Here's a challenge! 9 with votez franckenstein :3c? Love uuuu💟💟💟💟💟
9 - “Please, just… be safe. Come back to me.”/ Votez!Franckenstein
Franck still wakes up gasping every night.
Nothing about their life now is the same as before: not the same bed, the same house, the same country. Sometimes not even the same language. Memories, feverish and unreal, were the only thing Franck carried over from that other life - during the day they don’t bother Franck much, but the nights, they haunt them endlessly. It’s routine at this point: waking up at three-thirty, clutching their chest, pounding heart and painted cheeks and the glint of a guillotine’s blade against their throat. They only wish they could forget but cannot. Too much of this current life relies on accepting that all that which came before happened.
Franck pushes the covers aside. Their feet, so cold against the carpet.
There is no more hope of sleep tonight.
A light flickers on. Franck makes their way downstairs, fastening their dressing gown tighter around them for warmth, then peers wearily past the corner (another habit, one they can’t shake; always peering, always quiet, always holding their breath trying and trying and trying to find the exit) into the living room. The room is lit and a gentle, familiar face alights it; seeing him, Franck cannot help but let out a sigh of relief. The man startles when he hears them (yes they are both very jittery people now they can’t help it), but relaxes faster than Franck does, silently pushing aside his canvas and inviting them to sit.
“Mike,” Franck says. His eyes are soft and warm and match their own.Their new husband. Artist. Professor. Fellow survivor, too, of the literal game show France had been until six months ago; when Votez imploded the rest of the country did also, but it was still good for purposes of marriage. Unfortunately, neither France nor Belgium has had much good to spare for the two of them since - the former because it is passively hostile to their plight, and the latter because it doesn’t even know how to begin to help them. But Franck’s new husband has the will of iron, and recovered from the ordeal and the whims of nostalgia, it is he who holds the two of them aloft. “Mike, I had a dream.”
“What did you dream about?”
He knows perfectly well what. Votez is all they dream about and all they ever will, either the show or the dark labyrinthine corridors they were imprisoned in for refusing to follow its script. Yet even so, Mike always knows to ask - knows to validate Franck’s fears, as Franck does for him. (He used to be worse than them in both physical health and mental state.) He is used to this ritual, knows to expect it, knows exactly how to comfort Franck when they seek his warmth during the night. Franck looks down at their lap and pulls Mike’s hand close, links their fingers with his own. Their knuckles are turning snow white from the sheer strength of their grip. “Worse than yesterday. Losing you.”
That’s the only hand Mike has left. His other arm remains steadfast beneath his dressing gown, drooping sleeves concealing the lack. “That will never happen, Franck. Not after we’ve been through so much, not after what I swore to you.” He kisses their forehead and cradles them close, sensing that Franck has more to say. “Was it just that, or…?”
There is no response for a long time.
“… Franck?”
They close their eyes against his shoulder. “Sebastian.”
Mike tenses visibly; his hand slowly slides out of their grip, and although he’s intending to embrace Franck properly all they can focus on is the absence.
“Don’t leave me!” Franck begs, clutching at Mike’s hand for dear life. Neither of them like mentioning that name (ex-President) because it just has (gameshow host) too many damn memories (murderer) attached to it. But trauma likes confrontation and will stop at nothing to restructure people’s lives around it. “Recently, I can’t seem to... I keep thinking of what could have happened, if he’d dragged me back to the set and left you to die, left so many others to die.” That very nearly did happen. Franck’s voice rises in pitch. “All you asked of me was to please just be safe and please come back but... but I let you down! All I had to do was to reach you in time and I couldn’t - I - I couldn’t even...!”
“Franck!”
And there is, what Franck has been waiting for: Mike’s command, or the closest thing to it, as he has never raised his voice to Franck for anything. Franck droops against his shoulder with a sob tearing through their ribcage - yet all their terror bleeds out in that instant, lost in Mike’s warmth, not to return again for some time. “What happened there was not your fault, love, and never would have been,” he continues as quietly as he beseeched, finally drawing Franck into his embrace. “but I’ll have you know - before you came to rescue me, I fully expected that I would not live. I believe the odds swung in our favour because you were there.”
