Work Text:
It was supposed to be just an average movie night. Marcy just wanted one normal evening .
She was already situated on the apartment’s weathered gray sofa, cuddled right into Sasha’s left shoulder and Anne cuddled into hers. The three of them would alternate genres every Saturday: stupid romcoms for Anne, emotional anime movies never short of well animated fight scenes for Sasha, and usually high fantasy or sci-fi for Marcy.
She had gotten so hyper-focused on working on the webcomic she forgot what day it was- a bad habit picked up while living alone- so she resorted to digging through old DVDs at the last minute. Nothing had particularly caught her eye, until she stumbled upon her copy of War of the Warlocks. A shaking hand timidly traced over the aged cover art, before Marcy noticed a bent emerald corner merge with the intense sunset, no doubt due to the passage of the years. They’re so intertwined that you can’t tell where one stops and the other begins. She feels metal scraping against her teeth and jerks away unconsciously.
When Anne glanced over to her partner staring at the box, she insisted on watching it for childhood nostalgia. Something about waiting for Marcy to finally watch it, “get the full nerd infodump,” which she obliged to, despite a distant melancholy slowly sinking its robotic claws into her.
After Anne turned the movie on everything began to feel…off to Marcy. Wrong in a bone-deep, spine chilling way, almost as if she was being deceived by reality itself. She shrugged it off, it was probably just because she spent almost the entirety of yesterday hunched over on her drawing tablet. Maybe the stress that came with almost pulling a third all-nighter this week before Sasha picked her up and forced her into bed at 5am, right? Yeah, probably. If she drinks some water her pounding headache will dissipate and the intrusive thoughts gradually
It didn’t. Their thoughts only grew in intensity.
—
You remained mostly quiet during the watching, focused more on vanquishing the spots dancing around in your vision than the dated animation Sasha playfully scoffs at. You’re only able to softly utter tiny tidbits of information that you were particularly attached to, that you repeat like a mantra just enough to stop both of your partners from worrying. After only thirty minutes your head began feeling lighter, vacating its mass to your eyelids with the weight of a crimson Moon. It’s the strain of the screen against the dark room. You’ve had worse sensory experiences.
Then you started feeling detached from your surroundings, the pressure waning so gradually you didn’t notice until it was almost completely gone. Were things always this blurry? At this angle?
You’re barely verbal and something about this intrinsic feeling of wrongness is now painfully familiar. Right on the edge of your viewable memories, something you subconsciously don’t even want yourself to think about pushes to the forefront of your mind.
The way you’d pace Anne’s room, animatedly rambling about niche world building only mentioned in the book, and your girls would hang onto every word. The way Sasha would put her phone down (for once) and actually listen to you, only you, would make your heart flutter with unquantifiable euphoria. Anne would try her best to understand, asking engaging questions about side characters you both shared as favorites as time went on. It warmed your heart, made you feel so cared for, and always left you glad you had friends that listened to your interests.
A perfect fantasy world, filled with just enough danger to keep you engaged, but never be in any real danger. Mythical creatures warring with humans over a simple misunderstanding that only you could correct, along with Anne and Sasha’s help, of course. You’d never go on an adventure without them. Why is the scenery changing so quickly?
You would always realize it wasn’t real soon enough, whether it be Sasha being genuinely invested in an unshared interest, or Anne willing to leave behind her family just to go on an adventure with you. Hundreds of carefully rendered scenarios just to placate unattainable, childish, desires, gone in less than a few hours. You don’t know how you ever forgot the fading pixels, dissipating and twisting into invasive eyes seizing the most private parts of your mind for its own amusement. You swore you heard laughing after the simulation where Anne and Sasha accepted your invitation to Prom, no doubt based on one of your most comforting daydreams. The promise that you would be together, forever, was enough to get you through the worst of any trouble you had at school and now it stands as a monument to everything that’s wrong with you. Nothing is yours under its vermillion gaze.
