𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧

the devil is the worst girl you know.

[sunhalf]

#SOMA : SOMETIMES I CAN’T TELL IF MY BODY BELONGS TO ME / & I LOVE EVERYTHING.

a low - activity multimuse blog for canon & original characters, written by rain. sideblog to lovestender. headcanon - based, not spoiler free. RULES & MUSE LIST.

[spirestar]

@sunhalf

Lucien folds his hands together against his waist and leans his hip to the side, pointing his toe just a bit so he can wiggle his heel back and forth in a little arc over the floor. It's always exciting to meet new people--He's been taken as an intruding threat at times during his travels and welcomed with open arms by others who valued politeness or positive reputation. In France, he once had a small family of his own. But that was a very long time ago. His cheeks dimple slightly when he smiles wider.

"That does help," a nod, "I'm sure staying away from larger communities has helped too. I've always favored a big city for my residences, but you can take the boy out of the village but not the village out of the boy, et cetera."

The slate blue color to his eyes stays muted in the dim hallway light as they talk; A very thin limbal ring of scarlet red flickers halfway-visible when the sunbeams poke in through the high narrow windows. It's not something most people ever notice. Lucien is rarely ever seen as an obvious threat. In his eyes, his soul is relative. He's still alive in many ways, isn't he?

"Where are you from? Your accent is practically authentic." Unlike his own--He's had several different ones over the years and he's worked very hard to make his American one sound right, but there's still a touch to his tongue that the observant listener would note. "My apologies, it's been a time since I've met any other, what did you call us?" His nose wrinkles prettily when he chuckles under his breath and thinks Monsters, with obvious entertainment. "I'm more accustomed to being a novelty. But..." Lucien hums softly, a few notes of Debussy's Passepied, and he doesn't need to focus hard or sniff the air to make the assertion he does next, "You're the same way, no? People are so very interesting compared to old dusty relics." Read: Humans are.

[sunhalf]

Where are you from —— the memories are hazy, and she knows the answer more as a series of words than a recollection. She can tell from his mind that he's far more traveled than she is —— she might seem positively quaint, born in the states and having mostly resided there since. She doesn't react to his thought of monster aside from pursing her lips briefly; she knows not all of their kind think of themselves that way, as arrogant as that often seems to Edythe. ( ignoring that her family includes many, like alice and eleanor, who do not share her belief in their monstrousness —— and she loves them far too much to truly think ill of them. ) "I'm from Chicago, Illinois. I was born in the early 1900s, so the adjustment wasn't so extreme as it would have been for you. I'm a bit of the opposite —— despite it all, I remain a city girl at heart."

Esme will want to meet him, and Carlisle; she considers the benefits and drawbacks of inviting him to their home. Based on what she'd gotten from Alice's thoughts, and the visions therein, he'll end up there eventually regardless. No need to press. Jessamine would no doubt resent the intrusion were she not consulted first.

Debussy, too —— the thought arrives fully formed: Beau will meet him, too, eventually, if he's coming to their home. The thought has her hackles raising, that stubborn, almost petulant protectiveness. She has no reason to think that Lucien is a threat to her partner. She trusts so few near of her kind near him, however. He's been harmed by them enough.

She smooths the anger away ( it's pointed at herself, in truth, anyway, like her rage nearly always is ) with a shake of her head. "I spend my hours in the minds of others," comes a correction, almost gentle. "And our minds are remarkably alike. I'm afraid neither interests me much these days."

[sunhalf]

@huntskaiju : ❝ soma. ❞ it's hard. it's hard to let her go like this, now that rin knows what it's like to have her and to know the risk of loss that comes with each mission. but more than that—— she trusts soma and her abilities. ( and if it comes down to it, rin doesn't mind helping her make new ones. ) so they do nothing else except press a kiss to soma's palm, eyes never leaving hers. ❝ go show them what you can do, alright? i want all of tokyo singing your praise. ❞

Every time Soma drinks another's creatures blood, it's as if her heart splinters. Each new shard born from the schism borrows from whatever it is she's taken into this body —— from the kaiju, it's often violence, or new ways to endure violence, or new ways to experience terror. From humans, it's more complex, but not because the content is disparate. From humans, she often gains violence, or new ways to endure violence, or new ways to experience terror. But each new talent brings with it something harder to describe. The splintering is deeper. Each creates more surfaces to refract and reflect. Soma has known she's a shattered mirror for a long time —— the thought brings no pain.

