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badgersettlement · 4 years

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Obey Me! transMC (OC) x Lucifer (Part 1)

After the exchange program (before going back)

Also MC having to deal with some shit from before their exchange (old crushes and so on)

I guess this is my first fic post ever... I had inspiration to write about my transMC Miguel (Mars) and well... Uh I don't know if it's good or not so yeah :') I hope u enjoy even if it's an OC Insert.

OCs: Miguel (Mars), Conan (his friend and colleague)

Warnings: Uhhh I guess alcohol consumption...? mention of terfs or so idk

"Attachment to the other side"

Whenever I think back to that time... My memories come back as vivid as they were the day I first arrived at that place. The Devildom.

It was a crazy experience, a crazy dream, that changed my life.

I learned a lot, laughed a lot, cried a lot...

I suffered harder than I ever have before.

But...

I also loved harder than I ever did before.

I gazed into the eyes of death, and fell in love.

Hopelessly, desperately clinging to sanity.

My hand grazes the pact seal directly above my heart.

My home was chaos when I returned.

I hurt a lot of people with my disappearance.

Although it was tough and hard to do, I managed to get the balance back in my life.

A new feeling constantly plaguing it.

I miss them.

I miss them so much it hurts.

I want to go back. I want to stay there forever.

I miss him. I miss Lucifer.

Satan was right.

When I returned to the human world, a lot of opportunities presented themselves to me.

Being liked by the avatar of greed made me abundant in money. And being liked by the avatar of lust brought a lot of suitors along, craving to make me theirs.

At first it was overwhelming.

I worked hard to achieve my dreams, but I wondered if this outcome wasn't too exaggerated:

Too good to be true.

Eventually I got used to it. I was grateful don't get me wrong. But as much as I'd like to say the opposite, all those riches didn't make me happy.

They made my life easier, yes, but the one thing I wanted wasn't near me. We were literally worlds apart.

It was so hard. Every day, every week, every month when I talked to them, not to break out in tears and beg them to pick me up and just let me live with them.

No. I needed to become stronger, independent, someone to be proud of! Only then... Only then could I allow myself to go without regrets.

And with these thoughts in mind, three years had passed.

I owned the apartment of my dreams and I worked as a dance instructor for the entertainment industry.

I had, undoubtedly, become more mature and serious (at least for my job). An aura of pride and authority could be felt wherever I went. For the first time in my life I was perceived as arrogant and unapproachable.

As an instructor and a manager I needed to maintain a face of professionalism and authority in meetings regarding my idols and trainees (to even get a say in the matter).

I wore black gloves to my attire, no matter the weather. Mostly to cover up my pact marks but... Maybe that was my way of feeling nearer to him.. maybe it was coping or a fashion choice. I don't know.

On this particular evening, I went for a drink with a colleague of mine, whom I also knew from university days. He had known me before my disappearance and him still being my friend after all that, I considered straight up a wonder. The only problem was, that his interest in me wasn't only platonic anymore. I had pretended not to notice, but he was making it clearer and clearer by the way he behaved...

"So", he took a sip of his beer before putting it back down again, "don't you want to tell me about the new guy who wanted you so badly he even followed you to your workplace?"

I sighed.

"He was introduced to me by the director. Apparently he immediately took a ... Liking to me and started to persistently ask me out."

"Hmm", Conan hummed taking another sip.

I leaned against the counter.

"I've been trying to reject him in all sorts of ways, but he just won't listen. He doesn't want to understand and apparently he doesn't care that I am... Not a woman. The moment I correct the use of my pronouns though, he starts to get all offensive, starting to talk about biology and whatnot."

I sigh again, this time I take a deep chug of my wine.

"So a terf, huh.", he shrugs, "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Well, if nothing else works, I guess I'll need to inform the director. It could disrupt the workflow and I won't stand for that."

"Ohhh Mister Instructor is scary"

I chuckled. "Ehh I am not though"

As we started to get a little tipsy, his mood began to shift. I didn't notice at first, but he suddenly looked at me in a more serious manner than before.

"Miguel."

"Hm?"

Breathing out he put his glass down once again (how many had it been?) and positioned himself for his body to face me.

"You know, there are so many people who want you... Ever since the time you came back you have been rejecting everyone left and right.. giving always one and only one explanation" ,I tensed up at his words, "that you are already 'bound to someone' and.. I just need to ask.. is .. is it the same guy you met during the year of your disap- 'exchange'?"

