Siebren De Kuiper (Sigma) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spaghettification) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-10-05 09:46 am
spaghettification) wrote in ph_logs2024-10-05 09:46 am
[OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly
Who: Siebren and friends
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles
1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
You can't believe how easy it is. You just have to go... a little crazy. And then, suddenly, it all makes sense, and everything you do turns to gold.
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
metamorphosing
assimilating
unpacking
digesting everything that occurred that night. He stays at home, alone, trying to avoid everyone and everything.
much. It's too
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...
too much. It's
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.
For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.
And then, there is silence.
Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?
Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.
Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.
He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.
Right?
A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
Find me on Discord to plot, PM me, or just throw a thing!
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles
1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.
For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.
And then, there is silence.
Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?
Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.
Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.
He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.
Right?
A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
Find me on Discord to plot, PM me, or just throw a thing!
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"That really what 'nice' means?" John asks with a laugh. Nerdy tangent aside? No way, John definitely has a thing for Siebren going off on something or another.
Definitely, more of a thing for Siebren going off on something or another, while wrapped around John in the middle of his messy house.
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This has been nerdy etymology 101 with Siebren. However, as he wraps that dump up (heh), there's a hint of uncertainty.
"Did you know that Latin is the language of demons, in this world?"
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“I hope you’re not thinking that says anything remotely bad about you.” John warns gently, taking his turn to muzzle Siebren’s cheek. “Demons, I imagine, love to fuck with good things to try and mess them up, but we know different. I know different. If I can be what I am, and still serve a goddess…you can be what you are, no matter who or what thinks it can sink claws in you, and still be…”
John trails off, because a dozen words try to claw to the surface, and it’s too soon for any of them.
Hearth. Home. Safety. Mine.
So instead he just buries his face in Siebren’s shoulder, breathes him in—and isn’t even aware of how much he physically relaxes in his arms, only of how the too-much burn of touching is starting to bleed away into just intense, blissful warmth suffusing every part of him.
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When he notices how tense Siebren is, he draws back and looks into his face with open concern.
“Sieb?…”
His hand drifts up to cradle his cheek, thumb smoothing along the sharp angle of his cheekbone.
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and love?has been a balm to his soul, but John offering that reassurance without knowing what Siebren did at that gala feels incredibly wrong."You are a very kind man, John."
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John can hear the word in the beat after that statement, and it pokes at something primal inside him that…he can’t tell if it’s part of him or part of the new thing he’s become, but it’s intense. It wants to cling to Siebren and snarl, snap, claw at something just beyond his perception until he melts into John’s arms again with another cheerful ramble about pulsars or something. It wants to press his face to Siebren’s neck and stay there until he understands…what, he’s not sure. He can’t quite reach past that point.
He just…he almost feels like he’s about to lose this new precious thing he just got his hands on and it makes every instinct he has howl with the same answer to that silent but.
The answer is, emphatically, no.
“A kind man wouldn’t be price gouging eggs and game for every person who talks shit about Leeds—or plotting the murder of whoever put that look on your face.” He replies softly, his other hand rising to curl over Siebren’s shoulder. “C’mon…talk to me.”
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It’s not a loss of control. It pushes against his self restraint, and it doesn’t feel wrong to let it out. What startles him is the sound he makes: low, animal, angry, a lupine growl rolling out of him as he drags him in by that hand on his shoulder and—and it’s the first impulse, drawing Siebren’s head to his shoulder, just holding him close, gentle but firm.
Holding him gently, and frozen with a toxic combination of fear and fury racing through him at the very idea of it.
“No.” The whisper is shaky and furious as he leans his head heavily against Siebren’s. “No…no. No.”
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CW: death, PTSD, self loathing
He loosens his hold to look into his face again. He’s afraid to, terrified of it, but he has to look into his eyes and make him understand.
Rambo!…you not expendable!
His eyes start to shine as the truth presses down on him again, cold and heavy. How the good things never stay, how the roots never take, how people who get too close always end up dead…
She’s so much heavier in his arms after she draws that final breath…
“I don’t care what’s wrong.” He breathes. “I don’t care what’s the issue—I’ve already killed enough people who got too close, so…I’m begging you, Sieb: don’t ever say something like that to me again. Please.”
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But he uses the loosened hold to separate from John completely. To get a little room to breathe. He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling awful about this tension between them.
“You have made it very clear, that you don’t care what I perceive as wrong with me. But it is not going to be a matter of loving me hard enough that I become whole again. Something happened at the gala that I am grappling with.”
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John lets him move back, because…that stings. Love him enough to make him whole: he wonders sometimes if Sam thought that’s what John wanted instead of just…wanting. And if he’s making Siebren feel like that…
But there’s something else there. It’s too fucking early to be throwing the ‘L’ word around, so it feels like a silent promise of a ‘later.’ When it won’t be…an assurance that this is just a snag and not a cataclysm.