Drinking from Rin the first time had been wonderful, because Soma loves Rin deeply, and because Soma is so often starving. It had also been nauseating and frightening, because Soma hates what is monstrous about herself, and she is never more monstrous than when she must take another's health just to sustain this body's own. That Rin hadn't been disgusted as Soma had quietly feared had been only a small comfort. The beast, sobbing in their lover's lap, as though Soma was the one harmed.

Rin says, "Soma," and Soma schisms further, even without the blood. Rin says, "Soma," like they're a creature —— a person, maybe —— with a name. Rin says, "Soma," like they are worth being trusted, not just used or its opposite. Rin says, "Soma," like ——

Drinking from Rin had been a strange splintering; each shattering shard had been so clear and bright, light refracting and reflecting. This body had copied several of Rin's habits —— the way they stand, pieces of their vocabulary, the way their hand brushes at their hair. It unsettled Rin, at first, Soma knows. It had reframed her constant swallowing of kaiju parts, if nothing else. But more than the borrowing was the seeing, the clarity, the understanding of the tenor of Rin's care. It became more impossible to think of Rin's care for Soma as being the kind that one might for a machine, when that care now lived inside Soma, too. It had also become impossible to ignore that Rin's care for Soma could not, quite, be love.

To love someone, you have to love all of them. Soma's the very best at love, and it's one of the few things beside their skill at killing and dying that she feels sure of about herself, so Soma feels very confident about this. Rin had cared for Soma, when Soma drank from them. They'd wanted good things for Soma. They'd wanted an end to Soma's pain. But they could not love Soma's strength, or her power, or her ability to die and return and therefore to endure anything.

It had been a very strange shattering, to have another's disgust at what Soma can do —— and, therefore, at what Soma is —— settle so neatly inside of them, right next to the sincere affection.

Rin says, "Go show them what you can do, alright? I want all of Tokyo singing your praise," and Soma splinters in Rin's hands, despite the lack of blood. A new understanding. A new realization. Rin has changed, since Soma drank from her last. Soma's heart splinters into countless tiny shards, and each one is so clear and so reflecting that for a moment it's almost blinding, arching colours filling her vision and her ribs. The world shimmers when refracting against the shattered mirror that is Soma. Rin shines as the light bounces from their skin.

She doesn't want Soma to die. But she knows what Soma can do. She trusts it, now. She can even love it, and she wants Tokyo to see and love it, too. Their first emotion is gratitude so deep it nearly wounds. Their second is hunger.

Soma feels something warm and greedy and delighted curving her lips —— the hand Rin is pressing to their mouth rises, gently takes the back of Rin's head, and pulls them closer to kiss, properly. Soma nips at their lip as they part —— not enough to break skin. They want to taste Rin's new trust in her blood. They want to taste Rin's new resolve. But that can wait. For now ——

"I will," Soma promises. She laughs, breathless and relieved and capable of anything at all, if Rin will only look at her like that. "And then I'll come back to you."

It's easy to say, when Rin so clearly trusts it, too.