Suddenly, I really wanted to go home.

"I...", I adjusted my posture, "I would be lying if I said no. Yes. It's.. it's the same person."

"So you've been hung up on a guy, you can't even meet for whatever reason?"

My nails dug themselves into my skin.

"Well, it's not that simple.. I.. I can't really meet him right now, but that will change-"

"But you guys aren't even dating, right?", he interrupted.

I flinched at that and tried to compose myself before he could see the insecurity reflecting on my face.

"Well no. We aren't. But it's complicated-"

"Then let me ask you this: why are you, saving yourself for someone who isn't tied to you, who you can't even meet, who only calls you and mind you it's never even a video call? Even though", he looked me straight in the eyes, "there are so many people out there, who want you, who deserve you so much more."

Yep. He's definitely drunk.

And he's overstepping my boundaries. Greatly.

I took a deep breath.

"Look even though you might be right about some things you said, you don't know the situation. And honestly-"

He interrupted me again.

"What if he's cheating? It wouldn't even be called cheating! He could be having so many people on the side! See what situation you are in? Maybe he's just using-"

BANG.

I slammed my glass on the table.

"Conan. I would really appreciate it, if you stopped. You're overstepping my boundaries. And frankly it's making me uncomfortable."

He stared at me, shocked for a second, but began to laugh almost hysterically.

"Oh I'M overstepping my bounds? Please Mars, don't make me laugh. Before you disappeared for a year, to god knows where, you promised ME something remember? Back then at uni, you said you liked me, and that you wanted to be with me. But I was not sure if I was really ready for a relationship yet...

So you said you'd wait and boom. You disappeared!"

So that's how he's been seeing this.

"Conan, I-"

"And then you come back, strange tattoos on your body and all.. all... Different? And suddenly you don't remember your promise, and you talk about these people you consider 'new family' and how much you miss them and miss him and whatever the fuck there is...", he looks like he's about to cry, "and what about me? What about us?"

"I'm sorry Conan... I really am. I-", I let out a frustrated sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, "Things simply didn't turn out like I thought they would. That's why-"

"Yeah fuck that. Really. You should at least give me a chance! I don't care what gender you are, you're beautiful and intelligent and I just ... I realized it only when you disappeared... How much I needed you.. I deserve a chance!"

I just shook my head giving him an empathetic look: "I'm sorry."

"No! Not sorry! Give me a chance, I ... Come on I deserve one, Miguel. Don't discard me like all those extras craving for your attention-"

This was getting annoying real quick.

"Conan, I never tied myself to you. And I never promised anything. We were young and I had a crush, yes, but that's it. Let's talk about this when we've cleared our heads, okay?", I waved at the barkeeper, "I would like to pay please."

"You can't treat me like this!", he grabbed my arm.

People around us were starting to glance over and the barkeeper looked at us with a worried expression before interjecting.

"Is everything alright over here?"

I shot him a smile.

"Yes, yes in fact I am leaving. Please don't worry about us.", my eyes met Conan's, "Mister Capinter, I kindly ask you to release my arm this instant. I am in no way obligated to explain myself to you, n'or is this any of your business. Romance between colleagues is highly unprofessional and I would like to keep it the other way."

He scoffed as I yanked my arm off his grip.

"If you will excuse me-"

"Every. Fucking. Time. Every time I try to get closer to you, you get all defensive and stuck up and start talking exactly like that. Like you don't even know me-", he shouts after me, "It's your fault I am like this!!!"

At this point, I am already out of the door on my way home. I couldn't have stayed too long anyways... Since I actually had plans to receive a call from someone. Although it was hard focusing on that, when I just walked out of a stressful situation like this.

When I arrive home, I take off my gloves and throw them on the counter while letting myself fall into the sofa, a frustrated sigh leaving my lips. My hands cup my eyes when I curse quietly. As my fingers slowly move towards my necktie to losen it my mind picks up on the trail of thoughts I had tried to ignore.

Will he remember this tomorrow?

Was this relationship based on his unrequited feelings all along? I don't want to lose him as a friend, but this just makes it harder...

Fuck.

I thought back on what he said:

'He could have other people on the side'

I trust him. I trust him, but even so.. it's not like I didn't think about him being with others. I do worry. I do, but I... I have to trust him. I just have to. What other choice is there?

