#bojack x reader

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countlesDry. Awake. Dirty and grim.

The day was polluted. The headspace of being forced back into perception of reality met the gradual understanding of the senses around you. The black feeling that came along with the shock of being in the kind of circumstances you were for this long were starting to come back. It lasted only for a moment, replacing the stagance of detachment that came along with never fully processing your situation due to the bittersweet benefit of the protection of vague sense of denial.

Your hand grasped onto the ten dollar bill you had crumpled into your pocket before you properly opened your eyes. The dirt that was caked on your cheek complimented the shakiness of your hand as you felt yourself give a hitch of a breath; one that came from whatever you had inhaled lying flat on behind the grit of the sidewalk earlier that day. The mundanity of the spot you had found yourself in was one settlement practiced as exactly as the routine you had long since become used to in order to survive.

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countless times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home.

Your eyes opened as you felt the burning of your cheek meet against the side of the hard pattern of the sidewalk. Your lips cracked opened, and you could feel the physical dryness there in your throat as you felt yourself coming back from the disorientation that came along from the deep detachment of lack of consciousness, and the abrupt wake that came along with all the small minute challenges that you weren’t even aware you were always fighting until you had such a natural bleak break from them temporarily.

Your palms began to ease onto the grim of the sidewalk as your skin pressed against it momentarily, your chin raising up, and for the countless time in your life did you feel yourself easing into the animalistic rhythm of the chaos of existence as the back of your headspace fell into a black acceptance of the ache of your body and the usual weary patterns of your mind that came to the pinnacle of just how exhausted they truly were for that minute moment they were forced to come from the bleak backdrop of sleep.

You were aware of the aching of your throat as you turned your head up, and with your body curling in on itself with the tattered dress you had been wearing the past few weeks; the tailor that you met with the kind eyes who had come to guess your story if only from the pathetic tattered ways you carried yourself with your hands gripped against the dirtiness of your skin and the pathetic nothing of your constant timid energy that caused her to have sympathy for her donation to you; a kindness that could only be met in small minute real life intimate scenarios such as that one that you knew was rare, even in that scenario.

Your lips pressed together, the bottom of your lip raising up onto the top of your other one in that undignified and delusional way that came from the disorientation that you had from the constant strain of your mental and physical streatching of your body. Your eyes fluttered up into a blink as you gave a breath, this time the tone sounding especially scratched against your throat, causing you to wince as you gave a heaved breath; the air of Los Angeles has been especially dry lately, and even more with a smog that was dressing and pollutining into the ease of the already defaulted grey clouded sky that normally sat above the buildings.

Your hands were cracked and cacked with dirt as you turned your head down, your body curling forward as you gave another dry heave while your body shook; that feeling of being inhuman wasn’t one that had become foreign to you at this point in your life where being inhuman and being treated as such from casual passagers didn’t lessen their loathing in looking down at the dirty cake of trembling lost people that the majority who had never fallen into the cracks were even capable of processing. Your neck turned up as your lips cracked and pressed against one another again as your kneeled your body back onto your thighs, your other palm coming to grip onto the white tatter of your dress. The tailor swan who had made the rags for you had been one of someone who gave you that special extra time to make you one of something special;

“You can’t go around and try to be naked and a woman without the world coming to your feet in the most detrimental way possible, honey.” The tone that left her beak was one of someone who had a thick intention of a pushy judgment, but underneath it from the start you had been aware of the warmth of her ultimate intention.

The walk was about two hours away by foot; as of late, your various methods for being able to own even half of a bill of twenty dollars had been becoming increasingly less possible. Your legs were beginning to ache from the amount of time they spent by the edge of the sidewalk and the grim that caked into your clothes and how it made every movement feel like an unwarranted chore; your body had become less able to give the passing by man what he wanted enough for a quick meal or for anything to add on to anything to do with your existence except for the constant emotional disorientation and mental foggy headedness that came along with the life of always being far from comfortable or even tolerable, mentally or emotionally from others, or the constant reminder on various media that the level you were on in life was of someone who was of a cheap punchline; or worse, a person who was at the hand of any vindictive person passing by, knowing your name, or lack of it, and your life was one easily thrown away that it was far from controversial as to whether anyone would notice.

