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fandomsareforlife · 1 month

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Don't Mess With me, I'll Shoot You Down

Summary: Selena would do anything for her baby brother. Even if that meant killing one of the few people she called her friend for the crime of trying to get Shade away from her

A/N: Not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous to post this cause it is much darker than my usual fics. That being said, I wanted to write my OCs being messed up people, and I decided to do it while writing for @badthingshappenbingo, for the prompt of mandhandling (Bingo Card can be found here)

Trigger Warnings: Implied/Reference Character Death, child abuse, threats of rape/non-con

READ ON AO3

Selena never would be offended by people telling her she was a bad person. That much was clear from the moment she let Skylor Chen kill her father and didn't regret it, or wish she could change the past. She was willing to lie, cheat and hurt people to achieve her goals.

However, she did take offense to the idea that she didn’t care for her darling younger brother. He was her light, the only thing that kept her going some days. Selena just wanted the best for him. She didn’t want him to end up like her, shattered innocence and bloody hands and an element that was out of control.

If Nightshade was told that all his friends would hurt him eventually, then he would be hesitant in trusting new people, many of whom just wanted to have access to his wings (even if they were brittle from him not taking care of them or from her not feeding him correctly) or his blood or his powers. She knew what it was like, having a power that was so coveted. Nightshade needed to know how to defend himself from those who wanted it.

If Selena made him train for hours a day, then he would be able to defend himself when the moment came that she wasn’t able to keep him safe. That’s why she refused to step in for his fights. If he was just a bit stronger, then maybe her mother would have lived to see another day.

Sure, many people claimed that she was abusing him, but they were weak. They didn’t know the sacrifices she made when he was small, too small to care for himself in any meaningful way. This was how she would show him love, not with the coddling that other parents did.

And it wasn’t like she was a monster who never gave him rewards. She always made sure to give him a bath on the days where he seemed extra shaky, helping him relax and showing pleasures that he never would have known by himself, that he couldn’t have by himself without being a whore. When she worked, she let him curl up around her legs and would pet him with a ghostly hand from whatever ghost she summoned that week.

If Nightshade was extra good, and made significant progress in his studies, then she would even watch that silly princess movie he loved so much, introduced to it by Zevon Turner.

Just thinking that name made Selena’s head hurt, from hurt, anger and confusion. Zevon was the most…not innocent, but he was kind. While many assumed his mate, Elijah Paleman, was the kind one, Eli was just charismatic and good at making people do what they wanted. Zevon was the one who put himself down intentionally, lowering himself to the same level as a child, all for the amusement of Nightshade.

Selena scoffs as she pulls out the engraving tools Griffin gifted her. She supposes that if she was as smart as she claimed she was, she would have predicted that he would present his foolhardy plan to Selena, and not be as blindsided by it. As it was, she had assumed Zevon would have realized his plan was idiotic, and therefore never would bring it up to her, at least when she was sober.

However, he was unfortunately denser than she had realized, and he thought she would agree to his dim-witted plan. Selena had let out a laugh when he first told her it, and she had just laughed harder at his shocked expression.

Really, Zevom should have expected the rejection. Selena had gotten married to Griffin, who she disliked greatly, for the sheer purpose of keeping custody of Nightshade! How he had gotten the idea of her letting Nightshade go to him and Elijah, who would have reversed the progress she had done, she would never know.

But fucking Zevon was so annoying persistent, always asking her about it, and he even corrupted poor Nightshade into his hair-brained scheme! Honestly, Selena should have just killed him and stage it as a suicide. Then she would have dealt with the issue so much quicker.

Unfortunately, Griffin was a shitty influence apparently, and she decided to give him a test. There was a chance of failure, but she supposes that if he did pass it then he could at least get partial custody of Nightshade, and Nightshade would just be taught by her.

It was a simple test, really. Selena had arranged a ritual that required exact precision, high levels of power, and a large berth of knowledge and many resources to be successful. She could do the ritual with ease, as could Griffin, with their strengths being in rituals and enchantments, but Zevon, who focused on healing, had struggled with it. To make matters worse for him, she had made him work with his parents, who she was well aware made him nervous and scared, something he couldn’t afford when magic worked best when one was confident and sure in their actions.

In the end, Zevon’s nerves had won out, and the magic was released and set everything alight. Selena had watched the flames eat away at everything, the smell of smoke and soot clinging onto her dress as she gathered the ashes of Zevon and what few materials survived the fire. She was disheartened by the fact that one of her dear friends apparently wasn’t strong enough to survive, but there was no room for regret.

Instead, she had thrown herself back into her work, letting Griffin handle the funeral and the estate. The funeral is next week, and Elijah should have been informed by tonight. Selena had already planned for them to storm her office, and had put the appropriate charms to alert her to their arrival.

As such, she was prepared for their anger when they stormed into her office, magic flowing off them. Selena simply raised an eyebrow when they slammed their hands onto her desk, and made a small noise to indicate that Elijah should start.

“You fucking bitch!” Selena ducked the spell Elijah casted, and gestured for them to go on. “You killed my fiance!”

“Technically, he got himself killed. I didn’t actually kill him.” Selena honestly wished they could skip the whole grieving process. It was very irritating, dealing with Elijah angry. She very much preferred Eli when they were calm and rational. Less swearing, at the very least.

Elijah growled. “You told him that we could get Nightshade if he did that fucking ritual! But you never intended that, did you?”

While being nice with Elijah’s emotions with lying would be what a better woman did, Selena wasn’t going to be the better person. “Not really. I have high standards, Eli. I can’t let Nightshade go with people who wouldn’t keep him safe, and if Zev Zev had any common sense he would have understood that.”

When Elijah grabbed a book to presumably throw at her, Selena stood up and grabbed their wrists, pinning them to the wall. “Nuh uh uh, bad Elijah. No throwing things. Now, do I need to send you away until you can behave?”

That clearly made Elijah even more angry, as they kicked and thrashed in her hold, fruitlessly trying to get out even when they both knew Selena was stronger than they ever would be. “Bastard! How could you do that? We should have just taken Nightshade from you, and not asked you!”

Selena froze. “What?”

Elijah’s grin was way too smug for someone being pinned against the wall. “Didn’t expect us to be willing to ever go against you, huh? Well we were going to, if you didn’t offer the ritual to Zevon and tighten up your security around Nightshade-”

Before Elijah could finish, Selena pressed their chest together and pressed their lips together. She had no real attraction toward them, but she could acknowledge the fact that being made to kiss the person who killed Zevon, the only person they ever kissed consensually, would crush them emotionally. When Elijah tried to push her off, she simply undid their belt and jeans with a flick of her hand, and pressed her lip just under their ear.

“Either you swear on your magic to leave my life entirely and never try to get Nightshade for as long as he considers me to be his maternal figure, or I get to see how many orgasms I can force out of you before I am satisfied or you pass out. You choose.”

Sex was something that Elijah had held sacred, with them waiting to do so with Zevon when they had to consummate their mating bond. While none of them were virgins in a physical sense, Elijah never got the chance to make love with someone.

Elijah swallowed hard and went limp in her arms. “...I will say goodbye to Nightshade and never see you or him again.” Selena smirks and lets them go, taking their hand. Elijah, recognizing the gesture for what it was, spoke, in a dull voice, “I, Elijah Paleman, swear on my magic to never come near Nightshade Darkley-Oppenheimer, until he no longer sees Selena Darkley-Oppenheimer as his mother. So Lady Magic witnesses, so it shall be.”

The two had enough experience to not be taken aback by the magical backlash of an oath being accepted by Lady Magic. Selena smirks and opens the door. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes in peace.” They didn’t need to know that she was going to be there, just incorporeal and in the background.

Or she would be if Nightshade wasn’t in his room, which had a large mirror in it that she can just use to scry. With that thought, and Elijah out of the room, Selena pulled out her hand mirror and settled in her chair.

She could spare a half of an hour to watch Elijah fumble through their goodbyes. That was a god reward, she thinks.

#art’s silly (or not so silly) things #ninjago oc #bad things happen bingo #ninjago #hurt no comfort #character death #violence tw #ask to tag

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roscgcld · 4 years

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HEADCANON + VARIOUS || when their siblings are evil

request: Hello, I was kinda wondering how would Gojo, Itadori and megumi react to a their younger sibling being evil but she has a reason to being that way. [Headcanon] -

note: hmm - this one is really interesting! honestly i had never thought about their reactions if their younger siblings are evil! this was an entirely new idea to me, so i definitely enjoyed writing something like this

characters: gojo satoru, itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi

pronouns: she/her

GOJO SATORU

in this sense, I feel it’s not that shocking that if his younger sister joined forces with geto

if you weren’t born with the Six Eyes like your older brother, your clan will just treat you like a slave - like maki was treated when she was in the zen’in clan

after years of abuse and being told that you were a mistake, and that you shouldn’t have been born, and that you were a waste of space - that might crack you and made you go insane

gojo might have known this might happen, and had tried to move you away from the path of evil - because i feel like he would be a good older brother and shower you in all the love you deserve

he’d shower you in love and respect, getting you new clothes even if your parents tell him not to, spoil you rotten and even training you to use your powers under the cover of darkness

but sometimes it just isn’t enough though, and the emotional wounds are just too deep to heal - and he gets that

feel like he might end up blaming himself - what kind of older brother can’t protect his own baby sister? how can he call himself ‘the strongest’ when he can’t even protect the one person that he was born to protect?

screw the world - he’s your older brother. he should have seen the signs and stopped you from doing what you do

at the same time, he knows the reason why you left - you were sick and tired of the higher ups and their backwards thinking

the elders of your clan, the elders of other clans, the higher ups who control the jujutsu world - you hate them all, and you strive for the change that gojo wants to do as well. but with how you’ve been put down your entire life, and how underdeveloped your skills are, you went the only route you know - a route that strays you away from all you’ve ever known

if anything, he’s sort of proud - since along the way, geto definitely takes you under his wing and teaches you to unlock all the potential of your power - which will be a huge slap to the face for the rest of the clan and the higher ups

feel like he doesn’t have it in him to really take you down if he needs to, since he can see through you no matter what - how you’re scared to be on the run, how you hate being away from your older brother, how you know that you have innocent blood on your hands

yet you can’t leave, you’re in too deep now. and if you return, who exactly is there to stop the higher ups from killing you like they so desperate want to for so long?

he’d probably spare you out of all the sorcerers that the higher-ups have branded as traitors, because at the end of the day you’re still his baby sister

and no matter how twisted your views of getting to your goal has become, you two still strive for the same thing - and that is to rid the jujutsu world of people like them

plus, if he was being honest, he’d want to keep you around as a slap to the higher ups still lol; the biggest middle finger he can give to them is by keeping you alive for as long as possible

ITADORI YUJI

yuji, being the sunshine he is, would not have known why you decided to leave for the other side of the war

it wasn’t his fault - if anything, he was the best older brother to be around. he’s what people dreamed of when they think of having an older brother

he took care of you, make sure you and your grandfather was fed, made sure you didn’t need to worry about trivial things like money or when the pay the bills - you just focus on being happy and that’s all that he needs in return

feel like the reason why you left was more because of manipulation - if you can just grow stronger, you can protect yuji from getting executed. that you can make a better world for the both of you, that you two can one day live in a happy world where curses and sorcerers were far behind you

of course yuji will be upset - he doesn’t see the appeal of the other side, and always advocates for you to realise how geto and the other curses are using you for their own benefit

why would you give up your freedom to fight on the other side?

he’d be conflicted - this was the little girl who he used to braid her hair and cook for every day, the girl who he brought up from young to become the headstrong woman you are today. his best friend and the only person he can truly rely on during the darkest of times

how can he put that aside and hunt you down like you’re a prized animal in a hunting competition?

he’d wonder if he was a good brother to you too as well - wondering if he wasn’t giving you enough attention growing up, not as good as he thought he was at splitting his time for you

it’d take a lot of convincing from his friends that it wasn’t his fault, that you were being manipulated into thinking that this was the only way you can turn to in order to help him

since neither of you were really sorcerers to begin with - being thrown into a world where power dictates how you are treated would push anyone into a corner

he’d use that to probably train harder - to show you that you didn’t need to do the things you are doing to make sure he’s safe, that he can protect both you and him with ease

that you two can go back to how things were before all this

if you two ever meet in battle, i don’t think he’d be able to handle it - he’d be hesitate when it comes to hitting you with full power, since he didn’t want to kill you by accident

the last he needs is to have your death on his conscience

throughout the entire battle he might still try to convince you that it isn’t too late, that you can return back to jujutsu tech and learn from the best of the best, with a warm roof over your heads and friends you can really rely on

he’d stand in the way between you and any curse that tries to take you out, making sure that if either of you are to continue living, it’d be you

he’d lay his life down for you, even though he knows you’ve taken many innocent ones while getting to where you are today

he still has all the love of an older brother, and nothing people say or do will waiver the vow he took when he first held you in his arms - that he was going to protect you no matter what

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

with megumi, i can see why as well - you were abandoned at a young age, growing up watching your father working with all kinds of shady people

so it was natural for you to fall down the same path; since no one was really there to teach you right from wrong

i feel like megumi might have tried, and he really did try to show you that going down the path your father did was not the best idea - but how much can he do as a young child?

he probably feels more guilty as time goes by - child or not, he was your older brother, he should have tried harder to show you where you could have put that skill

wouldn’t breath a word about your existence to anyone, not because he doesn’t want to be associated with you. it’s more so your name will not be as well known as geto suguru - that maybe, there was a chance that the higher-ups might overlook you and you can sneak back in without causing too much waves

but the entire time, he might harbour all the guilt from not trying hard enough as a child to convince you that going to jujutsu tech was the best way to get stronger and show the zen’in clan that your father wasn’t a ‘waste of an heir’

the first time his friends will even find out you were an actual person is when you would run into them whilst you’re on a job - kill a target your client gave to steal some documents that they view as valuable

you didn’t notice them until you felt someone staring at you, to which you turn to face the person - ready to threaten to scoop their eyeballs out

“oh, hi nii-chan.” you’d greet with a casual grin as he stared at you in shock, nobara and yuji looking between the both of you curiously. “didn’t think i’d see you ever again.”

yuji and nobara might talk to you like you’re a normal person, but they kept their guards up still - something you found amusing, but still answering their question truthfully

megumi knew better - unfortunately you’re branded as an underground criminal, and if possible, any available sorcerer that bumps into you is to kill you before you accidentally reveal the existence of sorcerers and curses

however, no matter how hard he wills himself, he can’t do it - you’re still his flesh and blood. you may have chosen a path that’s different from his, but deep down you’re still living true to yourself

you’d glance over and see the conflict brewing in his eyes, to which you’d give him a soft smile before you lean over to grab his hand in his, causing him to snap his eyes up at you

“do what you think is right.”

with that you pulled away, and with another wave to the group, you melted into the crowd; somehow managing to disappear before their eyes

both his friends will be confused, looking around for you while he stared down at the hand you had grabbed, a slightly faraway look on his face

he’d probably realise that if anything, you’re living true to yourself and allowing yourself to fly so far ahead that you’ve slowly started to outshine any of them prior to this

and he’d feel weirdly proud, because you were still his baby sister, and you still achieved things that are worth being proud of

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pippytmi · 3 years

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Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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quercusfloreal · 3 years

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Le 3e Gédéon

I was hesitating to talk about it but here we go. May I introduce you to the manga "Le 3e Gédéon".

Warning long post

What it's about ?

Manga in 8 volumes, it tells the story of Gédéon Aymé who dreams of becoming a deputy to the Estates General to save the people from misery. George, the Duke of Loire and his former comrade, also seeks to change the system, but instead use violence to achieve his goal. This is going to be a story where the two characters will fight each other, one wanting peace and peaceful change, the other a radical and violent change.

What did I think of it ?

I found the story good. It manages to mix fiction and French revolution. It's full of inconsistencies but somehow it works. However I wouldn’t advise this manga to everyone. There is psychological and physical torture, gore and nudity. The images can sometimes be very crude.

What about historians characters ?

Well, we have the most badass portrayal of Louis I've ever seen in my life, he’s able to detect the slightest lie. Marie Antoinette may seem shallow, but she knows perfectly well how to play her charms to turn the tables in her favor. Their couple is interesting because each of them can't really love the other completely. Madame Roland is an ambitious woman who we learn had a daughter with Gédéon. Saint-Just is the slightly confused teenager who will eventually grow up and assert himself. Charles Philippe, the sociopathic Count of Artois, wants his brother's place and Elisabeth, the king's sister, wants Marie-Antoinette's place.

But what about Robespierre ?

I said in an old conversation that Maxime had daddy issues. Let me explain. One of the main themes of this manga is family and father figures. We learn that Gideon's father is the duke and he has exchanged his son's place with George so that Gédéon can be closer to the people. George has a real grudge against the duke because when Gédéon will be older, he should have become a servant again. But by trapping Gideon he kept his place.

Maxime has a real grudge against his father and George will use this information to manipulate him.

The first time we hear about Robespierre is in the first chapter. George is looking for easily manipulated men who can help him destroy the old system. Saint-Just, recruited by George, tells him that Max would be a potential candidate. Maxime is invited to George's house and has to save a former peasant, now a bandit, from the death penalty because he attacked George. Of course Maxime succeeds but it was a test. Of course, George can’t deny Maxime's skills but I believe it’s hearing the conversation between Maxime and Gédéon about Gédéon’s daughter that made him decide :

Robespierre : Shouldn’t you start trying to be a good family man ? You should leave the Assembly to single people like me !

We see Robespierre again later in a rather amusing scene with Gédéon. Gédéon, drunk, says Saint-Just's erotic writings told the boy is a virgin and is amused. And who is the virgin in the same bar as Gédéon? Boom Maxime !

Their following conversation will confirm that Louis XVI is the father of the kingdom.

Yeah, but when does George act ? Well, Gédéon sees Maxime again when the Estates General stagnate and there is a talk about creating a new assembly. Since Gideon is now part of the King's police force, Maxime asks him if he can meet the King discreetly to solve the problem. But without clearly knowing it, George is already starting to manipulate Maxime.

Keep in mind the puppet representation. It will be important for the next step. Because it’s present when Maxime's words contradict a part of his thoughs and when this thoughs takes controls.

After Gédeon refuses to join Saint-Just, Maxime explains to him, if Gédéon continues to hang out with the royal family, there will be repercussions. And if Gédéon tries to find his lost daughter and make politics at the same time, he will lose both. Because for Maxime, children are burden to their parents. Maxime explains his childhood, his dead mother and his father who left. He is resentful of himself because he believes it was his behavior as a child that made his father disappear, that he was a burden to him. This is why he doesn’t want children.

But underneath this justification, even if he pretends the opposite, he has hatred towards this father who abandoned him.

Gédéon : You have the right to hate your father.

Robespierre : In this case, I have the right to kill him, right ?

On the day of the meeting with the king, on the way to the palace, Maxime admits to Gédéon that his father sends him letters. In this letters, his father talks about his new family. Of course he knows that this is probably a trap, but we feel that it’s a sensitive subject for him.

Robespierre : Over my shoulder, I saw myself when I was ten years old.

Then comes one of my favorite scenes, a scene of tension between Louis XVI and Robespierre. Louis explains there are three locks on the table, if he thinks Maxime is lying, he will break one of them.

Robespierre : Since that time, I have always respected you as a father.

Louis XVI : One...You were warned, lies don't work. Either you don't respect us, or you don't respect the concept of a father.

After two, Maxime admits being one of the instigators of the problems at the Estates General and to make it stop, Necker must be dismissed because he makes promises that the nobility will never accept. Louis accept to think about it.

And here comes the chapter where I most wanted seeing George to lose and die painfully because his plan is totally twisted. Maxime receives a letter from his father who tells him that Henriette might not have died if he had been there, implying that it is Maxime's fault that he left. Then Maxime sees in front of his house a woman abused by a man. He threatens to take him to court but the guy explains that Maxime has nothing to say about the correction of a husband to his wife, named is Henriette...Oh boy !

The next day, Maxime proposes her to leave her husband, that he can help her by offering her a place in the convent of Arras. There, she would be safe. But she refuses because her husband will find her and she is unworthy of his help. Maxime feels unable to do anything. He remembers his dying sister. In the evening, another intermission, but this time Maxime decides to act. He intervenes until the girl confesses her father married her.

At this words, Maxime becomes mad and releases all the hatred he has accumulated towards his father. George's plan to make him forget any peaceful method succeeded

Robespierre now lets his hate guide him. If Louis is the father of the kingdom and the father of his subjects, then he must pay too. He goes to see Necker, tells him to accept his resignation to become a martyr and harangues the assembly to join the people and take up arms. He explains the first attack will be at the Invalides, then the people need to take care of the Bastille afterwards, because it is a royal symbol.