I stood up.

"Oof.. I still need a drink."

Following my urge, I opened up a bottle of wine and poured me a glass.

And another one.

And another one..

Until a loud ringing woke me up from my daze.

On very tipsy feet, I made my way towards my D.D.D.

The display lit up, revealing the face and name of all my desperation.

I picked up.

"Lucifer."

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obeyme lucifer x mc #obey me transmc #obeyme fanfic #writing fanfic #fan fic #transman #oc insert

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

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Perception

Summary: Dealing with how you perceive yourself as Kyungsoo’s partner had never been a problem until now.

Pairing: Do Kyungsoo x reader

Genre: angst / mature / fluff

Anonymous said:

If there's still time, please may I request a fluffy/mature exo oneshot where he comforts the reader when she feels she's not good enough for him? Any member you feel fits this most is fine cos I love you write them all :) thank you hun!

A/N: So I hope I read your request right, as I chose the mature route with this one instead of fluffy. I wanted to really play around with the concept of being in a relationship over time with someone you’re comfortable with, so I picked Kyungsoo to write this with. I hope you enjoy.

Word count: 1429

The feeling had grown over time.

In the beginning, you had been swept away with the romance and the surprise that Do Kyungsoo actually liked you back. It wasn’t as if your relationship was some fairytale experience where you had crushed on him forever and he finally recognised you. No, you had just met one night at a work function and from there realised you couldn’t stop thinking about each other. It wasn’t long until he had you pressed up against a wall moaning out his name as his lips travelled over your neck with the same vigour as his hands roamed your body. And from there, you had fallen into a world of passion, companionship and compromise. Kyungsoo didn’t have some magical power of making you a better person or completing you like in all the stories about love you had perused over the years. But he did make you smile whenever you saw him.

And you had been certain that would always be enough.

You dated, you loved and you moved in together. The past two years had been challenging and rewarding in the same sense. Yet somewhere along the way, a nagging feeling started to follow you around. Perhaps it was from the way people looked at you as a couple. Kyungsoo was never bothered by other people’s opinions but you were. You didn’t like the side glances or the quiet whispers whenever you passed by on his arm. You disliked how it would make you feel, and some nights you would just stare at yourself in the mirror, trying to find the faults that others saw. Were you not beautiful enough? You had never aspired to be beautiful before, but whenever Kyungsoo’s dark gaze lingered over your curves, you felt a giddying sensation erupt within you. In his eyes, you were mirrored back as someone spectacular. Even with your extra lumps and imperfections, you still felt sexy whenever he was undressing you figuratively or literally.

Was it because he was famous and you weren’t? You had heard some of the talk, how had he fallen for someone so plain and uninspiring like you? Was Kyungsoo destined for greatness with every turn he made? Some days you started to think a stunning actress on his arm at an awards show would look far more appealing than you. It made you forgo being out in the spotlight with him, even opting to do errands when he wasn’t home.

“What are you hiding for?” he asked when he realised what you were doing and you shook your head, smiling weakly. “Y/N, you’re purposely avoiding being around me and I want to know why.”

“I’m not hiding, I just found it easier to do the errands in the week after work,” you replied, not fully meeting his gaze. The next night you had collapsed as soon as you had unpacked the groceries, forgetting to eat due to being exhausted from running around for hours after your job had ended for the day. Not sharing the load with Kyungsoo was weakening you physically as well as emotionally.

You knew Kyungsoo was too observant to take your weak excuses, and yet your stubborn ways in not telling him what the problem was only created more issues between you both. You were stuck feeling ridiculous, and yet, those insecure thoughts propelled you on, not wanting to lose the person who you now loved the most in this world because you weren’t a perfect match for him.

Yet you were facing exactly that. Because he couldn’t figure out what the problem was, soon Kyungsoo stopped arguing with you. And then the silence followed, hurting you both in the process. You would cry silently in bed beside him and you overheard him shedding some emotions when in the shower one morning. All because of a feeling, you were now becoming estranged from your partner.

Even his smiles couldn’t save you both now.

You found Kyungsoo staring at himself in the mirror early in the morning, not getting dressed in the clothing he had laid out on the bed behind him, only his briefs covering him from being naked. He continued to look at himself even when you stepped in behind him. “What are you looking at?”

“Myself.”