Maybe if you were really lucky you could dorm with each other at college. Sorta like a sleepover that never sends, and the thought of living with the two of them sends a warmth unlike any other through her heart. Really her whole torso and spine. It hurts -
oh…
That's where Aldrich looked today.
—
Now it’s another future scenario. Delightfully domestic with no signs of any certainly, or rightfully held anger at her for stranding them both in a world that has done its damnedest to kill them. A quick glance at Sasha and then Anne tells you that it’s not a college dorm, it’s an apartment. It’s not the nicest by any means but you’d consider any place with them a home.
Regardless, she can’t understand why Aldrich thought this would fool her for long. Sasha nudging her and asking her if she’s alright? Preposterous. She would never consider her after this, it was already a miracle that she did while on Earth given her social status. Lying to her, betraying her trust surely finally broke the camel's back. Anne looking at her, concern laced in her kind, patient, eyes? Never, not after you whisked her away from her family, her home, and expected her to stay with something this wretched .
“Marcy, can you hear me?” Anne gently whispers, an explosive sound that rattles the skull she forgot she had. She instinctively shields her ears even though she knows it doesn’t stop sounds projected into her head. The way her nails claw into her head only adds to the tsunami of overstimulation. Sensations are getting more detailed, you can even feel something flowing under your nails. The smell of alcohol and copper in your modified blood finally chips apart at the haze.
More memories surface from the depths, you’re barely lucid and floating alone in a tank of some sort, submerged in an emerald saline solution. You can’t feel anything, can’t move anything, you can only drift in place and stare. The green washes off of you as you’re violently removed from your resting place. Everything outside of the solution is so dull until something stings your cheeks, pumping adrenaline that sends your fragile mind reeling all over again.
A whirlwind of sensations make up your patchwork memory. Pain in your legs. Crashing. Sharp iron needles. Falling raindrops. Restraints. Screaming. Tighter. Fear. Claustrophobia. Electricity. Shrill shrieking.
Silence.
Readjustments. His voice. It’s voice. Never your own voice. Tidal waves. Drowning.
Orange. Binary. Pixels conforming to their purpose. Flashes.
—
Slick, morning dew gathers under your heels. The fresh smell of nature you have always adored about your home world. Your best friends are waiting impatiently for you to finish preparing for the next adventure. It all feels so real, normal, in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. The realistic sensory input doesn’t make up for Anne and Sasha being out of character .
A study date with Sasha, while Anne makes your favorite of the Boonchuy family’s special dishes. Thankfully, business isn’t that labor intensive of a major and Sasha is really smart, so it goes off without a cinch. Anne can even help a bit, she’s always been smart she’s just never been able to apply herself-
What was it about that essay she told you about?
Who am I? Who are you? Who are we? You don’t know. None of you do.
You finally watch War of the Warlocks together during your Saturday to pick a movie. You would alternate genres every Saturday, stupid romcoms for Anne, emotional anime movies never short of well animated fight scenes for Sasha, and usually high fantasy or sci-fi for yourself.
You had found the movie buried under a large pile of stuff you had meant to give away, like it was buried on purpose, which causes you to hesitate. Anne recognizes it from over your shoulder and asks to give it another go. Sasha gives a simple “sure” that hangs heavy in the air before you excitedly skip over to play the movie. Your attention is split from being sandwiched between Sasha and Anne and the actual movie, supplemented with the occasional fun fact. Anne nods along like she understands (to be polite) as Sasha just hums every so often, but you know that they’re both listening to you for once.
Nothing could be better, honestly, but that’s what’s wrong with it. That’s always what’s wrong with it . Anne and Sasha don’t want what you want.
—
Moments from scenarios that are clearly separate are blending together in warm hues and blaring white noise. It’d be a nice surrealist painting if it wasn’t your perception of the physical world and now you’re getting why people think artists have a few screws loose. More like a missing circuit board for Marcy at this point.