Your bones ached as you leaned your torso back on your thighs underneath the trembling of your hand, trying to come back to the sense of focus you needed in order to make the walk. Your hands gripped on the deteriorating white fabric that had ripped through the sex of the random whiskey laden men with maddening eyes who thrusted their bodies onto you; some homeless, a mirror reflection of your situation, others simply someone of a richer high power who wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor with a cheap body of nothing for quick minute fix in the back corner of a dirty wall to pleasure themselves for as long as they needed the serotonin without any significance beyond that.

You would take whatever they granted you with the material that crumpled in their hand; the trail of a spiral that you found yourself in now was part from their increased understanding that you took what you could, and left it at that, and the amount they handed you began to decrease along with their gradual realization that they could give or not give what they liked. Even in the grim of your caked and dirty skin that was the definition of someone who had a roll of the low status beyond recall of anything other than constant inward battlement, they couldn;t quite fathom just how low you were, just how much you would take from them of what they would give, and just how much they could get away with once they became aware of how powerless you truly weres times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home. 

Your eyes opened as you felt the burning of your cheek meet against the side of the hard pattern of the sidewalk. Your lips cracked opened, and you could feel the physical dryness there in your throat as you felt yourself coming back from the disorientation that came along from the deep detachment of lack of consciousness, and the abrupt wake that came along with all the small minute challenges that you weren’t even aware you were always fighting until you had such a natural bleak break from them temporarily. 

Your palms began to ease onto the grim of the sidewalk as your skin pressed against it momentarily, your chin raising up, and for the countless time in your life did you feel yourself easing into the animalistic  rhythm of the chaos of existence as the back of your headspace fell into a black acceptance of the ache of your body and the usual weary patterns of your mind that came to the pinnacle of just how exhausted they truly were for that minute moment they were forced to come from the bleak backdrop of sleep. 

You were aware of the aching of your throat as you turned your head up, and with your body curling in on itself with the tattered dress you had been wearing the past few weeks; the tailor that you met with the kind eyes who had come to guess your story if only from the pathetic tattered ways you carried yourself with your hands gripped against the dirtiness of your skin and the pathetic nothing of your constant timid energy that caused her to have sympathy for her donation to you; a kindness that could only be met in small minute real life intimate scenarios such as that one that you knew was rare, even in that scenario.

Your lips pressed together, the bottom of your lip raising up onto the top of your other one in that undignified and delusional way that came from the disorientation that you had from the constant strain of your mental and physical streatching of your body. Your eyes fluttered up into a blink as you gave a breath, this time the tone sounding especially scratched against your throat, causing you to wince as you gave a heaved breath; the air of Los Angeles has been especially dry lately, and even more with a smog that was dressing and pollutining into the ease of the already defaulted grey clouded sky that normally sat above the buildings. 

Your hands were cracked and cacked with dirt as you turned your head down, your body curling forward as you gave another dry heave while your body shook; that feeling of being inhuman wasn’t one that had become foreign to you at this point in your life where being inhuman and being treated as such from casual passagers didn’t lessen their loathing in looking down at the dirty cake of trembling lost people that the majority who had never fallen into the cracks were even capable of processing. Your neck turned up as your lips cracked and pressed against one another again as your kneeled your body back onto your thighs, your other palm coming to grip onto the white tatter of your dress. The tailor swan who had made the rags for you had been one of someone who gave you that special extra time to make you one of something special; 

“You can’t go around and try to be naked and a woman without the world coming to your feet in the most detrimental way possible, honey.” The tone that left her beak was one of someone who had a thick intention of a pushy judgment, but underneath it from the start you had been aware of the warmth of her ultimate intention. 

