Growing Up Timeline for my Lyle from Look Outside in my RPs
Mostly written with @melpomene-muse-of-tragedy , I'm adjustable if anybody else wants to write stuff with me <3 but this is the baseline that makes up my Lyle's past and future actions. At least at this very moment.
TW: Big family death, bullying, dementia, isolation, just... This boy going through it
---
Different from the Start
Lyle grew up an outcast for being way too intense about his hobbies. He was never good at masking who he really was, so he quickly became a target. His height didn't help him (152cm // 4'8,9" when full-grown) nor his weight. He had friends for a while despite that... But it'd change, once he did.
The Crash
He lost his family in a plane crash when he was just 11 years old.. It was quick. Impersonal. All he had left was his grandma, who had stayed home because of a broken leg. By some miracle, Lyle had survived, only a scar left to prove it happened, but at that young age, it changed him to his very core. He grew distant from all his friends. He lost the ability to relate to other people because of the turmoil he went through inside, and he grew increasingly obsessed with the camera his family had given him for Christmas just a year earlier. He had a single picture of them sitting in the background of a shot of the Christmas tree. That was all he took.
OCD?
As he grew older he started creating little self soothing rituals. The cameras became a source of comfort, and he'd always fidget with them or grab on to them to ground himself. Pictures became an obsession, where he felt like every single thing he considered even a little big, he had to take a picture of. If he had any friends, even just briefly as the new person at school got to know him, only to abandon him later... He'd take their picture to keep.
MĂŠmĂŠ
All the while, his grandma, his mĂŠmĂŠ, would start developing dementia. Forgetting where she was. Who He was. Speak of things past that only hurt to hear. It didn't take long before Lyle had to take on the role of her care dependent at a very young age.
Sensitive to the Light
Lyle felt completely invisible. Even as he managed to get a friend group together when reaching college, he found himself alone in a room full of people who only wanted a game of Mazes & Wizards, not actually spending any time with him as a Person.
It was fine though. He adjusted, settling into the shadows, and he enjoyed feeling like he was a Part of something. Like he wasn't just some ghost haunting his own apartment with a woman who didn't recognise him, but he loved more than his whole being.
He was a good DM. He had patience, and he was excited to play with some real friends...
But they were not.
Two sessions in, then it fell apart, too.
Left with nothing but his grandmother in his adult years, he put his entire focus on her and nothing else, just trying to help her and keep her going as long as he could.
Take lots of pictures.
Try to preserve her in whatever ways he could...
But of course, that's not how normal reality works. You can't preserve a soul in a picture.
All Alone
She passed, and Lyle didn't leave his apartment for Years. Being able to live off of her inheritance, he only ever left for his nature shots and people watching... Until the guilt was eating him alive. Was this really what he was doing with her money? Buying door dash and rotting away? He was closing in on 30...
He decided to apply for a job. If anything, for his own conscience. For her. And for His soul..
When he suddenly meets the kindest soul he had ever come across. One that actually Saw him. Looked upon him right in the eyes, yet meaning no harm.
Sam
Things go well... Until they don't. A big fight at work between Sam and an employee targeting them both, ends with Sam suffering a terrible head injury.
And that's how Sam becomes another person who forgot Lyle even existed in the first place.
But the scent of development fluid and fresh photo paper... It's triggering some vague memories within Sam upon entering Lyle's apartment. A small chance to DO remember that they worked together once.
What he cannot remember however, is that Lyle didn't always live at the same apartment complex as he does...
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Its kinda delightfully messed up in a Transformers fanfic I remember being almost proud of Breakdown (the G1 paranoiac, not the bulky TF:Prime guy) gathering enough strength to be a possessive creep and tell a lover of Dead Ends he doesnât want to see him again.
Like...good job at being awful Breakdown. Youâre a proper Decepticon now!
Alright so I have ANOTHER 10 days of isolation straight off the back of the first 10. I am missing out on several things I was excited to do. If anyone wants to send me some asks to distract me/cheer me up, I would welcome that.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Jon ends up somewhere unfamiliar with his mind fighting him every step of the way as he tries to put the pieces together regarding where he now is and how he ended up there.
(Or, an AU in which Jon became trapped within Martinâs domain.)
on AO3
[CLICK]
[A SOFT BUT STEADY RAIN FALLS]
JON
God, this place is dreary. And boring. Not sure which of the two is worse.
...of all the places in all the world, why did I end up here?
[BRIEF BURST OF STATIC]
Wait a second... thatâs new.
