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harleyquilt · 22 days

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Still Calling (Disco Elysium fanfic)

Summary: Dora is haunted by thoughts of her past after Harry calls her in the middle of the night, just before dawn. She laments what has passed and finds the resolve to continue as she has always done.

Words: 2,362~

Notes: The BrainRot is taking hold! Finished the game recently, and frankly, I'm obsessed. Just an introspective piece based on my favourite moment in the game. Hope you enjoy!

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Dora’s hands tremble, loosening her fingers around the cold, curved spine of her phone. She leans back against her soft cushions, the hard, wooden headboard underneath keeping her from collapsing entirely. She lets out a long, shaky sigh and squeezes her eyes shut, hearing the rustling of bedsheets beside her. A hand touches her shoulder – a light, delicate gesture, skin against skin – and she flinches, her eyes opening. Wide and alarmed. Her husband is watching her, his brows knitted together. He’s worried, she knows, and in hopes of relieving him, she offers a wry smile, placing her hand on top of his and giving it a small squeeze.

“Sorry, I should’ve woken up sooner.” He speaks quietly, the room still dark. The sound of birds can be heard singing their morning songs just beyond their bedroom window. “It was him, right? Harrier.”

The name makes her heart clench. Her chest hurts.

Thankfully, Dora doesn’t need to say anything, her husband having answered his own question. Even so, she nods, biting her bottom lip. She looks back at the phone, and as if summoning him, the sharp trill of her ringing phone begins again.

Calling.

Still calling…

Dora’s husband leans over her and ends the call, silencing the excruciating, ringing noise. He leans back, now sitting up, and places a hand against Dora’s cheek. She leans into his palm, shutting her eyes again. Expecting Harry to call again, she waits silently for the phone to ring once more. But it doesn’t. She is instead left to wallow in the bitterness and pity that continues to ooze out of the picked scab that are her memories, a scab Harry picked through with his dazed ramblings and desperate pleas. She can almost smell the alcohol in his breath. It has been some time since she has last felt like this. Two years maybe, or three? She tries not to keep track, wanting to instead forget the history both her and Harry once shared. And for a while, she had, focusing instead on the present, with her husband and daughter. But it is never enough, it seems, the painful ache in her heart as prominent as it was the day she left him standing there, dumbfounded, on the crosswalk.

“I shouldn’t have talked to him.” Dora keeps her eyes lowered, her bottom lip now sore. “I know I shouldn’t have. You don’t need to tell me.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Her husband responds, his voice a soft embrace she desperately craved. “He caught you off guard. It was unfair to you. Selfish.”

Dora nods slowly, swallowing. There is an uncomfortable lump in her throat. “Yeah.” Her voice is quiet now. Hoarse. “Let's get back to sleep. I need to go to work soon.”

“Sure.” His hand falls away. She looks up then, relieved to see the understanding in his eyes.

“Thank you.” She truly means it.

Her husband lies back down, pulling Dora against his body and holding her in his arms. They’re long and thin, but comforting nonetheless. Just…different. She only remembers how different his arms are during moments like these, when the sound of Harry’s voice, his words, his fear, twist around her mind, smothering her thoughts with a steel-like grip. An intrusion to a peace she's trying to desperately maintain. Her husband kisses the back of her head, banishing her anxious imaginings, and his fingers lace through hers, their bodies tangled together. She wonders if he can feel the thudding of her heart, gradually slowing back to a calm, steady rhythm.

Your voice sounds so beautiful.

Such words once made Dora’s cheeks grow warm and her body feel light and airy with an innocent, naive joy she will likely never experience again. It was a reminder of a youth untainted by the reality that would eventually find her, find them, while they blindly crashed into the mirage that was once their dreams. There would be no returning to what once was, they knew, and that realisation was enough to burn away whatever remnants of the child-like joy that had originally brought them together. Hearing those words again, after so long, left her chest feeling hollow, his love an echo rupturing the pillars of bone and soft, fleshy innards within. Why could he not move on? Was this her punishment, for thinking she could walk away from the burning wreck of their relationship? For knowing that there was no repairing what was unrepairable?

Dora takes a deep breath, wishing away these tormenting speculations with a long, slow exhale, willing herself to sleep again. She listens to her husband's breathing, his chest rising and falling in tandem to her own. The birds continue to sing, the darkness of the sky giving way to the light of dawn. Soon, the sun will peek between the tall, brick apartment buildings, bringing with it the morning and its warmth. It is a comforting thought, knowing time will continue to move on, as it has always done, as it will always do. And soon, sleep pulls her back into the depths of her mind, spindling her imagination into shapes, colours, and sounds – a spectacle of dreams that will swarm her mind with emotions she will never be able to describe, not with words.