[sunhalf]

it's funny - not - funny that aika does genuinely experience a catastrophic mental breakdown when someone doesn't want to fuck her. she can soothe it if she can ascertain that that person just isn't attracted to women, but barring that it does really and truly upset her a LOT when it happens, even if she can usually keep from being insane about it in the moment. give her a few hours or days, though, and she will be truly and really hurt. isolate, cry a lot, possibly even self - harm! then she feels embarrassed, because what kind of fucking dramatic ass reaction, that a perfect stranger didn't want to have sex with her immediately. and the embarrassment makes her feel worse!!

but like —— you're a six year old girl, and everyone sees you as being monstrous and horrible so they kill your mother in front of you. you go to a family that you think loves you but can't do it in a way you understand, and you have such a broken relationship with your appearance and existence broadly because the humans you were raised with thought you were scary and ugly and monstrous, and the reapers you interact with now often comment on how they can tell you're human in a way that tells you they disapprove of your appearance. your mind starts to warp. you're six and eight and ten and you think, maybe the problem is i don't look right? maybe that's why i never belong, why people hate me or think i'm strange or can't love me right?

you're a twelve year old girl and your big brother breaks nearly every bone in your body.

maybe the problem is i don't look right? and aika looks in the mirror as she heals, and she doesn't look right. she's covered with scars now. she was already a weird, ugly, monstrous little freak, and that already made her impossible to love. and that already got her mother killed —— because aika was not human enough —— and ostacized —— because aika is not reaper enough. and now she's even uglier. and if the problem is that aika can't be loved —— will experience violence! —— if she doesn't look right, then this new ugliness just means she's going to be more alone and more isolated and more hurt.

you're a little girl and the only way you can think of to be worth loving / to be safe is to be pretty. of course as she got older and realized how much attention she could get by being pretty, that would warp into thinking that the only way she can be lovable is to be fuckable. to be universally desired! someone not wanting to sleep with her, to aika, doesn't feel like the pain inherent in a romantic / sexual rejection. to aika, it feels like an assertion that she doesn't look right, that she can't be loved, that she isn't safe. that she's that helpless little girl again.

aika is gross and disgusting and broken. aika is bad. but if she's fuckable, at least she's wanted, at least that's close to being loved. to being safe. if she doesn't even have that, she's nothing.

[sunhalf-a2]

sharp teeth

[decaysate]

she'd told kris and ralsei, once, that she hated people who don't tell the whole truth. people who leave her in the dark—— who whisper behind her back—— susie hates people who can't say it to her face. but this, what ralsei had kept from her ... it's a different kind of hurt. a quiet, sad kind of hurt. as long as there's any pain i can take in your place, i'll be there, okay? ralsei had smiled as he said it against the brunt of the chilling wind—— like it was natural for him. like it was the easiest thing in the world. his secrets aren't born out of malice; susie can't find it in herself to hate him. how could she?

( sometimes, she looks at him and feels her heart constrict under the weight of how good he is. )

his hand, clenched tight into a fist to stop its shaking, relaxes. even with the numbing pain, the rivulets of warm blood, he offers it out to ralsei with a laugh. ❝ you don't have to be so shy about it, dumbass, ❞ he says. the insult falls flat when she says it so fondly, when she smiles so softly. ❝ here. and, uh—— sorry, about the blood on your face. ❞

[sunhalf]

@puppetrys is so warm, he thinks as he carefully takes her hand. Even her blood —— he wonders if his blood would be warm, if he had any. If he would feel as solid and real and brave as Susie is, every moment, so effortlessly. Something in him breaks / there shouldn't be anything left in him for that, shattered as he already feels every second / around how good she is. Susie has so much more to lose with her generosity and her bravery. A real life, a real body, real friends. And she still insists that she'll save him / save all of them, no matter the cost, as if he's more than an object that exists for her. He doesn't understand. He's so selfish and he wants her to keep loving her, and that makes him the worst kind if thing. He whispers a quiet healing spell, and the wound lessens.

"Don't be sorry," Ralsei murmurs, staring down at his hand, watching the magic work, wishing there was more he could do for him. Wishing he hadn't drug Susie and Kris into a world and a story where their hearts are almost doomed to break. "I should be the one apologizing, I ——" But he stops himself. It would be almost as pathetic as it would be cruel to make Susie comfort his panic and his grief and his sorries again. "It was...good. And kind. I —— I um. I appreciate it. I just...never want you to get hurt."

