Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Speech Acts, chapter 2. A first version I've typed then scrapped, that's more heavily based on his About Us : Withholding the Truth voiceline)

The Cornelian hero and the Racinian hero, two different versions of the 'hero' archetype, as characterized by two of the most famous French Enlightenment-era tragedy playwrights : 
(from Starobinski, The Living Eye)

"The Cornelian hero has for witness the universe. (...) he offers himself, admirable example, a source of clarity. (...) [Corneille] is the poet of the dazzled vision (...). Far from being deceiving, this [act of being dazzled, couldn't find a better translation] devotes/shows the essence of true valor of admirable beings.
(...) And if [the Cornelian hero] never ceases to take the universe as witness, it is because he achieves his self-consciousness[/awareness] only if he appears before a witness. (comparaître devant témoin= to be forced to appear in a Court, in front of a jury, translation note)

The act of seeing, for Racine, remains haunted by misfortune. (...) Looking never ceases to betray un-satisfaction and resentment. Seeing is a pathetic act, and remains an imperfect capture of the coveted being (...) It is no longer a clear gaze that knows, but one that longs and suffers." 

—  (pp. 74-5; p.77, FR Gallimard 1999 edition. A very imperfect translation I've put together; emphases my own)

---

"And how do I know you're telling the truth ?" Lumine asks abruptly.

Lyney blinks. "You're not beating around the bush, are you," he tries to play off at first, with a laugh. But she stares at him; those eyes, those demanding eyes —  with a weight to them, like golden shackles. 

— ... I've never really lied to you, though. I can't — (and here he gulps, his throat suddenly dry and closing up—) "... can't seem to pull it off when it's in your presence." 

It's his body that betrays him, he's noticed;  how fickle can a heart be, to try and beat it into submission (the mission, remember the mission). "The best I can ever do is... omit just a few things, here and there." 

Lumine sighs. "You have, though. 'Never approached me with any ulterior motives ?'" Liar, whispers the air buzzing around her. (Notice the double negation, Lyney thinks, two wrongs make a right in language if not in real life; but Lumine hasn't learned to read his verbal magic so intricately yet.)

The all-too-familiar creature of guilt that seems to follow him whenever Lumine makes an appearance sinks its fangs into his chest; the pain is throbbing, but deserved. He closes his eyes.

— See, he says softly instead, yielding the truth at last. "I can't lie successfully to your eyes." (That is one of the reasons to his truth-telling strategies; it's her eyes, her mesmerizing eyes —  topaz, gold, sunlight or stars, whatever they are —  too true for such petty conceit, for meager linguistic trickery. But he can't afford what she deserves, a purer, simpler truth —  not with Father, not with his oath to secrecy.)

"Such a way with words," she retorts, her voice sharp; yet another set of jagged teeth like a fox's, digging into the bleeding berries of his heart. "It's impressive, how you manage to make your every sentence so tricky, magician. It's like you need your magic as a crutch for truth." 

(And as expected of Lumine, of course she's discerned what he was trying — but not quite succeeding — to tell her, that night, face-to-face with Cesar's grave.)

Chapter Text

'Méropide': 

1) A fictional island ('Meropis' in English) invented by Ancient Greek writer Theopompus of Chios in his work Philippica (which, by name, seems to reference 'philippics' or passionate 'damning' speeches or tirades used to condemn political actors in Ancient Greece or Rome); 'Meropis' is a parody of Atlantis.

2) 'méropidés' (Meropidae) : a category ('famille' = 'family') of birds called 'guêpiers' in French. Funnily enough, there's a saying in French, 'se mettre/se fourrer dans un guêpier' (to put yourself in a wasp's nest) which means to 'put yourself in a dangerous situation'... aka exactly what happened with the Hearth siblings 

(Sources: 'Meropis', Wiki article; 'Méropidés, Wiki article; FR Larousse online dictionary def for 'se fourrer dans un guêpier'.)

(Act III, The Proscribed, Hidden in Plain Sight ; the beginning of rule-breaking and investigating

Written from Lumine's POV; I originally wanted to do a more exhaustive retelling of her side of the investigation to put the accent on the physical stress/toll it takes (we see traveler+paimon being more and more glum and exhausted over the three days they spend working non-stop). then i realized that unfortunately, that would be too time consuming...)