“Harry…” Dora sighs, feeling his rough, calloused hands hold hers. They’re large– could easily crush hers, if he really wanted to – but he instead holds them like they’re made of glass. Like they will break under the slightest pressure. Perhaps he is right, a notable tremble in her limbs.

“Please,” he’s shaking his head, and though the sound of the city continues its loud barrage of noise around them, his quiet voice persistently reaches her ears. It reminds her of the music that once brought them together, except that it is now warped beyond recognition. “Please, let’s head back home. Let’s talk about this. You don’t have to leave, not like this.”

“No, Harry.” She looks back to the aerodrome station down the street, and then her watch. Time continues to tick away, mercilessly so. No, this is a favour, to her and her alone. Time is doing her a favour. “We’ve talked enough. I need to go, or I’ll miss my flight.”

His lips quiver, trying to find the right words to say. Going down his list. Trying every line, pursuing each question. Hoping to find a combination that will work. Again and again, until there’s nothing left to say. It would have been less painful had she left during the night, she thinks. No, even then, he’d realise something was off and find her, just as he had done now. It was inevitable, just as it had been inevitable for her to come to this decision.

“I don’t–” He struggles to speak, his voice cracking as tears begin to roll down his cheeks. “I can’t do this without you, Dora. Don’t do this.”

Perhaps he saw at that moment that there was no changing her mind, the resolution settled in her calm, ocean-like eyes. There was no compromise to be seen, no remaining doubts to pry into, no alternative to dig out with his bloodied, bruised fingertips. It was simply too late, the moment of no-return having passed long ago. And realising this, a panic seizes him, a despair in not knowing what to do next. She hoped that it would be enough to walk away, but…

He falls onto his knees, still holding onto her hand. An anchor slipping out of his grip. There are people watching, their eyes set on their tragic display. It is nothing more than a performance to these people, and for this play, Dora is playing the role of the villain. She bites her lip, finally tugging her hand free, her breathing unsteady.

“It’s too late, Harry.” She’s already moving, moving quickly down the street, knowing that he continues to watch her, begging through his heartbreak. “I have to–

“Dora?”

Dora blinks and gives her head a quick shake. “Hm? Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Her co-worker is quiet for a moment. “You look tired.” He finally remarks, pushing a cup of brewing tea towards her. “Did you not sleep well?”

There's a strained smile on her sore lips. “Not really, no.” She takes the cup of tea and holds it between her palms, the warmth seeping into her skin. “Bad dreams.”

Before the co-worker can respond, however, the academy bell begins to ring. A loud, shrilling noise that is uncannily similar to a phone ringing. Dora’s stomach continues to twist and turn with anxious rumination. Looking back from the ringing bell, her co-worker gives her an encouraging pat on the shoulder before heading off to his next class. It is a free period for her, and so, she leans back against the counter and brings the cup to her lips. Dora watches the world outside from the window beside her as she savours the aroma of her berry-flavoured tea.

The sky is overcast – dark and dense, the clouds heavy with rain – and the world below is a dull array of browns and greys. It will be spring soon, but the touch of winter decay continues to linger, the ground muddied and damp, and the trees naked, their branches rattling against the wind. Mirova is beautiful during the warmer months, but during the late autumn and winter, it isn't too dissimilar to Revachol.

Revachol…with its congested roads and snake-like rows of buildings, fat and bloated from the tenants lurking within. All the colours seemed muted, accommodating the pessimistic depression that hung over the city. There was a charming ugliness in it all, and alongside the constant noise of the city, she could hear the symphony of urban life: passing cars, distant shouts and petty arguments, a faraway gunshot or two, and the sound of music interlaced between it all. Yes, the music – that is what Dora remembers most about the city. A stream of different tunes, rhythms, and beats flowed between the cracks in the pavement stones, cutting through the smog that permeated the city, interconnecting the entirety of Revachol with new age melodies and lyrical agony. Disco was the rage when she was young, Dora remembering the flashing lights and outlandish dancing that made your heart race with unrestrained exhilaration. Revachol parties, they used to say. They – the voice of the city itself, said with distinct pride. She can almost hear the music now, Dora's eyes fluttering shut.

She met Harry through Disco. He was just a regular man back then. No, that is not entirely true; he was The Man, a Cool Dude, stylish, yet manly. His body was broad and muscled, softened with the charming smile she vividly remembers admiring. That she remembers seeing falter year after year. In fact, much of what he became is unrecognisable, compared to who he once was.

Dora frowns, remembering how she eagerly filled his head with hollow dreams, pointing him down a dead-end path. It was the age of disco – there was no anticipating the cold, cruel future that awaited them, like a sneaking predator and its bleeding prey, waiting and watching for the right moment to pounce, crushing the prey's neck between its blood-soaked jaws. Maybe they should've realised sooner, should've understood that life wasn't so forgiving. Maybe they would've, had the music not been so intoxicating.