“Should have gotten us out sooner.” Franck’s voice is tearful, muffled against his shoulder. “Never should have let him scar you like this.”
“Without you he wouldn’t have stopped at mere scars.” Mike kisses their forehead. “You saved my life, Franck. You came back to me. That is enough.”
I’m at a payphone trying to call homeAll of my change I spent on youWhere have the times gone, baby, it’s all wrongWhere are the plans we made for two
Here are some voicemails long since deleted by Franck Rivoire.
Voicemail 01: Recorded Jun 26, 6:23pm
Gesaffelstein: Monsieur Rivoire.
G.: [Short pause.] Good afternoon, Monsieur. The Chairman conveys his regrets that you couldn’t be here today, and he hopes that you’ll be well soon. [Pause. Shuffling of papers.] Your article is still due on Friday, of course. Specifically the one from when you visited Nantes. Alone.
G.: [Small intake of breath. Five seconds.]
G.: … That will be all, save for one more message from the chairman. There will be a party at some point in the next month or two, to celebrate his first full year at the office. The date is not yet set, but the announcement came an hour ago; it was only right to let you know. [Pause.] You will find out more as the days pass, I imagine. As far as I know, it will be held at a function room in one of the hotels nearby. Plus ones are permitted, as are friends. We are encouraged to bring some as he is quite intent on making an impression.
G.: But then, of course. I forgot.
G.: [Quiet snicker, followed by a markedly lowered tone of voice:]
G.: You don’t have any friends now, do you, Franckie?
[END VOICEMAIL]
Yeah, I know it’s hard to rememberThe people we used to beIt’s even harder to pictureThat you’re not here next to me
Voicemail 02: Recorded Jul 18, 10:16pm
Gesaffelstein: [Inaudible murmur for the first twenty seconds. Sound of water running in the background, perhaps a bathtub. Radio and TV both on, one of which is the evening news, full volume; all of those sounds are so loud as to drown out the foreground noise, G.’s own voice included. G.’s voice is increasingly stifled with emotion as the recording goes on.]
G.: - not a writer, not a journalist, and definitely not an artist. I know you’re watching the story too, even if you aren’t taking my calls; you hear that, Franckie? You want me to turn the volume up from this end? [Does not.] Because I know you’d hate to miss it. Imagine going out of business because the mayor of goddamned Nantes sued you for slander. [Laughter.]
G.: Oh, it’ll pass. I mean, there’s fuck all to do in Nantes; you were just the convenient target, just be sure to thank the chairman for bailing you out later. Yeah? They only didn’t name you out of some theoretical respect for your dignity, but really, you aren’t shit, Franck Rivoire. Not that you needed to hear it from me for the hundredth time, but what the hell. [The tap is abruptly shut off.] Have a present. Why not! It’s our one month anniversary - of you breaking us up! I’m so glad we made it, Franckie, let’s be miserable together forever! [Bitter laughter. Faint splash of water.]
G.: Jesus Christ.
G.: [Continues to laugh, until he begins to sob instead in earnest. A full minute passes before either the TV or the radio is shut off, though the other remains on in the background.]
G.: Franckie. Franckie... why?
[END VOICEMAIL]
You say it’s too late to make it,But is it too late to try?And in our time that you wastedAll of our bridges burned down
Voicemail 03: Recorded Aug 12, 3:30am
Gesaffelstein: [Slurring very heavily throughout the recording; clearly intoxicated. Pronunciation unclear in some parts.] Hello? Hello? It’s me. Mike. First of all, it was lovely seeing you last night, chickpea, it’s been a-a-ges; funny how like... fucking hell, you were the one person I ought to’ve expected... heh. Never doubted you for a second [Inaudible], you always take me by surprise.