The walk was about two hours away by foot; as of late, your various methods for being able to own even half of a bill of twenty dollars had been becoming increasingly less possible. Your legs were beginning to ache from the amount of time they spent by the edge of the sidewalk and the grim that caked into your clothes and how it made every movement feel like an unwarranted chore; your body had become less able to give the passing by man what he wanted enough for a quick meal or for anything to add on to anything to do with your existence except for the constant emotional disorientation and mental foggy headedness that came along with the life of always being far from comfortable or even tolerable, mentally or emotionally from others, or the constant reminder on various media that the level you were on in life was of someone who was of a cheap punchline; or worse, a person who was at the hand of any vindictive person passing by, knowing your name, or lack of it, and your life was one easily thrown away that it was far from controversial as to whether anyone would notice. 

Your bones ached as you leaned your torso back on your thighs underneath the trembling of your hand, trying to come back to the sense of focus you needed in order to make the walk. Your hands gripped on the deteriorating white fabric that had ripped through the sex of the random whiskey laden men with maddening eyes who thrusted their bodies onto you; some homeless, a mirror reflection of your situation, others simply someone of a richer high power who wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor with a cheap body of nothing for quick minute fix in the back corner of a dirty wall to pleasure themselves for as long as they needed the serotonin without any significance beyond that.

 You would take whatever they granted you with the material that crumpled in their hand; the trail of a spiral that you found yourself in now was part from their increased understanding that you took what you could, and left it at that, and the amount they handed you began to decrease along with their gradual realization that they could give or not give what they liked. Even in the grim of your caked and dirty skin that was the definition of someone who had a roll of the low status beyond recall of anything other than constant inward battlement, they couldn;t quite fathom just how low you were, just how much you would take from them of what they would give, and just how much they could get away with once they became aware of how powerless you truly were

Ten dollars had become five dollars, and five dollars had started to become cents. It wasn’t until one of the men, a man who had had interocurse with you enough times behind a dirty splattered wall with especially sharp features of cheekbones and pale skin that gave away someone who was well off enough, that handed you fifty cents for the entirely of the hour and forty five minutes of your head being cracked against the pavement, your back burning from the asphalt of the road as your eyes turned up while you felt the pain of him entering and thrusting into you that you that it began to sink into your understanding of what it truly meant to be nothing; of the amount of people and their whims they could thrust onto you without punishment. 

“Enough for one meal.” Your words had come out shaken, uncertain and with something that would have only confirmed their beliefs,  lips pressed against one another as your hand pressed across your cheek in an undignified apology of desperation. Your eyes fluttered down as you felt yourself giving an awkward breath of a hitch from the ache of your body from the night that had occurred a couple of afternoons ago. Your eyes snapped up to the cents; seventy five. The man’s pale lips had raised into a vague smirk on his lips that looked as if he as rich enough that he got work done on his face as his eyes eased across yours, and then crumpled his hands on the cents while he turned it back into his pocket, dug through his coat, and then pulled out another few crumpled bits of dollars. Your hand had snatched for it, crumping it by your cest where your breasts were hanging out and open from your white tattered rags. The man had taken to raising up his eyebrows as his eyes traced across your body as yu tried to fumble your hands onto your rags, pulling up the white of the tattered and stretched folds of the dress while you eased the dress up onto your torso; the same rags that were now coming undone from the strings. Whether or not you would be able to make it over to the proper tailor store where the swan woman would take her usual empathy on you to offer you help for the dress was still up for debate, and even still, you had to figure out the process of getting there.

“Know your worth, strip dress.” The man had said it quickly, and even as he had taken a piece of the tattered white rag that had been attached to your dress while he had made love to you and had pressed it across te dirt on his face with a smudge while he titled his head to the side and turned his eyes away from you as he got himself up, the intention of the words had been clear. 