You nodded softly, watching his gaze scrutinise over what he saw. “Why are you looking so strangely at yourself?”

“Is this what you did to convince yourself you weren’t enough for me?”

You didn’t answer and Kyungsoo finally looked through the mirror at you. “Do you stand here telling yourself you’re not enough for me? Is that how you started all this?”

“I…”

“You know, I could do the same. After standing here long enough, I’ve found physical elements about myself that I feel uncomfortable showing anyone else apart from you.” Kyungsoo turned around then, staring at you just as intensely as he had through the looking glass. “Can you see my imperfections?”

You smiled gently. “I like your little flaws. There’s nothing wrong with you to me.”

“If I said the same back to you, would you believe me? In my eyes, you’re beautiful Y/N. I don’t want anything more than what I have with you. So why are you pulling away?”

Kyungsoo was always direct in his approach with you and whilst you appreciated knowing how he felt at all times, you chewed on your wobbling bottom lip, blinking back your emotions as if you were being scolded for being foolish.

Because you kind of had been. Even though the previous opinions had felt real and warranted at the time.

He wrapped his bare arms around you tightly, breathing you in before he continued. “Tell me when you feel insecure around me. I’ll make sure you forget about it immediately.”

You cried then, clinging to him as you let out all your emotions. You didn’t realise until then just how unjust it had all felt. The worry, the self-hatred; it had depleted you from seeing all the beauty around you both. You were with Kyungsoo because he loved you and you loved him. And you were successful too in your own walk in life. You didn’t need to be famous just to match him. You would never match him because life isn’t a perfect puzzle in the first place.

But as he held you, your body moved instinctively to the places it found most supportive, and comfortable within the embrace. Your lips shifted to the junction of his neck and shoulder, anchoring on like you always did. You fitted against him well enough, you decided.

Kyungsoo eventually shifted back, smiling at you warmly and you noticed he had gotten emotional with you. You reached up to wipe away the remnants of his tears before stretching up to kiss him softly. “I’m sorry my insecurities jeopardised us. I do trust and care about you deeply. I just got carried away with thinking about how we looked together.”

“We look great,” Kyungsoo stated, turning you around so you were both facing the mirror together. He smiled and you slowly did the same, both of your reflections looking relaxed and happy. “See how great we are? I couldn’t smile like this over anyone else, you know.”

“We do look good together.”

“And no one else needs to take this away from us, okay? They’re just jealous or incomplete with their own journey in life. People will always have something to say about others. We don’t have to buy into that though. We only need to concern ourselves with what each other think.”

“Well, I think I’m rather overdressed compared to you right now,” you mentioned slyly, reaching around to tap his bottom playfully. “You should get dressed so then we look better in the mirror together.”

Kyungsoo scooped you up in his arms and you shrieked, grabbing onto his strong shoulders to steady your balance. He smirked at you, eying your clothing in distaste. “You know, I actually think you’re overdressed too. But instead of me matching you, how about we change how many clothes are over that body of yours right now instead?”

“Weren’t we just emotional and talking about a serious issue between us?” you wondered, yet you didn’t stop Kyungsoo from pulling your dress over your head.

He nodded when he was done. “And we solved the problem we had. Now, it’s time to celebrate. There’s no better way to see how beautiful we are together than this way, Y/N.”

You chuckled before reaching up to kiss Kyungsoo, passion overriding any remaining worries you held.

_________________

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scripttorture · 6 years

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So this might be a difficult question but I need to ask. You’ve mentioned torturers don’t necessarily have less empathy and can nice to people they like outside of torture. You’ve also mentioned torturers as very toxic even to each other when in the torturing environment. I’m writing a short scene that looks into torturer group from the POV one torturer. I want to show the toxic environment but also don’t want the characters to come across as without feeling or depth (1/2)

(2/2) because I want torturers to seem ‘normal’ rather than ‘stereotypical media sociopath’ (portrayed as someone who does bad things because they lack empathy for others.) Could I show carry levels of enthusiasm or a character being nice to another (but not nice to victim) without looking like I’m trying to make look ‘good’ or sympathetic? And without diminishing the toxic culture? My group is a subset of the police if that helps. I’m debating them failing to recruit MC into torturing.

Ithink you’d find the appendices in F Fanon’s TheWretched of the Earthvery helpful.