Camille : Maxime notice me !

Gédéon doesn’t agree with Robespierre, he thinks it’s necessary to think of a more peaceful method because it risks having deaths. He no longer recognizes his friend

Robespierre : I assure you Gédéon, I haven’t changed. Gentlemen ! Listen up ! We've been trying to find a resolution through dialogue for a long time! Alas, all our efforts have been in vain...a pure waste of time...and why !?

Robespierre : You too, Gédéon, I bet you've seen abused children love their fathers so much that they fall apart. Gédéon: Yes...

We see him again only after the march of the women on Versailles. Gédéon tells him that George is the one who sent him the letters and played on his dislike for his father to kill the king. He wants to find the wise and peaceful Robespierre.

Gédéon : And this other one love his father.

But Maxime does not believe him. His hatred is still too strong. When another lawyer asks Maxime to save a man, Maxime takes time to think, because the man looks like his father. It’s the words of Saint-Just that convince him to give up this man because he had previously seen the damage caused by the Duke of Loire on his sons George and Gédéon.

Robespierre : He’s a complete stranger, there is no doubt about it !! Saint-Just : Wouldn't it be better if he were really your father? If he were condemned to death, you would be delivered from him.

Saint-Just : Destroying everything to build a new order, that's what I think revolution is !

Finally, Maxime is released when the king died. Gédéon has found the death certificate of his father, confirming Maxime has sent an innocent man to death. Maxime seems to be happy on the day of the king's death but when he saw George and reconised him as the girl he tried to save, everything gets destroyed. He cries because after all he has done, he cannot go back.

Saint-Just embraces Maxime who he’s crying : I will always remain at your side, until death separates us.

The last time we see him is when marie-Antoinette curses him and other revolutionaries at her execution;

I reconize Saint-Just, Robespierre, Desmoulins, Marat ? (right middle), Danton, Hébert, Mme Roland, Augustin ? (bottom right)

#frev #mangafrev #robespierre #saint just #louis xvi #marie antoinette #if anyone reconize all the revolutionaries at the end just tell me please !!

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glassworkspiderlilies · 4 years

Text

portrait of a lady

Genshin Impact | Lumine/Albedo | AO3 Summary: Three times Albedo draws Lumine, and the two times he doesn't. Notes: mr. albaedo...

Dragonspine is only the beginning.

Albedo is well-informed about her by now, one would think, after running so many tests and observing her first-hand. But those were all in controlled scenarios of his own making, and so, he discovers, that outside of that, there is far more to Lumine, stranded Traveler of worlds.

Somewhat surprisingly, there are quite a few chances to see her out and about around Mondstadt. Albedo is, besides Chief Alchemist, also Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ Investigation Team—which means he too does his fair share of fieldwork, granting him opportunity to cross paths with her at unexpected moments.

But even so—the Traveler has her goals and he has his, and since Dragonspine, he spots her only in passing.

As such, in order to perform a separate study when he only sees her in such scattered moments, Albedo does the other thing that he does best besides alchemy and childcare—

He draws.

It is one thing to see her combat in a controlled situation, and another to see her fighting out in the wild. Even from the distance that he spots her, she is quite the sight. Lumine is strong; this he knows. But her movements are different when she’s in a trickier situation and does not have to account for the safety of another person. She is as vicious as she is elegant—relentless in her swordsmanship, flawless in her footwork.

It could be a dance, almost—and so too can he see that it is not one meant to be performed alone. The one who stands beside her can only be just as formidable—and of course it must be her missing brother, whom Albedo feels like he can picture despite never having met him. Still, she does what she must to make up for that lack of partner, and with one final array of slashes nearly too quick for the eye, the Ruin Guard falls. Lumine pockets the core of the monster before flipping her sword into the air, and it disappears to wherever it does.

She’s on her way again before Albedo thinks to call out to her, unwilling as he is to interrupt whatever mission she’s on without a particular reason.

Instead, he flips open his sketchbook. He has a very good memory, but he uses quick, broad strokes anyway to capture the basis of what he saw before a certain amount of detail is inevitably lost to the limits of brain capacity. He is in the middle of a field investigation with the command of other knights, so it won’t do to take too much time for something so completely unrelated.

That night though, he sits at his desk and refines the sketch. The sharp angles of her arm as she cuts through the Ruin Guard’s tough body, the fluidity of movement from one slash into the next, the flow of her hair as she whips her body around to dodge…

It is not perfect, but it is passable. There is only so much he can derive from such a short moment, without additional time with the model.

Still, it will do, until next time.

Miraculously, for all the dangerous maneuvers she tends to do, the Traveler’s flight license has yet to be revoked. She always falls just short of penalty, in a way that makes the Acting Grand Master’s lips pinch together and the Cavalry Captain grin in delight when they see her. Jean can only sigh and request for Lumine to simply be careful, to which the Traveler dips her head obediently and solemnly swears that she is, and would not let her flying jeopardize herself or the citizens’ safety.

There is something about the way she says that, so serious and matter of fact, that goes beyond simple confidence in one’s flight skills, and has the Knights questioning.

But they do not ask, nor can they really figure just what it is exactly they want to question.

Albedo, of course, observes. She is so natural in the sky, the glider seeming like an extension of her body. She flew exceedingly well even after she’d been first gifted the glider, according to Amber, even when Stormterror’s winds had whipped her so suddenly into the air. Lumine has Barbatos’ blessing, it is true, even if not quite in the form of a Vision, but her skill does not feel owed to that. Jean, gifted with her Anemo Vision as she is, is not so remarkable in the skies; even Amber, three-time winner of Mondstadt’s Gliding Championship, does not quite have the particular easy grace that Lumine does.

It is….baffling, this ever so slight yet just discernable difference that cannot quite be explained.

Albedo sees her sometimes out in the field, a large shadow overhead as she glides. On somewhat rare occasions she will accompany him while he experiments in the wild, and he watches with mild trepidation as she steps off the sides of cliffs so casually, unfurling her wings like an afterthought to retrieve an herb or some such thing down below.

Other times, she drops from such great heights that he can only marvel at the lack of fear.

He is painting below Starsnatch Cliff the first time this happens, suddenly hearing a soft call of Albedo! in the distance. It takes a minute to locate where it is coming from, and he squints to see the tiny figure of the Traveler atop Starsnatch’s tip, waving her arm. He waves back, but he cannot hear what else she is saying nor understand what she is gesturing at, and tilts his head in confusion. In another minute, she takes a running leap off of the cliff, gliding towards him. He watches as she soars, then takes out his sketchbook to capture her figure in the air. Albedo’s eyes follow her as she glides past him, and—ah, the band of hilichurls making their way towards him must have been what she was trying to warn him about.

But then—she drops suddenly, hurtling down with such speed that it is genuinely alarming, the wind whistling. Her sword manifests in her hand and she uses it to pinpoint her landing; she slams into the ground, the blade sinking into the sand before her knee does, her other leg bent and braced for support. The hilichurls are blown back from the resulting blast of power, and she’s up again in a flash, ready to fight.

Albedo blinks before adjusting his gloves, and joins her in the clean-up.

“Are you not afraid of falling?” he asks, immediately after the battle is over.

She turns to him with a faint smile, putting away her sword.

“Not when I mean to,” she responds. “Are you not afraid of surprise attacks, if you are so focused on your art?”

“I would not be Chief Alchemist or Captain of the Investigation Team if I could not handle such situations,” he replies politely, “Though I thank you for your concern, and assistance.”

She gives him an amused look.

“Are you hurt?” he queries, glancing at her knees, “That was…quite the landing.”

“It is not so bad with sand,” she shrugs, brushing off the grains that have stuck to her skin, “But I have gotten better at mitigating the damage.”

He raises an eyebrow, and her lip quirks up as she awaits his potential scolding. There are a few beats of silence between them before he sighs.

“I trust you know what you’re doing,” he relents, and her eyes grow more mirthful.

“As do you,” she says pointedly, and he holds out his hands in defeat.

They have a quick lunch—she splits her food with him despite his protests—and she’s off again, always busy.

Albedo stays behind until the sun begins to set, filling pages in his sketchbook, the image of her descent burned into his mind.

“You want a lesson on alchemy?”

He blinks at her in surprise as he lets her into his laboratory. She steps in carefully, looking around with interest and taking in its disorganization and clutter.

“This is not so different from Dragonspine, is it?” Lumine says, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and he coughs lightly in mild embarrassment. “And yes. Is it so surprising? Timaeus has been a great help, but I do not think it remiss to ask his teacher for guidance as I move on to craft more complicated things.”

“From what I hear, you are shaping up to be quite the alchemist yourself,” Albedo says, crossing his arms and putting a thumb to his chin in thought.

Both Timaeus and Sucrose, who had seen her craft in person before while he has not, had mentioned that she was taking to the process quite well.

“You are exaggerating, surely. Perhaps it may seem that way when all one crafts is the occasional potion. But as I said, I find myself needing to make use of more complicated alchemy if I want to reinforce my weapons.”

Albedo hums, studying her. It is true that such a thing was one of his topics of particular interests for a time, hence her coming to him instead of Sucrose, who was far easier to find.

“Have you ever thought of becoming an alchemist, with this growing interest of yours?” he asks, motioning for her to come closer to his crafting table.

“Ah, Sir Kreideprinz, is two students not enough?” she teases lightly, “I’m afraid I haven’t the proper time to invest currently, as you must know. But I shall promise not to abuse any knowledge you are willing to impart upon me.”

It startles a laugh out of him—one, because it had not occurred to him that she would, and two, because what was considered misuse of the art was not always the same between alchemists.

“All knowledge is worth having,” he murmurs absently, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but he says nothing further on the topic of potential misuse. “Alright, then. Look here…”

She is a good listener, despite the complexities of the process he outlines. They discuss the theory, and he shows her how to combine the pieces she’s brought to higher-level material. She watches with a nearly hawk-like keenness, and asks him to repeat the process a few more times before she attempts it herself.

It is all about trial and error, in the beginning, and so Albedo steps away and takes the back seat as he watches her work out the formulae and arrangement of materials on the table to achieve what she wants. He pays close attention to prevent any dangerous accidents, but also idly puts a pencil to paper while he observes her.

Her focus, the way she drags her fingers lightly over the symbols as she thinks, the purse of her lips as she works out what she needs to…yes, drawing her is never tiring.

Eventually, she succeeds in her crafting, straightening out her back and smiling in quiet pride as she turns to show him the results. Under his further guidance, she uses her newly crafted materials to reinforce her sword, and they both look upon the end result with satisfaction.

“Good work,” he says, as she prepares to leave, “May this serve your well on your journey.”

She glances at the papers he had set aside before coming to assist her again, unable to see what is on them from this distance. Still, there is a knowing gleam in her eye.

“And may that serve you well in your research,” she replies, with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

His lips twitch in amusement, but he does not respond.

As much as Albedo loves Klee, she is a boundless ball of energy, and he must admit that he is not always able to keep up with her. It is why there is a rotation of knights to look after her when Albedo is particularly busy and cannot be disturbed—and playing with Klee comes to be considered tantamount to a training regimen. Oftentimes the girl will have left a string of exhausted knights—especially recruits—in her wake when he finally comes out of his laboratory.

So it is odd that this time, when he comes out to take down his “Experiment in Progress” sign, that the halls are unusually quiet. The knights seem fairly undisturbed, and he does not even hear any distant telltale explosions to signal her presence.

“The Honorary Knight is watching Klee,” he hears Jean say, and Albedo turns around to see the Acting Grand Master smiling at him as she comes down the hall. “The last I saw them, they were in the courtyard.”

“I see,” Albedo says, inclining his head in thanks, and goes searching.

Jean had spoken truly; the two are still in the courtyard, sitting on the grass, and apparently weaving stalks of dandelions into garlands. Albedo is surprised to see Klee so focused on such an activity, when she usually prefers more active games.

“Hello,” he says, to draw their attention, and Klee perks up immediately, rushing over to hug him around the middle.

“Albedo! Are you all done now? Can we eat dinner early? Can Miss Lumi come? We played all day so I’m really hungry!”

Albedo pats her head and murmurs acknowledgement of her requests, his eyes crinkling as he looks over at Lumine.

“Jean had mentioned you were watching her,” he says, “Thank you. I hope you were able to convince her to leave the fish population at Starfell Lake intact.”

To his incredible surprise, Lumine’s cheeks turn faintly pink, and Klee begins to jump up and down, still holding onto him.

“Albedo, did you know? Miss Lumi is really good at fishing! She can catch them with just her bare hands! We brought lots back, so can you make Woodland Dream tonight, pleeeeeeeease?”

He blinks at Klee, then looks back at the Traveler, who avoids his gaze and steadily continues to weave dandelions together with careful precision.

“With her bare hands, you say?” he asks, and his sister uh-huhs enthusiastically.

“Oh! But I want to finish making these first! Albedo, do you want to make one too? Miss Lumi says that in some other worlds, flower crowns are a sign of appreciation!”

“Alright then,” he says, though Klee is already dragging him towards the spot she had temporarily abandoned.

He is quiet for a while, letting Klee and Lumine show him how to bend the stalks carefully and weave them tightly without breaking. But as he falls into the proper pattern, he is too curious to stay silent.

“…Where did you learn to catch fish with your bare hands?” he asks innocently, without looking up.

“…The fish population is intact enough that, given a little time, Starfell Lake will be full again,” Lumine says first instead, sensing the question he is not asking. “But—nowhere in particular. It is simply a matter of practice. It was a silly thing that Aether and I had challenged each other to do one day, and then contested one another for the most caught.”

Her tone grows a little quieter at the mention of her brother, her eyes more melancholy. Albedo glances at her, but before he can say anything, it is Klee who broaches the subject.

“What’s Mr. Aether like?” she asks cheerfully, and Lumine startles at the question. “You’re twins, right? Do you look exactly the same?”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“No,” she says absently. “But we do look…very similar. His eyes are a little sharper, and his nose is a little more pointed. His hair is sort of like mine, but he could never the front to lie flat. Back when both of our hair was long…I braided his, but he liked it so much that he kept it. He cut mine for me, when I wanted a change.”

Albedo looks at her, noting what she says, trying to imagine her other half.

“Go on,” he encourages, and her eyes widen a little as she pauses, thinking about stories to share.

Haltingly, she tells them a little more about her brother. How he favored the hotter months over the cooler ones, how he liked acrobatics when they flew, how he preferred darker clothing over lighter ones. As she speaks, Albedo forms a clearer picture of Aether in his mind.

In the course of this, Klee ends up dozing against Albedo’s side, though she tries hard to stay awake.

“Ah, I tired her out,” Lumine says, her eyes crinkling.

“Quite the feat,” Albedo murmurs, patting Klee’s arm. “Ah, Klee. What about dinner?”

“Woodland….Dream…” she murmurs, and Lumine chuckles.

“It was all she could talk about, at the lake,” she says, reaching out to stroke the little girl’s hair tenderly. “I have high expectations.”

“It’s my specialty,” Albedo says easily, “So it should not disappoint. Ah—here, this is for you.”

He gives her the garland he had woven, as well as the finished one of the two Klee had been making, as Lumine was undoubtedly meant to be one of the recipients. Lumine blinks, taking the crowns gingerly.

“Appreciation, right?” Albedo says, and Lumine nods.

She puts both on her head, and then places the one she made carefully on Albedo’s.

“My gratitude, for dinner,” she tells him, and he smiles.

“Well, you will have to come home with us first,” he says as he picks Klee up, and she blinks a little in mild surprise before smiling back.

Albedo leads the way, and it is not long before Lumine falls into step beside him.

He is finishing up some sketches in the library when she climbs through the open window, startling him out of focus.

“Hello,” she greets amicably, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hello,” he greets back, “That was quite the entrance.”

“It’s faster this way, sometimes,” she says, and he blinks at her, unable to formulate a response to say otherwise. “How many hours have you been here?”

He blinks again, working out the time via the position of the sun, peering out of the window.

“Four hours, perhaps?” he guesses, and Lumine hums, looking at the papers laid out in front of him, which are all various portraits of her.

“Will you finally tell me what this is about?” she asks, propping her elbows up and putting her chin in her hands.

He smiles.

“Nothing so mysterious,” he says, gathering some of the drawings closer to glance at for reference, “I have said before you make a fascinating study, have I not? But I suppose I did want to try something.”

She raises an eyebrow in question, but Albedo signals for her to wait a moment as he makes some minor adjustments to the piece he is working on at present, which is tilted towards him against the edge of the table and thus out of her sight.

“Alright, then,” he says after a while, “Here—all of these are for you.”

He places this last finished piece on top of the small stack resting on the seat of the chair next to him, then hands the whole thing over, and she takes the little pile with open curiosity.

Her expression changes to shock when she looks down at the first drawing.

“…Aether,” she whispers wonderingly, her hand hovering over the portrait as if she is afraid this too will disappear in front of her.

“You paint quite a vibrant picture when you speak of him,” Albedo explains, “So I thought I would try my hand at actually putting him to picture. I am sure there are inaccuracies, but…tell me, how did I do?”

She is silent as she goes through the others—some quick sketches, some more detailed renderings, some smudged with color, and even a couple of full paintings. Her eyes grow wet as she looks through each page, pausing here and there to trace the lines with her fingers, or to relax her grip so she does not crinkle the paper overmuch.

“Near perfect,” she finally says, very quietly, as she looks at him. “Albedo, this is….remarkable. I feared…forgetting small things about him, with the time that had passed. Thank you.”

He is not sure what to say now that she is teary, so he coughs a little and pushes the sketches of herself towards her, as well.

“You are very welcome. I confess I may have given him some of your mannerisms, for lack of other reference. But when you fight, there is a space for him, and I can guess how he might compliment your movements as you must complement his. Of course, as I have never met him, I did take some liberties…”

He trails off when she looks at him again after studying her portraits, her gaze a little more intense.

“You…must have been studying me quite closely, to produce these,” she says, tone deceptively mild.

“Ah—my apologies, I suppose it was presumptuous of me,” he says, worried about losing her regard, “I—sketch people around Mondstadt so often, they have grown used to seeing me do so. But I should have asked your permission.”

“Oh—that is not what I mean,” she reassures him, tilting her head, “I just hadn’t realized you were paying quite so much attention to me. I would have sat for you, if you asked.”

His eyes crinkle at the suggestion; she bore his constant tests with great patience up in Dragonspine where others would not have so readily, and here she is still willing to do additional favors for his whims.

“I appreciate the offer, but it was not such a…staged manner that I was after. I enjoyed seeing you simply going about your activities.”

She hums, gentling putting down the stack of drawings before leaning back in her seat a little.

“And now?” she asks, and he blinks at her, confused at her meaning. “Is this moment also something you are looking to draw?”

He stares at her, taking in her profile in this moment, a curious feeling creeping over him as he observes her. The quiet intensity of her gaze, the faint smile curving her lips, the weight of some sort of expectation in the air…

“I…suppose I could, but as I mentioned, I was hoping for something other than a controlled environment,” he demurs hesitantly.

“Ah, so you believe this a controlled environment?”

He pauses again, taken aback, and as if to purposely disprove his implication, a strong gust of wind rushes through the open window. The papers on the table rustle loudly, startling the both of them, and the two instinctively surge from their seats, lunging across the table in half-panic and slamming their hands down to prevent the sketches from flying away.

“Oh no—have we creased them?”

“No, they are fine, I believe.”

They look up then, realizing how close they have come to each other.

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

“…Do me a favor, if you please,” Lumine says quietly, as they try and sweep the papers back together. There is a balance hanging between them that has not yet broken while they do so. “Keep these portraits of me. If you…come across my brother, please give them to him.”

“I will keep them safe,” Albedo says, narrowly missing grazing her fingers as he lays another sketch onto the pile, “It is no trouble.”

She smiles faintly.

“I should hope not,” she murmurs. “I shall…entrust myself to you.”

She means the drawings, he knows, and yet there is a slight unguarded lilt to her voice, and he does not miss the double meaning.

There is a question here, an offering, if he chooses to accept it.

At this distance, they can see each other’s eyelashes; one slight movement and they could be touching. The delicacy of the moment is suspended as they stare at each other—Albedo’s blue, blue eyes are wide and searching, Lumine’s pink lips slightly parted. The gauzy white curtains are billowed upwards by the wind again, fluttering over them like a veil, hiding them from direct view.

A soft murmur, a gentle brush of cheeks, a warm puff of breath.

…Do you trust me, Albedo?

…Yes.

