Qpr where Simon fights tooth and nail against Grace. Qpr where he’s flighty and defensive and doesn’t see Grace as his angel or his savior, because all he can think is ‘what if this is a hallucination? What if I’m still dying down there? What if?’ Qpr where Grace is trying his damndest to make Simon happy even though he knows Simon doesn’t trust him whatsoever, because he knows what it’s like to be left for dead far, far away from home. Qpr where they slowly warm up to each other, and qpr where Grace shows him Earth through the Artificial Outdoors Display room and he gets so sad and homesick explaining Earth that it suddenly clicks that Grace isn’t his captor, or a monster, but a human who’s been alone just like him.
Qpr where Simon starts trailing after Grace. Where he starts orbiting him like the moon he died on, greedily drinking in the light of the brightest, strongest star he’s ever seen. Qpr where he is constantly touching Grace, and where Grace is constantly touching him, both so touch-starved that every couch and bed is shared no matter how tight the fit because they just want to be together. Qpr where they can never imagine a world that ended differently—a world in which they didn’t meet each other—a world in which they had, in fact, died alone without a single human soul who cared.
Prompt: What happens when a living weapon resists having a particular memory erased?
CW: living weapon, conditioning, memory erasure, nose bleed, mention of starvation and sleep deprivation
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
Signal War Masterlist /// Short Fics Masterlist /// Main Masterlist
After he comes out the other side of compliance conditioning, they go for his memories.
First to go is his last name, the name his team would yell when he messed up, or huff with quiet pride when he didn't.
Then, he loses the name he grew up hearing from his mother’s mouth.
After that, he forgets all names.
Memories of his childhood spread and smear like watercolour paintings doused with water.
There is a mercy in forgetting who he is. The past becomes an empty landscape, devoid of refuge. There no need to seek safety if there is none to be had.
He doesn’t try to search for landmarks that might hint to a story of who he is. Doing so sends stabbing pains through his head, and blood spilling out his nose.
Easier to simply drift into soft focus.
Unanchored in identity, there is no pain of reaching for the past or the future. No need for endurance. There is always only now.
It hurts, or it doesn’t. This is all there is.
They don’t bother with privacy when discussing him, not anymore. The words don’t matter, haven’t for a long time. They wash over him.
They’re pleased with his progress. He is finally ready for physical conditioning.
In the first weeks, they’d aggressively targeted his mental and physical condition, keeping him from food and sleep and even hydration. It made him easier to handle and break down, in every way that counted.
Now, weak and emptied out, he is ready to be built back up again.
There is a new med tech, a woman. She’s crouched in front of him, pressing electrodes onto his chest. She looks up at him to attach an electrode to his temple, but before she even makes contact, a flash of pain sparks behind his eyes. A flush of warmth cascades down his face, tasting of salt and iron. Red spatters on his bare chest and collects over the electrodes stuck there.
Why? He hadn't tried to recall anything. He tries reflexively to wipe his face, but his hand won’t rise. It is strapped down.
There is a commotion. Monitor alarms blaring. People asking urgent questions. Not at him.
But... there is a question, and the answer is right there. In front of him. He looks into the woman's face, frowning.
A pressure is gathering in his head, sparks igniting inside his brain. He's about to have a seizure, he knows the feeling. He hasn't had one for weeks now-- the answer, it--
His mouth opens; his tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth with a click. He’s making a sound, “Sk... ssk--“
It’s there. Right there.
A word. It rises unbidden, spills out without him trying.
His eyes roll back. That empty, featureless landscape swallows him.
+++++++++++++
The woman is yanked back.
"What did you do?" the handler snaps. "His neurowaves spiked all over the place, and then--"
"I did nothing," she says back, tersely. "I was about to put the sensor on his head and he started glitching."
They look at him, stretched out on the floor, surrounded by med techs. His face is completely white except for the blood spattered over his face and chest. The convulsions have stopped. The neurowaves on the monitor have settled again to their usual wavy baseline. Placid.
They won't be able to move forward today, not until they figure out what happened.
The woman pulls off her scrub cap. "He said something."
The handler turns to look at her, frowning. "He hasn't spoken in weeks. What did he say?"
She purses her lips before replying, wondering if she remembers right.
"I think... he said 'squirrel'."
+++++++++++++
They watch the video feeds. He did say "squirrel."
They replay the video feed, overlay it with the recorded brainwaves, and narrow the flare of his reaction down to the exact moment. It was when he had seen the female tech's face. Her eyes had been narrowed in concentration then.