Inthem he discusses a handful of the cases he dealt with as a mentalhealth professional during and after the Franco-Algerian war. Amongthese cases are two torturers who were responding very differently.

Fanonconcluded that they were at different ‘stages’ of the sameharmful process. Personally I’m not convinced that the evidencewe’ve gathered since supports that conclusion. But regardless ofFanon’s theories his accounts of these two men are very interestingI think they help shed some light on what seems like an almostcontradictory set of statements: that torturers are not necessarilyawful to people they aren’t torturing and yet they’re so much ofa risk to each other.

Bothof the torturers Fanon treated were married but they had verydifferent home lives and I think that helps illustrate the point.

Onevery much gave the impression of loving his wife and having apositive relationship which was now under heavy strain due to hismental health problems. This distressed him.

Thesecond torturer was also an abuser who admitted to regularly beatinghis wife and children, including a very young baby. This only seemedto cause him distress in one particular incident when he ended upusing torture techniques he employed at ‘work’ on his wife.

I’mnot a psychologist and Fanon doesn’t give a diagnosis for either ofthese men. My impression from their accounts is that the firsttorturer had very depressive symptoms while the second torturerreported a lot of aggression and seemed to read every situation as apotential threat.

Nowit’s tempting to hence draw a conclusion based on symptoms atorturer experiences but I think that’s getting ahead of theevidence. In the same way that concluding torturers and abusers‘must’ have low empathy is getting ahead of a the evidence.

It’sreally easy to other a person who does awful things. It’scomforting because it helps us convince ourselves that wewould never be capable of that. It reduces responsibility across theboard: our own by offering a reassuring platitude that exempts usfrom self reflection and the abusers’ by placing the blame on adisease rather than a person.

Mentalhealth problems can make people difficult to get along with (I know Ihave my moments) but they don’t make people monsters.

Socialstructures and reinforcement on the other hand can encourage horrificabuse. In the case of torturers that seems to be what we’re seeing.

Rejalidescribes the sub-cultures torturers create as divisive, highlycompetitive, hypermasculine and toxic. Which is a great descriptionbut doesn’t really conjure up an idea of what it’s like to be inone.

Ithink the main point to grasp when you’re writing a torturer’srelationship with other torturers is that torture is a zero sumgame.

Actualpolice work allows for multiple people to receive praise andcommendation for the work they do. Every piece of evidence andinformation is important so everyone’s contribution has thepotential to be rewarded.

Buttorturers only get rewarded/praised if they personally were the onetorturing the victim at the time there was false confession or‘believable’ lie. This creates a highly competitive environment.Acknowledgement and ‘success’ become much scarcer resources andtorturers are in direct competition with each other forthose resources.

There’sno team work. There’s nothing to foster a sense of unity exceptopposition to the way things are supposed to be done.

Atthe same time this ‘competition’ creates an intense pressure tobe more violent and do thingsthat are at least perceived to be ‘more brutal’. Someone’sworth at work is literally measured by how inventively violent theycan be.

Everyoneis actively competing to be seen as the most violent, leastcompassionate, aggressive, pumped up parody of masculinity they canpossibly by.

Torturersegg each other on. At the same time they can’t rely on each otherbecause they’re in competition and any hesitancy or sign of‘softer’ emotions is read as weak.

Atthe same time this isn’tthe atmosphere these people are spending 100% of their time in. Theseare ordinary people and when they clock off they’re often goinghome to families, partners, childhood friends. These people may haveno idea what they’re doing. They might be ‘supportive’. Theymight be opposed to torture.

Anotherinteresting account Fanon reports is that of a young French womanwhose father was a torturer during the Franco-Algerian war.

Shedescribes the complete breakdown of her relationship with her father.He never abused her or her family. She doesn’t really talk aboutany mental health symptoms on his part. Instead she talks about adeep and visceral negative reaction to torture. A sense of shame andbetrayal of the people she grew up around andthe hypocrisy of colonial society.

Shesaid she was relieved when he was killed.

Sowhere does that leave you?

Witha short scene I think it’s difficult to convey all the nuance youcould. These situations are often complex, though not in the way theytend to be presented as complex. Torture is not morally complex. Butthere are significant psychological and social complexitiessurrounding it.

It’sa difficult balance you’re trying to strike, especially if all youhave is one short scene.

