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xikyuu · 1 month

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“oc question #3: if they could have a real life conversation with you, how would it go?” curtesy of ‘_..darr1ingz.._’ on tiktok.

at some point, the conversation became one-sided and more of me psychoanalyzing them. it kinda resembles a letter format, but if you pay attention, there are gaps where it seems like dallas (he/him) responds. extra notes are at the top of my tags. have fun reading!

total words: 2,329. writing under cut:

i’d ask dallas what its like to see all these worlds. yes, i know i made you and the conversations you have but i desire connection i cannot have.

what is kismadoré actually like when everything is sewn together lovingly? did you feel loved, even if it was temporary? are the city streets worn down with love and care? does it show the world that city of life is, indeed, living? that there is water in it’s roots?

what’s your handwriting like? did you ever decide to go to college in a universe? if so, what was your major? did you get multiple degrees? what was your favorite class? least favorite? favorite teacher? do you have a favorite fun fact? please tell me.

where there times you were genuinely scared for your life? are you afraid of me? of the complete power and creation i hold over you? i’m so sorry i hurt you.

do you have a favorite stuffed animal?

what was your father’s name? do you hate me for what i did to him? do you hate me for what i did to your mother? do you hate me? i caused all this hurt for you. you could’ve survived if i gave you a happy life. i could’ve made you a loving father, but i don’t know what that looks like. i could’ve gave you your mother, but i’ve never seen my mother and father exist in the same place and not be at each other’s throats. do you forgive me? please don’t forgive me. i love you. i wish i could be you. do you hate me? i killed alibi. i killed skip. i killed you. they’re dead because of me. they had to start a rebellion because of me. your father is cruel and evil because of me. would you kill me if you had the chance? do you wish you could see them again? i’m so sorry.

you know this is real, right? you are real. you exist because i exist. i made you and i am still making you. you are something i will always come back to. you make me happy. you make my friends happy. they love you. yes, really. i wouldn’t lie to you about that.

did you know alibi is based off my friend? they created kit’s design. i made alibi into themself. did you know that one of the potential names for alibi was mochi? there was supposed to be another in the resistance crew. i scrapped them early on.

what’s it like to shoot a gun and know every shot has killed? i’m sorry. is the metal cold to the touch? does it burn your hands with memories? does your finger still sit perfectly on the trigger? even if you try to bury the subconscious knowledge of how to do anything with that wretched thing? it’s why you got your namesake, after all. i’m sorry. i don’t like guns, either. i wanted you to be safe.

you need to let go of the mask. stop pretending you are fine. people want to help. remember what we say about communication? it is key.

who was the person who killed you? i don’t know who they are, just that they were misguided and brainwashed into hating you. i’m so sorry. you could’ve had another friend before you died.

what’s your favorite plant? did you ever hide in the willow trees like they were curtains? what is the easiest tree to climb? does that one tree still have bark torn off from how often you guys tried to climb it? do you remember the tree that bore fruit and attracted the many flutters of butterflies? and how they rested gently on your hands and chest? how you held out your arm and several would perch on your arm like it was an extension of the tree? and didn’t that one butterfly land on your nose? did you have fun?

theres so much pressure on you. i’m sorry.

juno and asmo are okay. they survived. you know this, right? i’m sorry you didn’t get to see them heal. they miss you.

do you still wish on acorns? do you still play the violin? do you still dance in the rain with a big smile on your face? do you still dance around the tall bonfire to songs of kismá? and what of the picnics in flower fields?

i’m sorry you had to hide guns in a basket of flowers. i’m sorry you had to be paranoid and hypervigilant. i’m sorry i ruined your breathing with the orange gas.

do you still share folk stories to the multiverse about kismadoré?

whats your favorite color? is it green like me? how is it that we are so similar but so different? i made you in my own image, but the mirror reflecting me is distorted.

whats your favorite form to stay in? do you have any favorite jewelry pieces? what is your favorite dessert?

you can see the indents from when i made you—like clay. does that mean i messed up or does it show the care that i put into you? molding you until you grew into something i cannot be?

do you have a favorite memory? do you have more? what was it like to sit in the desert at a campfire, surrounded by people you love? did you have the heart to say that you might not survive this run to freedom? what was your reaction to the walls falling? i’m sorry your home is so corrupt.

what new dishes came about in kismadoré that i’ll never be able to try? what cultures meshed to make one giant city? had anyone ever tried mixing soul food and japanese together?

what songs play at the funeral rites? what colors do you wear to mourn?

do you still know cardinal directions like the back of your hand? it’s because of the compass, right? does kismadoré have an official animal? official dish? is it recognized on maps? if it isn’t, i’ll write it into canon. how many people live in kismadoré? i know the initial population was small. oh wow. that’s a lot.

whats some of the funniest reactions people have had to your powers?

are your fingers burnt from the fires? do you lose sensation in them sometimes? does the cold make your bones hurt? i know it does for me. how bad are the scars in person? i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.

do you have a favorite book? what genre do you like? i have so many recommendations. do you have any for me?