Every day melts into the next one, a debilitating routine. In the morning : head out to the Lower Production Zone. Get yelled at by Grainville, "Look who decided to show up !" the foreman in grey. (" Get your butts into gear and get to work, time’s a-wasting !”) Quit fucking yapping, Lumine thinks, hardened by the lack of sleep and sun.

She approaches the work station mechanically. Steps onto the machine’s plate. Places the metal to be forged where Grainville points, biting back a few choice words.

At least the work doesn't require thinking; it's all jumping and hitting, two things Lumine happens to excel at. Jump. (Thunk, sings the iron plates beneath her feet.) Hit. (Bang, clamors the machine in a resounding whine, under the impact of her fist. There's a dull pain ringing through her bones, but it feels strangely cathartic.)

She does it again. And then again; it's a two-step process, a binary rhythm that finally numbs the mess in her head. Jump, thunk. Hit, bang.

Paimon’s yelling out encouraging words; perfunctory, useless but comforting ones nonetheless, much like Paimon herself. “Come on, keep going, Lumine, you can do it!”.

Jump, thunk. Jump. Thunk.

Hit. Bang. “Just a little longer !”

Jump, hit, thunk, bang jump, hit, bang, jump-

(thunk)hit(bang)jump(thunk)…

By the time she’s done, her knuckles are covered in angry bruises, marring her skin with blue and black. The low metallic vibrations of the processing machine's core irradiate through the soles of her feet as she walks her first shift off, and Lumine feels almost as dulled as the sword they've taken from her.

***

(Lost in Deep Seas: when Lumine&Paimon confront Léonide, Poirier Alexis abt the cannibalism rumor. Lumine's tired of the whole thing.)

“You’d better leave now, ain’t nobody coming to save you!” barks one of the inmates. 

Lumine rolls her eyes; after earning her daily bread beating guys three times his size for years, she'd love to see him try and do anything. “Enough with the theatrics," she groans instead. "All those rumors about cannibals and hidden rules were started by you, weren’t they ?” 

“So what if they are ?" retorts another, slightly taller one. "If you push us, we can make these rumors a reality at any time!” — but after trying to wrangle the meaning out of a professional at phrasing like Lyney, poor lying like that doesn’t cut it. She crosses her arms; looks him in the eye, nonplussed. “Your intonation’s all off, you know. If you’re going to be reciting lines, you should at least try to put some heart into it.’

Paimon, gliding next to her, looks sideways at her with a puzzled expression, before changing the subject. ‘...What are you guys trying to do with these rumors anyways ?’ 

"I don't have to tell you anything," replies the one called Léonide. "If you turn around, go back to the dormitories, and act like you never saw anything, then I'll pretend that you never showed up here!"

But his acting isn’t any better, either — small fish, the lot of them. Whatever, let’s just cut this short.

“There’s something calling me,” she quotes, a hand on her chest; it’s a gesture that comes naturally, having seen it so often in the past few weeks with a certain performing duo. “I have to go.”

Unsurprisingly, it's enough for the little trio to switch back to shock. “You know our boss ?”

“Yeah, ‘Childe Tartaglia’ ? I do.” 

“Whoa, we had no idea our boss was such a big deal…" whispers the tallest one. "He always kept his identity a secret.” 

Whoops — seems she’s still got a few lessons to learn from Lyney, after all. Though that’s no matter, actually; finding Childe, (instead of worrying about his feelings), that would be a more solid start. 

“Did he have you come here to find us ?” asks Léonide, with a perplexed look.

“... We came here to learn more about what happened to him”, she replies— careful not to uncover too much. 

(...)

In any case, it seems the little trio has faith in the Harbinger's abilities, and knowing the guy, Lumine would be inclined to agree — if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been without his Vision for weeks, now. It had taken on a nearly-mortal toll for some of the people she’d met back in Inazuma, and as resourceful as Childe is, it would be lying to say that she's not worried for him.

“Can you take us to the spot where he left ?” 

“The way up from here has been sealed off. It’s impossible to get through,” states Poirier categorically. Lumine frowns slightly. Sealed off ? Was it because of his escape ?

“Boss left by going down from here. It wasn’t full of water, at the time…”

Or not. Well, with all of those leaky pipes everywhere, partial flooding was bound to happen at some point — she wonders for how much longer it will deteriorate before Wriothesley does something about it.