[sunhalf]

@iryonin : let me help. / omg.... 4 jez (struggling against my urge to send 20 asks all 4 different charas) / accepting!

She's in no position to refuse Sakura's help, she knows. Some childish, stubborn part of her —— the same that had her disobeying her father and wandering into the greedy hands of cultists, no doubt —— resists that reality as best it can even so. It's that sliver of the woman that has her attempting to stand, only to fall to a graceless kneel when her wounded leg collapses under her. Useless, despite her best efforts.

"—— All right," she allows, scowling at her ungrateful the words sound. She tries again. "All right. Thank you. I...underestimated my prey, clearly." Sloppy work, and the monstrous man had even escaped. As wounded as she, and she's certain he won't manage a second fleeing once she finds him again, though for a girl so desperate to kill and die to erase a failure, every new one merely prolongs her purgatory. But that is not Sakura's concern —— or, at least, it shouldn't be.

Jez manages a weak, worn smile. "Sorry."

[sunhalf]

@huntskaiju : ❝ i’m in love with everything you do. ❞ ( from @huntskaiju / rin, to soma. ) / accepting!

What shocks Soma is less the words and more what prompted them.

In - love is a big, dramatic phrase that Soma's still learning the nuances of; it's different than just loving ( as if there could every be anything about love that's 'just' anything ), and usually different than the way people love families and friends. But the sentiment itself isn't new, exactly. Soma's had all sorts of praise leveled at what this body can do; that it can die and come back, that it's so strong, that it can fight a battle all alone that would usually cost countless. Soma knows she's useful, and that's part of what makes it so hard when Rin and Sagan and Narumi talk like the usefulness is bad. But other people, maybe - kinder people, maybe - crueler people, have praised this body in all sorts of ways. "I'm in love with everything you do," is new wording, but the idea is old and well - worn and has been communicated to Soma after losing a limb and fighting anyway, or dying and immediately rushing back to the field, or finishing a mission that should have killed real people. But Rin isn't saying it after watching Soma rip a Kaiju apart with her bare hands or devour it. Rin isn't saying it after watching Soma be a better tool / monster / machine than any human could possibly be.

Rin is saying it after watching Soma laugh.

Rin's words are impulsive, like she couldn't stop them, and Soma stops laughing immediately, mismatched eyes huge. Their mind blanks entirely, emptying, and they can't even remember what they were laughing about. They just stare at Rin, lips parted, not breathing.

It's not that no one has ever told this body that they appreciate how it can be used. But no one has ever told the almost - person that almost - fills this body that they love what she does because —— because Soma laughed? Rin watched this body laugh and just...said she loved them? That she loves everything they do?

Soma doesn't realize she's crying until Rin's expression morphs into something worried and her hands reach for this body's face. Soma doesn't realize they're shaking until this body's hands rise to take Rin's wrist and they can see them trembling. This body inhales hard, trying to settle, not ashamed to cry, just not wanting to worry Rin. Rin, who loves everything this body does, even the things that aren't dying or sacrificing.

Or, more impossible yet : Rin, who loves everything Soma does, and so therefore sees a 'Soma' clearly.

"Sorry!" Soma says, a watery chirp, trying to smile. They're being very kind, and she doesn't want to ruin it. "In love — I'm in love with you, too!" Not just this body; whatever speck of a being that is "Soma" loves Rin more than anything or anyone else in the entire world. That is good, and Soma and Rin have both known for a long time. But Soma is built to love nearly as much as she's built to die. She's just never considered a reality where she can be loved back like that.

( a thought —— just barely —— that she wants some of rin's blood. if she was lucky, it would let her understand how she can love something that's so frightening to her. )

"Not sad, not sad!" Maybe a lie, but she doesn't mean it to be. Maybe a lie, but she's feeling so much that if it goes any further she'll disperse and scare everyone even worse than she always does. "Just...still new! Being - loved, still new."