do you draw? paint? can i see? it’s totally okay if you don’t want to show me. how’s your poetry coming along? any favorite symbols you love to throw in? yeah, floriography is great.

were you aware when asmo blessed you as you bled out in her lap? she recited the poem. ‘may the stars be there to guide you.’ that one.

i’m sorry. i took you away right after you finally got your freedom. do you think that’s cruel of me? you got it eventually, just not in the way you expected.

what is time like if time is not linear?

you know you are allowed to be loud, right? it is your right. it is in your nature. kismá calls to ask you why you aren’t screaming and yelling and singing and crying and clapping and stomping and dancing and whistling and humming and laughing and breathing and living and why are you not shaking the stars with excitement and joy because you are loved, my dear, did you know that? did you know that your heart beats in your chest, even if it is out of tune? the blood in your veins makes music you cannot even comprehend. the wind makes a sound that we can copy and sing along with. the water is clean for you to wade into. kick it around and laugh. your clothes get wet, but that is nature. the wind will hug you as it passes. its cold but it means well. the flowers dance even in the midst of a hurricane and so will we. we will dance even when crying. that is the beauty of it. sá boé dáli, sá baoyă dáli.

do you still think of them? the nostalgia is lethal. but does lethality even matter to someone who cannot die? do you indulge yourself with poison just to wonder what could have been? when did you forget their faces? when did you forget their voices? do you know this is self-destructive? of course you don’t care.

does your home still affect you? are you kintsugi pretending to be a person? do you know where each you used to be? where on your porcelain vessel lays the tiles of the child soldier? the fake confidence and paranoia of the resistance leader? the people-pleaser? the scared child? and did you get your eyes from the gods who remade you? the gods who held your cracked form gently and helped heal you? at what point are you not a person anymore? how cracked is the still, cold heart that rests in your chest cavity? it contains every person you once were and will be. you can take the man out of the walls, but the walls came crumbling down and embedded themselves into your then fragile, human skin. you can try to pick out the concrete but it’s stuck, it’s there. just like the shrapnel from the bullets that fused themselves to your corpse. you can run, but you can’t hide. you can never avoid the past. do you even want to?

you forget you aren’t human. not anymore. even so, you cling onto humanity like a child crying for their parents. you feel emotions as deeply as the next. you stand next to a human in a vessel that is dead and wonder why you feel as if you don’t belong. your empathy is damaging. your mannerisms mimic something you aren’t. hold onto this. pray for more. do not loose it.

how do you manage your anger? where do you feel it? that’s interesting. can you feel it twist itself between the valves and chambers of your heart? do the thorns of malice pierce your lungs? do you wish it would stop burning in your chest? do you ever have a sick satisfaction with you shoot off insults? do you feel regret when you snap at a loved one? when does it spread to your throat and take it’s wretched hands and choke you? when does it embrace your shoulders in justice? do you give people what they deserve? and what happens if they don’t deserve it? whenever will your lungs be damaged from the live coals that simmer? do you ever cough up the smoke? and when do you grab that gun and deliver retribution? is anger a welcome feeling for you? do you hate the thought of hatred itself? that would be funny. or is it that you fear who you become when you are this monster born of emotions, ash spewing from cracked lips with magma burning in your eyes?

and how do you feel about violence? is it an unremovable part of you? is it in your brain and does tends to stick no matter how hard it clings to your amygdala? what would you be without it? do you still remember how to kill a man? the best place to hit with the bat covered in rusty nails? does the blood still drip from your fingers and onto the floor? do you still feel that automatic reaction to pull out the gun whenever anything bad happens? do you forget how to care about the blood dripping from your fingers? did you still crave it? do you crave for the thing that raised you? do you ever smile when you shoot? have you become desensitized? you hate it. you hate it so much. you love it. the rush of adrenaline. you hate that you crave it. you pull your lips back into a sick and bloody smile when the tyrant is dead. you were numb the first time it happened. why are you so conflicted?

was death cold? what form did it take, if any at all? did it embrace you or was it so sudden that you thought your neck broke? did it unsettle you or did you feel comfortable? or did you feel nothing at all? after all, most are nothing in death. who was the first to meet you? to come and take your hand and lead you to the Garden? and how many times did you refuse that you were safe in Their care? how many times did you die after that until you finally cracked and sobbed and went down that road of healing? did you expect to see your old family in death?

what’s it like holding stardust in your palms? to be able to peek in at universes? to be able to walk among worlds like you are a part of it yourself? what’s it like being everything and nothing at once? can you hold the multiverse’s mysteries in your many arms? do your wings ever get in the way? what’s seeing like with that many eyes? to be so human and so otherly that you are stuck in an eternal venn-diagram, comparing your every move with that of your mortal past and your immortal future? but the past is the future and the future is the past, right? how silly of me to forget.

what will you do from here? now you’ve met me? am i everything you thought of? am i so different from your expectations? am i pressing too hard? wouldn’t you already know this? you’re made to know everything.

i’m sorry for everything, by the way. i think you knew that— yeah. come visit me again. ‘May The Stars guide you.’

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