[FOOTSTEPS ON DIRT, APPROACHING]
JON
Is that a tape recorder?
[MORE FOOTSTEPS. JONâS NEXT WORDS ARE SLIGHTLY LOUDER]
JON
Canât remember the last time I saw one of those. Though then I canât remember... canât remember...
[A BITTER LAUGH]
JON
Canât remember a lot of things right now.
Good lord, this thingâs probably older than I am, isnât it? Whatâs next, a floppy disc? The screech of connecting to dial-up Internet?
[A MOMENT OF SILENCE, SAVE FOR THE STILL-FALLING RAINDROPS]
JON
Just... just the tape recorder then? A-alright. Iâll take it with me, I suppose. Itâs better than nothing. Marginally.
At least it helps break up the scenery. Not a lot of variety here, is there?
Actually, now that Iâm, Iâm holding it in my hand, something about this feels... right? No, not right. Familiar, maybe?
[A DISGRUNTLED SIGH]
JON
Itâs probably nothing.
Everything seems to be nothing here... or, or to slip away, when I try to hold onto it... how am I supposed to put the puzzle together when I canât even keep hold of the pieces?
But it didnât... it wasnât always like this. I can remember that much, at least. There are places other than this one, other than this endless field of gray grass...
Grass isnât even supposed to be gray, is it? I suppose a bit of color would liven things up too much. Canât have that.
Everythingâs gray here.
[FINGERS SOFTLY TAPPING AGAINST PLASTIC AS JON CONTINUES TO SPEAK]
JON
I donât know why Iâm telling you all this. Itâs not like youâve got a better shot of making it out of here than I do. And youâre probably not even working, or, or turned-
Oh, it is switched on. Been listening this whole time, then? Pick up any juicy secrets?
Good luck with that. If Iâve got any secrets, even I donât know them.
Surprised the rain hasnât fried the poor thing already. Unless itâs as much a part of this place as the rain is...
[SLOW PACING]
JON
Itâs actually kind of nice, getting to talk to you. I mean, youâre probably not even picking half of it up, between the rain and- and all the static and such, thereâs a reason people donât use tape recorders anymore, but...
At least I can pretend someone will listen to this eventually. I know nobodyâs out there to listen to my rambling otherwise. I think thatâs... thatâs the point of this place, somehow. All this space, and nobody but myself to occupy it.
One man against the world.
[WEARY SIGH]
JON
It hurts, but itâs... itâs a soft kind of hurt.
Maybe I should describe it to you, in case you actually do make it out of here without me. Or in case somebody else makes it in here without me. Hell, for all I know, Iâm surrounded by people, and something just made it so I canât perceive any of them.
JON (STATEMENT)
I am alone in-
JON
No, that sounds wrong somehow... maybe Iâll try third person? Give it a bit more... distance. Emotionally.
This place is all about distance, after all, isnât it?
JON (STATEMENT)
There is a man who is alone in a field. His name is... is... is not important. The man himself might be, perhaps, but- but rarely to the right people, or, or for the right reasons. Itâs never a good feeling to be judged by your worst moments, by your deepest regrets, even if the one judging ends up thinking you did a great job by the end of it.
Part of him is used to being alone, to pushing people away, to acting like what they already think you are if itâll get them not to look more closely. But it was always his decision before.
There are no decisions to be made here, in this empty field full of grass and rain and wind.
[THE RAIN PICKS UP]
JON (STATEMENT)
It is cold and wet and dreary and so, so lonely. It is one thing to choose such a life, to know you could always seek out warmth if you so chose but always choosing otherwise. It is another thing entirely to be stranded within such a life, to be unable to find a single source of heat, to be cut off from any potential shelter.
The man isnât sure how long he has been here. Hours? Weeks? Years? Time blends together seamlessly here, with no sun visible from beyond the layer of gray rainclouds. It has been a long time, at any rate. Long enough that he gave up crying for help some time ago.
There is nobody around to hear his cries; he knows that much now. No matter how loudly he screams, all that is there to hear is the rain and the field and the gray. And the louder he screams, the colder he gets inside, with no way of warming up ever again.
He remembers being warm before, distantly. He remembers colors besides black and white and shades of gray. The details of the memories are fleeting, but the sense of them is clear.
He had once been to parties--for a birthday, perhaps, or another holiday? There had been cake and jokes and smiles, and everything was dry and warm. But he was always on the outskirts, wasnât he? Afraid to get too close. Afraid to let anyone see him and all his flaws.