Two clashing pseudo-realities keep her head swimming, only real enough to hurt like hell. Pervasive background static from the television bounces from her ears to her eyes and she doesn’t have enough strength to tear her eyes from the rapidly shifting images displayed on the screen. A professional shot of a mountain piercing the horizon to a blurry kaleidoscope of falling Red-Blue-Green-White stars. The undead army and decrepit castle they guard fade into unrecognizably dark blacks, deep orange hues, and ruby reds only accentuates the buzzing staticky words trying to reach her.
The worst was coming, they noticed her trance in both simulations now. Invasive hands crawling all over her, shaking her perception forcing her still and oh frog she’s gonna be sick when is this going to be over-
—
Symmetrical vision returns to both eyes, obscured and brimming with tears she can’t feel, but she can see and so she gambles a glance towards the TV. The screen is silent and still, paused right before the narrative climax of the movie. The protagonists have momentarily lost all hope of ever saving their world before miraculously turning it around by supporting each other, which she remembers because it’s her favorite scene. She couldn’t forget about it if she wanted to. She must’ve been out for an hour and a half at least.
Autumn chilled hands hold her own in a firm, yet not overwhelming, grasp that ushers away from her face
The smell of popcorn wafts into her nose and the saltiness mixes with the metallic taste of her mouth.
A small strangled noise escapes their lips, causing her to immediately clamp her hands over her mouth.
She’s crying? The feeling of a river streaming down is more heard than felt, but it will return soon, it always does.
“Mar are you…”
“Back?” Anne tentatively finishes.
She manages a small nod and an undignified mmmphm . “S-
“It’s okay, don’t push yourself. Is there anything we can help with?”
You don’t deserve their patience. She jerks her head to the left to shake away the intrusive thought, another involuntary motion she can’t quite shake when she’s wading this far.
A black bear plushie is offered to her by Sasha, the one she gave to you before she moved after Amphibia that she decided to name after the blonde, which she swipes quickly.
The smooth charcoal fur in between her fingers quickens the fading of the faux feeling of nothing-everything-all at once, invasive as pins and needles traveling up her muscles. Petting the bear is repetitive enough to not overwhelm her and steady her breathing with the rhythm.
Touch…good.
A quick look to Anne tells her everything she needs to know. It’s become routine at this point. Anne moves from kneeling on the floor back to her previous position upon the couch. Sasha always hesitates, afraid to hurt her even more than she’s already hurting, before she’s swayed by impossibly large puppy dog eyes. Marcy feels protected against Sasha’s shoulders, her mountain protecting the valley below. She shivers against Anne’s warmth , clement snugness that doesn’t set Marcy alight with a raging forest fire.
Everything still feels stilted, wrong, barely tolerable, like theres a barrier of glass between her and the rest of the world, but Marcy will pull through. She always does and she always will, with the help of her girlfriends, of course.
And Sasha the bear, too, who serves as a pillow once her eyes inevitably get too heavy to stay open. Sasha the human then takes her sleeping form to bed and swaddles her with the fluffiest blankets they own.
Anne and Sasha both make sure to talk to her about breaks tomorrow, when she’s not in the throes of infinitesimal entropy of painful memories and binary converging into flesh, casting one more worried expression at their sleeping partner.
“She’ll be alright Sasha.” Anne reaffirms with a hand on her shoulder. “But we should probablyyyy hide her drawing tablet for a while.”
Sasha chuckles lightly, “You think so little of me Boonchuy, I’m almost offended.” A wry smile pulls at her lips, before she whispers a location, muffled by the air condition suddenly turning on.
Anne sarcastically gasps, “How scandalous Waybright…” as she guides Sasha towards the bed.
They break apart briefly in order to situate themselves around Marcy, but already have their hands together again within seconds.
“Night Marce.”
“Good night Mar-Mar.”
She stirs and murmurs something unintelligible with a genuine grin stretching across her face for the first time tonight.
Anne and Sasha will fight like hell to keep it there.