#texiisms

[androxeda]

( continued from here. )

conversation: B.I.B.

[ text ; SENT ] OKAY LISTEN TEXAS [ text ; SENT ] led zeppelin.............is my life [ text ; SENT ] like i love their song just  [ text ; SENT ] I WANNA BE. THE VERY BEST. LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS [ text ; SENT ] oooh pork sounds so good rn actually

@texiisms

[androxeda]

It’s her favourite sweater, he knows. And he knows the reason why she gave it to him, but still he can’t really bring himself to believe it. He never thought he’d get to see her again, that he’d get to enjoy her presence as much as he used to. He never thought he’d get to have her so close.

And yet... She still sat there. She still held him. And even when he tentatively intertwined their fingers, she didn’t pull away. He felt the warmth of the sweater, let the familiar scent of her overtake his senses into contentment, just like it had been so many years ago. The nightmares wouldn’t plague him, just because she was there. Just because she would chase them away somehow, she always did. She always put him at such ease. She gave him such a feeling of home, that no matter what, she would be there at his side.

It was such a comforting feeling. He finally had his mother back, finally had the figure that he had lost himself to grief for when she had supposedly “died”, and she was right beside him. She was going to protect him again, and he to her. 

And even as the nights passed where she would end up at his side, where she would end up holding him in some form and he would fall to content sleep with a faint smile on his face, somehow Washington knew it wouldn’t last. He knew, from all of his painful life experiences, it wouldn’t last. 

But that didn’t stop him from hoping anyway, to continue on in believing that fate wouldn’t be so cruel, and that he could indulge in this peace just a little bit more. The happiness of finally being with someone he thought he could never be with again. It was a selfish wish, yes, but something told him she didn’t want to go, either. Something told him she was content, too. She was happy, too. 

So he continued on wearing her sweater when the armor was off. He continued to sleep with it, continued to bask in the warmth that still stayed behind even if she wasn’t at his side during a particular night. He still breathed in that homely smell that chased away the darkness, gave him the impression that she was still watching over him right by his side. He ran his fingers over the lone star on the arm, tracing the lines and he whispered Texas under his breath. 

He had become so attached to that sweater, that even when she was gone, even when he was so far away from home, it still kept him company. it still served Washington to remind him as David. It still reminded him of her. It still reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

Even if he was, even if he was left to fend for himself, to survive on his own, with absolutely no one to rely on, the sweater told him he wasn’t. It told him in her exact voice: It wasn’t your fault, kid. It told him: You’ll find your way. It told him everything she had said to him once, it continued to remind him, even when Texas herself wasn’t able to do so by herself anymore.

It kept him going.

It kept him home.

[androxeda]

it wasn’t an often thing that washington would find himself becoming so unraveled. it wasn’t a common thing that he would find himself actually clinging to another person that wasn’t york or north. so, to suddenly find himself doing both of those things all in one go is enough to send him into shock, if it weren’t for the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, if it weren’t for the feeling of texas holding him and the familiar WARMTH that was bittersweet in doing so.

‘ . . . texas --- ? i’m sorry . i’m sorry for everything i’ve put you through. ‘

his voice is weak, strained in a fight to get the words out --- but he means everything from the bottom of his heart. he just hoped the other freelancer would feel it, that she wouldn’t become so hurt again.

@texiisms

[drinksmilk-blog1]

@texiisms & lengthy ( ish ) call !

“ hm ? you don’t really seem like most people around here. i mean.. of course, you’re probably not a huntress--not everyone is. ”

she would continue to ramble for a few second on who this woman was ( and who she probably wasn’t ) her words rushing themselves into one another. she stopped for a few seconds, lips hanging open to ask one more question.

“ who are you ? ”

[androxeda]

Ever since Epsilon had been implanted, everything made crystal clear sense. It was the dawning realization that everything Washington knew to be ... Good, well. 

It wasn’t.

It was the complete opposite, and the truth that had managed to slam into him like a runaway freight train was a major factor in the reason behind his mental sanity taking a nosedive. He had poured his faith and loyalty into the Project, into the Director --- His Dad --- and everything had been a complete lie.

Washington was painfully, agonizingly aware the Director knew that Epsilon was going to corrupt him in the most torturous way known --- Right at his core. He knew the Agent had a memory so acute, so astoundingly sharp, that there was no recovering from the unit based on memories themselves and what it would show him. He knew all too well what could’ve and would’ve happened. 

Washington should’e listened to CT, he should’ve been as harsh to the Director as she was. Maybe if he did, he wouldn’t have lost his sanity. He wouldn’t have lost York and North. He wouldn’t have lost Texas. 

The nightmares about Epsilon aren’t the only things keeping him up --- The secrets of the Project aren’t, either. It’s not the last thing he heard of Epsilon screaming, falling apart at the seams within his head, the self destruction --- The hatred, the agony, the sadness ---

It was the same recurring nightmare, over and over again.

“It’s not your fault, kid.”

And it’s a hand gently resting on his shoulder, a juxtaposition in cold, black armor against a shaking, bare shoulder. Washington knew the face to the voice, he knew it like the back of his hand. But he couldn’t bring himself to look up. It was too painful, too real in the silence that followed after her famous quote often aimed towards him.

A hand would ascend to meet with the steel of another hand, hope gathering in his chest that maybe he would finally meet with it this time, that he would finally be able to hold it like he had when he was just a child ---

But, just like that, she faded into nothing. Opaque, translucent, transparent, gone. Just like she always was.

A shadow doomed to constantly fail.

Except, to Washington, Texas wasn’t a shadow. She never would be. She was a normal fucking human, just like the rest of the Freelancers. She was still his mother. And as far as he knew, he loved her with everything he had. 

No matter how many times she slipped right out of his grasp whenever he grew near.

No matter how many times it killed him to live with knowing he could’ve saved her, he had the power and skill to, but always fell short.

Maybe... Maybe she wasn’t the shadow here.

Maybe it was him, following in the memories of the Director. Remembering Texas as a failure of a shadow of Allison was wrong --- He was the shadow of someone so great, someone named Agent Allison “Texas”, doomed to constantly fail.

And that’s what kept him up at night.

[androxeda]

☱ [ B^) ]

04/12/57

She was...

She was my mom. She was a ‘shadow’ in their eyes, but she was still my mom. I lost her once. She found me. I lost her again. I found her. I swore I would protect her. 

But even so, why am I so weak? Why was I unable to tell her how much she really meant to me? Why did I just let her slip right through my fingers again?

Because I’m a fuckin’ failure for a soldier. I’m a failure as a son. And that’s all there is to it. 

All I ever wanted was an ‘I’m proud of you’ and sure, she said it once or twice in her own way --- But it just wasn’t the same. I wasn’t proud of myself. And it kills me to know that when she needed me, I wasn’t there.

And I had to watch.

                 Washington

[androxeda]

ø!!

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Conversation: b.i.b.

[1/3] ok like....... york mightve just fallen asleep on my shoulder and there is no way in hell that im strong enough to actually pick his ass up and place him on the bed??[2/3] lmao why is it always me[3/3] hes such a fuckin dork look at this goddamned face