Their silhouettes slowly drift closer.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #genshin traveler #kreideprinz #fanfiction #man these tags feel so repetitive #me both times i've written albelumi: why is the characterization like this #they do what they want huh

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ironharvests · 4 years

Text

general headcanons: kaguya kimimaro.

kimimaro is..... not the brightest person. i mean, he isn’t as dense as a rock, but he never really had the chance to LEARN anything. his clan placed zero importance in the outside world and education, and although it would amuse orochimaru to play the role of parent and teacher when it suited them — because i do believe orochimaru is playing, even in boruto. they have always enjoyed being powerful, being loved and sought after, and you can see the evidence of that in how they treat their experiments: in picking abused, desperate children and appearing to them as a benevolent savior, orochimaru positioned themself as a god-like figure who was to be treated with awe and reverence in equal measure. why else would these children remain so devoted even after orochimaru makes them kill each other for amusement and “science”? — there was zero incentive for orochimaru to teach kimimaro anything outside of combat because they planned to take kimimaro’s “perfect body” until kimimaro got sick.

as a result, kimimaro is uneducated. his reading and writing levels are low, his vocabulary is small, and any refinement to his speech has been picked up wholesale from orochimaru and kabuto.

his senses of curiosity, independence, free will, and free thought were warped at an early age.

he retains an almost childlike curiosity, although the sense of wonder and confusion are never displayed on his face.

kimimaro takes things at face value and doesn’t understand much nuance. he understands tone very well, but subtext? hyperbole? adages? all go right over his head. kimimaro begins to regain these attributes only if and when he goes through deprogramming, aka the intense therapy cult members are put through once they’ve been separated from their cult.

when he does engage in deep thinking, it tends to be about abstract things. are the gods real? (he thinks yes.) what is the purpose of this world? his purpose? what is it he is missing about the grand scheme of things? he is reflective, just not.....about himself......or his environment...

the kaguya clan was a battle-oriented band of zealots who offered up carnage and mayhem in their veneration of their goddess-ancestress kaguya. education was a low, or perhaps even nonexistent, priority.

kimimaro was a special class of kaguya — one privy to and born with a natural aptitude for all the wild, watered-down abilities of their bloodline. once the clan leaders found out about this, his life’s purpose was sealed: he would be their ultimate weapon of mass destruction. they kept him in a cage and treated him like a fighting dog: starving him, beating him, and riling him up before dead-dropping him into the middle of battle and hooting as he slaughtered anyone in the vicinity, including other clan members. as a result, he has no concept of family, love, care, or devotion aside from what he witnesses at orochimaru’s hideout, which is..... yeah.

kimimaro is not a naturally violent person. as a child he was very soft hearted and sweet natured and gullible, and he still is deep deep deeeeeep down. (except for the gullible thing. that’s right on the surface.) if you stand against him he will not resort to violence right off the bat. like in canon, he will issue a command — move now. if you don’t, however, he will not think twice about carving a door-shaped hole in you. living in oto means violence is second nature at this point, especially when the opposition in question is getting between him and orochimaru’s goals. once he’s been deprogrammed this instinct will drop somewhat, but it’s still there.

he hardly remembers what remorse feels like.

he loves plants and nature. they make him feel calm and he likes to wonder about the purpose of everything.

horrifically bad judge of character. my god. he cannot read vibes to save his life.

he has horns! not all kaguya have them, just like how not all kaguya have the kkg, but a scattering of them do possess bone horns like the otsutsuki. each person’s horns come in differently. it’s a painful process — remember getting leg growing pains and monster zits during puberty? great. now combine the two and center it in your forehead. it feels Bad, Man. kimimaro’s horns begin to form around age 11. initially they are two straight, two-inch prongs poking out of his hairline that he files to a point to keep them sharp during battle, but after jūgo ( @bredfaith ) compliments them, he starts growing them out. eventually they will begin to branch like a stag’s. if he sits very still, birds and butterflies will sometimes perch on them. he likes that.

he is not a good or natural leader. he is authoritative and demanding, very much a “do what i say when i say it” sort which is precisely why the other members of the sound five did not care for him. he was quick to tell them he would kill them if they failed a mission, brought shame upon orochimaru’s name, or otherwise failed to live up to his expectations. what they did outside missions didn’t matter to him because they did not matter to him. he truly was only nice to jūgo for a long time.

he is a late bloomer in every sense of the word. he is still growing into himself! be patient!

#had 2 repost and fix some errors here #headcanon: kimimaro.#headcanon.#tw child abuse #tw cults #tw child abuse /#tw cults /#i wish there was a way to post bullet headcanons that made them more readable :////

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angelicichor · 5 years

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May I request a RZ Mikey finally finding his childhood friend (s/o) that he loved and used to play with and protect before he was taken away? Like they were so sweet and kind and missed him so much when he left

Yes!! Gosh I was waiting for someone to request something for my baby Mikey °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

And I’m sorry for this one bc it’s so long and I messed up SO MANY TIMES, but I hope it’s still good enough 💔

Words: 4000+

Dearest

As the man stood on the street, eyes focused at the stars shining above him, he heard a soft hum in his ears. The rush of blood, fading, replaced with the howling of the chilling autumn wind, the playing of crickets in the grass, and a faint sound of an alarm going off in the sanitarium behind him.

He looked down to his hands, red, coating them fully, gore stuck under his fingernails, but they felt light, without the drugs in his veins, left unchained, unbound and as his messy, dirty blond hair was moved along with the breeze, tickling his neck, he realized that he was, for once, free.

And for a moment it overwhelmed him, the space, the air, the wind, the stars, the clarity of his mind, as his brain processed his situation, no more drugs, no more nurses, no more Loomis, no more emptiness, he didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to wander with his mind to pass the hours, days, months, following a schedule that they set for him, he didn’t have to listen to their tired voices, to the hateful names that they threw at him under their breath, thinking he was drugged too hard out of his mind to hear them. There was no more “Mikey”, there was “Michael”, free from his prison, free to do as he pleased. What a good feeling it was.

His head shoot up for a moment, his hand reaching out to search for something in his pocket, almost frantic, his breath stopping as he found it, a small picture with him and what used to be his closes family on it, his thumb passing through his little sister’s face, slowly, with love and longing. That, he told himself, organizing his mind, would be his priority, he had to get the family back together. Find Boo, somehow let her know it’s him, he knew her name, knew where she lived, he just had to get there, just had to…

Suddenly his ears rang, a high pitched noise making him wince, it was unpleasant, distracting, but he knew what it meant. He needed to rest above all, let the things they’ve been forcing him to take get out of his system, needed a safe space, but where?

His house was out of question, it was sad, but he knew that would be the first place they’d check once the police realize he’s the one who escaped.

Just get to Haddonfield. His mind settled and he allowed himself to sigh for once, there was nobody around, it was fine, for once it was just fine.

To say his mind was wandering would be an understatement, no, it was an unstable concoction, filled with plans, feelings, thoughts, and memories, the last he needed to focus on the hardest as he made his way through the grass fields and then forest, trying to recall how he got to that cursed prison in the first place, it was with a car, an officer pulling up to the sanitarium with him inside the back seat, silent, observing his surroundings, half-aware of everything, the anger he felt before he killed his father, sister and her boyfriend slowly fading then, being replaced with a silent fear.

All he wished for then was to just go home, to his mother, his little sister, he wouldn’t even mind going back to school. With his father and sister gone there would be just so much less for him to worry about, school would be just a side noise, something to grind his teeth through and come back home, to his little darling sister, to his loving mother, to his family.

But they had to lock him up.

Michael had no real sense of time as he walked, just a goal and a general idea of direction, and a truck wash slowly crawling it’s way into his vision. Good.

He tried his damn best to please the doctor in the beginning, answering his questions truthfully, hoping he would understand, but all too quickly did he realize that no one really cared for what he said. So at one point he just went silent, why talk, when nobody listens? It was easy too, even if Loomis was impressed by his ability to not utter a single word in 15 years.

“Learn to live inside your head…” the orderly said something like this to him all those years in the past, so that’s just what he did, memories of his past running on repeat, mixing with the every day talk of the nurses, the screaming of other patients, the eventual alarms or music, stopping only when he was sat down in front of his doctor. He listened to him, didn’t react, just out of pure curiosity, because that damned fool liked to run his mouth and sometimes a few things would slip out. Things he could use.

The grayed blue coveralls kept him warmer against the autumn wind and the boots made walking less tedious. He did have to leave a body behind for them, but that was good, something to distract the police, so there would be less looking for him. He’d figure that they knew he was gone by now, so if they get just a few more places to check for him, what’s the problem? He’d be long gone before the report came, anyways.

Between the memories of his abusive father, his neglectful sister and his mother and little Boo’s smiles, there was another thing that would run by a bit foggier, he could never grasp it fully, too focused on his rage and longing, but it was there. A face, a smile, a pair of gentle hands helping him up from the ground, their voice angry, but not at him, someone else, one of the louder, antagonizing voices, but one that he had already shut up in the past.

That memory was getting stronger now, the closer he got home, he could feel it.

As the warm lights of Haddonfield brightened the dark night from afar, Michael’s heart tightened. He hadn’t even realized.

The little light shows on all the houses, the running children, dressed as monsters, the carved pumpkins and those fallen leaves that crunched under his boot as he walked through the forest, knowing well enough that if anyone saw him, there would be a cause for alarm. He broke into one of the first houses, chocking out a woman’s life the moment her mouth opened to scream. And the realization hit him even harder as he noticed the fake cobwebs on the ceiling, the fake zombie on the corner that bobbed it’s head when pressed, Michael’s lip twitching in an amused smile under his mask at the sight. It was Halloween.

What irony that those idiots would get him a chance to get out of his prison on the anniversary of his arrival there.

“You always get in so much trouble, Mikey!” the voice rang in his head as he stalked the neighborhood, snuffing people’s lives one by one, just to stay hidden for everybody else. “I don’t want to… they’re just idiots…” His kid self replied and the shyness he felt back them hit him even now as he stood starring at his old house in the distance, from a safe space between the trees. It was run down, empty, the wood darkened a lot during those 15 years and he could see how close everything was to collapsing, but it still made him somewhat calm to look at it.

There was no police around, not yet, no noise that would point to them either, no cars. So going against his first plan, he went inside.

The board creaked under his weight, but he couldn’t blame them for complaining, he wasn’t unaware of how much he’d grown during those years, it wasn’t their fault.

“Geez, 2 inches?! How could you!” they laughed, giving him a slight push, but he didn’t return it, just giggling instead. “AND you’re going soft on me?!” they seemed offended now, their cheeks inflating and brows furrowing.“What?” he asked back, confused at their anger, only to be pushed again, this time letting himself wobble onto the floorboards with a fake huff. “What did I do?!” he laughed back at them, seeing them stand above him, arms crossed under their tiny chest. “You think I can’t handle you just because you’re 4 inches taller than me, Myers?” they squinted at him and he felt his cheeks burning up slowly.“N…Yeah… I mean…” he stuttered, God, was he horrible with words.So it was a blessing when they reached out to him, helping him up like they did so many times, even if he noticed that their pull was much weaker than his own now, but it was good, they’ve protected him for so long, it was his turn to do the same.“It’s fine, Mikey…! I was joking!” they smiled and he felt his stomach clench, nervous like never. “Really. I mean… at least you can reach for Mr.Bernard next time my sister puts him on the fridge!”.“Y-yeah… I could.” he returned their warm smile and felt his body wobble again as they pushed him playfully. This time, he did the same.

The wooden board gave to the pull his fingers finally and he reached deep in, pulling out the thing he had hidden all those years ago, a white latex, a bit rougher in his fingers, or were they rougher themselves? He couldn’t really tell. The mask that he killed his sister in. He was glad to see it was still good to use. He’d need it, the paper one on his face was already giving in because of all the blood.

“Mikey?” they seemed a bit quiet today, so their voice made him shoot up, blue eyes starring deep into theirs.“Yeah?”“Why do you always wear those things? I mean, they’re nice but…”“I… They make me feel less ugly…” his head lowered, followed by the slump in his shoulders. “Huh…” they sighed, taking his mask off their face and he was happy for that, they were too cute to wear them anyways. “But Mikey… You’re pretty anyways…”And the sincerity in their voice made him put on another mask, one made of his hands, hidding his reddened face in a hurry. How could they be so cruel?!Standing in the thicket he had a perfect view of the next house, the one he knew she was in, they called her Laurie now and she wasn’t alone in there, there was another girl that he didn’t know and he knew that would be a problem, but his mind was made.

Or at least he thought so, that is, before noticing somebody else, heading out from the same building Laurie was in.

They’ve grown, but not as much as him, and he could see that their hair still refused to obey their wishes, and their eyes seemed a bit more tired, but he could tell, it was them, it was you, the same that would protect him so many times, show him kindness, try to understand him when everybody else would just throw insults at him. You’ve changed so much, yet as he looked at your smiling face the same flare rose in his heart, the same longing to be next to you, to embrace you, to call your name.And he almost did, but the burning in his throat stopped him, muscle on the brink of collapse, throwing him into a coughing fit that he tried so hard to cover and he realized that, maybe, just maybe, becoming a mute was a mistake.

“Thank you for having me over, Laurie…” your tired face lighted up at the blonde girl and she shook her head, returning your warmth in kind.“No problem, (Y/N). I’m still mad that your mother would make you watch her house on a night like that. I mean, I love the lady, but come on!” the blonde laughed and you felt your heart tighten slightly. It was always hard to face her, her resemblance to him haunted you every time, her long hair, those chubby cheeks, the way she smiled, but you could never tell her, no, she was separate from that family now, but you knew them too well to forget.“It’s fine, really, I didn’t have any plans anyways. Halloween is still a sore spot for me.” the laughter in your voice sounded so pained and you hated how your emotions would leak through, but she knew not to question it, letting you go on your way, two houses from hers.

It was cold and while you were thankful for the sweater the girls gave you, it wasn’t nearly enough to stop your shivering. Good thing you didn’t have a long way to go, but the chill on your spine was unpleasant never the less.

The door opened with the click of the key being twisted and complete darkness welcomed you inside, it was something you used to be scared of, but grew accustomed to, knowing where the light switch is, even if it was stupidly far from the door, a mistake of the past that was your father’s fault. With a flicker the living room came to your vision and you sighed at the mess, knowing damn well that this was exactly what three days of being a lazy, sad ass looked like. “I need to clean up, huh…” the plastic pumpkin in your hands slid onto a table as you bent down to undo your boots, just to sit down and ignore your own words, nothing new there. You could clean tomorrow, but today the energy to do anything was gone.

Today was his favorite day, you remembered, cradling your knees up to your chest with a heavy sigh. Every year you’d go out together, along with his mom, since your parents were always unwilling to go, complaining how it was a pagan holiday and not something a proper Christian should celebrate, but they didn’t really stop you either, showed how much they cared. You two would always run ahead of his mom, only to hesitate before the doors, arguing quietly who’d be the one to ring, until either his mom caught up and did it herself or the ruckus you two were causing forced the inhabitants to open the door anyways, to find you and Michael pulling each other’s hair in a soft tugging war. Then, at the end of the night you’d sit together at the table, waving your legs and counting the candy you’ve gotten, sharing if either got less and you’d always take away his candy corn. He liked it, but not so much and he’d much rather have your jelly beans. It was never a fair trade, but the face he made whenever you agreed made you giggle like crazy.

The memories brought warmth to your face and soft tears to your eyes. You were well past crying, accepting what the boy you had spent your childhood with had done, and that you’d never see him again, with his mother gone there was no one to save him from the sanitarium and there was no way he could ever get out himself. Sure, he was always bigger and stronger than you, but he was also a chubby kid, other’s pushover and you doubted being held in a cell with mentally deranged people did him any good.

If only Loomis had allowed you to meet with him… But then you were too young, not even family, and now he said that “The boy’s just too dangerous.” and you had no right to oppose that statement. Michael would never hurt you and you’d never hurt him, you knew that, but the old man refused to listen.

Just as you were going to stand up, a soft thud alarmed you, coming from upstairs. A small grin rose on your left cheek. “Mikey?” You called out, thinking it was your cat, who you’ve named lovingly after your past friend, coming down from an evening hunt. You heard a loud meow from upstairs and rolled your eyes, he was being a little prince again, you figured, threw something off the shelf and now required your attention to bask in the mess he’s made. “Coming, baby… Don’t make any more mess, okaaaay?” a lack of response was normal procedure, so you threw the sweater still covering your body off, revealing an over sized Kiss t-shirt. Another thing that reminded you of him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to abandoning the band just because it hurt to remember.

With a minute passed you walked into the upstairs bedroom, looking around to find your baby, surely enough finding him at the edge of the light that came from behind you, seemingly tense. “There you are!” you hummed, stepping inside the dark room, pulling Mikey into your arms lovingly. “Did you make a mess again, Mikey? You little rascal?” you cooed, but the cat wasn’t having it, his back tensing and hair shooting up, a low hiss and a mrow escaping it’s jaws. “What’s wrong, kitty? Is there a–” your head turned and rose to inspect the direction at which your cat was hissing, only to freeze in place, your hands opening enough for it to jump down, rising it’s spine near your now trembling legs, trying to defend you, the white spot in the dark resembling a head turning down to it, tilting to the side in confusion. “W…who…?” your voice snapped it’s attention back to you immediately, and your whole body trembled under it’s stare, your leg pressing lightly against Mikey to get him to run, your heart rising to your chest, beating in an almost painful manner. “S…sir? You… you shouldn’t be here…” You tried staying polite, letting your leg take a slow, almost unnoticeable step back, every muscle in your body ready to dash away. “How did you even…” you looked to the side and noticed an open window, which definitely was closed when you left. Closed, but not locked, you reminded yourself. “Oh…”

The next stop was definitely noticed and you could see the figure tense, shifting slightly forward, enough for you to make out it’s massive shoulders and fingers twitching against the handle of a… “Oh no…” you whimpered, noticing the red glint of a blade coated in gore. That was enough for you to bolt out, fighting your balance to not stumble onto a wall and instead bounce off it to grab onto the stair’s handrail and rush a few steps down.

The invader was way faster than you, though, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt and pulling you back, the impact making you scream out in pain as tour spine met the steps and then something grabbed onto your wrist and the back of your neck, dragging you up, your eyes closing in panic as you felt the hard surface of your attacker’s chest against your back and his arm and bicep holding your head still, his other hand shooting up to your arm, catching the elbow that tried to hit the man’s side, overpowering you all too easily and twisting your arm back, drawing another, softer scream out of you, followed by a whimper.

“Please… Please no…” you begged softly, feeling the man’s face close to your neck, his chest pressing into your back a bit harder, his grip unrelenting and your eyes caught a glimpse of his knife again, held in the arm that was choking you still. “Please, please, please… what did I do?” you whimpered softly, letting your legs kick slightly against the handrail still in front of you, but a strong pull on your arm warned you to stop, so you did, still wriggling uselessly.

Then you heard it. It was small, naught but whisper, but growing louder, words, rasping, stuttering, sounding painful, as if the throat that spoke them hadn’t been used in ages, but the more they repeated the easier it got. A low, rumbling “Calm. Down.”, like a scratched record, playing on repeat, but slowly you obeyed and with every muscle letting up in your body, the hold on you lessened as well, to nothing more than an awkward embrace. You could swear you heard a sigh of relief coming from the person.“Are you… are you going to kill me?” against your better judgement you asked and you felt the head on your shoulder rise, shifting to his blade, before the arm around you sprung into movement, stabbing the weapon into a wall, returning to hold you again, and you felt your arm become free again, the assailant searching for something in his outfit.

His hand rose before you, placing a piece of paper in your trembling palms, holding onto them for a second, as if trying to calm them down, a breath like a cuss escaping through what you now realized was a latex mask, and he moved away, giving you your space, but watching carefully from behind you, you could feel his gaze, there was no doubt about it.

Carefully you opened the gift, making sure not to rip it, too scared of what the man would do if that happened. And then your heart stopped, only to return with a beat much slower, softer than before, as you inspected the photograph, recognizing the people on it instantly. “Oh… that’s the Myers family…” you laughed quietly. “Deborah, little Angel and… and Michael…” your voice hiked speaking the boy’s name, still too close to your heart to speak of normally. There was some shifting behind you, something you understood as the nudge to continue and you’d realized that he might want you to tell you where they are. “If you’re looking for them… I… I can’t really help you, sir. Deborah is dead, committed suicide because of her grief, Angel is… she’s her own woman now, and Mikey he…” you felt tears swell up in your eyes, your thumb lightly brushing against the boy’s face, fighting to contain the shakiness in your voice. “He’s been taken away… And they won’t let me see him… I don’t even… God I don’t even know if HE’S ALIVE. I…” there sob that left you was ugly, but honest, speaking of ages of repressed emotions flooding your brain. “I’m sorry… I know I’m useless… I…”

There wasn’t a proper ending for your sentence, as you felt the man’s weight on the floorboards behind you, pressing them in as his knees fell to the ground in a quiet thud, his hands then lifting your chin to look at him. You had never thought that seeing a pair of eyes could make your heart break, but it did.