Even so, Dora continuously questions if it was her fault that they ended up the way they did, having been the one to convince Harry to become a cop. She shakes her head, drowning out her thoughts with the hot, sweet taste of her tea. Her tongue tingles after she swallows, pushing back the memories leaking into her mind.

She has already spent too much time thinking about what ifs, about what she could've done differently. She has already lamented her failings as Harry's partner, wishing she could somehow break the laws of the universe and turn back time to the moment she convinced him to take that cursed job. But she can't, and it is a truth that she has accepted long ago.

“I shouldn't have talked to him.” She mutters, her grip tightening around her cup. “Why did I talk to him…?”

She looks back outside, seeing a young couple walk arm-in-arm towards the academy. One looked remarkably like Dora when she was younger, the girl's hair a bright blonde, and her round, innocent eyes a vivid blue. Her partner is a handsome man, tall and dressed neatly. A businessman, perhaps? They stare longingly into each other's eyes, exchanging secret messages only they can hear and envisioning a future only the inexperienced can hope for.

Is it bitterness rising up Dora’s throat? Regret? She had nothing to regret, knowing that she is truly content with her loving family and stable job, a dream life she has managed to finally achieve, despite the failings of her past. So what is this discontent? She looks away, her eyes downcast.

“I had hoped…” Dora mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. “That you would've moved on.”

But what more can she do? The greatest favour she can do for him is one she has already decided upon – to leave him be, to allow him to be his own person once more. It felt irresponsible in some ways, as if she were willingly leaving him to rot someplace her eyes cannot reach, but it was the only solution that she could find when despair continued to converge onto her. Onto them. Yes, this is the only solution, both back then and now.

Disco has come to its natural, inevitable end and it was time to move on.

Taking a deep breath, she finishes her drink and walks away from the window, ready to continue with her day. It won't be easy, but she has trudged through deeper depths than this. She'll be fine, she knows.

And far, far in the distance, beyond the twisting, enigmatic span of the Pale, where the icy winds cut through the dark, wintery night, and the air carries the stench of an unsolved murder, a detective finds the motivation to continue with his investigation.

#disco elysium #my writing #fanfic #dora ingerlund #harry du bois #introspective #unhealthy relationships #I do love the nuance surrounding dora #and how that nuance bleeds into Harry #how he's both sympathetic and pitiful #such a wet cat honestly

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sagau-my-beloved · 2 years

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I’ve been having Venti in the real world brainrot lately and I was wondering if you have hcs for if we let him listen to modern music. I can see him liking the more upbeat songs though modern rock/metal might scare him a tiny bit

Headcanons with Venti and modern music:

Anon you have read my mind, every time within the past week that I have listened to music I'll just start just randomly thinking about how Venti would feel about it, every time

Warning: like absolutely nothing

• So, first thing first, he is absolutely baffled by the amount of music that exists at his fingertips

• He's also genuinely glad that music is such a big part of our world, continued evolving with the times and all that

• I want to say that his favorite genre just default would be some sort of singer songwriter indie folk stuff, you know the type

• It's like the closest that I can think of to what he is used to

• Often just one singer, writing their own lyrics, typically just one instrument like an acoustic guitar, fits the vibe

• He really has a soft spot for songs that tell stories too

• I think it would take him a minute to get used to it, but once he did, he would totally be down with listening to more upbeat, fast paced music that includes more than just your standard instruments

• I feel like he could also get down with classical or orchestral music, to an extent, like he would have it on as background music when just doing things

• Now things like edm would scare him, none of those sounds are even remotely close to anything he has ever heard before, that stuff is like the most detached from his reality

• I could see him being down with classic rock, and also disco and jazz to some extent

• But yeah, modern rock, heavy metal, any sort of screamo music, those would terrify him

• I also think he would be genuinely shocked by some of the lyrics in modern songs, like mouth opened wide eyed shocked

• This applies both to the really sexual stuff and really sexist stuff

• He would, no doubt, be incredibly interested in modern instruments, would want to learn all about how the stringed instruments have evolved into what they are now

• Would also probably be fascinated at how you could synthesize the sounds of musical instruments through a computer

• You'll probably have to set a few weeks aside to properly show him a bunch of different types of music from different decades and genres, wants to learn about it all

• Would never immediately harshly judge anything you listened to, when you show him the stuff you like that's what he would be most open minded about

• I mean, he knows you have good taste

• He would adore if you made him a playlist, would listen to it almost every day

• Would want to make you one as well as soon as possible when he finally got a handle on exactly what songs he liked and didn't like

• I also have this really funny idea that you could secretly record him playing and singing for you and then post it on like Spotify or SoundCloud or something

• I imagine the comments and just general reaction to that would be absolutely hilarious

• I also feel like there would be a lot of bard jokes, and that's what makes it even funnier

• Show him like a month later and he'll comment on how he's just destined to be a widely loved musical talent throughout all universes

• He'll always prefer playing for you though <3

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin venti #genshin x reader #headcannons #venti x reader

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rayveewrites · 3 years

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I am not immune to the Hels Hermits brainrot, it seems.