Theeasiest way to deal with that is probably to give the scene itself(and indeed the torturers generally) more narrative space. But that’snot necessarily something that fits your story and that could resultin the torturers taking over more of the narrative then you’recomfortable with.

Ifyou think it couldwork in your particular story then I’d suggest showing the point ofview torturer as he is beforehe goes to work. That way you contrast the person he seems to bearound family or friends with the person he is around other torturersand victims.

Thereare several different ways you could handle that.

Ithink playing the family/friends as ignorant could work, but I thinkit might demand a greater contrast between the character at home andthe character as a torturer. A really big and sudden shift, played ina way readers don’t expect would undermine any sense that thischaracter is sympathetic.

Anotheroption is having the friends or family aware of what the torturerdoes and extremely concerned for the torturer.If they’re living in close quarters with this character or haveregular contact it would be impossible for them not to notice theeffect this has had on the torturer. It is noticeably anddramatically unhealthy. It’sprobably not helped by the way police generally tend to put in quitelong hours.

Soeven a character who thinks torture is ‘necessary’ or could bejustified might very well want to stop a torturer going to work. Andthat can easily be written in a way that conceals the true motivationfrom the reader until the torturer actually arrivesat work and their nature is revealed.

Somethinglike: ‘It’s so early and you barely slept last night.’

‘You’reworking so hard it’s killing you. Let someone else do it today.’

‘Pleasejust phone in sick. Can’t you see how this is effecting you?’

Allof these things could sound like a ‘normal’ hard-workingpoliceman in a particularly violent area. Writing this from thetorturer’s perspective, with them moved by this person’s concerneven while they’re dismissing it, also creates that impression. Itgives you a chance to show this character as a person withcompassionate feelings before showing them in an environment wherethey’re encouraged to crush those feelings.

Ascene like this could also be played out with a friend or familymember who feels rather like the torturer’s daughter Fanoninterviewed. The torturer might then reflect that they didn’t usedto be so cold and distant. The torturer might make some efforts atsocialising, normal things like asking about the other character’shobbies, their friends, hoping they have a good day-

Againthis establishes a sort of ‘normality’ and that the character iscapable of empathy before showing them in that toxic environmentabusing other people.

Ifyou feel like you need to stick to a single short scene then I thinkstressing the macho competitiveness between torturers is key toportraying that toxic environment. These people might be nominally onthe side but this isn’t a unit or a team. It’s a collection ofindividuals who occasionally close ranks but are very much competingagainst each other.

Idon’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with leaving it atthat. Empathy doesn’t make people nice. You could construct thescene with the pov torturer reflecting on his competition, using hisempathy and judgement of theiremotional state (or mental health problems) in really nasty ways.

Seeingthat a colleague is showing obvious signs of anxiety and respondingby verbally punishing them for it isn’tlack of empathy. It’s having the empathy to judge another person’semotional distress and then responding to that judgement in a toxicway. A sentiment to the effect that this would be acceptable in a‘soft’ job but it isn’t here would be perfectly in keeping withthe kind of toxic sub culture torturers generally exist in.

Thefinal option I can think of in a short scene is to include a briefinteraction with a non-torturer who is not a victim for contrast.

Ina policing context- Well I keep thinking of Zootopia and OfficerClawhauser, the friendly, non-threatening, overweight cheetah manningthe reception desk.

Someonesweet and smiling who is neither a threat nor competition. The kindof a character a torturer could easily see as usefulbut less important than they are. They sit at the desk and greet thetorturer warmly every day. They tell the torturer if anyone has madeany breakthroughs the day before (ie ‘Oh so and so confessed lastnight’) and a little bit of what the others are up to (‘Officer Ais in the interview room with suspect B’).

Notethis character doesn’t necessarily have to be aware of torture intheir department. They might well be completely ignorant of it. Andthey’re removed enough from what the torturer sees as ‘actualpolice work’ to be completely non-threatening.

Asa result a torturer could easily and believably be pleasant andfriendly towards them. Then turn around and be utterly toxic towardscolleagues the torturer works with much more closely.

Itis difficult striking thissort of balance in a narrative. Choosean option you feel fits your story best and don’t be afraid ofrewriting the scene a few times to get it right.

Withdifficult scenes like this, where there’s a lot of elements tobalance, I think writing groups are incredibly useful. Gettingfeedback on the scenes from other writers (or just readers you trust)is a great way to find out if a scene is working, if the informationis all there and if the emotional tone is where you want it to be.