Your gasp was audible and you could see the second of panic that reflected in them, his hands retreating hastily to his tights, letting you move on your own, to turn, to stare at him, even if his gaze wouldn’t meet yours again, to get closer, to touch his now sharp jaw, covered in a thicker stubble, to run your thumbs on his cheeks, his features relaxing under the much needed affection, he worry in his thick brows relaxing, as his whole body shuddered in relief, understanding that it had clicked, that you knew, his grayish-blue eyes rising again, and your mind filled with worry, seeing how tired he looked, mentally exhausted, even his long, dirty blonde hair reflected that, falling onto his shoulders in a cascade, tangled and wild. And finally your mouth moved.

“Michael…?” you asked, shakily, feeling his hands wrap around your, swallowing them, fully. His nod was enough for your grip on his cheeks to tighten, taking in his image, he was so fucking beautiful, ragged, destroyed with time, but as angelic as you had remembered. “Oh god... OH FUCK Michael!! Mikey!!” you cried, crawling onto his shoulders, enveloping his head that rested anxiously on your chest, hugging tight, petting his hair and crying into it at the same time, but he let you, there was nothing he craved at this very moment more than your touch. “Michael, Michael I missed you so much!! I’m so sorry!! I’m so--” your forehead pressed against his, and he hushed you, his rough fingers moving onto your cheeks, swiping the tears away, a soft smile rising on his face, contradicting his rough features, his blues focused on you and you only, taking in the red of your cheeks, your quiet sobs and your warmth. And by hell, were you the most beautiful thing in the world for him now, the brightest star in this dark night.

He tried to speak, but again his body betrayed him, sending him into a coughing fit, but this time you were there to catch him, pet his back with actual worry, treat him like a human, like he deserved your love and it broke him internally, allowing tears to creep their way from his eyes to your shoulder that he clung to in desperation, seeking out more of you unable to convey how much he missed this, you, next to him, protecting him from this world, telling him everything is fine, ignoring the blood on his hands, his disgusting, dirty body, the ugliness in his heart, just so he could feel safe.

“Come on, Michael...” you sighed, trying to stand up, but to no avail, as he held you down and you pouted. “Mikey... you think you can just hold me down like that?” to your surprise he nodded his head, not moving it away from your chest, making you blush slightly at his stubbornness. “You... COME HERE!” and with that your hands rushed to his crow’s nest, ruffling it aggressively, creating even more mess and giggling like and idiot when his arms shoot up from you as he let himself fall in surprise, only catching your hands in a tight grip once his back hit the floor, keeping you above him and you yelped, starring down at him and his furrowed brows, letting a bright smile rise on your face, which got him a little confused.“Geez, Mikey... you really gotta cut off on wearing those masks...” you sighed, content, relaxing your hands, barely noticing the slight hint of anger mixing with worry in his eyes. “You’re beautiful without them.” And like in the past, a bit of blush shaded his face, his eyes moving away from yours in a silent panic, unable to take the complement, letting you fall onto his chest, strong and firm and oh so warm in this autumn night.

And you sighed, relaxing into it with a shy blush, realizing that you’re going to have to discuss a lot of things, but that could wait a bit, just a tiny moment. Right?

#michael myers x reader #rz's Michael #Halloween 2007 #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher community #rz!michael x reader #virgo writes

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thefriedbird · 4 years

Text

Alright, hello! So I decided that last night after having a horrific anxiety attack, I was basically going to write two one shots based off a prompt I saw.

Yes, this is going to be a self-insert thing guys but you can replace the name with yours. There is not really much of a description other than that the character is disabled, she/her pronouns, wheelchair user with physical and mental health issues.

Overhaul is prob gonna be OOC since I’ve NEVER wrote him before. So be fucking warned.

ALSO I DID THIS ON A PHONE AND COULD NOT FIGURE OUT HOW TO DEAL WOTH THE TEXT CHANGING SHIT IT HONESTLY CONFUSED THE HELL OUTTA ME SO I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.

Morning Kiss

Aliza has never been a morning person. Never has and never will. She couldn’t tolerate it when people chatted in the morning, hated the bright luminescent lights that were all over the Hassaikai compound, hated Nemoto’s early bird self, hated Rappa’s booming voice in the morning, and hated Deidoro’s early morning drinking, and even hated the avian friends she would adore... if it hadn’t been for their annoying incessant chirping in the wee hours!

But Aliza began to feel incredibly touch starved. She always settled for the private hand holding and cuddling, but she couldn’t help now feeling dissatisfied with him leaving her without as much as a goodbye.

Apparently, Chisaki had noticed. He was always incredible at reading people, even without needing Nemoto’s quirk to know that they’ve been lying. But he had an innate skill at reading Aliza like his favorite novel. At first, Chisaki was leaving sticky notes for his love to find. Giving her self-care reminders for the day, and telling her the schedule he set in place for her that day. Aliza would smile brightly reading them. “Remember to drink at least 3 liters of water.”

“Don’t neglect yourself today. I will know.”

“Stop biting your nails. It is unhygienic. You’ve practically chewed them til they’ve bled. I ordered more latex gloves and a nail polish that will help you stop chewing.”

Yeah, Chisaki had a blunt round-about way to display his affection. Yeah, he was over-protective and controlling. But it was something that Aliza didn’t mind.

All her life, Aliza lived without routine. She was reckless, often ill, neglected herself, and quite frankly didn’t understand how to take care of herself. It’s not like her parents really helped her with these things as a child. She was neglected and never learned. She lived impulsively and sporadically, and often times exhibited her self harming behavior unconsciously. She CRAVED touch, but also HATED it. She was never sure if that loving feeling would turn sour and hateful. Not that Chisaki would hurt her. But her traumas of the past had ate away at her for years, and it wasn’t stopping. It was with Chisaki’s discomfort for touch that made being around him easier than with the others at the compound. (Though when she first met him, she frankly thought of him as an arrogant selfish prick.) When Chisaki began courting her, he was heavily satisfied with their shared discomfort for touch. But both made an effort to each other to slowly at least get used to the other’s. It was a sign of their trust to each other and it was evidence of how much Chisaki COULD love. Aliza saw his protectiveness as endearing. To her, it was proof of how much he cared about her safety and well-being. His controlling behavior, she disliked and liked at the same time. On one hand she hates how Chisaki gives her a schedule HE created. But on the other, it gave her a routine. It gave her a sense of predictability, which was something she never had living in a toxic abusive household. Their love language may not be words, but it was touch despite their discomfort to it.They were learning how to love together. It’s not the first time Aliza had a love, but she had been used and abused to find comfort in what she saw as meaningless words. She was a “show it, not spout it.” Type of person. She’s had too many people say their love you’s to only disprove it later on. Whereas Chisaki never really loved another person before. He loved and cared for Pops, that was his parental figure. The one who saved him from the streets, and the man he thought he was indebted to. But loving someone intimately was entirely new. He only ever saw people as pawns for his goals, expendables because they have no other purpose. Aliza was his exception. She was his Angel. She was someone that he wanted to protect heavily. What initially started as his disdain for her in the beginning, somehow became affectionate.

So when Chisaki amped up his affection, Aliza was surprised. They had grown passed the phase where he and Aliza always asked each other if it was okay to be touched. Now, they did it without a single word needing to be said. But him giving her a brief kiss on her nape followed with a “good morning” wasn’t something she was used to.

“Was that alright?” Chisaki asked.

Aliza just smiled, “Yes, that was alright. Could you...maybe do that every morning?” “Yes. Anything for you, Angel”

First Kiss

hey were an unlikely couple. Quite frankly, Mimic, Nemoto, and Chronostasis had thought Aliza would be matter on the walls the first day Chisaki had met her. They weren’t expecting their boss to have Chrono and Nemoto bring the quirkless disabled woman into the meeting room for him to ask for his chance to court her.

They were surprised to say the least.

Overhaul was once routinely aggravated with Aliza, who was their secretary at the time, because she was ‘dirty’ and ‘filthy’. He saw her as another expendable, a disabled woman hired to map out his schedule, brief him on any upcoming meetings, and to handle gentle affairs with other heads. He didn’t think he would feel any form of intimacy toward her. That was until there were days she dressed up.

He admitted it to himself that she was beautiful. On the days she dressed up, she aired confidence, she radiated with joy, she was cleaner, she looked pure, she looked like an Angel. His grounded Angel. So when one of the lower Hassaikai members began stalking you, harassing you, and even had the audacity to TOUCH you. When he saw you having a full on panic attack because of the aggressive touching, that man was matter. For once, he didn’t feel bothered by the hives breaking out on his flesh. He was concerned about his Angel. His poor sweet Angel that was hyperventilating and sobbing hysterically in her wheelchair.

He had Chrono bring her into his office, where he tried to calm her. But Overhaul is a rather imposing and intimidating figure so Aliza couldn’t just calm down... But this man made the effort. He had Chrono bring her a water bottle while she sat silently in his office. When her tears stopped flowing, he noted she constantly looked out of it. As if she wasn’t there, it was just a shell staring at the floor. Her makeup was ruined and he hated it. He hated having what was his sullied and filthy.

“I’ll have Chrono send you to your room to bathe. You’re filthy.”

Aliza just stared at him, and when he notice her tearing up again. He felt that what he said was wrong and when she began to panic again spouting apologies frantically...

Aliza honestly thought she was gonna die the way he crouched down to look at her.

“I believe I said that wrong. He TOUCHED you. You are not filthy because you did something. You are filthy because HE did something. I will have no more tears. I will have Chrono come back to get you and you will take the rest of the day off, are we clear?”

That was two years ago. Aliza was the only person that was allowed to call him by his real name when they were alone together. She was also the only person allowed to touch him and see him without his mask. She no longer slept in her room. In fact the same day Chisaki asked to court her, he already had all her stuff in his room. Already having her sleep beside him the first day. He took care of her. He loved her. He would kill for her. Plain and simple.

Chisaki had never kissed someone. His mysophobia wouldn’t allow him. But he wanted to try it with his partner. They already have gotten used to touching each other, but anything extremely intimate he had never done.

It was when Aliza had dropped by his office to brief him on his schedule for the day, that he asked her.

“I wish to try to kiss you.”

Aliza looked up from her tablet in shock. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to break out in hives, love.”

Chisaki was already bending down over her, braking her wheelchair so she wouldn’t slide, his hands resting on the armrests, caging her in. “Yes.”

“O-oh, okay! I’m not stopping you!” Aliza smiled, blushing in shock at his forward ness, and setting down the tablet in her lap.

Chisaki unfastened his mask, setting it on his desk before gently taking off her own. Leaning forward, watching as Aliza closed her eyes he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The chaste kiss caused him no issue, to his surprise. When he pulled away, he couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement when Aliza chased after his kiss for another.

He wasn’t sure how many trailed after his first kiss

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themsource · 5 years

Text

Fransweek 2020 Day 6

Theme: Fairytale Rating: M TW: Parental Abuse Pairing: (Faerytale) FT Sans/Frisk Word Count: 8,165

This wanted to be more than a one shot so I apologize if it reads funny at all ^^; @fransweek

Frisk was crying, her hands shaking and body numb.

A new purple bruise forming already on her arm, just above her elbow. Deep down she knew she’d probably deserved it, but it didn’t make the shock or sting any less.

She sniffled as she walked, her eyes staring at nothing as her thoughts roamed. Frisk didn’t have a destination in mind nor a goal, she just let her feet carry her aimlessly further and further from her house. She only wanted a break, a place to gather herself.

That’s when she saw it.

The trees parted ahead, a small trail of shorter grass among chest high fauna that led away into what looked like a brightly lit alcove.

Frisk stilled as she stared at it.

Had it always been there? How far had she wandered from the village?

She glanced back behind her and contemplated returning but loud shouting still echoed in her head. How seething rage made her ears ring had Frisk swallowing nervously.

Exploring a little longer wouldn’t hurt her.

What could go wrong?

Steeling her racing heart Frisk turned curiously to the path and pushed ahead, her eyes wide and observing as the fauna gradually grew contrasted and vibrant the longer she walked. Dulled greens shifted into brighter almost yellow shades and purples turned nearly cyan, the coloring giving an almost glass like effect that glimmered in the shaded light.

She stopped next to a plant that looked suspiciously like a sunflower, the petals giving a slight tingle to her fingertips as she lightly grazed the almost translucent edges.

She sucked in a breath as tiny tendrils wisped out and curled, almost latched onto her in a feather light caress. Blinking as she realized how bizarre that was she leapt back, hissing through her teeth as the tendrils seemingly dissolved at the loss of contact.

Frisk stood there dumbly staring at the seemingly innocent plant.

Shaking her head she decided to continue forward, her feet pressing into soft icy blue moss until she entered a wide open space.

Right away her eyes panned the perimeter.

There were tightly packed and thick trees forming a perfect circle that even a sheet of parchment would struggle to slip through, the only entrance or exit she could perceive being the path she’d taken, and not a single blade of grass appeared uneven in length.

It was calming.

Taking a hesitant step forward her eyes slipped down to a small pond perfectly situated towards the center but fading off into the treeline. Its crystal clear water, so pure that she could see the bottom swarming with plentiful fish and ivy, shimmered hypnotically beneath the small rays of light that pierced the trees canopy overhead.

But that wasn’t what had her attention..

It was a ring of mushrooms.

Pure gold and in perfect formation it sat precisely center and in front of the water’s edge, no other plants or weeds to be seen in the clearing aside from it.

As if entranced Frisk walked slowly closer, pausing as she noticed the grass at its center glimmered with a rainbow tinted light, refracted colors both alluring and mesmerizing dancing across the space big enough that she could lay in it with no problem.

It did look inviting, the perfect circle comforting to gaze at as if it was a golden wall against anyone that would try to harm her.

The thought of stepping in for a nap briefly flitted across her mind.

Her brows furrowed at how quickly she’d contemplated such a thing.

She...didn’t feel too safe suddenly looking at it.

The circle was so otherworldly and strange it gave her a sense of cautious foreboding.

She glanced around the beautiful expanse one last time before deciding she’d seen enough. If her gut was telling her this area was a red flag she wasn’t about to ignore it.

Frisk was about to turn and leave when—

“H u m a n,” Frisk froze in place, her heart starting to hammer like it wanted to burst from her chest.

She had been alone she was sure of it...human?

The voice spoke again, it’s cadence slow and almost amused sounding. “don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

Pal?

“turn around and shake my hand.” Slowly Frisk turned, ringing in her ears as her eyes locked on who had called out to her in a baritone so low she could feel it’s vibration practically in her chest.

She had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping in shock.

It was a skeleton, wearing a sapphire blue cloak with a skeletal hand outstretched, thick phalanges gently curled and, somehow, palm cupped welcomingly. Where eyes would be floated two orbs of white light, faintly bobbing as they locked on her, with a benign grin of wide and pure white teeth.

Despite how friendly and inviting his demeanor looked Frisk noticed his expression seemed disturbingly detached.

Another red flag.

Frisk’s eyes drifted down to the hand he held out.

His hand wasn’t reaching out pass the ring of mushrooms he stood in.

Her expression shifted. Hadn’t she heard a legend about mushrooms before? Magic circles given form through nature as a way to warn mortals?

She swallowed.

“I uh…don’t want to be rude but…I don’t want to?” Her words hung in the air between them, his expression slowly changing as his grin stretched and his hand dropped by his side.

He let out a lighthearted chuckle.

“smart kid, the handshake routine rarely works but it’s <em>always</em> funny when it does.” Frisk felt the tension leave the air and couldn’t help how she instantly relaxed. The skeleton’s whole persona had flipped like a coin at her rejection, he appeared so casual and easy going.

Like he’d just tried to play a joke on an old friend.

She let out a hesitant smile.

“I’m Frisk…nice to meet you.” The monster raised a skeletal brow, his smile remaining on his face as he observed her silently. The time he took to look at her seemed to stretch to the point Frisk squirmed in place and the intensity he’d been directing at her softened.

He let out a snort. “i’m sans. sans the skeleton.”

Frisk and Sans continued to watch each other, the lights in his skeletal sockets brightening curiously as he tilted his skull. She was an odd child to him. He’d never seen a human with eyes the color of sunlight before.

It was such a unique feature.

“never seen a human with yellow eyes before.” He commented.

“Never seen a talking skeleton before.” Frisk responded absently.

Sans snorted as he contemplated her, Frisk taking in the situation with a puzzled glance. He wasn’t advancing, making any kind of move to get closer to her from where he sat cross legged and slouching.

He was at least a good inch from the ring’s edge closest to her and that allowed her to conclude that so long as she didn’t cross into the ring of mushrooms she was safe, from what she still questioned.

No one in the village ever elaborated as to why they warned about the rings. No matter how hard she thought about it she couldn’t recall much in the way of conversation about the whole thing.

Was it Sans?

She supposed he looked intimidating, being a skeleton.

She took a sharp breath as she pulled her knees into her chest. Noticing the way his orbs of light followed the movement.

He certainly was fixated on her though.

“What are you?” Her voice came out slightly raspy.

Her question hung in the air as Sans flickered his gaze up to her eyes, his sockets lidding as his grin stretched.

Frisk couldn’t see the humor behind it.

Something about the way he looked at her was guarded, shaped to give a sense of security and shrewdness like a mask. “i’m a seelie.”

Frisk blinked. “A what?”

Sans’s skull flexed, both of his eyebrows raising at her humorously but his carefully constructed expression remained firmly in place. When he spoke his tone was light, curious.

“you don’t know who the seelie are?” How she shook her head had Sans eyeing her suspiciously. Frisk looked at least sixteen, well past the age that she should’ve been told the legends of his race.

Had humanity fallen that out of touch with them already?

“well,” He started as he looked away briefly before looking back at her with a sneaky grin. “i’m a fairy you could say. a fae.” Frisk raised a brow this time.

“I don’t see any wings on your back, and you’re a bit big. Thought you said you were a skeleton.” Sans’s sockets creased along the bottoms as he responded in a lackadaisical tone.

“i’m a special type, i’m winging it honestly.” Her expression went closed at first before slowly slipping into measured amusement. It didn’t escape his notice that she almost looked afraid of laughing, cautious of offending him.

Smart girl.

“W-was that a pun?” Frisk asked as she tried to cover her mouth. Sans closed both his sockets full of smug brevity. “dunno, did you find it punny?”

Frisk broke into laughter, unable to hold it back and Sans found himself grinning widely.

He liked this human.

“seelies are beings responsible for the magic in your world, the unexplained.” Frisk’s laughter petered out and she looked at him in confusion.

“The unexplained?” Sans lazily gestured around them and all it took was a quick trace of her eyes along the grove for her to understand. Her cheeks turned red as she faced him again.

“Wow, I didn’t know Fae made such beautiful things.” His smile strained, and Frisk tensed at the slight growl in his words. “not all fae do.”

“All?” She questioned.

Sans’s face was dark, and his tone dropped. “we’re not the same as the unseelie, the dark fae…not exactly.”

How did she not know this?

Frisk felt her heart race as she swallowed thickly.

“What do you mean dark Fae?” Sans’s eyelights? shrunk slightly and his tone was carefully schooled as he looked at her neutrally.

He hadn’t meant to venture onto this topic but it was too late now.

“we seelie seek out humans to bring to our realm to help with our queens longevity, to strengthen our magical ties to the veil between our realms by unlocking the latent magic of your souls.” Frisk’s eyes widened.

“You turn us into Seelie?” Sans’s eyelights pulsed with something akin to humor.

“do you know what mages are?” She nodded her head and Sans was relieved he didn’t have to explain that to her. Why he was doing this in the first place he didn’t question.

“well that’s what you become. in turn for gaining magical abilities the cost is the world from which you come and your mortal lifespans. our world enables you to live as long as a seelie, and that gives the queen more life herself due to the increase in the potent magic. we have a fair give and take.”

Sans decided not to mention the cloisters.

“the unseelie…like to consume souls and steal bodies.”

Frisk felt her skin go clammy.That was something she hadn’t been aware of, something that could happen and no one would be the wiser. It terrified her, but she wanted to know. It didn’t escape her how Sans’s tone lowered though, became almost gentle.