“What?” You had crumpled the dollars against your palm as the red edge of your eyes had snapped up and looked at him, though the dread of the experience you had with human nature told you all you needed to. The man raised up his eyebrows as he gave a cocked and askew look of his lip with he cracked his head to the side, and with a kick of his boot did he turn a dim that sat by his shoe over to you. Playing along with the undignified role that you knew now he had been using to confirm as to weather or not you were worth anything even as a quick and cheap fix to subdue his desires did your body lean forward in front of him as you gripped for the dim. The man chuckled as he finished pressing the coat around his shoulders, and as he hoisted it up and began to walk away casually, he called over his shoulder in a casualty that spoke of all the void you knew it meant to;

“Good luck out there.”

To no surprise, you had never seen him again. And to an even lesser surprise, the tattering of the spin of your dress and the strings of it were already starting to fall apart further as you got yourself up; your head turned down as you gripped your hands onto the folds of the dress before the rags fell off your thighs entirely just as you managed to get enough feeling in your body to get yourself upward. Your head titled down as your fingertips gripped on your rags while you tousled the cloth into a large swab of your palms, then turned your head upward as you craned your head back and rolled your shoulders. 

The ache in your body was enough as it was that it made you want to invest in the next twenty that you could get in the next area with a new gritty reputation as much as you were able to away from the quick mumbled passing of the one you had evidently built up here from the men that must have strung together their own form of mocking for your situation like an entangled cobweb of gossip for a bottle of vodka; the calores weren’t much, but it was enough to both detach you from reality into a detached leadway of the usual lack of virtue and control robbed from you otherwise, and along with that, the simple feeling of making your body just sick enough that for the time you had the bottle, food was not only something of a lack of concern, but also something not of want.

You leaned your body backward as a final crack of your body until you finally felt yourself standing up into an upright position, though it was clear that the ache in your body would be present for the next few days. Your eyes had that edge of a burning feeling as you turned your head over your shoulder to the small convenience store you had collapsed in front of a few hours before your exhaustion from making the walk towards the last public are you had slept in front of had caused you to leave; there had been too many rumors of people obtaining and increased disdain for the clearly unhoused who lived there, and it wouldn’t have been the first time you had seen another peer of yoru stature go to sleep nearby, and to wake up with their foggy docile eyes and mouth open with a metal piece stuck into their back; a passengers quick amusement of what they knew they could get away with when it comes to people with that amount of lack of power. 

Your head wasn’t clear, but you had been in that place of foggy detachment of identity, of which you now had almost none, and of that lack  of making clear sense of reality such as you did now. Your head turned up as the burning of your eyes, still muggy from the unnatural feeling of resting on the hard ground, turned as you looked over at the front convenience store on the other side of the road. 

Fifty cents for an entire container of sweets of your choice-A Great Deal, Offered Today Only!

There was a vintage theme to it, the words marked in blocked and large blue letters as they were dressed across the fairly unkempt and unimpressive windows that sat around the store. All of the typical American candy was lied out under the blocks; Sour Patch, Reeces, Dots, Hereshys, Swedish Fish, abd the other assorted bright colors that rested under the blare of the sign in a stoic indifference as the the business of the city passed by in its detachment, not unlike you had long since started feeling yourself in relation to anyone surrounding you, and very little to be done to lessen the abrasive suffering that came from the lack of connection or anything to be done to even understand it.  You blinked as you tried to come back to any reasoning you could find in your headspace as you stretched your body further upward, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to dull the ache, cramping your fingertips in an an attempt to soothe how cramped they felt. Reason felt far from reachable, but you tried to fight through the muggy headedness that came with despair and the feeling of hopeless meaningless; the pattern was the same level every day, and it never got harder or easier, just the same stagance of the same challenge and, eventually, recovery once you churned through the muddiness that made up your headspace. 