***

(Act IV: Cataclysm's Quickening: The Truth, Shrouded in Shadows.

In 'Child's Play', I changed it to Lyney's POV because I felt this scene was too much of a repeat from the last one of the first chapter, what with Lumine playing guessing games from his body language. Nevertheless, here it is !)

Their gazes meet again; Lumine gives him a slight nod, and he’s the one to approach them, this time.

“That look in your eyes”, he whispers softly. “You’ve found something ?”

She shrugs. “A little.”

“Hey, this is no time to be modest !” scolds the little pixie by her side. “Just tell him we’ve found a boatload of information !” She represses a sigh; leave it to Paimon to spill any bean there is to be found.

Lyney’s latched on to her reveal right away, of course : “As expected of the legendary duo,” he praises, in his usual honeyed tone. The Fatuus has stepped closer than usual — and his eyes still haven’t left hers, as he adds, smiling, “You have my full and undivided attention.”

(... Yes, I could tell that much.)

[A sum up]

“… I’d never guessed so much myself,” he says quietly. Lumine notices how his thumb presses against the corner of his lip, like a repressed nailbiting habit — though he catches his gesture in less time than it takes to blink, straightening up to eye her again. “The rumors swirling about this place are unreliable after all, and Master Childe probably went missing because he found a way out…”

A quick nod; if Lumine’s to believe the detective novels Paimon is so fond of, that’s a truth-telling sign. “He is a Harbinger, after all…” (His gaze darts on the side — he’s thinking about something.) “I suppose he’s much more resourceful than I initially gave him credit for.”

She frowns. Is this an aside he’s mistakingly addressed to the wrong audience, or was it intended for her ? She can’t shake the impression that even if it is, it might just be another one of his clever distractions — a small reveal to divert her attention away from the nagging feeling that he’s keeping some secret beneath that magician’s hat of his.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t enough for our final report to Father.” Lyney crosses his arms as he looks at her; this much she can believe in. “We need to find out Master Childe’s exact whereabouts… and Father told me that even though he said he was just coming to Fontaine for a vacation, he actually had some personal reasons. His agenda might be linked to his disappearance.”

She furrows her brow again; retorts firmly, “The most important thing right now is to catch up to him.” What good are 'exact whereabouts' if he's unwell ? 

When Paimon mentions the flooded escape route, the young Fatuus is quick to offer his younger sibling’s services; his absence only highlights Lynette’s most unusual lack of appearance.

(Most likely she’s been tasked with investigating in his stead.)

“I’ll talk to him about it later,” he concludes with a smile.

“Yes, we’re counting on you,” she replies. How odd — though she can’t discard the fact that he’s yet to be fully trusted, the wave of relief that comes crashing in the wake of his words is undeniable. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says earnestly, shaking his head. “We’re all in this together, so it’s only fair for us to fulfill our end of the bargain.” He’s smiling with his eyes this time, amethyst irises gilded in industrial lighting; and the sight is a little too sweet to her taste. “Honestly, I’m far more impressed by you guys managing to collect all this information right under Wriothesley’s watchful eyes.”

(…)

“Lumine, what say you to meeting here nine days from now on ?" he suggests. "We’ll be able to pick up Freminet while we’re at it, too.”

She gives a small nod. “Sure.”

“Oh, and there’s just one last thing we’d like your help with”, Lyney adds quickly, sobering up — she can tell he thought carefully about the delivery of that line, in the way he straightens up again — it must be a performer's habit.

“We still need to make more progress on the investigation of the forbidden zone… Freminet’s no master of disguise, Lynette’s still working on getting intel from other areas, and I’ll need to spend some time helping Freminet prepare for his diving mission.” (His show of care would almost be heartwarming; but though an older brother’s gesture, this is also his responsibility as Arlecchino’s successor.)

“So… you’re the only ones we can count on.” He’s swift to flip back the script on them, that tricky magician — well, I suppose that’s what he implied by ‘all in this together’.

“Listen carefully," he says again, intently. "You’ll need to find an excuse to get into the infirmary and investigate the rooms and environs… You’ve already met the head nurse, so she’ll be less suspicious of you.” He’s crinkling his eyes; so eager to cash in their favor already. “… But also, there’s no need to take risks. Don’t forget, safety always comes first !”

And there's no way to deny the slight pinch in her heart, hearing this — Lumine can't help but think it's something he would've said to his siblings, too.