“unseelie at their best just like some fun usually at the expense of others, however that’s rare. they believe that by increasing their own magic themselves they can support the balance of our worlds on their own merits. instead of drawing magic from it’s natural place they make it to where they can unnaturally produce and draw it from themselves. consuming a human soul makes that possible.”

They consumed human souls?

“How?” Sans’s expression didn’t shift but his eyelights dimmed as he took in her reaction.

“your spirit and wills are strong enough to rival our magic when on equal footing. fusing the two together, a human soul with a monster makes…a freak of nature.” Sans’s smile went tired.

“our method, giving humans our magic is more of an evolution for your species not a senseless genocide where one has to sacrifice for the other. plus ours can be…reversed. if ever a mage were to leave our realm for too long their ties to magic would fade, and gradually they’d begin to age again.”

Frisk was silent and Sans wondered if she would be able to take everything he’d told her. It was a lot to tell a child, and it was more than possible that she was now scared of him.

But all Frisk did was smile at him.

“I’m glad you’re a seelie.” Sans, confused, lowered his mask back into place. If she were an adult, an educated one, he doubted she’d be saying that. But still he had to know what her reasoning was.

It was unexpected, even unnerving, how relieved she sounded.

“why do you say that?”

“Because I wouldn’t want to be scared of my new friend.”

Sans was speechless.

He’d explained the nature of his race and it’s counterpart, told her how his basically kidnaps and steals away their mortal rights, and yet she was still saying something so pure and honest that it hit him right where his soul rested.

She didn’t even know him.

They had just met.

But Frisk so quickly trusted him. Considered him a friend, even when that was a dangerous decision she perhaps shouldn’t make.

Seelie and Unseelie were different yes, but it was still a fine line between them that could blur. One easily crossed often on accident.

It made him wonder if she considered them friends so quickly from ignorance, though she looked old enough to know better,...or loneliness.

Was that what had lured her to his grove?

Her honey colored eyes were glowing as she looked at him, and he couldn’t help how his soul thrummed under its gaze. However his eyelights quickly locked on an ugly purple mark on her arm the moment she shifted in place.

His sockets widened.

It was then that Sans realized it was loneliness, that this little girl had never been loved before.

And that woke, unsettled, something in him.

“...i’m glad you’re not scared of me either frisk.” How radiant her joyful laugh lit up her face and echoed around the clearing left him mute.

The surrounding light dimmed and faint darkness fell like a blanket over them and he peered up to see the budding horizon of the night sky fading in through the groves canopy.

Sans looked back to Frisk who had followed his gaze and he was speaking before he could think about it too hard.

“it’s late, you should get home. don’t want to get lost do you?” The slight wince on her face nearly made him inwardly frown but he remained outwardly expressionless.

“I don’t really want to.” He forced a smirk.

“sorry kid, but a growing human needs rest.” He held his hand out from where he sat. “going to say goodbye?”

Frisk looked ready to reach forward, automatic politeness guiding her but pulled back at the last second, her eyes narrowing and nose wiggling in a look of incredulousness. “Hey!”

Sans chuckled and gave a lazy shrug.

“seelie i did there did you?” Frisk let out a scoff as she stood and wiped the grass from her clothes. Shyly she looked up at him and Sans cocked another brow inquisitively.

“Can I come visit again?” He didn’t know how to respond so he said, “sure kid.”

His eyelights didn’t leave her until she vanished back through the concealment barrier to the grove, his mind wondering just what he’d gotten himself into, and his thoughts drawn to the golden eyed girl with fascination.

Oh well, maybe she wouldn’t come back after she let what he’d told her register.

Sans was proven wrong the moment he felt a disturbance in his magic the next day.

“hey kid. back so soon?” he held his hand out habitually and her deadpan nearly had him chuckling.

“So I passed my classes.” He tilted his skull as his hand lowered back into the confines of his cloak.

“that’s good, which ones?” It shocked him how easily he fell into the conversation. Such a mundane topic when compared to his Seelie knowledge but engaging in how Frisk so eagerly spoke about her rather boring day.

She looked so happy to have someone listening.

It made his soul shiver unpleasantly, in a way he wasn’t familiar with and caused his skeletal brows to furrow. He pushed it down and focused instead on how Frisk’s hands moved so quickly in her excitement, the small limbs emphasizing her words.

“Math and English are my favorite subjects.” Frisk exclaimed with a toothy smile as her hands wrung.

“english huh? my brother likes that subject.” Right away he saw the silent question in her eyes and Frisk perked up as he started to go on a long and drawn out spiel.

He looked so animated and expressive as he playfully joked and told her embarrassing stories.

She’d always wanted a sibling.

And she wondered what that would’ve been like.

“Wow Papyrus sounds like so much fun.” Frisk’s voice came out hushed.

Sans’s sockets crinkled with genuine happiness through his mask, and his voice was brimming with affection that it made Frisk blush.

“ya, he’s the coolest.” She smiled at the clear love in the skeleton fae’s sockets but then she noticed the moment his eyelights brightened, his smile turning mischievous.

“you could meet him y’know.” Her chest warmed at the prospect.

“I could?” Sans closed one socket and held his hand out.

It made Frisk deadpan. “Let me guess I’d only have to take your hand?”

He closed both sockets and didn’t reply. His smug silence was answer enough.

Frisk tried not to let her disappointment show, instead she blew out her cheeks and rested her chin on her knees in a pout, earning a silent snicker from the skeleton.

The kid was cute.

Her visits became a daily thing, three days turned into a week, a week into four, and soon Sans started coming to the gate ahead of her. Waiting patiently but not long until her brunette hair peaked from the path with excited strides.

Sans didn’t know why he kept interacting with her just as Frisk didn’t know why the grove called to her each morning like a siren song.

And each time he’d offer a hand, each time she’d turn him down.

Frisk’s eyes though never failed to glow with her joy at his presence and his eyelights always expanded happily in his sockets.

It was as if he gave her the moon each time he showed up to greet her. And he felt his soul start to give a pitiful flutter of platonic affection each time she went right into telling him how her day went.

There were times however where Frisk wouldn’t begin talking right away and Sans, deeply perturbed, a tiny spark of rage boiling in his chest he didn’t want to look too hard at, would grant them both mercy and talk to her about his realm and the magic there.

Entertain her with fanciful tales and stories.

A lot he made up, but Frisk always stared at him with admiration nonetheless, latched onto the tales like a plant craving the smallest drop of water. She loved how he took her awe in stride, made his stories more exaggerated or wild just to see what he could get away with.

But as with all beings who started to care for each other…

The questions came.

“hey frisk?” He tried.

“Yes?”

“where did you get that mark today?”

She didn’t answer him, only pulled her sleeve or pant leg a little lower to hide whichever one he could be referring to. And she, scared that if he knew how bad she often was to deserve such things, worried that he’d abandon her, and so changed the subject to a question he’d often answered before about magic.

He grudgingly let her, silently wondered when she’d break.

And one night it happened.

Frisk had never gone to the grove at night before, she’d never had a reason to.

But that night had been…bad.

She usually sought out Sans’s company after such episodes, a few jokes and his usual attempts to lure her away to his world somehow always made her feel better, but tonight she just wanted to be alone.

But not.

Honestly she didn’t know if Seelie needed sleep but if they did she was willing to at least be in the same place as where her friend always met her. Frisk knew the grove wasn’t his actual home, but to her it’s all she knew him to have.

And that was enough.

It wasn’t a surprise when she found the ring of mushrooms he usually occupied empty. A group of fireflies tracing along the back of it and into the far off trees.

The sight of it though relaxed her and she fell into her habitual spot with a muted crunching of grass. Her honey colored eyes locking onto the Seelie gate with fondness.

She was a bit let down even though she’d known better.

Frisk let out a dejected sigh and slowly fell sideways, her knees pulling up to her chest as she let out a shiver in the slightly chilled air. It was a cool night, fall wasn’t that far off.

Would Sans still be able to visit once winter hit?

His explanation on the summer and winter courts hadn’t really informed her of that.

Her eyes had started to drift closed in her musings.

“frisk?”

She jolted awake and sat up, her eyes automatically honing in on the ring before frowning.

It was still empty.

She blinked the tiredness from her eyes, when had she fallen asleep? And carefully looked around before pulling up short in surprise.

Sans was a few feet from her, looking at her curiously.

He was outside the circle?

“Sans?” In disbelief she pushed to her feet and froze.

He was tiny, came up to about the top of her hip.

Her brows furrowed.

Frisk was certain he was taller than this, he gave the impression that he was a good five foot at least. Though she’d never seen him standing before the way he typically sat gave her the impression.

His skull tilted in question. “what are you doing out so late?”

“Why are you small?” She couldn’t help asking. Sans let out a snort.

“i’m in your realm, not enough active magic here for me to be at full height.” Oddly she understood what he meant by that. Then it occurred to her…could Sans take her now that he wasn’t bound by the gate?

Was that a bad thing?

The impulsive thought scared her.

She took a cautious step back, tried to be subtle so as not to be rude but Sans caught it. His eyelights snapped to her feet before going back up to her face.

It was so weird to see him craning his vertebra to look up at her but strangely adorable.

“easy kiddo, i can’t take you anywhere right now. it’s only possible during the day, and i can’t just pick you up and go.” His smile was patient and reassuring.

“Why not?” Sans’s smile only turned even friendlier as he heard the uncertainty in her tone.

“remember the veil i mentioned? it’s like a magic curtain between our worlds. during the day it’s weakest on this side of it; meaning no seelie from the seelie realm can roam or exit through the gates but yet others can enter from this side. at night, it’s reversed. you as a human can’t pass through but any other seelie can leave if they choose.” Sans looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging.

“as for why i can’t just pick you up and go, even if the sun were to rise well…that’s one of the rules of intent with magic. if you were to unwillingly pass through, my realm wouldn’t be able to…lock….you into place there. unless you consumed our food or something.” As a side thought he held his arms out and shrugged. “plus obvious height differences heh.”

Frisk looked confused as she ruminated on his words.

Sans was slightly worried she wouldn’t understand, but there wasn’t a simpler way to explain it without having an inherent touch with magic.

Still she surprised him as she so often did.

“Magic needs an anchor basically?” His socket’s widened and crinkled at the corners. He looked so proud Frisk couldn’t keep the blush from her face as he nodded. “more or less.”

Then something Sans would call realization flashed in her eyes and his expression went wide with shock as she suddenly bent down and pulled him up into an unexpected hug, her thicker arms wrapping him in a vice that made him let out a strained grunt as a blue blush flared across his skull.

“f-frisk!”

“You’re so cute all tiny Sans!” She gushed as she spun with him on the spot. Sans went to protest, not really one for casual physical contact but went still as a statue as he felt something wet fall onto the crown of his head.

Frisk didn’t give him room to pull back, her soft cheek pressed into the side of his jaw and left socket as something dangerously close to a sniffle vibrated from her chest.

His tone was abnormally soft. “what are you doing out so late kiddo?”

Of course she didn’t answer him but he let her hold him for as long as she needed. When she finally gave him room and let him back down her tears were gone but her eyes were bloodshot, smile as bright as usual and eyes happy.

“Want to see my village?”

He’d seen it countless times already.

“sure.”

Sans and Frisk both grew closer; his nightly roaming visits spent strolling beside her through the quiet of her village, her free hours in the day put towards visiting him within the grove where he was forcibly bound to stay.

They made each other’s lives more interesting, exchanging puns and jokes while steadily learning the cultures and life of the other.

It was something Sans knew wasn’t supposed to happen.

Humans and Seelie weren’t meant to be friends like they had become. But every time he contemplated leaving for good, abandoning her, he found himself unable to. There was something about the honey colored eyed girl that drew him to her.

Only made him more insistent on trying to kidnap her back to his world.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth that she stubbornly never took the delicate step he needed from her. Even on the worst of days when she’d show up exhausted and on the verge of what his kind called falling down.

The day he finally called her out on it, had addressed it directly Frisk had simply responded as if they’d talked about it countless times before.

“you don’t have to put up with that you know. all you have to do is take my hand and you’d never have to worry about them hurting you again.” His soul twisted as she gave him a weak smile.

“You say your brother thinks of you as lazy but you really do work hard at your job.” Sans bit his tongue. Prevented the unspoken words in his head from slipping out and showing a vulnerability he didn’t wish the kid to see as he simultaneously discovered it himself.

you’re not a job to me.

The topic didn’t come back up.

The day came when he had to go on an assignment the queen had given him; it was to take no more than a week, a quick in and out of the Unseelie realm to monitor the dark fae for signs of treasonous activity.

But he worried.

Sans was good at being undetectable, it was going to be an all-around easy task.

Still it didn’t prevent the regret he felt at the withdrawal in Frisk’s eyes, the ache he felt in his chest at the sight of her smile falling into a frown when he told her.

Frisk didn’t want him to go, just the idea of him not being there made her feel hollow.

And he’d honestly thought she’d protest, ask him to stay. But instead she’d merely whispered, “Only a week right?”

He…was proud of her. How in stride she took the news. It was going to be the longest they’d gone without seeing each other since they’d first met but she held her head up and kept her heart hopeful.

His masked smile turned genuine in the way only she so often could make it.

“that’s right, i’ll even come straight here when i’m finished.”

Frisk’s eyes lit up and it made his soul swell.

She could manage seven days, she was sure of it.

All it took was her nod of acceptance before he vanished, the urge to end this task quickly burning in his skull.

Sans managed the job in three days.

A Seelie of his word the first thing he did was return to the grove once he left the Unseelie realm, his intentions to reassure his little human before dropping his report back to the Queen.

When he rose from the gate however the sight that greeted him made his soul freeze in his ribs.

The grove…was wilder, more tangled and unkempt. A blatant passage of time and his absence scarred across it.

And instead of the anticipated human child he’d grown fond of to meet him sat a woman, humming as she twisted some flowers she had gathered beside her into a delicate crown in her callused hands.

Sans’s eyelights nearly went out.

He hadn’t intended on having to deal with a human to collect, in fact it irritated him.

Sans had wanted to see Frisk.

With resolve he took a deep steadying breath and put on his practiced grin. He’d simply capture them and then return quickly before he had the chance to be missed.

“H u m a n,” The female predictably jolted. “don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

She whipped around and timed slowed as his sockets shot wide, honey colored eyes landing on him and sending an almost crippling pulse of recognition through his magical leylines.

Only one human he’d ever known had that unique distortion.

Sans’s voice was shaky as he spoke.

“…frisk?”

Tears immediately ran down her cheeks as she smiled at him.

He didn’t know what to think or say, all he could do was pan her form, take in old scars he recognized on her knees and wrists. Silently acknowledged that she had matured in ways typical to a young human adult in her prime.

The little girl he knew was gone, and in her place was a kind and startlingly attractive woman.

His soul withered even as it heated up violently in his chest.

“One more day, I can wait one more day I said.” Sans was frozen as she turned to fully face him, pulled her now long and elegant legs up into the familiar bend as she rested her chin atop them just as she had in her youth. “Welcome back Sans, I missed you.”

He felt his magic curl, caused a shiver through his bones as he swallowed and rasped thickly, “how long?”

“Three years.” Sans came to learn a day in the Unseelie realm wasn’t so liner as the human world and his realm were. He couldn’t think of what to say to her. Frisk though only continued to smile and did what she so often did, had only done a few days ago to him, and went on about how her day had gone.

How the last three years of her life had gone.

It made Sans acknowledge a harsh reality, and in his panic he interrupted her.

“come back with me.”

Frisk startled, her eyes wide but mouth closed in a firm line.

They both appraised each other like it was the first time they’d met all over again. Sans taking in how exactly she’d changed, Frisk noticing how he was exactly the same.

He didn’t want to risk losing her, never seeing her again if he was called to serve once more. She didn’t want to miss out on what life could offer her now that she was free from what she’d gone through as a child.

Frisk’s answer was like a blow straight to his soul.

“No.”

Sans kept his gaze unreadable as she explained her reasonings, all perfectly understandable and valid for a mortal he acknowledged bitterly, and for the first time he couldn’t bring himself to stay near the human he’d grown so attached to.

To not feel so unreasonably angry at her rejection.

He left.

Frisk stared in shock at the empty ring, more tears now full of hurt and pain poured out, and she felt so awful at what she’d told him.

But she waited just as she had done before.

And when Sans returned, unable to stay away for long, they’d both continued as if nothing had happened.

His attempts became more ridiculous and endearing the more he tried and failed to lure her back with him as time passed. Frisk found it cute how much he wanted so badly to pull the wool over her eyes, almost hilarious how he worked so hard at it sometimes.

“Are you going to get promoted or something if you ever succeed at this?” She teased.

“nah, better.” Sans winked playfully. “i’ll get to keep you.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson just as his lit up brilliant cyan at the accidental flirt. They purposefully ignored it, not realizing how both their souls had given a firm thrum in tandem.

It wasn’t hard to quietly admit to themselves that they had fallen for each other the more their blushes grew, the more awkward their chuckling became, and how a certain mood lit up the grove each time they met.

But then--their happiness was threatened.

“Sans!”

His soul shook, somehow heard the echo of Frisk’s pained cry and sent a bolt of panic through his ribs as he shortcut to the gate from where he’d been with barely a thought. Just managed to peer into her realm as Frisk came running frantically into the grove, and witnessed her feet, bare and cut, giving out and forcing her to fall but a few feet from him.

He didn’t get time to question what was happening.

Sans’s soul was pounding like a drum in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead as he heard the cries of what was unmistakably an Unseelie making their way to her, the bloodcurdling screeching and demented laughter causing nausea to take hold of him as it passed the grove’s barrier.

Frisk was weak as she tried to push to her feet, her muscles strained beyond exhaustion.

Sans tried to phase outside the ring, struggled to concentrate his magic to break out into her realm but was forcefully refused as he let out a snarl of contempt.

He knew deep down that there would be consequences for their relationship. What decent Unseelie wouldn’t be able to smell the magic of his grove on her being? This had been what he’d feared from the get go other than the imposing laws of his people.

Attachment.

He was more shocked that it had taken this long for the inevitable to happen than the fact it was happening now of all times, with the sun high in the sky and the veil strong and resistant.

Sans could see the Unseelie coming for Frisk, the sick fae having taken her form in a demented play of mental torture. Naturally curled auburn locks turned stringy and greased threads that covered a face born of disgust and hatred. Leaking black socks with crimson eyes and manic grin stretched grotesquely in glee.

His sockets were wide as he fell to his knees.

If he was outside, if it was night he’d be small and limited but he’d still have enough magic to repel the creature. But he wasn’t and it was coming in fast.

Sans couldn’t let it take Frisk, if it did she…there were worse fates than death for humans in the Unseelie realm.

Time turned to an agonizing crawl as he locked his pained gaze on the woman he cared about.

Frisk had said she wanted to die in the human world among her kind.

...Never wanted to give up her mortality...

Sans was at a crossroads.

Down one path was honoring her wishes…but he’d lose her sooner than they both deserved or worse. The other path…was to risk her becoming bitter towards him for the blatant manipulation he’d be forced to use.

The chance she’d never forgive him for taking away her choice on how she wished to live and die.

His sockets flickered up to the blood stained grin of the corrupted fae, it’s eyes full of malicious intent and all he could think about was how she wouldn’t have a life at all if he didn’t act.

Sans made a choice as he offered out his hand to her.

Frisk glanced up and he could see the realization in her eyes as she reached the same conclusions he had a moment before only there was a silent debate in her golden depths, a struggling to find another way.

And that was what killed him the most.

Down to his bones Sans was a Seelie, full of the potential for corruption and cruel disregard that their dark counter parts thrived in. Sans was willing to use whatever method it took to convince Frisk to give into his selfishness, to alleviate his own fear without thought to any alternatives.

And that part of him burned with a smoldering fury as he embraced the anguish he’d have to cause her.

“frisk take my hand! please!”

He watched her hesitate, witnessed the Unseelie draw closer, and finally said the one thing he knew would break her, the image of her for barely a second overlapped by the young girl he’d met almost a lifetime ago that had opened his soul to emotions and concepts outside of what his race had taught him.

The little girl that had once so foolishly and easily trusted him.

“i love you…”

It came out barely a whisper so low it shouldn’t even have been heard under the thundering steps and screeching of the beast encroaching. But the sheer amount of honest emotion behind it and the way his face crumbled was enough for Frisk to catch it, feel the declaration innately down to her core.

The kind and ultimately selfless woman he knew her to be overrode the selfish side of her that wanted more than anything to live a normal life, one that had been so cruelly denied her by the ones that should have loved and cherished her above everything.

The way Sans had when she’d been nothing but alone and neglected.

He watched as the love he knew she had for him won out and without a thought her hand slid into his. Victorious and thrilled, desperate and terrified Sans managed to pull her in just as the Unseelie lunged for her and missed.