That fear, at least, is gone now. His flaws will be forgotten by time, certainly, but so will the rest of him.
The funny thing is, though he never wanted others to learn about him, he wanted to learn about others, especially those on the outskirts like himself, those who could easily be lost to history without him. He wanted to know all about the world, to solve as many of its mysteries as he could.
Now he is lost within one of those same mysteries himself. He might say he was one of those same mysteries, but a mystery requires somebody knowing about it, caring about it, wanting to solve it. Heâs not sure heâs remembered enough by the outside world even for that much.
He remembers... he remembers his grandmotherâs basket of yarn, always filled with colorful little bundles--this one a deep green, that a muted purple, another a vivid yellow.
Even then, though, he was near all of this, but not actually part of it. She wouldnât let him touch the yarn, you see, even once he was an adult, because she still only ever saw the little boy she took in so long ago.
âDonât fuss with them, Jon.â âI donât want you tangling those up, Jon.â âYouâd only prick your finger, Jon.â
JON
[Unsure] ...thatâs my name, then, isnât it? Jon?
It feels wrong. It feels too... ordinary. People named Jon arenât supposed to- to deal with things like this.
Or maybe they are. Maybe thereâs thousands of us, or millions, or billions, each with our own endless field to explore. Maybe I just think Iâm special because I happen to be the one looking at this one.
...though that doesnât explain the tape recorder.
JON (STATEMENT)
The man--Jon--he only touched the yarn once, after she was gone, and by then it was ratty and covered in dust and Jon had never learned how to make use of all those pretty colors, so he just gave them away.
He had color in his life, and he gave it all away, just like that.
JON
Bit on the nose, that.
Unless itâs intentional. Unless I chose this place, chose to stay in this gray field, just like I chose to get rid of that yarn back then.
Itâs not a nice place to be, sure, but... but maybe the other choices were worse.
...wait.
[STATIC RISES]
JON
No, no, I- I made a choice, and it wasnât this. I- there was another place like this, but it was a, a beach instead of a field, stretching on and on... and I got out.
I got out, and I wasnât alone. There was- was someone with me. Who was it?
Maybe I can...
JON (STATEMENT)
The man had been alone like this before--alone not by choice but by sheer lack of options, a small speck on a seemingly-endless landscape. There, too, he had ended up covered in water, though then it had been fog and stinging sea salt that filled the air.
Jon had gone in there as a choice, but not because he was giving in to the isolation, because he was ready to be consumed by that vast and uncaring landscape. He had gone in because of... someone. Someone that he wanted to save from the same loneliness that had filled so much of his own life. Someone that he cared deeply about.
Someone that he loved, though he had never admitted as much out loud back then.
And he--this, this someone, this other man that he loved--he had started out gray, too, when they met there. But then he- he looked at Jon, and Jon looked at him, and all the color returned to him, the only patch of color in a world of gray-
JON
...I... I hadnât noticed, but... Iâve turned gray too now. I remember my skin being brown, but now itâs just a, a darkish sort of gray. Scars are still there, but theyâre gray too. All of meâs gone gray.
But so was, was... I can see him, now, in my mindâs eye. That bright red hair, all those freckles, but- his name-
[realization] Martin. That was it, wasnât it? That is it. His, his name is Martin, and if Martin could escape, if he could get all his color back, then- then so can I.
I just need to think. To... to put the pieces together...
My name is Jon- Jonathan Sims. I didnât choose to be here. I had that choice once, and I chose differently. I chose to save myself, to, to save Martin. And Iâm here because... because...
[STATIC RISES]
JON
Because heâs here. He- he wanted to come here. This place is, is connected to him. Martin wanted to see it for himself. And so he entered without me, but heâs here--I canât see him, but heâs here, and he wonât leave without me, I know he wonât.
[stronger] My name is Jon Sims, and Martin will come back for me, will find me, because Martin is part of this place, but heâs also a part of me now. I love him, and I trust him, and I know, I know he will look for me once heâs realized Iâve gone missing-
Martin, I- Martin, can you hear me? Have you heard any of this?
Martin, Iâm here, I want to be with you, I remember you-
MARTIN
[distant] Jon?
JON
Martin? Martin, Iâm right here!
[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]
MARTIN
Jesus, Jon, I thought-
JON
Donât worry, itâs fine, Iâm- Iâll be fine.
[RAIN IN THE BACKGROUND QUIETS DOWN]
MARTIN
God, Iâm sorry.
JON
Itâs alright, Martin. Itâs not your fault.
