( closed ) they being dead yet speaketh by jóhann jóhannsson

[incinerates]

CHARACTERS: Bakugo, Elliot & Hadrian
WHERE: The Red Coast ( Barracks )
WHEN: Day :037, after The Bad Thing Happens
SUMMARY: A sad, bad, horrible day ends with stressed trio doing stressful things to one another.
WARNINGS: Body horror, frank portrayal of mental health and drugs, a teenager with new cusswords to try out, the mods were mean and we're coping via roleplay. More to come if necessary, sorry Avior.

Comments

amber style aka phone tags

[stilettoes]

[ sound, color, clarity, breath.

it comes back to him like a storm, a broken window colliding back together in reverse at the last second as elliot jerks away. peter hears the “fuck” like a chorus in his ears, breaking murky water as he immediately focuses his gaze on elliot, shifting forward to his feet as elliot jerks away. he keeps a distance, but posture says he’s prepared to dart in and steady him. his hands hover a bit, prepared to tug him forwards if he looks like he might lurch in the wrong direction.

bakugo’s emotions, volcanic, are smoke and ash now, tamped out for peter but somehow alight there in elliot’s expression. ]

Easy now, Elliot, easy. I...

[ gratitude, but concern (god when did he become so goddamned concerned for him? damn this.) he moves forward a little more purposefully now, reaching out to herd elliot gently in the direction of a place to sit. ]

Rest. What you did was [ a shake of the head, disbelief as he feels the dregs of the phantom sensation in his mind space ] incredible.

oppa amber style

[raw]

[ Elliot sits, gratefully, on the edge of one of the beds, breathing out a little sigh of — exhaustion. Relief. He still feels strange, wired like he took something, a little shaky, and still very .. close. Connected: to his symbiote, and therefore to the Nest, to Peter.

He'd known they got extra sensory abilities. He was stronger, fitter, he was telepathic. But he hadn't known it would be like that. Still, there's gladness in him when he looks at Peter, whole and capable again, put back together. It had been too disorienting to see him falling apart. ]

You're welcome.

[ A touch of irony in his low, rough voice. Elliot looks down at his hands — there's a little bit of Hadrian's blood on them, but that weirdly doesn't both him right now. ]

[stilettoes]

[ peter waits for him to sit before moving in himself, sitting a palm length and a half away. there’s a swell of silent thank you thank you thank you as he takes elliot’s hands methodically in his own and pulls at a thin scarf around his neck with the tips of his fingers. he holds it a moment in his nearly unbloodied hand, and then presses to elliot’s. the bit of blood smeared there isn’t fresh, but doesn’t resist being pulled at by the deep maroon fabric, a shadow peter will wash away later.

truth be told, he’s been embarrassed. he prides himself on the idea of being in control of his own narrative, careening and wild, but always of his own volition, and as it stands he’s had it rent from him with every ounce of bakugo’s grief. it’s a wail set through a canyon, echoing in varying degrees of mourning, pounding on the walls.

the feeling of it is denied purchase, claws scraping uselessly on dark glass, gathered up, tempered for the heat because peter is a creature of keen adaptations, growing and learning the shapes of his broodmates. but where he’s glass to bakugo, he’s soft silk and satin for elliot to skirt or fall into as he wants, a bed mussed and then remade as he faintly traces elliot’s exhaustion with a mental fingertip that trembles for half a moment, aftershock in a twitch. ]

I’m sorry that was so unpleasant for you, darling. [ elliot’s awe at his power, and his statement, indicator enough. a suggestion: ] Put your head down a moment, maybe.

[raw]

[ Elliot isn't used to gentleness, still, even though this isn't the first time Hadrian has offered it. He flinches at first, inwardly, then calms, though his jaw is still clenched and his eyes close as he attempts to relax into it — an attempt he probably wouldn't make sober with anyone else.

He does lie down eventually, though not to sleep. He's wired and awake, mind jumping frenetically like a skipped record, despite the accentuated dark smudges beneath his eyes. Mostly he's thinking about the mission, though — this isn't unusual, it's easy to catch Elliot sorting through the facts as he knows them like a seashell collection on any given day, and he spends more of his time sifting around for more than actually doing normal activities. But in this mood it's especially frenetic, as he adds the black circles and Pidge's samples and the death of a young diplomat to the nested folders of what they know. ]