Sans cradled Frisk close to him as she passed out, his eyelight flaring threateningly as the Unseelie froze before the gate with a look so condemning and enraged he couldn’t help but to chuckle darkly at it.

“sup buddy? something slip through your fingers?” The Unseelie roared but Sans was gone before it could finish.

Sans was dutiful and patient as he brushed the hair from Frisk’s forehead, her shut eyes fluttering as she subconsciously leaned into his touch.

Her hair was softer than he’d imagined, finer. And the way her skin felt beneath his phalanges nearly made a rumble form in his chest. He didn’t want to stop touching her, it was almost unreal that she was here with him now.

In his home, his bed.

With a sigh he brought the cup of water to her lips and lifted her head slightly as he fed it to her.

It made a confusing mixture of smugness and sorrow coil in his proverbial gut to watch her drink it. To know he was essentially taking another decision from her by offering her Seelie nourishment as she slept.

The only loophole that allowed humans to leave sealed to her.

But she needed the energy to recover and he allowed the weak reasoning to act as a foundation to his justification.

Frisk looked so dehydrated and tired.

How long had that Unseelie chased her before she made it to him?

“Brother.” Papyrus’s quiet tone drew his attention and right away he knew something was up with how his younger brother’s sockets creased along the bottoms, a hesitance that wasn’t normal resting in them. “Undyne’s here.”

Sans looked down at Frisk a moment before pushing to his feet. “i’ll be back bro.”

“She’s a human Sans! You can’t just keep her!” Undyne shouted incredulously. “She belongs in the cloister with the others! A free roaming mage could be dangerous!”

Sans ignored her as he looked to their Queen, the King beside her scowling disapprovingly. Undyne had a point but that didn’t mean Sans had to acknowledge it. It was nothing but a possibility, a what if, and he knew Frisk.

She wasn’t like that. Maybe once he would’ve agreed but not now.

Toriel’s ethereal moon speckled eyes locked with his midnight dark sockets.

He was not going to let Frisk be squirreled away to an isolated place of stone and cold shouldered mages.

Forced to repeat her trauma in an entirely new light.

This fiercely determined woman who had remained kind and trusting despite her circumstances, who he’d just stolen everything from deserved so much more than that.

His soul wouldn’t allow it.

“every seelie is granted the right to a condition free wish from birth.” The silence was long before their queen spoke, the stares of all other Seelie present in the court boring into his spine with resentment and confusion.

“Are you sure Sans? A Seelie may only request this once.”

Sans didn’t answer, he didn’t have to.

Toriel simply nodded.

“Very well then, the human known as Frisk is yours. Just remember, she is still bound to the same rules as the others, she can never leave and any fallout from this wish is yours to bear alone.”

Sans had never felt so satisfied as he did shooting a smug glance to the passing guard before shortcuting.

The satisfaction didn’t last long.

He hadn’t expected Frisk to be awake when he got back.

Frisk was so happy she’d finally met Papyrus, he was everything Sans had ever told her and more. His smile did light up a room, made you want to cheer up even when you felt like the world was on your back.

But she wasn’t so thrilled to see where she was, numbly accepted Papyrus’s reassurances and allowed him to seat her and place a plate of food in front of her.

Frisk didn’t want to be rude but...

Sans watched Frisk hesitate, her hands shaking nervously. It made him feel low, so low because he knew what she was thinking about, what she was trying to do.

“frisk.” She looked up shyly and stilled as she took in Sans’s downcast glaze, the look was enough to fill her growing dread with dark confirmation.

The guilt radiated off of him and she felt her throat go dry as his normally deep baritone came out even deeper.

“i had to feed you…while you were unconscious.”

She didn’t respond and it was enough to make Sans look up to see her golden eyes focused on the spaghetti in front of her. Papyrus even looked sad as he ate but he didn’t say anything. Tried to offer them a meek privacy as he downed a glass of milk.

Slowly and numbly Frisk picked up her fork, and the resignation in her expression as she twirled the noodles and slipped them into her mouth killed Sans a little inside. He couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but his plate.

A faint touch made him tremble.

His eyelights snapped up and looked over to see her free hand gripping his across the table. He glanced at her cautiously but she kept her vision steadily locked on the food.

Frisk gave his hand a soft but firm squeeze.

His soul wanted to break as he returned it and hesitantly laced his fingers with hers.

A blush just as vibrant as the first one she’d ever given him broke across her face and that was enough to reassure him. Sans had begun to eat again when Frisk finally spared him a glance. Her smile weak but there.

Frisk’s love for him hadn’t changed.

And Frisk...

She supposed…at least she had him and that was enough.

It was later, a few nights after she’d been told everything that Sans found her sitting on the front steps of their home. The glow from the red moon turning her golden eyes rosy as she stared up at it with a hard to gauge expression.

He hadn’t taken but a few steps when she spoke up, her words halting him and coming out shy.

“Did you mean it?”

Sans narrowed his sockets and looked down at his feet. “yeah.”

Frisk didn’t say anything so Sans took the initiative and walked forward to sit next to her, his cloak falling and engulfing his form as he looked up at the moon next to her. He felt a pit of anxiety in his ribs, a sorrow at how everything had gone down for her to end up here but not an ounce of regret.

He jolted but quickly stilled at the feeling of Frisk leaning against him.

She felt melancholic. A bit disappointed but still she let out a weak chuckle.

“You couldn’t have said you loved me before I almost ended up kidnapped?” Despite himself Sans smiled.

“nah, that would’ve been what normal people do.” Frisk tilted her head over to him curiously.

“I’m not normal?” She sounded so vulnerable and fragile that Sans sucked in a harsh breath. Gently he raised a hand and ran his phalanges through her hair, the feeling so much more satisfying than it’d been when he was small in her world and did it the first time.

“you’re special frisk. at least to me, i wouldn’t trade you for anything.” Frisk looked down and closed her eyes, enjoyed the soothing petting of her head as she let out a thoughtful hum. Slowly she pulled back and stared at him in a way that left Sans’s soul beating furiously into his bones.

“Kiss me?”

His sockets went wide, his eyelights swelling in size that they nearly took up the dark voids they rested in. He swallowed around nothing and cupped her face, his hands exceedingly gentle as he smiled with all the affection he had for her.

“i love you.” He repeated, this time long and low with his passion. Frisk’s cheeks turned scarlet and her pale lips curved into a heartfelt smile as her hands came up to cover his.

“I love you too.” Slowly Sans leaned in, gave her time to pull back if she wanted and hesitated only a moment more before pressing his mouth to hers, The bony ridges that lined his teeth folding down like lips to lock with her soft and supple ones.

Frisk’s eyes slid closed as a burst of heat shot down to her toes and suddenly she yelped into the kiss as gravity left her. Still holding contact her eyes widened as she glanced down to see they were floating, a beguiling bright glow coming from beneath Sans’s cloak that fluttered around them from the night air.

Sans chuckled from the surprise he felt rolling off of her and pulled her more securely against him before letting the kiss break, his forehead touching hers as his bright eyelights hazed and wobbled precariously.

“sorry, could say you really swept me off my feet.” Frisk snorted with a playful roll of her eyes.

“An eternity of puns, oh no, whatever will I do?” He pressed his teeth in a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“just go with the float.” Frisk chuckled and the both of them looked up at the moon. Perfect contentment and healing already settling in their souls as they held each other.

#fransweek #2020 #day 6 #themes #prompts #adult frans #frans #sans x frisk #fluff #angst #undertale #Alternative Universe #tw abuse #My writing #faerytale-au #faerytale

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

20. Sink

Word Count: 3989 Trigger warnings for religion and mentions of child pornography

Lord, if it’s you,” (Simon) Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then (Simon) Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Matthew 14:28-30

Simon had never been very religious. Scratch that… Simon had never been very mystical about religion. Whenever he was younger, his family went to church and he was quite studious and learned a lot in that time period. His father still believed in God and country or whatever and his grandmother, he imagined was praying over his mom every single day. But, he had never really known what it felt like to have that kind of faith in anyone or anything… until he was given Grace. It wasn’t lost on him the religious implications of being a boy named Simon (like Simon Peter, aka The Apostle Peter - huge name in the Bible world) being granted a savior, being blessed with Grace after a terrible sin, whether intentional or not, of killing Hope… His mind was in a daze right now.

It was the fourth religious dream he had since that interview, and in this one, he was Simon Peter, calling to his Savior in the storm. Grace was just across the water. All he had to do was get to her and she would rescue him from all of this, just like she always used to. But, he looked at the impending storm, instead. He had Grace, but he was focused on the storm, and he sank… He jumped up from his sleep and literally felt like he had been drowning. Ugh. 10 years of church and 4 years of private school could definitely mess with one’s mind. Then again, so could 6 years of Grace and 5 years without it… her…

He had begun to try to stop rationalizing that she wasn’t human. Unfortunately for him, before he considered her the void, she hadn’t been human for him either, then. She had been a deity. He worshipped her. She had been a vessel to save him, to help him, to comfort him. She had been what he built his faith system upon, his religion, his Apex, his lifestyle… Then, she was gone and he tried to continue without her. He tried to rebuild in his own image, in his own name. He tried to walk on water, as he had seen her do, now all he was doing was sinking…

In the aftermath of the interview, Simon noted that his faithful followers went on one of their ravenous attacks in Shana’s comment sections. She could even just post a photo of herself in the newsroom at Spelman as an inspirational post and they appeared in her comments to berate her for speaking about inspiration when she would attack an abuse survivor and have his abuser on her show, trying to make her sympathetic. Shana seemed entertained for some of the comments, replying things like a simple “K” or “Lol” and never addressing the person again, even if they supplied a melee of character attacks at her.

But, on the video link, whenever people started also attacking Grace’s fakeness and the fact that she still gets to abuse Simon indirectly by doing things like this, Shana had enough. She let them know that she had no regrets about the interview with Grace, no regrets about anything that she said about Simon, and none about all of her opinions of him. “Even if he’s a different person today, considering that he never got any backlash for the sex tape from high school, which i firmly STILL believe that he should be held accountable for, which I am convinced that he leaked, and I think that if he’s truly changed, he would have wanted to make that right at some point and free Grace from the uninvited attacks for that CRIME AGAINST HER, committed by him.”

There was an explosion of mixed reactions. Everything from, “This is the first that I’m hearing of this” to “Simon would never have done anything like that to Grace” to “WHERE CAN I FIND A SEX TAPE OF SIMON AND GRACE???” Many people were blocked. Many people were rocked, as Shana went live to address the massive amount of comments coming from her spilling that tea.

She made mention of the facts that while the statute of limitations of revenge porn had been exceeded, they didn’t exist for child porn. “And in case anybody is confused, yes, I am including links to inform you about how what he did is in fact child pornography creation, possession, and distribution, AND what the law says concerning them.” After replying to many of the comments, mostly in an amused fashion, she got bored.

“Listen, I’m getting ready to go chill with my lady and get ready for class tomorrow, but I’ll just say this one more thing, “I’m not taking my foot off of Simon Laurent’s neck. As long as Grace has had to suffer in silence, because she’s no longer the vengeful type or whatever, she’s on right now in her journey, the journalist in me and the enraged victim in me will always come for Simon and the way he used the privilege that he did have - not to say that he didn’t lack in certain areas like money and common decency, but the ones he DID have - his race, his gender, his orientation, his proximity to education, etc, in order to vilify and humble this girl with false accusations of crimes, and get away with unconfessed crimes. Yeah, this IS about my Sassy Strawberry keychain, Simon you bitch! I know you watching. To those of you who can’t be bothered to use your Googles, I don’t know what to tell you, kinfolk. Shady Shana has said all that she needs to say for now. Tata, from the perfect place for shade.”

Then her accusations, the search for the information of said accusations and the buzz from back then resurfacing went even more viral than the things that he had said about Grace whenever he reached notoriety from the stories. Now that the Internet and social media were even bigger and just kept growing with time, Grace still being a huge public persona, despite the few short years that she wasn’t online and the time she had been inside, she made an explosive comeback at least as an Internet personality, and Simon was never as frequent online as he was a short time in the eye of the public to get himself established, but several professors had used his story for various seminars and lectures, his books did pretty well, and he was a very established young mind in his academic circles… So, he was a big deal in his world, but on the grand scale becoming infamous for this new attention.

Shana and Grace’s worlds were very large, and both of those were combining to infiltrate his world with these not necessarily new pieces of information, but things that he thought would have been forgotten or left alone. He had not even considered that Shana would ever… Like… why was SHE so damn upset? Because of a small scuffle? Because of somebody else’s alleged injustice? Somebody that she didn’t even LIKE for most of her life? “Journalist” she was a shit-stirrer! All of her muckraking was making things complicated for simple Simon. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like dreaming about Grace as his savior. He didn’t like the idea of reaching out to her to get her to grab her dog. He didn’t like that he was suffering from nights more sleepless than usual and beginning to become counterproductive in his work.

Worrying about ramifications of the words “child pornography” and “sexual predator” being tossed about in conversations with his name led to nightmares, paranoia, guilt, intrusive thoughts, and mistakes in class and at work. One of them turned out big…

Amelia came up to him in her lab, with her arms folded and her face stern, “Is there anything you think we should discuss, Mr. Laurent?” He frowned and glanced her way, still working on the formula for the next tests in the prosthetics serum they were spending time discussing as one of his potential next big things. She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Not even an acknowledgment of what I’m speaking of?”

“I know what you’re speaking of and I decided that no, we don’t need to discuss it. It’s a personal matter.”

“A personal matter? Simon, you are supposed to be seeing a counsellor once a week, and now I find out that not only did he recommend that you see him twice a week, but that you haven’t seen him in several weeks! It is part of your ability to stay here, and I don’t appreciate that you’ve ducked out on this requirement, especially considering the personal matter you’re referring to.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and set down his supplies. “This is about the shrink? I haven’t been able to see the guy, because I’ve been working on the new formula nonstop. I need a breakthrough, and if I can get the formula right for enhancing the prosthetics, I’ll be famous for that. I’ll be closer to the goal of enriching artificial organs, maybe even organic ones!”

“I know what this work would mean if successful. That isn’t the point. The point is that you are not allowed to be here without the help that you need and you agreed to. I’m going to have to speak to the committee, now that I know you haven’t been…” She turned and he caught her wrist really hard. The woman jerked away. She was stronger than he thought.

“Amelia… Please. I need this. People are out to get me. Out to destroy everything that I’ve built for myself, without parents, without love, without an inheritance. I got here on my own merit, my own mind! I can’t have it be the thing that gets me sent away.”

“You needed to consider that after we gave you another chance! We can’t keep going back and forth with you while you refuse to take the help that you need in order to get to your next rung!” She was loud. He felt like she was yelling at him. He didn’t like people yelling at him, especially women, especially older ones… It made him extremely angry and he yelled right back at her, only to find that she either hadn’t been yelling or she had an even louder yelling setting.

“I’M DOING MY GODDAMN BEST!”

“MAYBE YOUR BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!”

And in addition to the yelling, the thing yelled was extremely hurtful. But, Simon was an angry hurt type. So, he was hurt, but it manifested in anger, “LIKE YOURS WASN’T! YOU HATE ME BECAUSE I CAN BE A BETTER YOU!” She laughed. That made him even angrier. “ADMIT IT! YOU’RE SO HARD ON ME BECAUSE I AM BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Simon, you’re a child. A foolish, often incorrect child. There are many things that I credit as better than me. You aren’t one of them.” He was breathing hard and clenching his fists. “I advise you to immediately set an appointment with your therapist and I demand that you leave the lab at once. At the very least, you need to take a break. At worse… you broke our agreement, Simon.” She began to touch his research, to put everything away, as he stormed out, trying not to let her see him cry and trying not to explode in the lab and further mess things up for himself. He didn’t get far before there was a different explosion in there. Not an extremely loud one, but loud enough that he turned around as others rushed in.

Simon got on the phone, calling the last counselor that he had spoken to as everyone else scurried about trying to get help and rushing in various directions. “She was just arguing with Laurent, he rushed out and then this happened,” he heard someone say and he watched the three students who had been talking stop and look right at him. “Are you calling 911?” One of them asked. He shook his head, because he hadn’t been. Once again, it wasn’t his first thought when he witnessed an emergency. One of them grabbed their phone out, presumably to do so and he… left. He probably should have stayed, but he couldn’t breathe and needed some space and needed to rage.

It didn’t take others long to start whispering. Simon had found a dumpster to kick for a while before returning to the scene and seeing them rushing Amelia into an ambulance. Police were there and wanted to talk with him. He knew that people would talk. They had been talking. He also knew that sometimes he imagined that people were talking more than they actually were and he hoped that perhaps, this would be one of those times that he imagined the criticism. It was not.

On top of the internet’s allegations of child pornography, learning that the state of California might be investigating these allegations, for the Monroe Estate, and being questioned about his chemical engineering “mistake” with the formula that became unstable as Professor Hughes attempted to put it away…

Simon was whatever the opposite of numb was. He felt all things, everything, anything, all at once and at a peak. He hadn’t felt this way in a really long time and the only times he had, he had Grace to think of and settle him. After that, he had his own greatness to reflect upon… but that was slipping away from him and Grace had slipped away… No… He had shoved her away, and he needed her so much right now. Because he didn’t know if he could pull himself up from sinking. “Lord save me!” He heard himself yelling from the water in the storm… But Grace couldn’t hear him. She was too far away, and she wasn’t his savior anymore. He looked up for something to latch onto, but all there was, was the Void.

Its big black, form, with an aura of fluid black smoke, and hovered over him and charged at him, its face stopping just short of his own and he looked up to see it. It was nothing but a pale mask, much like one of the ones that Grace used to wear. Maybe… Maybe she was still inside of the void somewhere. Maybe she would rescue him after all. “Grace?” he called, “Is that you?” It had nothing in it’s face. No feeling, no warmth. There was no way that Grace was there. It had no reply. He blinked it away and looked at the police. They had just released him… so… something had saved him… for now. Probably just dumb luck, or lack of evidence. There had to be a lack of evidence, because he knew that he had done nothing wrong.

Despite having done nothing wrong, he had apparently made some type of mistake with the formula, but he figured it was more likely that Amelia had made some mistake in putting it away. It was too soon to voice that opinion. Students were upset, like she was some lovable figure. She was a bitch. He didn’t feel bad at all that she was hurt and he hoped that nobody expected him to act like he did. But, they were talking again. He felt like whenever he was a freshman at the academy and the staff and students didn’t appreciate him because they hadn’t seen his value yet… but these people knew him. He was important! He was significant now! He had done everything to become valuable and honored, including giving up Grace when she was holding him back!

“Simon, it sounds like you’re just blaming everyone else for your problems again.”

“I’m only saying what happened. I matter, and they treat me like I don’t. They look at me like I’m a criminal. They’re handling me like I haven’t done great things! Like they haven’t heard of me or something! Who do they think they are?”

“To not value you? Maybe they’re just strangers, Simon. You’ve spoken to me a few times, and I don’t know you, either. That doesn’t take away from anything that you might have done, but it doesn’t give me the insight that you have of yourself. The same can be said about any of the people here,” the counsellor said. Simon resumed his meetings, but it was too little too late, as he was called back to the committee.

Grace was really just trying to enjoy her life. She only did the interview with Shana because Shana had REALLY come through in finding Hazel for her. She explained to the people keeping Hazel how she knew her and how she found her (not mentioning Shana’s name, but that she “hired an investigator”) mainly because she just wanted to see how Hazel was doing. The short answer was “not great,” but the long answer was Grace hated the fact that everyone that she talked to about Hazel didn’t seem to really know her or how to deal with her. That made her afraid that Hazel would continue to get bounced around, and eventually be lost to her again. After being approved as someone who could visit and spend time with Hazel (a longer process than she would have liked, and one that she knew could have been shortened if she just went crawling back to her parents), but one that was worth the work, because not only was she able to see Hazel and talk to her, but she also got her a phone, in case they were separated again and Hazel needed to reach out to her.

The last thing that Grace wanted to do was be dragged into Simon’s situation. So, whenever people asked her about him, sent her messages, intruded into her comments, @ her in posts… she declined from responding. She made a statement on her linked social media accounts, reminding everyone that 1. She doesn’t speak about Simon. 2. She said everything that she intended to say to people outside of the situation to Shana in the interview. 3. She is not responsible for Shana’s feelings about the incident in question (the recording and sharing of the recording) 4. She has never spoken to anyone but Simon about the incident in question and doesn’t plan on going much more in depth with anybody about it any time soon.