Chapter Text

"Do you have a question that can't be answered ?

Do the stars frighten you by their heaviness 

and their endless number ?

Does it bother you, that mercy is so difficult to 

understand ?"

— Mary Oliver, "From the Book of Time." Devotions

"YOU ASK WOULD I HAVE DONE IT FOR A HUSBAND OR A CHILD MY ANSWER IS NO I WOULD NOT.

A HUSBAND OR A CHILD CAN BE REPLACED

BUT WHO CAN GROW ME A NEW BROTHER ?"

— Anne Carson, Antigonick

***

Yes, of course, “home” is wherever we are together.

But I cannot go with you to the next world, to find a new home with you…

At least, not yet.

Once you reach the end of your journey as I did, you will see for yourself the true nature of this world.

Though we need not rush, sister.

I have more than enough time to wait for you.

(One More Trick, Mister Magician ! Chapter 3 original ending: the meaning of Cecilia flowers — the meaning of Lumine's Inteyvat flowers.

Takes place between 4.1 and was written before 4.2 came out; "Written In the Stars" is the name of the document I use to list down every Lynlumi fic idea before I write them.
Surely you'll have noticed by now, my theme is 'fate' and star-crossed lovers; I've started this back in October ; " Written in the Stars" was a phrase said by N. the mysterious invisible mage in the 4.2 quest, as a way to say that fate cannot be so easily changed.

hearing/seeing it [on the genshin wikia of the quest] made me jump, not gonna lie.

"Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version to this story." — Richard Siken.)

"You'll be leaving one day, won't you," says Lyney. His voice is quiet, almost muffled, though it's not because of his hand this time.

Lumine stays silent — long enough for his heart to start beating louder, the sound of it like a drum in his ears. The night breeze, wrapping the two of them together (a cold shroud), carries over the scent of cecilia flowers.

"... Everyone leaves at some point," she finally replies, elusive.

"I'm not talking about death," he protests weakly. She's putting her walls up again, that firefly; he almost thinks of giving up, of leaving her be to her own world of thoughts and pining — but  something desperate pushes the words out of his throat, before he can try to hold them back.

"I'm talking about when you'll find your brother again. You'll leave Teyvat... Won't you ?"

Her silence speaks louder than words ever could; still, the traveler offers her hand, and Lyney takes it, tightly — almost greedily. A fragile tether, not quite a promise; but he can't find it in himself to let her go. Not yet, not now. (Not like this, when he's yet to find a way to pay her back.)

Lumine's eyes — starlight, so bright, but so cold; so distant — they are stained with a pained expression he wishes he wouldn't recognise.

(I'm sorry, Lyney.)

And he knew this was coming; knew it would end this way, ever since that first glance in Romaritime Harbor. (As a magician, he knows every spell must break at some point — even the enchantment of otherworldy Lumine and her company.)

She doesn't let go of his hand either, her gloved thumb gently rubbing his palm. Like rubbing balm over a wound, she silently asks for his forgiveness. (Lyney wonders how she will keep her promise now; her 'always being' in his auditorium. Freminet, who believes in stories and fairytales, perhaps would comfort him saying that she'd watch from the night sky; ...if only that were true.)

And despite the hurt, the young man does forgive her; he understands her too much not to, how like calls to like and how twins leave gaps too cruel not to grasp every chance to get them back — no matter the cost. The brother in him has always understood her longing, her desperation; the restlessness, the sinking of her teeth in Teyvat's soft underbelly, cutting down the thorns of its plots — digging for any clue, any answer.

Yes, Lyney understands — but that doesn't stop his heart from breaking.

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,

feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy,

she sat like Patience on a monument,

smiling at grief.

Was this not love indeed ?

We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; 

for we still prove so much in our vows but little in our love.

— Shakespeare, 'Twelfth Night'

(a play about twins, funnily enough.)

Chapter Text

(...) It is an arrangement of Lumidouce Bells, which symbolize parting, and Rainbow Roses that represent passion.

Parting and passion are two separate perspectives sharing the same nature. What really matters is the present that we are living in.

— Delightful Encounter, Lyney's Story Quest Item (via Genshin's wikia)

(A few notes, as I realized something in class. Now you have enough context, I hope, for it to make somewhat sense.)

