godsays | 13th metal . spam & text . cw: self-harm

Entry tags:

13th metal . spam & text . cw: self-harm

[ He winds long bandages around his arms before he goes to take a shower, covering himself from elbow to palm. He makes it look more like gauntlets than anything else, to minimize any questions asked, moves furtively and quickly, dodges out as soon as possible. And he longs for the days when the servants had to bring him a bath, and he didn't care what they saw - let them gossip, let them spread the word that he hurts himself. Let it add to the terror they see in him.

Here, it only adds to his shame and frustration. The voice is gone, and he shouldn't need to control himself this way, but the longer he resists, the greater the need becomes, and he always gives in eventually.

It seems wrong to him, anyway, that his arms are mostly bare of scars. That his chest, too, is unmarked. That the other evidence of his violent life is erased, leaving his skin as ordinary as a child's. Sometimes he remembers the scars and he feels the temptation to bring them back.

He has also often been stepping into the gardens and the greenhouse lately, mostly just sitting still and watching the plants. He recognizes their progress. Tries, though it makes him feel a little ridiculous, to murmur things to them sometimes. To talk to them. ]

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If you have scars, are they important to you? Do you think they matter?

[ video ; private to Charles ]

I told Megamind you wouldn't object to me attending school. I knew it was the kind of thing that you like.

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[She very, very nearly just hangs up there. Instead she just takes a long pause before answering.]

Did you love the person who hurt you?

He was my father.

[ a pause ]

Yes.

[She's been having a lot of conversations about fathers lately. It sets her teeth one edge.]

Then you're a fool.

I knew that every time I did what he told me to. But the other option was doing what I wanted, and I was insane.

That doesn't make it less an option.

I couldn't lead his armies. I just made them afraid of me instead.

There's power in fear.

And how long does that last?

As long as you have power.

If you needed fear to add to your power, odds are you won't survive the loss of it.

I didn't. Fear doesn't add to power. Having power makes others afraid.

You said yourself there was power in fear. It's a tool. But it can trip you as often as it helps.

And fear in power. You can't separate the two.

Do you like being feared?

Did you?

Yes. It was better than being invisible.

It was better than hiding.

Yes. But still I wish my father hadn't feared me like he did. Fear wasn't what I wanted from him.

The fear wouldn't have been so unbearable if he hadn't lied about my parenthood. Fathers love at their leisure, and not at their cost. It's easier to fear than to love.

My father didn't love anyone. And he didn't have to lie about my parenthood. The truth was crueler and simpler.

I don't doubt my father was the same. Maybe. Maybe it's always crueler, but at least it's the truth.

Then you were a bastard too?

[She sort of hates recognizing that fact, and there's a definite pause before she answers.]

Yes. He kept it from me for most of my life.

[ He changes to voice. He isn't as fluent with writing as he wants to be. ]

My father was a Misting. An Allomancer, with a single power. He took as many mistresses as he could in order to have children with power. In my world, you can either have one power or you can have all of them - either a Misting or a Mistborn. I was the only Mistborn.

My mother was a noblewoman, only fourteen years older than me. He seduced her with the promise of power. She was shamed by the pregnancy, and her family covered it up. My father was only too happy to take the child off of their hands.

I met her once, but she didn't know me.

[ She seemed pathetic, he wants to add, but doesn't. ]

He kept me secret from everyone, along with the other bastards he'd fathered, until he made a move to become king. Then I was important. It felt good, and I made sure I wasn't a secret any longer. I made his army fear me. But I never stopped wanting more than that. I wanted freedom. But when I tried to get it, that was when I was killed.

It's not freedom, here, but at least I'm not the tool of a powerful man anymore. I'm not a knife. It's better.

You don't have to tell me anything back. I didn't say this because I wanted anything from you. I just think you'll understand.

[She hears him out in silence, and it's a relief that he asks nothing in return.]

I understand. [Enough, anyway. She hesitates - she doesn't want to tell him everything, there's too much and it still hurts too much. But she can offer a little.]

My father wanted to wipe magic out, like it was a spot he could wash away. It must have pained him greatly, to discover he sired someone magical. I hope it did.

I've known those, who would use my kind as tools. I hope you pay him back in kind, one day.

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