G.: Thank you for the coupons. I didn’t want to say it out loud in front of everybody, but you were spot on: I don’t think I’ve walked past a spa since I began working here. I’m overdue for a good old sugar scrub at the least; you’re right, I do need a day out to myself, don’t I. [Pause, seven seconds. The sound of a cork popping.] Too much’s been going on. Hell. Thanks for putting a word in for me at Lancôme, too. [Inaudible] - of the modelling business for so long it’s surprising anyone remembers me, let alone wants me back occasionally. [Pouring sounds. Pause. Three seconds.]
G.: That said, darling.
G.: [A glass clinks heavily upon a wooden surface.]
G.: Are you out of your mind?!
G.: [G.’s voice is a little clearer from this point on. Coaxing.] My dearest. Sweetheart. Honeybun. I thought we were over this years ago. Wild horses couldn’t drag me kicking and screaming back to the modelling industry; thanks for getting my name out there, but as for working for them? No thanks. You know how bad it was there. You were the one who helped me get out in the first place; so why, why, oh why on earth would you want me to go back? [Laughter.] Did I look that unhappy at the party or something?
G.: [Laughter, bittersweet, but not malicious.] Not that I blame you. I am unhappy and you had every reason to think that, even if we didn’t get the chance to hash it out. [Pouring sounds.] I don’t blame you, chickpea, you’re just trying to help a friend out at his time of need. Speaking of that, though - did you get a chance to talk to Franck at the party? You’ve got to spill the beans if you did, I’ll spill mine; Jesus, you won’t believe what the bastard did to me. [Heavy thud.] I’m no use to mistreatment - all that time with my fellow models, oh yes, with those glorious sons of bitches, we’ve all been bought, been sold - and yet after all this time taking the high road you’d think there would be some...
G.: ... Fucking... wrong number.
[END VOICEMAIL]
I’ve wasted my nights,You turned out the lightsNow I’m paralyzedStill stuck in that timeWhen we called it loveBut even the sun sets in paradise
Voicemail 04: Recorded Sep 24, 3:03pm
Gesaffelstein: I went to our old pâtisserie today.
G.: [Pause.]
G.: Well. Mine. I never got to take you. [Pause.] They still do your favourite macarons. The melon one’s still exquisite, you know. I mean. I know.
G.: Didn’t think they’d recognize me after so many months away. They remember you, too, and gave me an extra box of cinnamon and red bean for you. [Longer pause.] ... Just... call me... or leave me a message, when you get this... and I’ll put them on your desk on Monday.
G.: [Lengthy silence. Quiet breathing sounds, at one point marginally louder, as if the receiver was hitched closer to his lips.]
G.: ... There was a couple in there. Two men. I’d say a little older than us. [Pause.] They were holding the cutest little boy in their arms. They were in front of me at the counter and I waved at the kid and he smiled at me. Well. Maybe a he. I couldn’t tell. Just a baby, really. A happy family.
G.: [Silence. When he next speaks his voice is very quiet.]
G.: ... I’d have liked one, too...
[END VOICEMAIL]
If happy ever afters did exist,I would still be holding you like thisAll those fairy tales are full of shitOne more fucking love song, I’ll be sick
Notes: w e l p
I knew that I was going to do this the earliest out of all the shuffle fic requests I received but it took me this long to figure out how lmao. I’m so sorry I’m lagging behind on everything let me die ;A ; aaaaaaaaaaaaaIn the absence of identifying information I am going to assume you’re an anon aware of the shenanigans happening over at @akchotesuggestion. So yeah. Something to sink y’alls teeth into. Try comparing some of the voicemail dates here to the earlier ‘cher journal’ entries (like this one) for a nice bonus :3
Puuuuursuit au 💃 idc what couple go dark or cute or sad or Idk ily
💃🏼- Dancing / Pursuit AU!Franckenstein
On their first wedding-day the skies were clear, blue glass stretched overhead as wide and deep as the sea, and although they were alone and no one was there to watch them, they danced the afternoon away. They drove to the nearest mairie in the morning, got married there, and drove back safely unwitnessed and united at last. They put out two deckchairs and set a record player by the open door of the cabin; Franck slipped out of their suit and into a light sundress they’d purchased for the occasion, while Gesaffelstein cast off his jacket and loosened his tie; with laughing smiles and deepening kisses they danced in each other’s arms, first to a summery ballad then to slow loving croons. “Just imagine,” Franck said dreamily, resting their head on their husband’s shoulder, his jewel gleaning bright upon their left hand. “two whole weeks of just us, Gesa, when we’re not practicing our dance in advance for the other wedding.”