(There is a double trinity of forces at play in Fontaine, who is very heavy-handed on religious themes: sinning, apocalyptic setting, the idea of a transgression that must be 'washed away' through some sort of trial (the Hydro Archon's; Furina's; in both senses of the term, the legal one with Neuvillette being the judge, and the poetic phrase of 'trial and tribulation', of having to go through some sort of penance.)

The Holy Ghost ('Traveler') = ascending (see Character Story 1)

/\

----

The Father (Arlecchino)

The Son (Father's Successor : Lyney)

and also : 

The Father (Neuvillette) =

is the one to 

forgive Fontainian sin

The Holy Ghost : Foçalors,

the 'true' divinity who was able 

to go toe to toe against Celestia

------ 

\/

The Son

Furina = descending

(lost her social status as a god along with her curse; becomes a human

has gone through her trials and tribulations to purge out her nation's 'sin' under the commandment of Foçalors)

/\

\/

= 'losange' or 'rhombus'/'diamond shape' in English : 

"originally, the rhombus was part of [ancient Scandinavian runic alphabet], 'Ingwaz' or 'Ing' ( ᛝ ). It is the rune of 'Ing', the God of the Hearth (= le dieu du foyer) in Nordic mythology; it denotes fertility, fecundity, and is part of Freyr's group of runes (’Freyr's Ætt) focusing on vital strength and 'the first indications on the ultime goal'.

=> but back on 'performance'; do you know what Arlecchino's (in Commedia del'Arte) costume is characterized by ? You've guessed it.... multicolored 'losanges', which are supposed to represent the character's multifaceted nature. 

=> Interestingly, the shapes aren’t as visible on Arlecchino’s costume ingame (only a few on the red ‘tail’ of her coat) as compared to Lyney’s who possesses a lot more of those on the same area. 

(In the Commedia del’Arte, “The Harlequin is characterized by his checkered costume. His role is that of a light-hearted, nimble, and astute servant, often acting to thwart the plans of his master, and pursuing his own love interest, Columbina, with wit and resourcefulness, often competing with the sterner and melancholic Pierrot.)

(Note how 'rune', itself, is supposed to come from proto-Celtic '*runa', meaning 'secret, mystery' - and how Teyvat itself is, with the Irminsul, connoted to be drawing inspiration from Gnosticism AND the Nordic Yggdrasil...)

Interestingly, the gem the Traveler uses for ascending is a 'diamond', too. Hence my linking of the three, along with the short explanation you'll find in the end notes.

Chapter Text

LYNEY: "We're... not real humans?"

— Fontaine's Archon Quest Act V: Opéra de Noirceur et de Blancheur. 

 

👁️👁️👁️

What does it feel like, to be delivered from what ties you back...?

Well, you might think it's a relief, to tear down the walls of secrets, to demolish that tower piece by piece but when it's your whole identity, it feels more like ruination than anything else. Or rather I should say— it doesn't feel like deliverance to me.

You already know why, of course; you know me ! You've read me like a book for so long now, I'm sure by now you must've gotten sick from hearing about all the spinning and falling and stumbling and tumbling and crashing and stuttering that unravels, once I start existing in your eyes. (Right ?) But the truth is — ever since you came along, everything's just kept being all of that: spinning falling tumbling crashing stuttering. And shattering — and crumbling, with dust and soot and ash to make you cough your lungs your heart and spit the truth out. My narratives, my stories, falling and failing 

when exposed to your gaze. 

And the view from Romaritime Harbor, how it morphed overnight, the ugly purple bruise-crack in the sky sprouting into a tree of Hydro (a report from the [      ] Fatui company says you were spotted in Farakhkhert as it happened.) And I don't believe in mere coincidences, Lumine. I know what you are, just as I know what you bring us. Along with your truth, it's the death of the old world that you come bearing for us.

And now — please get this — all my life (the new one, you know the one, not the street-rat one I don't like thinking of that) it has been just this: mirrors and lines, smokes and shadows, magic and rehearsing. So much practice, so much rehearsing. And reciting. Quoting. Phrasing. Performing. Never truly — never fully — living. Do you know this, Lumine ?

When you start staring a little too long into mirrors, the light begins to shine differently. Look, look. Keep looking, don't blink. 

... 

...

If you stare into a mirror for long enough, your face will start to look different. It'll begin — not to distort or contort right away, but rather, why yes, it begins — ... to become different. Other. Strange.