MARTIN
This whole place is, though, isnât it?
JON
I know you... [inhale] You didnât want this. Didnât want any of this.
MARTIN
But it still hurt you. And Iâm sorry you had to go through that.
[FABRIC RUSTLES]
JON
The important thing is it- itâs over now. You didnât forget about me. I thought maybe everybody forgot about me.
Alistair chastising him wasnât new. Criticising every move Elliot made. That wasnât new â Elliot had grown all too accustomed to that by now. He knew perfectly well that nothing he ever did would please Alistair and had long since given up trying. Lennox kept Alistair happy with his spineless submission, so Elliot had no pressure to step up.
But all of this? For a single mistake? Not even a mistake â Elliot stood by every fucking choice heâd made.
A one night stand while Alistair was away. Taking Brooke to some underground event. It was the sort of shit she liked, Elliot had thought at the time. Heâd stayed behind because fuck leaving the apartment. It would be more of a vacation for Alistair to be gone, just for a couple of nights.
That was when things had fallen apart. Langdon and Chase had gone with Alistair âEve had since moved out. It had left Lennox and Elliot lacking supervision, which Zahlia had been so generous as to offer.
One thing had led to another and â.
Elliot had woken up beside her the next morning.
He felt not even an ounce of regret.
Alistair had seen things progressing, but that one night stand was what tipped the boat. Sunk any chance Elliot had of â well â forgiveness from Alistair.
Threats and yelling had descended into shoves. Into Elliot being as good as discarded.
Elliot had yelled through the bathroom door as it slammed, pounding on it as the outside lock turned. He swore after Alistair until his throat dried out â until his voice was too hoarse for him to continue. Alistair had heard barely any of it.
For the first few minutes following his screaming, he tended to a cut above his eyebrow. Then, he waited. Alistair could never fucking stick with anything. He would leave Elliot in here for several hours at most.
Sunset that night came early â Elliot just slumped against the counter and waited. More than anything he was pissed. Alistair didnât want him, so why the fuck did it matter what he did â or didnât do â with Zahlia?
Sunrise brought a new hope. Elliot waited â hours on end â for Alistair to come to his damn senses, but that didnât happen. Throughout the day, he yelled and crashed against the door, doing everything in his limited power to shove his own irritability onto everyone else.
All he truly managed was to work himself to exhaustion laced with bruised knuckles and a raw throat. He cursed at himself, pacing in the bathroom until the warmth of sunset brushed the windows again.
Alistair had to be fucking kidding.
Elliot slept as well as he could that night, using the nearby radiator and towel for some extra warmth. And god, did that feel pathetic of him. Not once in his time with Alistair had he hit a point his low. It had sure as hell felt like it at the time â but this? This hurt. The cold and hunger pains made his head spin.
Days merged together. Or, at least, he thought they did.
He couldnât quite be sure.
Not of anything.
However many days it had been, the silence was unnerving. Looking out of the window only brought so much comfort. As did hot showers.
Steam filling the room was as close to normal as he could get.
â â â
The bathroom door opened and Elliot scrambled to his feet, instantly laying eyes on Alistair. He held a plate, containing food.
A sandwich.
But it was food.
âAlistair â I ââ
Elliot was cut off with a single glance from Alistair.
âYou should eat something, sweetheart.â
He flicked his wrist and tipped the sandwich onto the floor. Elliot watched it fall, and Alistair slammed the door.
The moment the door clicked shut and Elliot was certain that Alistair was gone, he dropped to the tiles, on his knees. Not once did he think that he would ever be grateful for anything Alistair did.
Let alone something this fucking pathetic.
â â â
Sunsets and sunrises revolved around Elliot as he struggled. Desperately holding on to anything he could. He talked to himself, trying his best to hold onto every strain of sanity he could.
The way he lost track of time kicked up a certain nausea in his throat. Coupled with the way vague movements from outside the bathroom persisted almost constantly.
âCan you stay? Just for a minute?â Elliot asked, when Alistair appeared in the bathroom door once again. Like clockwork.
âYou want me to stay?â Alistair scoffed. âYou must be desperate.â
âNo â Iâm not. Iâm not desperate.â
âConsidering youâve been eating off of the floor for a week, Iâd suggest that you are.â
âA week?â
âOh, sweetheartâŚâ Alistair trailed off with mock sympathy. âAre you losing it already?â
He clicked his tongue and put the plate on the floor this time.
âNo â Iâm not,â Elliot repeated. âHowâs Lennox? How is he? And Chase? Doing okay?â
âBetter than you.â
Once again, the door closed.
