't trust him enough to be able to talk. But, he kept that to himself for now. He didn't want to keep Shiro worried.]
It's okay.
[And he wanted to say that he'd be there, that he'd be ready to listen when Shiro found himself ready and able. But, knowing how things worked in this place, he couldn't even promise that, and that hurt. He could only hope that he would be, and that Shiro... and Lance, too... would be able to feel comfortable enough to be able to open up without fear of losing him again.]
no subject
[He wants to be able to open himself. He wants to share it with the people who offer, but - ]
[But the walls come up. He can fight them, he has fought them. But they come up and he clams up and no one gets anything productive said.]
I'm trying. [It's all he can say, isn't it? It's all he can say, and he hates that.]
no subject
[He could honestly tell. He shoved his boots off and shifted further on to the bed so he could sit next to Shiro, closer.]
And I'll do my best to be here when you're ready.
[He leaned on Shiro's shoulder. He knew he could promise that he would be, not in a place like this where people could just suddenly go back to the sea. But, he could at least promise he'd try not to.]
no subject
[So there's no protest when Keith leans on him. He feels his Omen shifting, settling against both their backs. She's definitely large enough to do so.]
I know. [I believe you, I trust you] I... thank you.
good place to call it?
Any time.