The lines and contours don't — blur —  per say but it just... doesn't look like your face anymore. Your pupils, they start beating like hearts; their pulse swallow (light, attention, faces, become hungry holes like mouths or voids that shadow all the rest, that's what you think you are though I couldn't disagree more).

...

What remains, staring back at the looking glass, is an Other; a monster that grimaces (as I rehearse my grin) — and sneers (my smile). 

And weeps. Sometimes I can't stop thinking; which is real, and which is the illusion ?

(I know it hasn't escaped your eyes, my preening and prying. Nor the praying, or the pleasing. Or the pleading.) 

...

I've stared at the looking glass long enough to feel It, crawling underneath my skin, like Sinthe. When you spend so long in front of the mirror, when you glare at your reflection until every pore, wrinkle and stray strand of hair stick out like sore thumbs — when you're stuck REHEARSING until all your crevices have been ironed out, it's hard not to think of the thing that lies beneath the surface.

... you wouldn't know what it's like, losing yourself into your image — you pull away from your reflection, I know that, I noticed. Of course I noticed; everyone I know glances at their image when passing by shop windows, except you, who runs like the wind everywhere, no time for anything, and especially no time to think about such things. I wonder what you'd see — actually, no, that's not true...

I think I can guess the shape your monster takes, by the way you wince away from the water's surface if you don't go rushing in fast enough. You know better than to stare into his eyes — you're strong enough to look away. You hand us your truths on the Opera's stage as I do my daily spinning, stuck on the front seat of your scene as you make history yet again, as you expose our Fontainian sin

lying beneath our skin, the monstrous in our veins; the main Actor of Teyvat's stage, stringing the rest of us along for the revelation of a lifetime.

And how can I not feel the ground spinning, learning that we are, in fact, the monster I saw crawling in the mirror ? (It's an old story. You've heard it dozens of times already, 'Lyney feels the world crashing around him as Lumine tears the background into pieces', I know. You can go ahead and sink your teeth into the fabric of my plotlines; I'm ready.)

... Haha, you don't want to ? It's alright. I understand. You told me you want the truth, don't you ? And you also told me you'll always be in my auditorium. (I still don't see how you'll keep that promise,

but still — I believe you. I believe in you, wholeheartedly.) ... Well, since you don't want to, let me do it for you, let me offer myself to you once more; at least in my head, since I can't act it out just yet.

The truth, plain and simple — just the way I know you like it, Lumine, is this: I love you, I love you, I loved, always have, always will love you — just the way buildings love the fire that comes to burn them down, the way sinners love the saint that comes to destroy them with their forgiveness. Because this is part of the truth, dear, it's what you've just done — you told us we're Hydro mimics of life.

You bring us the truth, you bring us the end of enchantment; Fontaine's prophecy, our imposter Archon's castle of lies — uncovered.

(Do you see it, now ? Why I think you a Saint ? A star ? This was never mere courtly language of love, but a sinner's confession. You have a knife in your hand; so please, since it's you, Lumine, come drive it in my heart.)

🗨️🗨️🗨️

"I don't want to feel better; I want to know better. I should've known that God is not in the meal but in the sharing of the meal.

I should have told you that holiness resides

in needing each other, in acts of survival made generous."

— (Unidentified) via @0cttober on instagram

 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

"i'll finish this story if it KILLS me"

— a thought, written down in my doc

 

The morning I spat blood in my kitchen sink, I realized I needed help.

I'm sure you noticed the verb here - 'realized'. Not 'understood' (I did understand I had to stop long ago, rationally speaking, when I started missing class and work to focus on this project) or even 'saw'. I need you to understand me here; this isn't me fictionalising. Saturday morning, 2nd of December, 11:19; I sent the friend with whom i go to the library, every Saturday morning,

"lmao sorry im gonna be late i think i chipped a tooth"

(not going to report friend's reply here, im trying to keep their privacy)

11:52 AM:

"ok good news even if it was bleeding quite a bit it was just the gums, all good!"

Now I re-read this, having thankfully awoken from the madness I'd put myself into, and think, Laurie, what the hell were you thinking.