Elliot stumbled back against the sink, gasping for breath through his panic.
The door was closed.
Locked again.
White knuckles gripped the edge of the sink as he cried, quivering uncontrollably as he attempted to stop. Fingernails against the ceramic as he sobbed, hardly managing to breathe.
Through the tears, he managed to eat what Alistair had brought. Forcing it down his throat. He had to eat.
In all this time, Alistair hadnât won yet. Elliot wasnât going to let him.
â â â
The more days passed, the longer Alistair stayed. Reluctantly making conversation and bringing Elliot small favours. Clean clothes. A blanket. A hot drink.
Each was so minor â a taunt of what Elliot could have if he had conceded just a little easier. But still, he saw no way out. No way to earn Alistairâs forgiveness.
It was the first conversation Elliot had in weeks. The first real conversation. Alistair was sharing about an exhibit he was planning to see. London. A two week trip. To Elliot, it almost sounded nice.
And then heâd started to leave. Struck with panic, Elliot lunged forward and grabbed Alistairâs wrist. He jerked his hand away in horror, but it wasnât something Alistair would ever miss.
âHm? You want something?â
âI â no.â
âDonât lie to me.â
âDonât go? Please? Tell me more?â Elliot tried to swallow his shame at his request.
âAbout?â
âLondon? The exhibit? Your projects? Anything â please?â he looked down at the floor, unable to believe how easily he had broken. âPlease?â
âSo, you admit that I win?â
âI â I didnât say that.â
âBut itâs what you meant. I can tell these things, sweetheart.â
Elliot nodded his head once, and that seemed to be everything Alistair had wanted from him.
âYouâll do anything to get back to normal, wonât you?â
Another nod.
âI promise â anything â anything you want.â
Alistair hummed and trailed his forefinger along Elliotâs jawline, tilting his head upwards by just a few degrees.
Zolf never slept well in quarantine. Â Despite his best efforts, the uncertainty and waiting ate away at him. He knew it was necessary so he didnât put up a fight, but that didnât make it any easier to keep the worry at bay, especially this time when he had friends beside him. Â
He couldnât bear the thought of any of them contracting the illness. Â In the faint shakiness of the dim evening light and his darkvision, Zolf looked over at them, fidgeting and snoring in their sleep.
Carter was obnoxious, but they had developed a relatively workable relationship, and the awkwardness of Barnes arresting Zolf shortly after meeting had vanished quickly enough (particularly once they discovered their mutual love of Harrison Campbell novels). Â Even though Zolf hadnât known Azu or Cel for that long, he wanted them to be okay, he needed them to be okay.
And Hamid⌠So much had changed between them, and yet nothing at all.  It hadnât been years for Hamid since they parted ways, only a matter of weeks, but the changes in him were evident on his face; the firm jaw, the creases around his eyes, the furrow of his brow as he held tightly to his blanket, nightmares threatening to claim him. Â
Zolf shuddered to think of those veins lacing up Hamidâs features, the bright blue of them shining out against his monochrome vision. Â He couldnât watch Hamid wither and die from something they didnât understand, and he wouldnât let Hamid be turned into someone else, not when he finally got him back. Â
Hamidâs hands were tight balls around the edge of the blanket, and he murmured quietly as bad dreams took over. Â When he started thrashing in place and the murmuring got louder, Zolf reached out a hand and set it atop Hamidâs fist, hoping to keep the darkness at bay with his presence. Â
With a start, Hamidâs eyes flew open, searching for some explanation, before he saw Zolfâs hand on his own in the dim light that shone into their isolation.
âSorry,â Zolf whispered.  âYou were⌠It looked like you were having bad dreams.  And I thoughtâŚâ
Hamid shifted his hand around so that he could hold Zolfâs and squeeze it gently in appreciation. Â âI was. Thank you.â
âSorry to wake you.â
âDonât be. Â Iâm glad youâre looking out for me.â
All the same, Hamid let out a yawn and settled back against his pillow, his body still half in the thralls of sleep. Â His eyes started to close, but his hand continued to hold tightly to Zolfâs.
Even as he fell asleep again and started to snore, there was a smile on Hamidâs face, a smile that somehow hadnât been dampened by the world and the hardships he had endured. Â In darkvision or the light of day, Zolf knew that smile anywhere, an image that kept him going in the most horrific of times, when hope started to give out.
Hamidâs smile was reason enough to keep going. Â It was reason enough to fight.