[iryonin]

sakura’s learned, through her travels—fading in and out of cities and villages alike, tending to the rich and the impoverished, to mixed feedback—how to discern a person's essence.    many people aren't especially kind because they don't feel they should be, don't feel their surroundings have earned the grace (embittered, most often, rather than wounded, by the past), and theirs is the kind sakura is most intimately familiar with because they accept kindness quite well.

faye hawke, by contrast, is a good person (better than most sakura's met, and she's met plenty enough to have a decently wide memory pool to choose from) but she doesn't believe it.    believes the opposite, even, for some reason sakura's yet to descry, but still tries, in her own way, to treat others well.    

she accepts sakura's gift, not because she needs it, or wants it, but (maybe, still a maybe, she can't be sure) because she doesn't want sakura to think her effort has gone to waste.    

(…or maybe not.)

it's a kind gesture nonetheless, and sakura smiles, meager and brief, but genuine.    

(though, faye might not appreciate it if she points this out.)

"you're very convincing," she says, in the tone of someone who did not try very hard at all to resist, and is, similarly, very aware of it.    "how does fifteen silver sound? it covers my board.    i don't need much else." nothing she can't procure herself, 'least.    she has little use for coin, living as she does.

@sunhalf

[sunhalf]

Hawke gives her twenty silver, because she's got coin for it now and because she remembers when she didn't. And because, while she doesn't think Sakura is a liar, she doesn't strike her as someone who will ask for more coin than she strictly needs —— and Anders attending only to needs and revolution rather than being - alive is ripping his soul out of his intestines People think she doesn't notice or care about those things, and she prefers when most strangers think her heartless and cruel despite all the ways she isn't.

"You should be shaking me down more. I'm wealthy these days." It would be bragging some anyone else, but Faye is, as ever, flat and unimpressed by most around her, including herself. Her wealth is stained with her brother's blood, and while she is glad that Leandra finally has the life she'd wanted, it brings Faye herself no joy and little comfort.

A beat — a thought. "The Templars aren't bothering you, are they?" They give Anders trouble, but he doesn't want her help, not the way she offers it.

[heartinhands]

@sunhalf

He scratches at the side of his temple with Ebony, the cold metal of the barrel pushing some of his hair up and away from his eyes. "I think most guys like me have a hot babe fetish. Whether or not said fetish comes hand-in-hand--haha--with a chastity battle...well I guess I dunno. Are we negotiating right now?" Despite his cool manner of speaking, his cheeks are in fact slightly warmed with embarrassment--nothing too crazy or even necessarily noticeable, not even a real fluster, but not even Dante is immune to the little poison humans call 'oh man that was so cringe huh.' "Walk me through your scene idea firs--t?" He can't even get through his last comment before he chokes on a laugh, swallowing it with a wiggly-lined smile that briefly turns into a toothy grin before he attempts to play it straight-faced.

[sunhalf]

She feels like she's going insane. Aika knows she's hot as hell, or at least that the glamour is — it would be, frankly, nuts if Dante wasn't into her. Even now, the quiet, insecure part of her thrills, I'm wanted, I'm wanted, I'm safe, I've earned being alive. But above all, past her well - trod ache after approval, no matter the form, this is insanely stupid. How did they go from sparring to this?

—— Sparring could be seen a fetish thing. Consensually beating each other up. The thought pushes her over the edge, and Aika gives up entirely, collapsing to the ground with a laugh, laying on her back. If he takes the opportunity to pump her full of bullets, she wouldn't even be mad.

"This is so dumb," again, still laughing, comfortable and breathy. "We were sparring — why are you so fucking cringe ——"

[sunhalf]

@puppetrys : ❝ i cannot afford to love. ❞ ( from @puppetrys / kujira, to aika. )

Kujira is so interesting. Kujira is so strong and so pretty. Usually, being around someone so strong and pretty would make Aika want to rip her skull off her spine ( which her? ), but Aika doesn't. Aika loves Kujira, and it's not even hard. That's part of why she's so interesting. So easy to love, even by gross gross broken things like Aika.