“Oh, we’ll make it a spectacular one, all right,” Gesaffelstein laughed, “dance and wedding both; everyone will see at last that you’re mine.”
It was late when he made his way back to Paris. Without a mortal body Gesaffelstein could rely only on his own movements to get anywhere, but he neither hungered nor thirsted and he was as quick as the wind; he only regretted that he had consciousness enough to be uncomfortable about this. His spirit could move, yes, but he could do so little to affect his surroundings that he didn’t feel as if he was connected or relevant to the earthly world anymore.
He supposed he was not. Death had left the job unfinished enough for him to fulfill his purpose, but no more. A boon, perhaps, but his fury had burned itself out during his travels and he doubted he could ever get the job done. No one could even see him, let alone be compelled by him. None, save for one, and he was a Belgian who had nothing to do with him nor his spouse; what help could he possibly give to this cause?
He wandered down streets once familiar and hesitated to turn towards his home, where he knew a dejected Franck must be alone and asleep. They were safe there for the time being, most likely. He could not leave them for too long, but glancing down the alleyways Gesaffelstein was reminded of a friend he had not seen in some time; being dead and no longer being in control of one’s affairs had that effect, he was probably forgetting a host of other people as well. Soon Gesaffelstein wouldn’t even have that knowledge, the world would move on without him and what little that kept him bound here would fade away; yes, it was best to check up on his friend while he still remembered.
Three blocks down, all the way to the right.
He was the closest thing to a neighbour he and Franck had had, but they’d all known each other from work before. Gesaffelstein arrived at the doorstep - raised his hand to knock, remembered that he couldn’t do that anymore - and glided through the door, making a beeline for the living room.
It was still lit. His friend was sitting on the armchair, nursing a drink in one hand, staring blankly at his laptop screen. Gesaffelstein had just enough time to take in how disheveled and tired the man seemed before he suddenly looked up and stared at the doorway where he stood.
Can he...?
Their eyes met, as impossible as it sounded. Gesaffelstein remained frozen in place, one hand resting on the doorway as he would have done in life. He didn’t know when recognition kicked in, but it absolutely did, and the moment the other’s eyes lit up he was consumed with disbelief - because he had found another who could perceive him so soon, and also because he had never been told about the other’s ability to see ghosts while he was alive.But perhaps he wouldn’t have believed him then. His friend rose from his seat and reached for the wine bottle on the side, refilling his glass - before he picked up a new glass and filled that one as well, the two standing side by side.
“I thought you might at least appreciate the gesture,” Louis Brodinski said, and smiled sadly. “your widower’s in trouble, Gesa.”
As a man he thieved countless things, though this was absurd.Hearts, he stole plenty. Same for time and opportunities. And when a lover came into his life, Gesaffelstein stole them away too, beginning from a single innocent kiss on their cheek as they lay tearful and asleep on their own sofa. Ironic, then, that that was the only time he’d ever felt guilty; it’d only been different to all the other times he had taken what was not his, because with his lover, he’d genuinely believed that he was helping.