Now I need you to understand something. As you've gathered from little tidbits and offhand remarks here and there, scattered like breadcrumbs across my seven precedent fics, I was a fairly busy person. As in, "two part-time jobs (until November, then that was only one), master's thesis and classes, organising an academic conference" type of busy, and I know (I hope) you understand I'm not saying all of this to brag. I'm saying this to drive my point home; starting a writing project as ambitious as "Written in the Stars" was madness. I'd stay up regularly all night writing in some sort of frantic frenesy, pulling what I called (jokingly; ...) 'Double-Shift Saturdays' where I'd go study on average six hours a day at the library, then go home, gobble some sort of dinner (sometimes not) and jump right back onto my laptop to devote myself to my writing. All night. On average from 10 pm to around 5 or 6 am. Several times a week since I'd be at it again like a butcher knife in hand or hand in knife on Sundays, Mondays... I'd finish the nights hands shaking, head numbed, starving, with horrible, horrible stomach pains, and a slowly descending grip on reality as I'd try getting up and going to class, head so clouded I could only dream through the rest of it all. EVERYTHING made me think of my project. EVERYTHING. "The Waves", the book we'd be reading in class; the material I'd find for my thesis.

See, the thing is: I didn't want to tell "just" a story (though of course, a story is never "just" a story). My problem: I was - still am - fascinated with 'truth'. True love. Being loved in spite of your worst mistakes, etc. (And, of course, family, but all of us here are, aren't we ? if it's not our blood family it's our found families. hence why you are here, trying to read me into comprehension, why i am still handing you slivers of truth hoping you will succeed after all. Hence why I love you all so much I can't bring myself to not give an explanation.)

My thesis: "Un-fictionalising the author." My modus of writing: based on Virginia Woolf's "The Waves", a beautiful, beautiful novel that took her years to complete, based on the theme of 'resonances'.

Now this word perhaps rings out a vague echo in your mind, 'resonances'. Yes, of course, that is what I wrote in the presentation of this 'fic'; it's what I've been doing carefully all the while, for close to 65 thousand published words now (my very own Fontainian detective novel) frantically searching for themes, for motives, for words to use and reuse but not repeat so much you'll get tired of them, to weave them intricately together so that they form their own meaning that would shift according to what you know (or not) - so that the readers that had gone through the effort of reading them all would be able to form the same metaphors and associations I did, so that our understanding of each other would be as close to perfect as possible, my own foolish attempt at forming our little 'familect'. 

It was playing God. With myself and with you all. And for that I am so, so deeply sorry - though I can't lie and say I regret it, because it had made me realize just how violent I was being towards myself.

Now a few more stories-metaphors-truths for you to follow me along as I ramble. That whole 'coughing out truth' bit. It isn't as much as a fac-simile as you may think, I've started having this persistent cough since I finished One More Trick. That was when I read Into Your Orbit, read One More Trick, and thought, "I need to write the rest."

Hence the start of my ambitious project. Its defining quote, "Nothing would make me happier than having your trust." I'd originally thought the story would be about 'truth' and 'lie' learning to love each other despite of their differences, but as I lost myself in my own make-up games of POVs, misunderstandings, truth-seeking and burrowing within the canon I gradually came to understand that really this was the story of two characters that performed out of a desire to protect themselves and their loved ones from the fears that'd haunted them; I also understand that I ended up performing as a deep-rooted desire to understand; and despite everything I can't help but hope you played along, too, so that I haven't been talking to the void all this long. (And I also realize that wanting this means I am wishing you experienced the same pain I did, hence my frantic apologizing, towards yourself and me.)

I want you to understand that if there is the slightest chance that you are feeling bad for indulging me if you did; please, DON'T. I see it now; because of my particular set of circumstances I have been growing with a particular sort of yearning, longing, desperate want for a love that I thought 'absolute' because I was so utterly convinced of being this unloveable creature my brain made me out to be, made me want to commit a murder through a thousand papercut ways that end up killing you for real if you don't open your eyes at some point. IF IT HADN'T HAPPENED NOW, IT WOULD'VE LATER.

When I spit that blood in my sink, when I wrote "and it's no longer Traveler (...) but [who am I ?]", when soon after that I wrote the cry for help "i'll finish this if it KILLS me", it made me confront myself in ways I'd never noticed before. Why ? Because at that point it was undeniable for me that Traveler and Lyney are so very similar, that they were one person, that they were me and most likely you too, that I loved them so much it HURT me to hurt them like this. And then I ugly sobbed and it was my body my mind myself sobbing WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME and it was also understanding that everyone I've ever loved have had to face the sheer violence of these feelings too, all on their own, without me knowing, and it broke me, broke me, broke me. And then remade me anew.