Don’tworry if you don’t get this scene right the first time. That’sOK. Stick with it. Commit to improving it until it’s the best itcan be.

You’llget there. :)

Disclaimer

#tw torture #torturers #effects of torture on torturers #effects of torture on organisations #tw police brutality #writing torturers #Anonymous

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queerinette · 6 years

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Love, Chloè

Remember the @miraculeanonmezine? You can check it out at https://gumroad.com/l/Jlkgu. It has great formatting, and it’s amazing. You can tell there was a lot of hardwork put into it.

Also, here’s the piece I wrote for it. I hear it’s tear-inducing? Personally, I don’t see it. Tumblr formatting isn’t the best, but I prefer it the most on the zine anyway. Please, please check it out if you can, it’s amazing. And if you can’t, it’s on AO3 as well.

Dear Sabrina,

Chloè Bourgeois dies on December 17th in the early morning hours. It’d been during an akuma attack; Queen B had slipped off a high roof and landed to her demise, revealing herself to be the mayor’s daughter. Sabrina wants to say that she cried her eyes out, wants to say that she screamed and sobbed and yelled at the loss of her best friend, wants to say the words she knows everyone expects her to.

But she would be lying.

She simply nodded when her father woke her up to tell her, asked him for space, and then got ready like it was just a normal day.

The balance of her world hadn’t even been touched.

I regret yelling at you earlier today. I really do. I promised I would apologize to everyone I’ve wronged, and yet you were the one person who didn’t get one. You’re the one who deserves an apology the most.

Three weeks later, it finally affects her.

It’s not because she suddenly crumbles with grief. She doesn’t start sobbing hysterically at the lack of a shadow to follow.

An octagonal box with Chinese symbols appears in her room. In it is a hair comb Sabrina remembers Chloè wearing for months before she passed. A floating bee materialises and tells her she is to be the next bee hero.

Sabrina doesn’t protest. She doesn’t launch into rants about how Chloè was the best superhero Paris could’ve had. She doesn’t refuse on the insistence that she could never fill Chloè’s shoes.

She just nods, puts the hair comb in, and leaves the house like it’s a normal day.

I wish I could say this to you to your face, but I’m such a coward. Instead I’m writing it on a letter I know I’m never going to give to you.

The thing is, she doesn’t understand why people look at her with pity. She’s not affected. Her life is okay, normal. It’s the people around her that aren’t.

It should’ve been obvious to everyone that she and Chloè stopped being friends since Queen B’s debut. Her blue eyes had flashed when Sabrina continued insisting on doing her homework until she snapped. She’d been the one to end their friendship. She’d been the one to create a rift between them, and she’d been the one to tell Sabrina to never feel anything for her ever again.

Sabrina was only complying with that wish.

She wonders if their friendship was so toxic, people could perceive Chloè yelling at her to burn in the pits of hell as just a regular argument. She wonders how she feels about that.

I should start off by saying that you deserve a best friend who would stayed up late with you, laughing over how terrible some teachers are and crying with you because life gets too stressful sometimes. You deserve the best friend who would be there, and give as much as they take.

Chat Noir bursts into tears at the sight of Sabrina in her new hero costume.

She’s not surprised. She knows they were close partners; Queen B and Chat Noir would constantly patrol together, using the time to randomly pop in to check in on victims. Rena Rouge and Ladybug were the same way.

But something about Chat Noir’s grief leaves her cold. That should be her. She should be the one who can’t wipe away her tears because more are always coming. She should be the one who can’t even breathe in her grief.

But here she stands, taking Chloè’s place without a single thought. She can’t bring herself to care. You were supposed to mourn your friends, and Chloè had made it obvious that wasn’t their relationship.

There was nothing wrong with you. Never think there was. It was me; it was always me. I was scared, and I lashed out on you every time. I should’ve been a better friend.

Rose bursts into tears and hides her face in Juleka’s shoulder whenever she sees Sabrina. Kim goes out of his way to accompany her to every class. Adrien offers her sympathetic smiles and an offer to talk anytime. Marinette supplies her with baked goods.

Sabrina wonders if it’s worse for her to take advantage of them taking care of her, or telling them she doesn’t care about Chloè being dead. She’d always thought she’d revel in attention. Now that the spotlight is on her, she finds herself wanting to rip it away.