Whenever asked about the recording, since she did say in the statement that she had spoken with Simon about it, and it was presumed that meant that maybe they had made it together and it got leaked, as those things tend to do, she confirmed that she didn’t know anything about the recording until after everyone else had seen it, that she doesn’t like to think about it or that time in her life because it was one of her most embarrassing and painful experiences and she doesn’t want to have to relive it simply because people are curious about these details that don’t affect them one way or another…

People were relentless and dedicated to being in other people’s business. What about Simon? It affects Simon! Why aren’t you helping clear Simon’s name? Why are you still hurting Simon? What about affecting Simon? She’d punch every last one of these people in the mouth, just like she did Simon when she found out, if they were in front of her. Even, now, being someone trying very hard to be peaceful and patient… “Simon already knows everything about that time that I would be able to say, so telling anyone else anything wouldn’t help him or me. If I was silent about it whenever it might have actually changed my trajectory in a favorable way, I’m certainly not going to begin going off about it now that I’ve been given another chance at a positive life, despite the things that caused me pain. Simon knows more than I do and more than you. Perhaps you should ask him, if you want someone who doesn’t seem to mind speaking about these subjects.”

That was what did it. Simon watched in a panic as former Apex members, arose to defend Grace and admit that during the time, Simon was open with certain people about having orchestrated the recording and using it to oust Grace from her throne. “We were mean kids, and I don’t know if we thought far ahead enough to really see what something like that could do to somebody. We all found it either funny or scary and weren’t brave enough to stand up for her back then, but Grace did nothing wrong and people should let her live her life instead of bringing this back up and hurting her again.” They basically all said some variation of that.

He became immediately notorious as #GraceDidNothingWrong began trending and multiple Apex members, former nonessentials, declared nulls, and actual victims of some of Simon’s direct attacks come forward, opening up about their experiences with Simon’s Apex, the Apex in general, including anecdotes, quotes, confessions, etc to further prove Simon’s guilt. To top it off Simon was put on academic probation as everything unfolded including the way he had been handling his psychiatric deal with the committee being unmet and the negligence that led to Professor Hughes’ accident. When he began losing various deals, gets major backlash for the accident, on top of the allegations of child pornography being investigated, he began to spiral as he considered possible charges from CA to MA. He deleted all of his social media accounts and shadow cyberstalked Grace, only to see that she really wasn’t participating in all of this.

He was SO CLOSE to his first Master’s degree. He couldn’t let all of this throw away his future! He was young and stupid and maybe he was wrong, but he wasn’t going to say that and he definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to be punished for it right now!

He had been trying not to think about that interview, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he obsessed over it - over her wondering how he was doing, over the potential for her to actually still care. It was so stupid. It was foolish. There was no way that she really felt like that, but all of his distraction had caused him to possibly make some type of stupid mistake. The police were investigating, but he was the main one working in the lab, so whatever happened was most likely due to some type of misstep on his part. He certainly had not rigged anything to explode in Professor Hughes’ face, like some seemed to be trying to suggest!

The fact that they did not get along wasn’t very helpful to him. The argument right before it happened made it even more suspicious, and where they should have been able to speak with his psychiatrist to ensure that he was doing fine… he hadn’t been consistent with any long enough for them to know that he was doing fine… which brought attention back on him from the committee, which he guessed felt like he was jumping through loopholes in their deal. He saw the Void again, it's voice like a chorus of succubi singing, “I’ve come to take everything from you. It’s what you deserve.”

He rushed to the airport. He didn’t even have a place to stay. He rushed to the Monroe’s, snuck into their gate and beat on the door. It was 2 am, but he couldn’t wait. The Void was after him, and he NEEDED his Grace.

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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emberbent · 4 years

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QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

[Originally posted by @cassandrapentayaaaaas, whose name apparently is also Elle, ayyyy. I’ll be filling this out for my Fire Avatar OC Shinza, and maybe also for some other characters later.]

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Previous to her airbending training, Shinza would have had a hard time being still and doing nothing for longer than a few minutes. Not out of a need to burn off energy, but out of a fear of being alone with her thoughts for too long. Now, she can meditate and be still for over an hour, or much longer if she takes short breaks. She sat for eleven hours for her tattoo, which was the longest she’s gone doing nothing.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

She doesn’t appear to be easily amused - she’s more of a smirker than a laugher if she finds something funny. Unless she’s among people who are close to her, or she’s drinking pear sake.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Shinza’s one of the lucky ones who falls asleep as soon as she climbs into bed. She doesn’t have to do anything special to fall asleep.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

Hard to say. Maybe moderate? She doesn’t like to reveal much about herself unless she really trusts someone not to abuse that information, which isn’t all that often. She’s self-reliant enough that she doesn’t need others to help her most of the time, which can be seen as untrusting. But really, all it takes is showing compassion and self-awareness to get her to let her guard down.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Fairly easy, since her default mode is not overly trusting.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

She's always had trouble determining which rules are or should be flexible vs enforced. Now that she’s in a position where she’s more or less exempt from following rules as necessary to keep balance, she’s realizing it’s even more complex than she ever thought. She contemplates often whether she has a duty not to follow the rules she holds others to, or to lead by example and hold herself to those same standards.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

The smell of petrichor mingling with the oily smog of Republic City brings her back to when she was small, and she would walk with her mother, a doctor, every day to the clinic. Her mother would hold her hand, and they’d traverse in silence, except to point out the stray capuchin cats sheltering under the Satos on the street, or Shinza would ask for a treat from the bakery.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

Twirling, dancing, spinning around, singing. It wasn’t that her parents discouraged her from these normal activities, but she often didn’t have the presence of mind to refrain in the wrong situations.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Not often; usually to emphasize her point. She distinctly remembers being nine years old and watching someone walk into traffic. A bystander earthbent them out of the way just before a Sato could run them over. She said her first curse word aloud as she rode in a cab with her father. He wasn’t mad.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

She never got into habitual lying. Too much to remember, too much guilt.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Lucky for her, she has thousands of past Avatars to talk to.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

She has long arms - this isn’t normally an issue.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Black and shades of red; absolutely.

What animal do they fear most?

Shinza’s not afraid of any animals in a phobia sense, but she does think canyon crawlers are fairly ugly, and she’d hate to meet one.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

She thinks before she speaks, but she doesn’t rehearse what she wants to say before the conversation happens. She speaks deliberately and rarely says something she doesn’t mean.

What makes their stomach turn?

The normal stuff - gore and viscera, bad smells, being anxious or nervous.

Are they easily embarrassed?

Very much so, although she tries not to let it show.

What embarrasses them?

The biggest thing is having her flaws or screw-ups used as an example to a group. She also suffers pretty bad secondhand embarrassment watching others do embarrassing things.

What is their favorite number?

She doesn’t have one.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

She’d explain familial love as distinctly separate from platonic or romantic love in that for her, it comes from a place of duty as well as physical proximity and similarity. Her personality closely matches both of her parents’, so they naturally got along well most of the time, which made them feel close, which she might define as familial love.

She feels there’s very little difference between platonic and romantic love, and that one can easily morph into the other and back. These are based on things outside of physical proximity or biology, like shared interests, a common goal, and sexual attraction. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “I don’t know. I just love them.”

Why do they get up in the morning?

Duty. Responsibility. The sunlight coming in through her window has woken her and she can’t go back to sleep.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

It manifests as deep sadness and a feeling that there’s a flaw she should fix in herself that will make the situation better. Then it festers into shame for having those emotions or caring at all, and she becomes aloof.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

She might pine for whatever this other fortunate person has that she doesn’t for a second, but then she shrugs it off.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

She’s happy to talk about sex in an academic sense with acquaintances, but she’s only comfortable discussing her own experiences with her best friend Nero. Even then, she squirms a little.

What are their thoughts on marriage?

She likes the idea of loving someone so much that you’d enter a legally binding, life-long contract with them, and she certainly sees the financial and social advantages. As to whether she wants to get married herself, she’d be perfectly fine either way.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

Xia, her dragon companion. Especially now that she’s not afraid of heights or the open air anymore. Plus, they just get each other - no words needed. They had a strong bond from the beginning, but ever since Xia saved Shinza’s ass in Gaoling, Shinza feels closer to her than ever.

What causes them to feel dread?

Knowing that the world is watching every move she makes, and that everything she does (or doesn’t do) will go down in history. Knowing that if she can’t protect herself, she could be the last Avatar.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Definitely not. Being lied to is something she has a hard time forgiving, and she’d much rather deal with the ripples of an unpleasant truth than feeling she can’t trust the person keeping the truth from her, and finding out anyway.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

No, but Shinza holds herself to impossibly high standards.

Who do they most regret meeting?

Yanyu, the ex-Dai Li agent who her parents hired to block her bending and repress her memories when she was little. Shinza thought Yanyu wanted to meet with her in Gaoling to apologize for her role in letting the world go for so long without its Avatar, but it turned out to be a trap; Yanyu attempted to subdue her and turn her over to The Organization.

Who are they the most glad to have met?

Amrit. She came to him on the Island of the Sun Warriors thinking she was a nonbender, that she couldn’t possibly be the Avatar, and he helped her through that confusion. He unblocked her chi and helped her flame. Maybe he was a little too hard on her during training, but he taught her the value of working til you puke. He’s always had her back, even from the first day.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

No. Shinza rarely leads conversations.

Could they be considered lazy?

Not by any stretch. She’s deliberate, diligent, and hard set on doing things right and thoroughly.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

Very, which is detrimental to her role as the Avatar. She doesn’t know yet that she will live with the burden of guilt for her decisions and actions her whole life, or how to be okay with that.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

She’s a supporter and an attentive listener. She does her best to follow up with questions or mention small details later. Unless it’s something like a friend being excited about getting back together with her toxic ex - then she’d be clear about where she stands on the matter.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

She’s never sought out romance, but she has experienced and enjoyed it. Romantic love isn’t something she requires to feel happy or validated.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

She doesn’t have a system - she just remembers things like patterns, numbers, and names. It’s a gift that, oddly enough, she was bullied for in school. Sometimes she forgets that others don’t have such an incredible memory and gets frustrated with them, but she’s working on it.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Leaving Nero alone at the bar, mouth agape, as two Fire Nation officials all but dragged her out the door with them. She never got to explain to Nero what happened after she figured it all out, and she hasn’t seen her since that day almost two years ago. The guilt eats at her.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

Fairly difficult. She can’t ignore her own flaws, so she’s unable to extend that to others. She’s working on it though, and she’s got Amrit to practice on. No shade tho.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Extremely. She was an only child, so her parents were hawks circling her, watching her every move. They didn’t pick on her on purpose, but it was pretty clear to Shinza that they were disappointed she didn’t go to medical school or join the military. On top of that, she grew up believing she was a nonbender, which culminated in a general, oppressive feeling that she was deeply flawed.

How do they feel about children?

She was an only child and didn’t grow up around her extended family, so she doesn’t have a lot of experience being around kids. Before, she could think of worse things than raising a child of her own. But now, she can’t fathom trying to balance her duties while raising a child.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

The shame of leaving the physical and spirit worlds out of balance and being remembered as an ineffective Avatar is unfathomable to her. She’d say she wants it more than anything.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

She’d say she’s sexual, sometimes, and leave it at that.

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

In every OC, I think there’s at least a little bit of their creator; I didn’t intend for Shinza to end up so similar to myself, but she is. And as I develop my own sense of self, I see that reflected in Shinza when I write her, and that’s pretty exciting.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I’d been wanting to write an Avatar OC story for a long time, and nothing felt right or fun or exciting until I considered using Shinza, a character I’d had stewing in my head for a while. Once I pictured her in the Avatar world, things started falling into place pretty quickly.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Absolutely. I planned the story from start to finish so I knew where I was headed, but along the way, Emberbent!Shinza started to take shape in unexpected ways and deviate from the original plan. As her personality in this story evolves, I have to figure out her reactions to things, and the ripples from those reactions, from a new perspective. I don’t have a clear view of her transformation arc, because it’s happening in real time along with mine. The (already flimsy) ending I’d intended has been blown to smithereens, and I have no idea how it’ll go - I’m essentially 50% pantsing at this point - but I feel less frustrated knowing I have more room to see what happens.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

She’s had a number of different physical appearances. At one point, she was a monk child in a DND campaign I played in. In the preliminary planning stages of Emberbent, she looked like Nero, her best friend, and was an Earth Avatar.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I like to think we’d get along, but we’d both have to be okay with natural silence. Neither of us are inclined to lead conversations.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

All of the above. Pride because of how hard she’s worked to get where she is; excitement because of all the horrific and wonderful things she’ll go through to turn her into who she’ll ultimately become; and frustrated because she feels flat to me, so I’m assuming she feels flat to others too.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

She can’t see past her own nose yet in terms of her role. It will take some time for her to realize she has to relinquish all of her own desires and happiness to her duty as the Avatar. For now, she’s stuck in selfish-mode, doing her best to help those close to her while trying to maintain her grip on her old ego.

H) What trait do you admire most?

While she’s still working on seeing things from a broad perspective, she has an innate ability to deeply understand people, their feelings, and the situations they find themselves in. She’ll drop everything in order to help.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Yeah. I’m not into crossover fics... yet.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Mmm, I don’t know about manipulating canon, but I definitely extended it and filled in some parts as needed. Since she’s not the Avatar that came directly after Korra, I had to create the character that came between them. And since Shinza’s timeline is well after Korra’s, I had to envision what Republic City and the world would look like 70 years or so in the future.

Edit: Actually, just kidding. I forgot I totally manipulated canon when I figured out a way for Shinza to reconnect with the Avatars before Aang.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #avatar legend of korra #avatar fic #avatar oc #emberbent

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 4 years

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CPTSD relationship patterns on repeat

Listen wherever you stream, search “complex trauma” and subscribe. Or, find episodes, blog posts, and a private support community at t-mfrs.com

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Things I’ve gotten good at throughout this Trauma journey:

Seeing connections between where I’m from and where I am

Thinking for the first time about where I’m going

Letting myself have emotions

Letting those emotions go

Redirecting my energy and attention away from ruminating

Being accountable for my own feelings

Being accountable for times of being a shithead

Listening and validating other humans

Listening and validating myself

Recognizing what circumstances do/don’t work for me

Realizing how my codependency plays with relationships

Letting go of self-hate inner critic talk

Reframing events with reasonable views

Accepting myself, even when I first want to thrash myself

Semi-consistently caring for myself

Setting realistic boundaries and goals

Sleeping

Things I’m still shitty at:

Letting my overwhelm skew reality

Anxious self-slave-driving

Being a snarky turd when my head is overloaded

Taking on other people’s energies and emotions

Trusting myself in all areas of life

Forming healthy relationships.

Okay, it’s that last one that has me most perpetually fighting feelings of panic and doom.

This seems like an apt way to kick off the new year. I think a lot of us have questions about relationships and would like to improve our operations in 2021. I can also tell you, this one is extremely appropriate looking back at the last year of my life.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned in the past few spins around the sun has been how romance does - and definitely doesn't - fit into my life. I think 2020 was particularly packed full of important lectures and pop quizzes, many of which I failed. It felt like knowing that the correct answer was C, but finding my hand filling in the circle for A every time, anyways.

This is a terrible ideaaaa... and I'm doing it. Pause for about 2 months. Now I'm upset that it was a terrible idea.

Yeah, it's been great. But I have no one to blame but myself. Because as much as I've worked on this trauma management life of mine, I haven't done a good job of working on the relationship aspect of it. I've let my usual patterns dominate. And that's what needs to be examined today.

I mean. Can someone tell me about healthy relationships in functional terms? What IS that even?

Look, I’m not hoping that someone will pop up and share some, “mutual respect, good communication, trust, support, care, similar goals, similar beliefs…” sort of shit. I fucking KNOW about the idealistic, flowery terms that all the light-hearted couples counselors recommend establishing for a happy relationship. I get it.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to the ways humans should interact. I’ve had enough experience with friendships and relationships, alike, to understand the basics of person-to-person interactions. I know I talk about myself like I’ve been a feral child locked in a cage for 20 years, but the truth is that if you met me on the streets I’d probably seem like a normal, well-adapted, personable human being. That Leo Ascendant component of my personality tricks people into actually thinking I’m an extrovert who wants attention. (Hilarious, explains a lot of comments I’ve gotten in my past)

Nah, I’m not asking for the trite descriptions of a healthy partnership that everyone who’s ever been friends on a basic girl’s Facebook has seen before in cursive writing on top of a washed-out pink-tinted field. Those are empty sounding words that I don’t believe most couples manage to put into action, no matter how many selfies they take together or labradoodles they adopt.

For me, Fuckers, the mystery isn’t, “in a fairytale world, how do two humans interact to have a lifelong bliss factory?” Respect, trust, appreciation, mutual understanding… blah blah blah. What the fuck ever.

The real question is how.

And, shit, let me just be honest with all of you - not just the Patrons who’ve already heard my personal bitching - it’s on my mind because I did a thing I definitely should not have… recently, I got into a new romantic relationship that I definitely was not looking for. I’ll spare you all the details today, but know that I’ve entered it kicking and screaming, and it’s caused me a lot of grief already.

Let the life shittery begin! Can’t wait to be destroyed.

Today, I want to bring this personal fire burning in my gut into the podcast. Motherfuck me, if it hasn’t become difficult to ignore… plus, I know that a lot of us Traumatized folks are in a similar boat when it comes to relationship confusion, unhealth, and destruction. So let’s just count the ways that I have no idea how to do this right and I’m destined to be let down by my poor choices.

This time around, I'm bringing you a list of all the ways I tend to fuck things up with other humans. In part, due to Complex Trauma. In other part, probably due to my own personal shortcomings. Listed in no particular order. On a later date, I'm going to be revisiting a lot of these patterns as I examine how early life set a lot of us up for a lot of abuse acceptance in greater detail. Stick around for those continuations on romantic disaster, if this sounds like you, too.

I'm talking about:

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists, and addicts

Emotional codependency

Mistrust

… That turns into willful blind belief of their words

Inadequacy

Parenting analogues

Authority figures & disappointment

Misdirected commitment

Learned helplessness

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists and addicts

Who has bad taste in partners? Over and over and over again? It’s me! And probably a lot of you.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they’ve been wonderful guys who just didn’t mesh well with my inner or outer world… but I can tell you, there have been some similarities, and they don’t bode well for a happy future together.

You know me by now. Difficulty connecting with “normal” humans, no interest in small talk, a huge fan of deep emotional honesty, a bit gritty and assholeish, tends to be repelled by anything too widely embraced by the general public, definitely comes with a difficult past, fears of the future, and ongoing challenges in the present.

So, who do you think I get along with? Ivy leaguers with stable, supportive families, an optimistic outlook, and a 20-year plan? Or equally messy and complex humans with a set of neuroses handed down from their unexamined early traumas that make them similarly bitter and disillusioned with life? Just… probably hidden from immediate sight.

Grown men who’ve responsibly built a life for themselves with ambition, personal insight, and balance? Or man-children who’re still figuring out that they can’t drink every night of the week if they want to be functional in life and financially sound? But... with their addictions hidden behind “an appreciation for fine whiskies” or a necessity to sample the craft beer they brew.

Independent, confident humans who have no problem running their own world like a boss and trust that I’m capable of doing the same, with integrity and respect? Or distrustful turds who need me to be in their sight, half-directing their lives at all times unless I’m aiming to be accused of cheating, lying, and being unable to care for myself? Only… they hide their controlling and aggressive tendencies behind go-with-the-flow facades in the beginning.

If you guessed “B” in all three examples, you are correct!

Plus... so, so many musicians. Like, the last 6 of them have either subscribed to guitar or drum camp. And that hasn't been a purposeful decision - those are just the men I get along with until we hate each other.

It's always a rapid connection, a mutual respect for our interests in the arts, and a shared shitty attitude that starts out directed at the world and ends directed at each other. So many emotions. So many ups and downs. So many proclamations of "I can't live without you!" until the day we run in opposite directions and never look back.

Is that a coincidence? Or are all musical folk a bit wild? I hate to generalize, but I can tell you with great amusement that if you start typing "Are all musicians..." into Google, it will autocomplete with "cheaters, narcissists, and crazy." It also suggests "rich," but I can tell you for a fact that isn't true. The narcissist thing... uh.... very well might be correct. But I'll leave that for someone else to study.

So, I don't know what to make of this trend. There do seem to be some commonalities between the musicians in my past life - and they do seem to be categorized by the instrument of choice. For instance, drummers are never concerned with my time, and guitarists are emotional catastrophes. But what do I know? Can't make sweeping conclusions... I, at least, need a larger sample size. With my track record, I'm sure I'll have the numbers soon enough.