I cannot afford to love. What an interesting thing to say.

It's not like there's any other reason for a girl to be alive, except to love and be loved. It's like saying I can't afford to breathe or get fucked.

( ki's voice, careful : ai - chan. you don't believe that.

and she's right, she is. on the good days she knows it's not fair to think or say. it's not a very good day. aika is not a very good girl, even though she breathes and gets fucked so much. )

Kujira is so interesting, and being a little liar, aren't they? Kujira and Aika are warped mirrors, except Kujira only thinks they don't —— don't what? Aika feels sleepy and staticky, and the thought gets lost for a moment. Her head tilts, long hair — fake, the Glamour — smoothing over her bony — fake, the Glamour — shoulders. Kujira is so pretty. It normally makes Aika jealous to be around beautiful girls, because they fit in the mold that makes you lovable. Aika has to starve herself to squeeze in, and it doesn't even work. But she isn't jealous of Kujira, at least not the kind of jealous that makes her want to kill others / herself.

( ki's voice : you're dissociating, ai. )

Aika nods to the voice in their skull, assenting — then realizes it might seem like she's agreeing with the voice outside their skull and shakes their head rapidly. Kujira is so lovey - dovey. Kujira loves and is so loved, including by their shared beau — another thing that would make Aika rip anyone else's guts out but that doesn't bother her at all with Kujira — and is so loving, including towards their shared beau. Oh! Maybe this is Kujira letting Aika down easy? Maybe Kujira means they cannot love Aika? That would make sense. There's no reason for anybody to like Aika.

( maybe aika can let kujira fuck her? tartaglia might be mad, but then maybe kujira can love her? use and love are so close, and kujira is so —— ki's voice, hard : stop.

aika's thoughts, assenting, obediant, a good girl : okay. sorry. )

"You're being silly," Aika almost giggles, smiling something dreamy and empty and easy, she's not sure how to —— maybe it isn't about Aika at all, which feels right, too. Maybe Kujira means it literally, spending love she doesn't have. But Kujira has so much love. Kujira is so loved. Does she just need things like Aika and Tartaglia to give her more? They both would, Aika knows. "You love lots, Jira. And you're loved a lot, too."

Kujira and Aika are warped mirrors, except Kujira only thinks they don't deserve love, and Aika knows she doesn't. Aika understands. But even hazy like this, even carved out, even barely - breathing, Aika doesn't want Kujira to think ——

"Looking at you feels all...soft and warm and lovey - dovey. Like having a warm blanket over your head. That's love!"

Or suffocation. Like breathing or getting fucked, it's all the same thing.

[bioweaponry]

anastasia backs away—— rosemary does, too. gives her space, as much as she needs. they're at opposite ends of the room now, far across from each other; the distance feels like a chasm. rosemary's eyes flit to the floor, her hands folded together, her knuckles white. ( still clean. still good. ) ❝ i can—— i can control the mold, ❞ she stammers. ❝ calcify it, affect other—— other monsters it spawns. use it to fight for me. but i haven't ... i haven't hurt anyone with it. ❞

not that she'd ever tried. she wouldn't, though. she tells herself she wouldn't and it has to mean something. if not for her, then—— for anastasia. her nails dig into her skin at the thought.

❝ i'm not going to hurt you, ❞ she repeats in a whisper. she'd sooner claw the mold out of her than do that, die before laying a hand on her. maybe chris was right to keep an eye on her, keep her head in sights of a scope at all times / look at what happens when he doesn't, look at what rosemary invites every single time—— scorn, disgust, fear. ❝ i don't—— i can't prove it to you, but i mean it. ❞

[sunhalf]

NOT GONNA HURT YOU, isn't that a fucking' laugh / that's not fair, that's not fair / WHY DO I HAVE TO BE FAIR?! Rosemary echoes a different monster than the one that scarred her outsides, and Anastasia winces from that, too. It's an easy promise to make, and a harder one to live into, so says the second person alive who should have loved her. She's going to pass out, and then at least if the monster killed her it couldn't hurt.