But she knows if she were to say that Chloè had destroyed their friendship long before her death, no one would handle it well. So she chokes it down, plays the grieving best friend.

She tries to convince herself that she was grieving the best friend who’d always supported her, who’d given her love and affection and this promise of a joined future.

Maybe if Chloè had been that kind of friend Sabrina would feel something, but you can’t miss what you never had.

I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I just panicked. When I started to apologize, some part of me began to fear that I would end up confessing that I am in love with you.

“Remember that time Chloè tripped me just so you would laugh?” Marinette recalls one day. They’re sitting in the library, working on a project due the next day. A gleeful expression crosses her face as Sabrina turns to her.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t remember?” There’s laughter in Marinette’s voice. She launches into the story when Sabrina shakes her head. “It was after you told the teacher you wanted to be a police officer and he laughed in your face. You didn’t smile for a week . Chloè was so desperate, she tripped me just to get you to laugh. She looked so crushed when it didn’t work.”

She goes back to working, shaking her head slightly at whatever memory crosses her head. Sabrina continues staring for a moment, wondering if her perspective on Chloè is skewed.

But then Marinette asks a question and Sabrina banishes the thought, refusing to even consider it.

Isn’t it crazy? I’m in love with you. I never thought I was worthy of feeling something so strongly for someone. Me? In love? It’s so out of bounds, it terrified me. And I took it out on you. That was stupid and asinine of me.

Ladybug takes pity on Chat Noir and changes the patrol routes so that he and Rena Rouge are together. During their first few patrols, Ladybug shoots quick looks at her before jumping, as if wanting to coddle her.

There hasn’t been another akuma yet, not since the incident. Maybe Hawk Moth has given up, now that a child has died. Maybe he’s realized what consequences his actions have.

Sabrina hopes, but not because she wants Chloè’s death to mean something.

I don’t blame you if you hate me now, but I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll always think of you as the stars I find solace in at night; the sun that continues shining and providing warmth no matter how many times your curse at it; the rain that always comes to comfort you no matter how much you complain. And that’s why I’m going to give you space. I don’t want to bring you down anymore.

“She sure knew how to make someone laugh,” Alya remarks during lunch. They’re all sitting on the steps; it became a Wednesday tradition ever since Chloè’s death. “She’d say the most ridiculous things, sometimes. You could tell beneath her meanness, she was just afraid someone would turn her into a joke.”

Everyone laughs, sharing memories of the insults she’d hurled at them. They talk and giggle out the words that had been poison to them, rocks that had settled deep into their chests to draw out their insecurities.

“But didn’t you guys hate her?” she finds herself asking, freezing at the way they all stopped talking to stare at her. Glances are exchanged before Alix finally shrugs.

“Yeah. But she still saved us as Queen B. And at least she apologized afterward, you know?”

And then there are speculations about whether her remorse had come at the same time as Queen B’s appearance, and what that meant for all of them.

Sabrina stares at the ground, feeling tears build up. She’d never gotten an apology. She’d gotten a one-sided screaming match as Chloè all but stated that she hated her. She doesn’t notice as the tears falling towards the ground, doesn’t notice the way she becomes the center of a group hug.

All she can do is wonder if she really mattered that little to the girl she’d once idolized.

You’ll always be my dearest friend. You’ll always be my first love. You’ll always mean everything to me. And you’ll always matter the most.

Mayor Bourgeois stops by her house.

He looks uncomfortable as he sits on their couch, his eyes appraising their tiny house with apprehension. A sigh of relief escapes him when he finally notices Sabrina.

“Chloè left this for you,” he blurts with no preamble, as if ignoring the motions of a proper greeting will get him out of the house faster. He hands over a white envelope that has Sabrina’s name written beautifully, practically running out of there once it’s in Sabrina’s hands.

She turns to her bedroom, wanting to read it without her parents’ watchful eyes.

Your happiness matters more to me than anything else in the world. Put yourself first; that’s all I ask.

Hawk Moth finally sends another akuma six months after her best friend’s death. Sabrina steels herself, transforms, and finds herself first at the scene.

“This is for my best friend,” she decides, jumping to tear into the akuma.

Love, Chloè

#sabrina raincomprix #chloé bourgeois #chloe bourgeois #chlobrina #miraculous ladybug #my writing #mine #zine peace

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