Congratulations if you predicted nothing but unstable disasters in my past. It's true, I’m an idiot. Okay, that’s not fair. No inner critic talk. Get out of here, Pam and Karen.

The fact of the matter is, I am a terrible judge of character when I start sensing a connection. I tend to connect with people who have complicated lives and inner worlds, just like I do. And from what I can tell, that is always my downfall.

Challenging connections

Let’s go ahead and chalk this one up to never having close connections or support growing up.

You know what I always wanted, hoped for, and idealized as a kid? Someone loving me. Another human actually understanding my weirdness and signing on for more. The idea of a human who wanted to know what I thought and felt. The option of spending time with someone and feeling cared for. Also, somebody finding me attractive, instead of being repulsed by my ass-length ginger hair, flat chest, dorky hand-me-downs, bleach-stained horse sweaters, and buck teeth... also would have been a dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that growing up lonely didn’t help me in any regard when it came to my later-in-life relationship problems. Starving for connection apparently puts you in a state of deprivation, where you’re likely to think anything is better than the empty feeling inside. You know, just for the rest of your life or so.

To this day, if I meet someone and we’re able to converse without abundant clarifications or apologies for the prickly things that come out of my mouth as dry humor or unbendable opinions… we’re on a roll. If we can connect over shared perspectives on humans, life, and psychology… things are getting more serious. If we can honestly talk about the ways we’re horrible to ourselves and joke about our shared challenges in figuring out what the point of this shitty slip-and-slide of life is about… uh oh, this might be a real connection.

And so, it makes sense that I connect with all the most complicated people you’d ever meet. And we connect INTENSELY. I’m complicated, myself, and I look for folks who can accept it without their heads exploding. I’m never going to be happy holding conversations with Sports Bar Joe or Pretty Boy Blaine. They’re never going to understand the internal strife that dominates my world. I’m never going to understand how they can be all *happy,* *close with their families,* and *laid back about life.*

Gross. I can’t even say the words.

But give me the angstiest, most anxious, most misunderstood dude on the block, and we’re likely to get along swimmingly. We’ll talk over beers until the birds start to chirp. We’ll joke in our native tongues, playing with words, obscure references, and dry humor as if we’ve known each other for 25 years. We’ll share secrets about our tumultuous inner worlds and the ways that we can’t seem to get our heads on straight enough to keep our ships on course.

And the next thing you know, we’ll be incestuously connected with a somewhat false sense of intimacy that erupts out of the gates. “No one has ever understood me the way you do. I can really be myself around you. I’ve never had such easy conversations about this shit before.”

… That’s about the point when I lose all perspective. There’s a tunnel running from my face to this dude’s heart. I stop seeing things for what they are. I project a kinder, gentler, more well-intended personality on the subject of my feels. I quickly turn a blind eye to all the shit they’re doing that I wholeheartedly hate or otherwise cause my red flags to be unpacked.

I feel like I know them, inside and out. I feel like I can help them - like we can help each other - to sort through this dumb world we’ve been born into and all the circumstances holding us back. A real Sid and Nancy storyline emerges. No one gets him like I do. If only they could see the things I see. We’re just two broken souls who found each other, a little rough around the edges, but we see the diamonds underneath. And we’re in this battle together from now on.

Yeah, right.

Sooooo… This is how I wind up with the unpredictable narcissists who seem like nice guys, the secret addicts who keep their substance abuse hidden from everyone, and the emotional abusers who are ready to leverage my mental health admissions against me the first time they get the chance. Dudes who have highly emotional worlds and no idea how to deal with them. Men who don’t want to explore their own shortcomings and instead choose avoidant courses in life.

And, again, the musicians. So, so many musicians. I really am coming to think that they’re the most fucked up people of all - and that's saying a lot coming from me. Generally speaking, I've seen that there’s no sense of personal responsibility, an obsession with themselves, and a hidden inferiority complex that turns them into bitchy little dogs when they feel threatened. What’s with that, anyways? Can you guys try to be more original in your plight to be the most original?

Okay, anyways. Sorry to keep dragging on musicians.

The point is, my attempts at relationships start out on the wrong foot. Choosing the wrong partner is a pretty surefire way to dash all hopes for those fluffy ideals I mentioned earlier. No one is going to respect me, listen to me, or support me when they’re too busy dealing with their own alcoholism, abandonment issues, and narcissistic flailings… or, not dealing with them, to be more specific.

We aren’t going to be able to work through things when they’re consumed with being the king of the world, hiding from all negative emotions, and trying to keep their head away from analysing their own actions. Hell, it’ll be difficult to even find the time for serious talks, since they’re so busy traveling to band practices, hustling away for barely-paying gigs, and staring at their social media while they count the ways they’re victims of the universe.

Choose imbalanced, mentally ill, self-serving partners… get unhealthy, controlling, unpredictable relationships. Pretty goddamn obvious. And yet, I still can never seem to see the full picture of the human who’s caught my attention through the fog that’s created by the connection of our shared dysfunctions.

I guess this is where that, “love yourself and get yourself healthy first,” sentiment comes into play, so the connections don’t continue to be as disasterious as your personal experience is. Hopefully I’m on the right path in my own journey, at least. Also, a lot less starved for connection. I got y’all Motherfuckers in the Discord community, for starters. And I’ve become determined to live a life where I support myself and rely on no one outside of Archie’s snuggles, for finishers.

Step one: Be careful about who you deem a good person, just because you can share self-deprecating jokes about being nutjobs and similar musical interests. Learn to choose someone who isn’t an even trashier trash human than you are. It’s a start.

Emotional codependency

Hand in hand with forming connections that include deep emotional outpourings and admissions of all the dark things we hide from the light at our office jobs… comes codependency.

I’ve said it before and let me say it again… I didn’t understand codependency until very recently.

In my mind, it was akin to those creepy couples who won’t leave the house without each other, have the same friends, interests, and opinions on everything... and possibly wear matching cat shirts. Those people who never spend time with other humans because they're too busy being shoved up their partner’s ass. The folks who call to check in on each other throughout the day when they’re at work. Gag. Particularly, I imagined those pathetic girls who cry when their boyfriend is out of sight and post 12 pictures a day of them together.

Rightfully, I scoffed and insisted that I didn't have problems with codependency. That’s not me. But it turns out, this view isn’t quite right, so much as I was being an uninformed asshole.

Codependency doesn’t mean you’re a needy, incapable human being who sucks the life power out of someone else, like I used to think. Codependency is a two-way relationship defined by poor boundaries and non-existent emotional regulation. Two humans who see their experiences as one, all the way down to how they feel and how they deal with how they feel. (i.e. turning to their significant other for comfort and emotional control in a time of need instead of working through it by themselves). Relationships where the emotions are transferred from party to party until it's unclear who’s bringing what dish to the gathering. Waking up not knowing how your day is going to be, because it depends on how someone else feels about theirs. Emotional enablement city.

Oh, yeah, when you put it like that, I definitely have issues with codependency.

For me, the codependency is largely going to be emotional. In the past, I didn’t know how to have a relationship of any sort without having a third influence in the mix. There was the person, myself, and our shared emotions... that often called more shots than either of us did.

Because I tend to be on the empath scale (although I do everything I can to fight it out of defense), I think I’m naturally tuned into other people’s emotional and energetic states, for better or for worse. When someone walks into the room with a bad vibe, I feel it to my core. I become so uncomfortable that I take it on myself to try to “fix” the problem for them, and in doing so, I avoid the negative sensation, myself. This is negative reinforcement, if anyone wanted to ABA with me.

That being said, clearly if my boo is having a hard time… it’s not okay. They’re in a shit place and therefore so am I. I must do whatever I can to make it better. To sit down and talk in circles with them, if that’s what relieves some of their tension. To commiserate about how unfair the circumstances are. To validate the negativity that they’re projecting and wallowing in.

Don’t worry though, this goes the other way, too. In the past, I have fully expected my romantic partners to alleviate any inner discomfort that I’ve felt. If I was having a low-down day, I wanted them to cheer me up. If I was full of anxiety, I wanted them to find a way to release it. If I was frustrated with a work situation or coworker, I wanted them to be as angry and indignant as I felt.

So… I guess that doesn’t even sound too off-base to me, at least not when I’m leaning on my teenage expectations of what relationships are supposed to be. In my head, it was always completely ideal that I would wind up with someone who could essentially read my thoughts and comfort me like my family never did. I just wanted someone who would be by my side, thinking about me all the time, and working double time to make sure I was keeping my depression and anxiety on the up-and-up. Is that too much to ask? Uh… yeah, it is.

Maybe in a fairytale love story like the ones I saw in teenage romance movies growing up, this is the perfect way for two broken misfits to interact. “We’re both so damaged and hurt that no one has ever really seen us - but now we have each other to lick our shared wounds.” Yeah, romantic. Also really fucked up and dangerous in the real world.

The problem is, after a few months of this, it gets pretty hard to determine what’s my experience and what’s yours. The emotions become so transitive that it can be invigorating, immersive, overwhelming, and exhausting to be in each other’s company, depending on the day and the event. Living together or essentially sharing a residence makes it much worse - there’s no physical barrier between us, so that emotional barrier is even less existent. We don't have to try to text about our woes, we can just unleash them the moment we step foot in the door. Ready or not, your night is about to be ruined by my day, and vice-versa.

How does this go wrong? Uh, let’s count the ways.

1. My emotional management was never up to par, in the first place. Having your feelings catapulted my way effectively pushes me off the balance beam that I was already wobbling on. If I was having a difficult day but holding it together on my own through coping techniques and reasonable thinking - fucking forget it, that’s over now. We’re both in a shitty state now. Great. In the context of trying to recover from mental health issues… yeah, it’s a fucking disaster. Being retriggered by your partner or sucked into a depressive undertow when you’re trying to make positive change is a losing battle.

2. I never learned how to cope with my own emotions. There was generally someone else for me to hurtle them at, and our subsequent hours of bitching would give me the comfort I was looking for. I didn’t need to learn to manage my feelings - I always had a glorified babysitter to keep me alive. I never had to be accountable for my inner world. I never had to look at things with logic or reason. I could let myself spiral and trust that my best friend or boyfriend would catch me before I slipped down the drain.

3. It becomes impossible to talk about issues - personal or shared. When you’re already sharing emotions there’s an explosive effect when conflict is brought up. Neither one of us knows how to handle our shit, we expect the other person to hold us up with kid gloves, annnd now that person is the source of my distress? We’re both completely beside ourselves, upset, hurt, and angry… and it’s towards each other? Now who the fuck do we call? There's a huge sense of confusion and betrayal. No one has the skills to de-escalate the argument or return to a normal emotional state.

4. How do you break up when half of your existence is in the body of another human? You can’t mentally or emotionally separate yourself from them. Physically separating yourself feels like ripping out a few of your organs and leaving them on the streets. And, who’s going to keep you afloat when you’re going through the pain of the break up? That’s the job of your partner, afterall… can’t have a vacant desk sitting here. It’s best to just suck it up and stick with it. No one would understand what you’ve both been through together, anyways.

In a word, that’s codependency.

Not what people think it is. Not what our culture describes it as. Not so easy to spot until you’re educated and honest with yourself… plus, probably viewing things through the lenses of hindsight.

Definitely a sneaky recipe for disaster when you let it take over a well-intended, emotionally transparent, highly connective relationship. And, Motherfuckers, I’ve always tended to.

Head to t-mfrs.com for more!

#cptsd #healcptsd #just cptsd things #cptsdsurvivor #cptsdwarrior #cptsd problems #cptsd romance #trauma #ptsd #childhood ptsd #childhoodtraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #relationships

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veryfantasticstudent · 4 years

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Cyberpunk for the 21st Century: ONF’s “Sukhumvit Swimming”

If I write about a K-pop group, chances are I have been a fan of them for a while. This is not the case for ONF. M-Net’s Road to Kingdom brought this group to my attention, and though I checked out some of their work it is the sextet’s latest comeback, Spin-Off, hooked me to them. The title track for this mini album is “Sukhumvit Swimming”, a tropical house track with a touch of ONF’s signature heavy synths and guitar. The MV continues ONF’s science fiction-inspired scenarios and hones them down to a particular subgenre (my favourite)—cyberpunk. I wouldn’t label any k-pop concept as through-and-through cyberpunk until now, but “Sukhumvit Swimming” borrows and adds enough to that subgenre to be considered a part of that class of literature. The MV borrows from cyberpunk in spirit and setting but combines them in fascinating new ways.

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“Sukhumvit Swimming” by ONF on Woolim Entertainment’s YouTube Channel

Cyberpunk is a subgenre of science fiction that came around in the 1980s and was fascinated by hacker culture. It was was thinking about the Internet, bodily augmentations, AI, mind uploads, all in the setting of dystopian cityscapes were corporates ruled the world. The Cyberpunk archetype is a hacker who uses the oppressive technology of the corporate to figure out the flows of late capital and direct them to his (usually, the protagonists are, unfortunately, male) goal: freedom. The “technology” is generally an Internet-like technology, and hence the “cyber”. The cyberpunk also hacks systems like the cityscape to fight corporate domination. The “punk” came from the rebellious and stylish punk-rocker, and it denotes cyberpunk’s fascination with the power of leather-clad, heavily-mascara-ed punk-pop culture. Neuromancer by William Gibson, Schismatrix by Bruce Sterling, Wetware by Rudy Rucker, and Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner are some works that found the tradition in the West. Altered Carbon by Richard K Morgan, The Matrix, and Westworld kept it alive in later decades. Ghost in the Shell, Akira, PsychoPass, Serial Experiments: Lain are some iconic works from Japan that have pushed boundaries for the subgenre. Amidst its neon landscapes, grubby alleyways, gore, and shiny machinery, cyberpunk asks a simple question: what place do we, humans and individuals, have in this “global village” of money and information? Each cyberpunk finds their own answer, and the city always plays an important role in this discovery.

Wyatt rides a tuk-tuk in cyberspace

So, where is Sukhumvit in “Sukhumvit Swimming”? The only thing remotely related to Thailand in the MV seems to be the tuk-tuk that Wyatt drives through a CGI cyberspace landscape. At first glance, even this is jarring—why would one drive a tuk-tuk through cyberspace? The answer is: why not? “Sukhumvit Swimming” insists on mixing the local with the global. The cyberpunk always stays true to their roots even as they dive into popular culture. Cyberspace, in most cyberpunk, is a visual fest where one can look like whatever they want. If one wants to traverse it with a tuk-tuk, so be it. In a way, all the six settings in the MV are Sukhumvit. They are all a bizarre mix of human-nonhuman, past-future, real-unreal, categories that cyberpunk always confuses to question their boundaries. This confusion allows cyberpunk to figure out, in distinct ways, how an individual’s life is embedded in global capital.

These androids are hella creepy. This sequence seems heavily inspired by Westworld, a cyberpunk work set in an amusement park where artificially intelligent android “hosts” gain sentience and rebel against the abuse that the human guests of the park have practiced on the androids for year.

Each setting of the MV evokes Sukhumvit as a tool, and it is what makes “Sukhumvit Swimming” a clever study of cyberpunk. The first setting is Hyojin’s 1920s American railroad. Whether we are to think of the “people” on board with Hyojin as literal androids or grotesquely mechanised human beings, there are disturbingly few differences between androids and people working like clockwork to their schedules in a metropolis. Our cowboy is different from the rest of the occupants on this train; he is not dressed in the stuffy clothes of these robots—he is a (console?) cowboy, a punk, a rebel.

Hyojin as the cowboy.

U, too, seems to be on this train, but he is, well, high. He drinks a bright blue liquid from a glass and things start to swim. With time stopping and MK floating in space, questioning the reality of our disparate, mediate, postmodern existence should not be too difficult for us. In fact, stimulants of various kinds are an integral part of cyberpunk. Apart from their performance-enhancing effects, drugs are always connected to altering/understanding reality much like the technology of the cyberpunk universe.

Kids, don’t do drugs.

Is the virtual world, where we are all information, more real than our world, where we are just expressions of biology? Is the train that U is on real? The minute U consumes that glass, “reality” is up for grabs[1].

The second major setting of this MV features J-US in the sunburnt ruins of Greek columns and skyscrapers.

J-US’ suburnt world. Blade Runner 2049 has very similar visuals to this post-apocalyptic world.

This odd, out-of-time combination is another reason why “cyberpunk” jumped to my mind. Cyberpunk likes to juxtapose history with the present times and ask: what is the place of history in a time when technology has skewed our perception of time? The anxiety of technophobes is often that these revered worlds like the cradle of Western Civilisation will be forgotten. The survival of these cultures without context—just stone columns in sunbaked worlds—reminds us of the tyranny of the object. Long after humans are gone (extinct or only alive in a virtual world), these traces of us will be left. Until then, we can only absorb and re-write these monuments into our present alongside the skyscrapers of the capitalist world—much like the pastiche cityscape of Sukhumvit.

E-Tion is on the moon. The moon landing was faked, btw. Or was it?

E-Tion’s moon landing is a particularly strange setting. The others, in one way or another, can be found on earth, but why is E-Tion on the moon? Distance and travel in this MV are unstable concepts. If one can travel through cyberspace in a tuk-tuk, one can definitely grow flowers on the moon. In a patchwork fantasy world (like Sukhumvit), anything is possible. More than that, scale is another notion “Sukhumvit Swimming” is determined to throw in the trash. When virtual worlds are accessible to us through stimulants and technology, the moon is no longer the symbol of extraordinary achievement or emotion (“shoot for the moon,” it is said). Even the moon can be subsumed in the network of capitalism--just ask Elon Musk.

MK really reminds me of the Master here.

The only setting we are now left with is MK’s scenario with the mysterious machine. It could be the machine that is responsible for these strange visions; it certainly looks like the Twelfth Doctor’s time-travelling machine, the TARDIS, from BBC’s Doctor Who. Perhaps it is even one of the machines from The Matrix, that are determined to keep humans as only bio-powered cells for the energy they can provide (bio-powered batteries would not generate enough energy, by the way. That’s one of the flaws in the Wachowskis’ reasoning). Strangely enough, no-one touches the machine; MK disappears from the scene towards the end of the MV, leaving the machine perpetually working. The machine never stops and the dreamers (assuming that there is a particular “real” world) will not wake up—unless, of course, something brings them out of the illusion.

That brings me to the “storyline” of this MV. There is certainly one, mixed within the fantastic shots of this MV. All the members start from different settings but towards the end, they all arrive in the desert that J-US started from. The trigger? Hyojin readies his gun to shoot at J-US in quite a memorable scene:-

I said this MV likes to mess with scale, didn’t I?

Unexpectedly, Hyojin is the one who is shot. All the members snap out of their “illusions” and end up in the desert with J-US. Everyone is dying or has at least passed out, except J-US who has been in this setting since the beginning. The cyberpunks come together, out of their illusion—or perhaps into one. Time unfreezes and Hyojin is nowhere to be seen on the train. Our cyberpunks have lived and fought in the blink of an eye (or rather, the three-odd minutes that the MV lasts) to disappear with no trace. Fast, suave, and unreal, the cyberpunk is gone once the fight is over. But what have they achieved?

The cyberpunk cityscape is the place for the rebel to explore the strings of corporate domination. In the case of cyberpunk, relations are usually technologies embedded in the logic of capitalism. When ONF creates a temporary Sukhumvit on our screens, they tie together the disparate scenarios of the MV. Now, the hidden relations that linked the moon to a spaghetti Western train and post-apocalyptic world can be read.

If all the members end up in a dystopian, suntanned terrain, it is because this is where all history leads. “Sukhumvit Swimming” is a slow but certain dive of the world into a spiral of destruction there is no coming back from, a process of the destruction of the world that begins slowly but certainly from the days when human beings began to abuse fossil fuels. The trains, the tuk-tuks, the rockets of “Sukhumvit Swimming” are as much a part of the process as the fireworks that explode in front of E-Tion’s moon.

When the MV ends, Time begins its work again, moving inexorably towards the end. Sukhumvit is a tool to understand how the flows of global capital have isolated humans (and even technology) into our own fantastical worlds, worlds as small as our phone screens, without seeing our connections to the outside world. Our work is to make/find our Sukhumvit, our tool for understanding our place in these networks that seem to mysteriously guide our lives. The cyberpunk has disappeared, but there is someone that still remains: it is you, and your battle has just begun.

[1] Stealing this expression from Cavallaro, Dani. Cyberpunk and Cyberculture: Science Fiction and the Works of William Gibson, pp. 38.

#온앤오프 #ONF #스쿰빗스위밍 #sukhumvit swimming #sukhumvit #k-pop #kpop #k-pop comeback #spin off #cyberpunk #technology #thailand #bangkok

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