And who knew? Perhaps he had. Certainly his lover believed so.And that was the damnedest thing, for Gesaffelstein might have been permitted the time to show his true colours had their lover not visited him later in his office, rewarding him with a shy thanks and a small kiss on the back of his hand. Little did that lover know how that one kiss inflamed him, inwards and outwards and in all the ways he had never deserved to feel before, because in the end he was still a thief and what remained of his conscience never let him forget it. But it was too late, the love was tasted - and the damage was done.
For months he took and took and was never fully satisfied. One kiss stolen led to hundreds more. He stole all his lover’s heart had to give and raged that there was not more of it. It was only during nights that he could admit to himself that something was going very wrong somewhere - but by the time he had any concrete plans as to what to do, his lover had pulled away, considering themselves deceived. In a way, he found that helpful, because he now had an excuse to talk of his own heart as stolen and abandoned; nothing, including threats of eternal damnation, was more important than avoiding responsibility where he knew he’d messed up the hardest. And so Gesaffelstein let his eyes grow cold and withdrew his hand every time it threatened to be helpful, only the quiet embers of that first stolen flame keeping him chained to the world.
He hated thieves thereafter, though this was absurd.
Unrequited - one character longing for the other(500 words)
It’s a fascinating brand of obliviousness, the one Franck Rivoire has.He wonders if Franck will notice any time now.
For all new hires, Gesaffelstein has a policy. He joins them for lunch. Takes them out, sometimes. It’s a trying time for the hires involved, Gesaffelstein is legendary in the office for slow eating; this means long conversations and a legitimate interest, though, so more often than not they relax eventually. (Those who don’t never tend to last too long; they haven’t the patience to endure a meal, let alone journalism.) He’s usually done this by the first week; Franck is the sole exception so far. It’s been two weeks and he just can’t seem to get the other’s attention.
It’d be too late today, as well. He had to have lunch at a meeting. He wonders what Franck had. He seems to enjoy interesting choices for lunch, whether packed from home or bought at the cafeteria. Underestimating the former was a mistake from Gesaffelstein’s part, he’s sure: he approached Franck when the other was about halfway into his lunch, slipping him a wink and a mind if I join you for lunch? for good measure, and he’d nodded. Gesaffelstein just never expected Franck to stay only for his lunch, that’s all; not five minutes later, Franck closed his lunchbox and bid him a cheerful farewell as he returned to his cubicle, leaving a stunned Gesaffelstein behind. He was rather incensed at the time, he’s not remotely over it still - but funny as it sounds, it’s not in a bad way. No. The opposite.
Gesaffelstein taps his pen. His eyes never leave the opposite cubicle, Franck filling out paperwork and sipping coffee like nothing else matters. As he watches, Franck briefly clenches his pen between his teeth and rises in his seat to search for the cap. Gesaffelstein holds his breath, his gaze fixed intensely on the white of Franck’s teeth and the luscious fullness of his mouth; tender, hungry, altogether submissive-looking. His stare has become so concentrated by this time that even Franck notices after a few seconds, blinking in Gesaffelstein’s direction before he ducks back into his chair, barely able to hide the shy blush on his cheeks.
Ah, blessed one. I shall enjoy lunch with you yet.
“Monsieur.”
“’Gesaffelstein’ is fine, I’m no sole Monsieur,” he answers, barely managing to hide his irritation at the disturbance; he extends his hand without looking back at the person behind them, and accepts the documents. “that will be all for today, I trust?”
“Yes, as you said. Nothing else,” Franck gets up, logs off, and hurries out of the room. Gesaffelstein watches him go, as does the other journalist, and then when he’s out of the door he gives Gesaffelstein a sidelong smile. “what - the new hire caught your eye? He is cute.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” a little smile alights on Gesaffelstein’s lips before fading. “… but tell me; are they not designed for capture?”
My life is brilliant, my love is pureI saw an angel, of that I’m sureShe smiled at me on the subwayShe was with another man…
Dearest F.