So because I apparently love giving myself big writing projects, I've decided to essentially writing the entirety of the Scattered AU. Every Hermit, plus a few extras: two mystery characters, Evil X, Helsknight, and this fella. HesitateVS, the living embodiment of ImpulseSV's worst personality traits and moral failings. Or something.

Because he's the only original character (or the closes to one, or whatever) that'll be involved in Scattered Across the Map, I figured I should probably introduce him.

Infodump, both for the world of Hels and for the personality and history of Hesitate, is, as always, under the cut to avoid clogging people's dashboards:

(Wait, what do you mean there's a limit to how long posts can be?! You mean I have to reblog with the rest?!)

Hels is not a good place. Contrary to popular belief, it isn't just The Nether But Worse Somehow- it has Overworld resources and mobs in there too! (So what if all the normally harmless mobs can and will kill you?) There's even water! (Ninety-seven percent of the time it's poisoned) Hels is entirely underground, and the vast majority of its inhabitants have never seen the sky- some aren't even aware such a thing exists. Another thing about Hels: there is no Admin. What happens in Hermitcraft is often reflected in Hels- including members. While Hermits can come and go as they please, the Helsmits are essentially stuck where they are. So when a player leaves the Hermitcraft Server, their Hels equivalent... loses the ability to respawn. Yeah. The Helsmits don't know this- and, presumably, neither do the Hermits- as far as they're concerned, it's random and unpredictable. Denizens appear and disappear, and none of them are entirely sure why. The thing is, while things match up, they're not necessarily 1:1. So, while GenerikB was happy to pass admin status on to Xisuma when he left, Hels!Generik... didn't even know his time was limited. And, even if he had, he wouldn't give power to another player. In Hels, that sort of thing's a terrible idea. Fast-forward a few years. Hels has physically collapsed in on itself- twice- and the Hermits are in the middle of Season 3. Evil Xisuma, Hels!Mumbo, and (Tango equivalent) Disco hit on the utterly horrible idea of trying to bring (their) Generik back from the dead. They steal books from AngelCleo, navigate the complete headache that is bluestone (which is like redstone but worse in every conceivable way), perform the ritual, aaaand... It doesn't work. Or, more accurately, it does work, just not in the way it was supposed to. Instead of Generik, they get a fairly average-looking dude, dressed in a t-shirt and cargo pants, named HesitateVS. Hesitate is confused- who are these people? Where is he? And he's pretty sure he hadn't existed before now, but he knows how to build and fight and do bluestone and basic survival skills and that he can't trust anyone and that he fears death. Disappointed with their failure, the three more established Helsmits leave; the only guidance any of them give the new player is Disco pointing him in the general direction of wood. So Hesitate is on his own at the ripe old age of about ten minutes. He goes through the motions- wood, stone, iron, food. He learns to navigate the treacherous terrain, to avoid... uh... literally everyone, to carve out a living in the rocky walls. He learns, he adapts, and he's about three weeks old when he accidentally gets caught deep inside AngelCleo's territory. A thing about Angel: like her Hermit counterpart, she's completely insane. Unlike her Hermit counterpart, it's not in a fun way. So Hesitate has to run from an axe-wielding maniac- with wings- and while he's reasonably strong he's also Just Some Human, being chased by a literal angel. Fun. Hesitate digs down once he's gotten enough distance to do so, and he tunnels for a while. Angel either gets bored or gets distracted, because she seems to give up pretty quickly. Hesitate continues to burrow, until he digs into a small, abandoned room. It's not a normal room- far from it. It might have been a temple at one point, all quartz and emeralds and gold. It's circular, with the only entrance being where Hesitate busted through the wall. There's an altar in the middle, and on the altar floats what appears to be a Totem of Undying. Now, it's worth noting that, at the time, Totems of Undying didn't exist, and as such Hesitate had no idea what he was looking at. It's also worth mentioning that it was floating, above an altar, in a hidden room, and presumably had been for a while. Grabbing it would probably be a pretty terrible idea, considering the bit where everything in Hels was designed to kill you. Now, in Hesitate's defence, he's only existed for about three weeks. He grabs the totem.

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