Nothing about her looked squirrel-like.
They don't know what it means. It doesn't matter. What matters is that his brain lit up in a way it shouldn't have, showing that he was accessing his memories. Or a memory.
The scientist who's been running the erasure protocol insists there is nothing left. But the results don't lie.
He's presenting his notes to the panel. "Maybe someone he was very close to... like a parental figure?" He sounds doubtful. "Or based on the age... a lover?"
He looks no more sure about that hypothesis that the first. "I can't see how anything could have survived the erasure protocol. We were thorough with him."
It sets them back weeks.
He's made to undergo tests. New ones. Ones where he is shown pictures of the female tech. Over and over again. They look carefully at the monitor and the readouts, mark things out in charts.
Then they show him images of other women. Similar to her. Same colouring. Similar features. Women whose eyes crinkle up the same way the med tech's did, when she was trying to put on the electrodes.
It's finicky work, but they target the areas that light up consistently when he's exposed to the visual stimuli, and burn those memories out.
Whatever was there, is gone now.
+++++++++++++
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
Signal War Masterlist /// Short Fics Masterlist /// Main Masterlist
(“Squirrel” ref)
Note: I couldn't progress on my main universe until I got this AU ficlet out of my brainnnnn. The scenario was squirming in there like an eeeeeeel.
Taglist (comment or DM to be added or removed): @stars-hide-our-fires // @hueningplushie //@deerslayer14 // @elvenarcane // @thelazywitchphotographer // @ziploc849 // @whumpacabra // @withdrawingramen // @starlit-hopes-and-dreams // @deadbvcky (breathes gently on you, so gently)
(This post is about queerplatonic yearning, I'm aromantic, this is not about romance)
I want someone who will love me to the maximum extent they can love someone. Who will choose me as much as I choose them. Who will text me first. Who will continue the conversations I initiate because they want to know about my day too. Who will reply by the next day if I text them too late.
The stupid thing is that I've already got someone like that, but I don't like them as much as they like me (for a multitude of reasons, first of all bc they're kinda too much older than me for it to feel completely normal ngl, and they are not aro so it feels like romance eugh).
And the one I currently actually want to do all these things does half of them, but somehow I'm still not satisfied. I want requited love for once, that's it. Starting to think I should resign to open myself up for romantic relationships but those give me the ick.
It's so hard to fall in love as an aro when your QPR pool is already tiny and then you find someone so compatible and so lovely that it hurts and you've been through this already and you're making all the same mistakes.
All the posts about yearning are LAME! None of y'all yearn like I do!
I want to lay next to them, running my hands through their hair, and appreciate every centimeter of their face as they sleep next to me. I want to curl up in their arms and place my head under their chin so I can listen to their heartbeat. I want to pepper gentle kisses to their face until they laugh at the excessiveness of it. I want to fall asleep and wake up late in their arms. I want to feel their hands scratching at the top of my head. I want to cook them all my favourite meals and learn how to cook their favourite together. I want to rewatch our favourite movies a thousand times and still yap about the movies like it was our first time watching. I want to watch god awful movies and pretend we're a part of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I want to go grocery shopping and general errand running with them. I want to undoubtedly be their number one fan when we go clothes shopping and they're trying on different outfits. I want to hold hands almost 24/7 and kiss their knuckles when they least expect it. I want to make really bad jokes that they can't help but laugh at. I want to play video games and board games, and if one us gets grumpy about losing we make up for it with kisses. I want to kiss away their tears on their worst days and tell them every little thing I love about them. I want forehead kisses and sweet reassurances on my rough days too. I want to come home from work and fall asleep on their chest. I want to go to cafes/restuarants and eavesdrop on everyone and talk shit afterwards. I want to go to restuarants and share everything we get. I want to go out on walks and point out every fascinating thing I see, and I want them to point out things too if they think I didn't notice something. I want to give them all my pretty rocks when we go walking. I want our vocabulary to become almost indistinguishable from each other. I want to be reminded that I'm real and deserving of love when I forget. I want someone to love me as much as I love them. I want someone to be with forever like Grace and Rocky.
But whateevveeeerrrrrrrrrrrrr— I gueesss... hashtag yearning. Hashtag that ridiculous aroace spec fella who won't learn his lesson about yearning so damn hard. Hashtag who's idea was it to tell all the couples on their anniversaries in a 500 mile radius to book reservations at my work? Horrid idea.