The man inside was a heavyset mole man, the wear of the emptiness of his mundane time throughout the years of his life filled in visibility through the broad and large compass of the physicality of his body. He bore nothing but a blue shirt that wrapped around his plush and broad shoulders, the glasses resting on his snout as he busied himself with the cashier beyond the see through tint of the blue windows. 

You felt your throat rasp again, the scratchiness of it easing against your throat as it met the dry air of what surrounded you. You blinked as you turned your eyes down to where your hands were still kept cramped onto your palms as you heard the unhealthy whistle noise of your throat while you turned your eyes down and to the crumple of the rags on your hands. Despondently did your thumbs caress against your dress for a moment, and in that muggy way the best that someone could, as someone who was coming to accept the narrative of their lack of worthwhile  presence in life at all hours, the back of your head began to go through the different small components that you had rested in your rags that you had managed to manipulate into pockets for the times when you did have money.

 With the attempt of the ability to try to fight through the constant emptiness and baggage of a life of someone who was now nearing their mid thirties and being at the status and on the brink of an easy death that your mind had become accustomed to did you began to think over if there was a way you could get anything from the other side of the road-not because you wanted to or because you had the time or the energy with the limited stigma that you barely possessed enough as it was, but more so from the literal need you felt that made it a robotic requirement; much like your force of moving your body and pretending to feel functional, despite having long since had your body and your immediate perception of reality long since gone from the understanding that you still existed. 

Your head turned up just as your palm snapped over to your breast; you felt a quick pace of your heart as you felt the familiar end of the crumple that made up a dollar. Your fingers began to crumple against the feeling of the dollar underneath the cloth of the white dress, the material cheap enough that it gave away to plenty of feeling of the fabric meeting on your fingertips as you felt the material underneath it. You felt a shaky breath go through your lips as your fingertips gripped on the dollar through the cheap fabric, and your other hand went to grip the fabric on your dress as you crumpled it forward and furher onto your palm while the other grasp of your hand began to turn frnacitally into the fabric of the dress, turning over the material as your fingers came to grip on the paper of the money. Your eyes snapped down as you took the paper dollar and gripped it against your fingertips, turning the money over into your hand as your eyes passed over the bill; the number five was crossed on it with block letters. 

The night before began to pass by your mind with the foggy and detached memory that came along with the feeling of the grittiness of the man’s hand on your thighs last night; you hadn’t chosen the place by the sidewalk with your cheek rested on the grim of the cement for nothing. Your body ached awhile he had thrusted himself into you; a man with cacked wrinkles and grim and dirt on his feuatres as the maddening black and crossed his eyes while he had looked over your expression until your exhaustion, or one of the countless patterns of fading in and out of consciousness for whatever reason that came along with processing your existence caused you to open your eyes in and out from the feeling of his body by your torso and thighs. 

He must have been especially generous; for the amount of interaction you had had with men in the area lately that had led to begging on top of begging. Through foggy and unpleasant memories did you begin to pierce together the memory of him beginning to ease himself off of your body with a crumpled cigarette and yellow tainted grim on the dollar as he had taken it over the white tear of the dress around your body that had previously dressed under your beast, his hand coming to grip on the dress as he took the dollar bill and placed it into a small satin pocket that he then took to press against your breast. Your own nature of being present had faded in and out by then, but you could remember the grittness of his amusement as he had started to ease his body up, cackled laughter and his body dressed in heavy packaging of the tan of his coat dressed heavily around his body as he had gotten his weight off of you. 

Your hands tore off the layer of the satin and gripped onto the dollar bill on your palms, and with your head turning up to the eggshell blue of the sky did you feel a whisper breath leave your lips as you sent up a inward thank you to the lightness of relief that came over you momentarily. There was a strength and an odd beauty to those that had found themselves in the department of life of being less than nothing, and you felt that brief ethernal purity of being someone with desperate and pathetic but ultimately pure and simple intentions as your hand gripped on the bill.