By the time you read this I will have returned to France. I would have liked to say goodbye and tell you when I was coming back, but there was no time for the former and I didn’t know if I should tell you the latter. In full truth I don’t know when I can return, nor if I will; even if I survived, I couldn’t have lived with myself if I ended up lying to you. Too many people have lied and manipulated and twisted your life about already. I cannot be a part of it.
He wanted to keep this from you as long as he could. There’s no time for that anymore, either, and so I write with his permission: Gesa’s running out of time. Neither of us know how long he has. I foresee no more than a month, if that. His vengeance must be taken before then. Here is our plan, for reference.
We have in our possession the collective evidence - both against the President’s conduct, and for his organization of Gesa’s murder - both in testimonial and article form. We will make our way to the borders of France, then tentatively advance towards Paris, releasing what information we have in intervals. Gesa has tasked me to take him as close to Sebastian as I am able, then return to Belgium at the earliest possible moment so that I may resume looking after you. There will be help along the way, but no matter how we slice it, this much is true: I will be alone when I escape France, if I even can.
Please do not resent him for this. It was I who drew up the plan. Someone has to be able to keep up with Gesa, and host him if need be. No one can be trusted to do this in short order - no one, unless we infringe on M. Rifo’s life and hearth more than we have already done.
I refuse to do that. And I refuse to let Gesa be killed twice. So I will go.
And God forgive me, F. - I am terrified.
I tell you all of this so that you know what is at stake for your husband, and by extension, how much of a coward I am. I would have died for this man while he lived, yet now that he is dead and I have his blessings to adore you, all I want to do is to run into your arms; my God, you must be disgusted by my conduct.It was because of this fear I tried to avoid thinking about this day. I’m ashamed to say that for a long time, I tried to convince Gesa he ought to rest, urging him to spend his time with you while he still remained on earth. His response was to tell me that I didn’t know what you were like, and there was nothing I could say to that.
That reply still shames me, because I know it to be true.
Truth be told, F. - I am never sure what you think of me. Truth be told - ah, your husband stands beside me, how infinitely understanding he is of my cowardice - I am deeply afraid, both for you and him. I know Gesa must fade away, but I cannot even begin to imagine how you will take it, nor am I sure you will need me with you to comfort you. All that you have done to resist Sebastian, seek shelter in Belgium, and elevate yourself to safety were the result of your own will and resourceful heart. I can never be of more help than you are to yourself, nor will I be able to replace what has come and gone.
…
I had hoped I would be able to confess to you, face to face.I am sorry. I wish I could have done so many things differently and this is one of those things. As late as I am, here they are.
I love you.
I know full well there was no right time for me to say it. Since before I was your wedding-guest I have loved you. You are kind, fiercely protective, so gentle-spirited that being in your arms is akin to a cool breeze on a warm summer day. Try as I might, I cannot forget that morning I first met you, returning to the office with a basketful of stray kittens; you weren’t obliged to save them, let alone in the middle of work, but you did. The first act I saw you do was to make a difference in so many lives, of the kittens and their new owners and myself included - when I first fell for your smile, as you greeted me, and offered me a soft kitten to hold. But it was Gesa you chose. Deservedly so. I had never before seen nor felt so much love in my life as I did when I watched the pair of you. I do not think there was a better match in the world than that of between you and him. Please believe me that I grieved and still grieve his passing; even before his apparition came to me, I knew I would not emerge the same. I go forth to Paris alongside him, not just because he permits me to court you or because I owe him debts I can never repay, but simply because I love him as well. If I must do something meaningful in my life, let it be to correct the injustice that befell you and him, the only people I have ever known happiness with.
How I long to turn back and wake you, wrap you in my arms.Alas, time is short. Gesa is waiting for me; here I make my close, dearest one. In the event I do not return, you will find my last testament and will on my pillow, sealed in an A4 envelope. Please do not open it or survey the contents until you know for certain I am dead. Please send M. Rifo my regards, and both of you - stay safe, no matter what. When the mission is complete, Gesa will return to you at a moment’s notice; you’ll know when it happens.
