#ch || phoebe.

[distortedfabrications]

@mrxna

     Phoebe shuts the front door behind her and locks it for the evening. She’s just left Phaedrus at the neighbors-- he is just a house over, spending the night with the neighbor’s daughter. They were the same age, after all, and neither family could see any harm in letting them spend time together. It also gave the Jaspers some time to themselves.

     She doesn’t announce her re-entry into the house; she knows Elliott and Xander have probably managed their way to the bedroom already. That’s fine with her. Phoebe had insisted not to wait on her-- the Mercers always manage to get her to stick around longer than she ever intends.

     When she gets to the bedroom, Phoebe takes the tie out of her hair and moves to her closet to pull off and set down her shoes. She doesn’t have to look to the bed yet to know that one of them has already gone to sleep. Elliot’s quick, worrisome thoughts have laid to rest with him.

[distortedfabrications]

@mrxna

     “Let me see it. You said it yourself-- you said it worked. I have a right to see my child.” Those words-- “a right”-- “my child”-- burn on her tongue. It’s an abomination. Phoebe-- a given name, not her own-- has not quite coped with this idea of the thing she created. She isn’t supposed to be part of this cycle. Humanity’s ideas bear weight on her. She’s been dulled down to this; a thing with wings, a piece of an experiment, a lab rat. English feels like her only language. Her body’s deranged by this idea of a sex-- of being human. The dissociation between herself and the angels is a mess in her head.

     But she’s an angel.

     And the thing she unwillingly helped procreate is an abomination.

     It shouldn’t exist.

     “Let me see it. I want to hold it-- I want to-- I want to hold my child.”

[distortedfabrications]

poshelnakhui

     Phoebe considered not saying anything about that sexist thought that she heard worming around in Vladimir’s head. It’s not so easily dismissed, though. “--You’re disgusting.”