I haven't hurt anyone with it. That's true, right? It's not like she hasn't had opportunities to hurt her. If Rose wanted Anastasia dead or tortured or infected, she's had plenty of chances. Her hands press hard against the sides of her head, like if she squeezes hard enough her brain might break and stop fucking tormenting her.

"Okay, okay ——" She hates how her voice sounds / not like she believes her, but like she's afraid of pissing her off. It's not even true, not really. She's just panicking, defaulting to the lessons she learned even before the lodge, when she was just suffocating under the bad thing and not the worse one. "I — fuck, I'm sorry, I'm —— I'm just s - scared, I'm..." Inhale, exhale. You've managed worse. "I'm still here. Just gimme a — a second."

[sunhalf]

my ralsei gender thoughts are invariably wrapped up in my kris gender thoughts which is why i've talked about neither of them. every time i try i'm like 'this shit is gonna take 3 hours to type' and i give up. but someday. someday.

[sunhalf]

the comparatively short and messy and simplified version is that i hc kris as being transmasc, and transness is totally fine in monster societies but is kind of socially complicated for humans for all the reasons it's complicated socially for humans now. and kris grows up not only wanting to be a monster (red headband) but wanting to be seen as masculine.

ralsei is NOT just an extension of kris or whatever. but he is at least partially born out of kris's desire to like. be the identity that they are/wanted as a kid, which is masculine. not a 'fluffy boy' exactly, but definitely closer to that then to any kind of a girl. so ralsei comes into existence and he is a monster boy! he is a sweet you might say feminine monster boy (because, again, he's not JUST an extension of kris's stuff, he is a whole person) but at a base level a lot of the basic tenants of his identity (monster who looks a lot like asriel, boyish, etc) as they manifest initially are pretty firmly based on this like, sketch of an identity that kris wanted for themself as a child.

that kris has, by and large, achieved by the time they and ralsei meet! and it's not that ralsei Dislikes being a fluffy boy. he likes being a fluffy boy! but he isn't a fluffy boy because he chose it, he is a fluffy boy because. well?? he guesses because he just is, and because that's useful to kris? or it was, once? maybe? and it's this kind of thought process, this realization that like every other aspect of his identity his fucking Sense Of Gender was born out of his darkner-born need to Be Useful that eventually has him go Wait A Second. I Should Get To Make Choices About My Identity. it's very organic as he gets more comfortable asserting identity in other ways that his sense of his own gender gets a little wiggly. and it's scary but it's freeing! she/they/he ralsei real. but not yet

[ategod]

❝    that doesn’t narrow it down for me.    ❞    she listens to her breathe,  listens to the shallow inhale and release of air through her lungs and back out into the air again.  if she was a little younger,  a little more naive,  perhaps she’d assume the best and give this stranger a break,  maybe she’d get up and leave her alone and reeling in that car—  but people lie. it’s never just an observation. never just a check-in.    ❝    dso?  fbi?  bsaa?  come on, i’m not a mind reader.    ❞    the rearview mirror is angled low enough for her to catch a good look at the other’s face,  to meet @sunhalf’s eyes.    ❝    i’m not usually stalked unless somebody wants to hurt me,  so sorry if i don’t really believe you.    ❞

[sunhalf]

She considers it for only a moment, meeting Alice's eyes without hesitation or flinching, just something hard and considering. Then, Mia says, voice flat, "BSAA." And it's the truth. Not the whole truth — but she knows enough to know that few bear Umbrella any love, and mentioning Blue Umbrella's involvement would likely go poorly. The BSAA are most of the parts that matter. "My name is Mia Winters. We both know I'm no match for you physically — again, if someone was here to kill you, it wouldn't be me."