I love you, I love you. Do not wait for me.
- L. Brodinski.
There must be an angel with a smile on her faceWhen she thought up that I should be with youBut it’s time to face the truthI will never be with you
Notes: First of all I did not make this about Brodi just because of the lyrics ‘she could see from my face that I was / fucking high’ how dare okay maybe slightly. As much as this song’s logic doesn’t make sense to me sometimes, I think it is potentially the most perfect summary of Brodi’s sufferings in every AU I have where he loves Franck. It’s that way in liberté and certainly the case in Pursuit AU, as I hope I illustrated here. Excepting maybe hard gopnik au, but Brodi’s one true love there is his kinkyboss so uh. Yeah. Hnhnhnnhnhh I’m just trash for unrequited / delayed-love pinings ;A ; thankfully he lives and it all gets better!!!
I’m happy to try for a Denial AU token if you so wish as well. If you aren’t @lisa-franck and are still reading this, I would like to briefly take this time to vouch for that AU as a damned excellent one; I am only too happy to contribute content to it.Thank you so much for putting up with me <3333333333333
(I’ll assume you mean the current state of their relationship in aksug. Gesa isn’t out of the story 100% and answers to this ship change depending on timescale so just clarifying)
The ship is my: NOTP alert🚨 alert🚨 Franck 🚨get 🚨the 🚨fuck 🚨out
I consider this ship’s feelings: Mutual | Mixed | Strange | Awkward | Platonic | Sibling-like | One-sided | Gesa only wishes he could stop liking them | Definitely no bueno for Franck though | This pisses Gesa off like almost nothing else | Classic case of deepest love turned into deepest loathing | But the thing is Gesa is legitimately on Franck’s side | When it comes to the whole them not being killed or hurt by the new French regime thing | Which while a valid concern | Is also shared by many other people | So it’s not like Franck needs protectors??? | Respecting their autonomy is just so hard for him apparently
I’d consider the relationship: Healthy | Awkward | it’s textbook ABUSIVE it is not good it is not ideal stop stop stopppp | Doesn’t work properly | They’d never get together
Children: No for Franck forever and ever and ever | Still somehow yes for Gesa | They’d think about it IN HELL
General Opinion: Where do I even begin.
Liberté!Gesa is probably my best written yandere, but that’s uh, not a good thing. When I write sequences involving them, it is important to me that Gesa’s legitimate concern for Franck comes through (but is equally unsupported by his actions, because all the good intentions in the world do not excuse what he does) and that Franck is much too strong to be bent against their will. This is the wasted_potential.txt relationship of aksug because pretty much every possible gesture of goodwill that can pass between them will fall flat. Because Franck rightfully wants nothing to do with him, because Gesa cannot accept that Franck no longer wants him, because Franck has no reason nor want to take the few pieces of valid advice Gesa has to offer, because Gesa finds it infuriating that his attempts to be cordial are being rejected, and so on. An ouroboros of terror.
Sometimes I think all would be better off if I published The Benediction fully and then made it so that the terrible future never happened, but I confess that the character development given to both Franck and Gesa through the horrible times is very fascinating. I do find a lot of lib!franckenstein material distressing to write, and only their past loveliness keep me alive tbqh. It’s important to talk about the good times narrative-wise, because it helps make sense of why those characters obsess over/reject the things they do - I think the sheer extent to which the franckenstein went to shit in aksug would simply not have been believable if it hadn’t been clear that it used to be loving between them. That level of furious and obsessive doesn’t occur with some rando you went out with to ease your temporary ennui.
Gesa cares for Franck. That is true. Gesa wants Franck alive and happy. That is also true. Cool motives! Still abuse. I’ve pretty much determined how their story ends in aksug from start to end - I don’t want to spoil, but I hope you will find it interesting when it comes to that point, and the one thing I can let on is that they are never, ever, getting back together.