“And—trying to fix you just by caring enough? I’d never try to do that.” He continues, hating how cold he feels suddenly—this whole human contact thing is a double edged sword, goddamnit. “I…care too much to insult you like that. I’m not whole, either—I’ve been broken into too many fucking pieces to even consider a future where I might be. Love you till you’re whole again? No…but I’d like a chance to love the whole. To know what’s got you so twisted up—and add that broken piece to the pile of things that made me like you in the first place, y’know? I don’t care what’s wrong cause I think I can fix it or even want to: I’m just…still gonna be here cause I wanna be after I know.”
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“Did you pay attention to the demons at the gala? Mendel and his sidekicks.”
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Loving, as an act? John wants to. Wants it more than anything—and can’t see that the luxury he head s for is something he’s already doing.
Siebren’s question is met with a touch of color in John’s cheeks borne of embarrassment.
“No.” He admits. “That mask that attached itself to my face, it wiped my memory. I got a rundown from Gerry, the book binder, and did run into a friend and face off with a couple of those fuckers with her, low level lackeys, but I was leaning hard on the wolf thing. Instincts, y’know?”
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He turns away, because he can’t bring himself to look as he speaks.
“I met her, I fought her, and when her body dissolved into cheap white chocolate and cherry syrup, I ate her. Her power is within me, now. It is why I have been unwell. I have been digesting her.”
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John has seen the worst side of the inexplicable, though. He’s held his dying friend’s pieces, for Chrissakes. And killing a demon? Pretty fucking logical from that standpoint.
So John moves to Siebren’s side, and just reaches for his hand.
“Why’d you eat her?” He asks softly. The question is confused, curious, but not angry or horrified. “I mean…just looking at the whole thing superficially, I’d be worried about food poisoning, if nothing else.”
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“I was angry. I wanted not just to destroy her, but to conquer her. Her power, it is what has been my wound for years. I would have pissed on her like a dog claiming territory, if I weren’t wearing suspenders. Anything, to drive my victory home.”
He smiles ruefully. “I was not in my right mind. Perhaps I still am not.”
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“You’re not.” John replies—and still watching Siebren, still smiling, he lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of Siebren’s.
“But neither is any left handed person in the world. So you’re in good company.”
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Siebren finally looks at John. “And you think that it’s fun?”
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“There’s a guy I know—here, in this place.” John begins softly, wrapping both his hands around Siebren’s hand. “And I think he might be the closest friend I’ve had since the war…thing is, he’s—in a very technical sense, a monster. He kinda…eats trauma, and when he does it causes nasty nightmares for the one feeding him. And before I knew, I accidentally fed him. I’ve been really struggling with nightmares about the shit that sent me to prison ever since. Thing is? This guy…he’s never judged me, never saw me differently for knowing what a mess I am. He’s only ever been kind to me—loyal. Human in every way that matters, and he reminded me of my own humanity when I couldn’t find it on my own. But I see him in my nightmares now, this version of himself that’s all eyes and…kinda horrifying. But I could still recognize him under the eyes, and him being there? It helped when I woke up. Made the nightmares less scary. Even after he confirmed what he was and what he did. The dreams scare me, but they always scared me. He doesn’t, because I know him, and he’s my friend. He didn’t mean to feed on me, and I’m aware of that. But the dreams still scare me, they’ll always scare me…and he still doesn’t when I see him in those dreams. Because he’s my friend—I’m not scared of my friend, or the terrible things he can do. That monster…is more human than anyone I’ve ever met. Do you understand, Sieb?”
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"I think I am failing to make myself clear here. I have no doubt in your infinite capacity to accept me, in whatever state I am in. You are kind, truly and deeply kind."
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“No, I think I am.” He replies. “You said you’re struggling with what happened, I’m…trying to tell you what I see, now that I know—maybe what you can’t see. And what I see is…you. Worrying you hurt me at the library. Holding me, even after you found out I’m not human anymore. If you’re afraid of being corrupted or something, I don’t see any sign of that, and if you think the stuff you’re able to do while the demon’s remains are working through your system are somehow…bad? I don’t agree. I’ve seen it firsthand: power is only as good or bad as the person wielding it, and you’re a good man. Any power in your hands, by that standard, will only do good.”
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"I spent the last three days trapped in my head, my memories spinning like the ingredients of a stir fry. I am not worried about good or bad, not on the scale you're looking at. I'm worried about 'am I going to sneeze and make you forget your mother's name?' Because I currently don't remember mine."
He grimaces. "And that, that might make me the most like her. John, I think she couldn't help but be what she was, the clownette. I have taken her place."
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He wants to say it, but doesn’t. He’s self aware enough to know it’s inherent to his training. Some of it, to his chagrin, is innate, though: and he sees that in Siebren.
“You made it out, though. Of your head—you made it to work, you’re here, now, instead of locked inside your own skull.” John points out instead. “And if you can take that step, you can take another. Gaining ground, one victory at a time, no matter how small. Learning to control it, like you control gravity.”
He wants to say more—but he stops himself, again, because it’s something so deeply gouged into him he doesn’t know what’s him or what’s the Army anymore. That drive to fight, to win at any cost above and beyond simple tactical victory.
He doesn’t want to strategize or indoctrinate. He wants to help.
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