She gets it. She does. Lord knows Mia is more paranoid than most and has more than earned that paranoia. She doesn't know the whole story, but anyone that BSAA keeps tabs on has probably had a life just as shitty as Mia's had, at least.

[sunhalf]

my ralsei gender thoughts are invariably wrapped up in my kris gender thoughts which is why i've talked about neither of them. every time i try i'm like 'this shit is gonna take 3 hours to type' and i give up. but someday. someday.

[puppetrys]

despite it all—— despite everything rosemary has been through, has endured—— she flinches away from anastasia’s voice. from the fear, the disgust in it. ( of course, it'd been foolish; it'd been foolish to think she'd deserved this friendship. ) rosemary raises both hands and steps away, gives her the space to breathe / to think / to trust? it's far too late for that one, now. ❝ i just—— i was born with it. the mold, i mean. i didn't choose to—— ❞ breathe, rose, breathe. ❝ i can control it, i promise. ❞ she's thankful that it hasn't started to spread across her skin just yet. she doesn't know what to do if it does.

[sunhalf]

I CAN CONTROL IT, I PROMISE. But what is ' it? ' It's gross, it's disgusting, it's like accelerated rotting. The MOLD, Rosemary called it. Entropy in her fingertips. ( her mind torments with images : imagines adrian decaying, skin melting from flesh. ) It isn't Rose's fault. It isn't Anastasia's fault, either, in the way there is so little that can be called ANASTASIA rather than a collection of WARPED RESULTS. Instincts bred in terror and without power. She wants to kill Rosemary. She wants to die. She wants to be safe and is never going to get it. She wants ——

"It's not the same." She wants to believe that it isn't all horrible. She wants to believe that if impossible things that are monstrous can exist, so can impossible things that are good. Her scarred hands press to her scarred face. Her entire body is a diary entry of something else's violence. It isn't fair. IT CAN'T FEEL FAIR TO ROSE, EITHER.

"Just —— gimme a sec, I —— fuck." Her back hits the wall and she slides to sit. It's not so bad. If Rose is a monster and she kills her, it's a lateral move at worse. Not like she's getting any better. "I...fuck. I don't —— I can't breathe." She's having a panic attack. Of course she is. She laughs, joyless and airless. "What — what can you d - do, Rose?"

[spirestar]

When Lucien chuckles under his breath, it's a soft thing and not directed at Frisk. It's impossible to resist feeling the joy that comes from the child's bright and wide smile, the way their words trickle and adjust for the happiness. It's so terribly sweet. He wouldn't even charge them if they'd accept it, but it's becoming obvious that Frisk is the kind of kid who wants to do good and, above that, wants to be responsible for this gift. He won't take that from them!

"Oh, of course! Here, let's go put everything on my workstation and we'll see if you like all of them wrapped up." Lucien waves them over to the right side of the shop where he has a wide wooden table covered in pink and green supply organizers, each drawer filled with paper of all colors, twine, little cards for gifts and pens and markers. He gathers up the flowers they've talked about and leads the way over. "I have plain white paper, but also some patterned ones in here--" After setting down the flowers, he pulls out a few rolls of paper from one drawer and sets them all on the table surface so Frisk can reach them and look it all over. "Any catch your eye?"

[sunhalf]

Frisk hums softly in thought as they gaze at the offerings. The patterned ones are nice! Chara is paying a little more attention now that they're not purely picking flowers, and offers small comments as Frisk reviews their shared options. They touch a few, going slow, both to give Chara time to speak and to give themself a break from it —— losing their voice entirely would be a pain. They're not any good at sign yet, and there's no guarantee this person would know it, even if Frisk or Chara had more mastery.

Frisk touches one for a long time, white with barely - visible, raised, floral designs in a slightly different shade of white. Subtle, pretty, without being distracting. Chara approves, too. Frisk looks to the other, smiling again. "This o - o - one?" they suggest, head tilting. "And a little...note? The sm - small tag th — thingies?" They could elaborate but don't, smile going briefly apologetic. They'd like to write a note to go in the flowers, though.