See, our brains are so talented at suppressing our pain. It's a defense mechanism of course, you grow dulled to your daily pain. it's for survival. but long-term only barely surviving is just like death, and when i realized my friends have been STARING at me hurting myself like this being utterly powerless to stop it (see, the friend whose birthday you missed because of your obsession, see the friend who clammed up when i was trying to explain why intertextuality mattered, because they could see my faraway almost dead look in my eyes when i couldnt), it felt like death;

and that was what made me realise it HAD to change. because i love, love, love my friends just as much as i love you all here, and deep down really through our experiences to the chain of reactions that is sprung upon us we are all one and the same. i need you to understand that i adore you all because you made me finally understand what agape means.

it's not stupid one-sided self-sacrificial love, as i so naively thought it all the while. it's the continuous painful choice to face what scares you the most, to face it head on, stare it DEAD in the eyes and say 'yes, i will love even you, because you are my friend as much as you are me.' it is the continuous process of forgiving yourself and living to the fullest because that is the only way there can ever be a meaningful (us). When our friends see us hating on what they love about us, they internalize the thought that they should hate that part of themselves too.

(and yes, i think i can see you rereading this (?) trying to understand, and i am still trying to make sense of it too, re-explaining to both myself and you, again and again. that is part of the process of 'ego death'. i want to remember this lesson so i can be my truest self, though i know my brain will make me forget it again because it is all so raw.)

and even if you don't fully understand now, that is fine. i understand, it too will happen one day, probably it's started already for you though you hadn't realized it. (this is why words are so important.)

And don't worry, you will see me here again. Two horrible days ago i woke up mourning the idea of being a set person stuck to one mental place, and i couldnt eat or look at a screen. (that, of course, right after writing this previous text) but then; thought of you. thought 'do it scared, but lovingly.' and then i finished the trickiest truths, and then i finished this chapter; and writing hasn't been ruined, writing has been healing ever since.

(or: this has confirmed my nagging fear inside myself that 'nothing makes sense', and made it positive. Nothing makes sense ? Then remake it. You cannot tie all of your worth as a person to the roles you play, because that implies, to me at least and to some extent to you since you have felt what i wrote, that you HAVE to be <student-you> or <writer-you> or <you-at-work> following rules that aren't real, unless YOU WANT THEM TO BE REAL and feel comfortable doing so. If you do feel uncomfortable with the way you express yourself; listen to that voice. there is a problem to solve. just try not to do it all on your own or you'll end up like me. please accept that you are deserving of help, too.

remember the last time you saw a friend doing something you knew was bad for them ? why didn't you help ? because the feeling in you was right, 'they won't listen to me unless they listen to themselves first and let themselves be helped'. you can't force anyone to be anything, you can't force them even to get better. you know what you can do, though ? talk to them honestly, gently, plain face to plain face. talk to them with your fear and your love, as earnestly as you can. so many issues in life stem from miscommunication because we do not want to be misunderstood, but:

1) not acting on a thing you see or feel is already a choice, and non-actions have consequences of their own

2) when you feel angry or sad or in pain, please be your own friend, too, ask the anger or the sadness or pain why it's there. let yourself feel when needed; your body won't have to accumulate it until you reach your breaking point, let yourself feel so that the people around you will know you need help. everyone is so afraid and in so much pain constantly, and we're not going to heal if we don't talk about it; or at least find a way to clearly communicate our care to one another. 

=> once you have let go of that burden, it will become finally possible to get outside of your own head, to deal with the doubt clouding your sight, remember that we feel the same things, and see the story behind their acts. it's all i've managed to do now. i look at my favorite artists, think of the grueling invisible process behind every single piece of art, and i reblog their poem. i share them. i comment 'i love the way you...' or 'i'm glad to see more of your OC'. I tell them 'it's okay, take your time' when i see 'i feel terrible for not posting'. 

and every single time, i get likes back, i see the poet whose poem i shared liking my instagram story, i see the artist whose art inspired me to start trying doing the same. and i think 'no gods no angels', i think 'only humans trying their best and being so brave sharing what matters the most to them'. i see, i see, i see, and it makes me love the world even more as i start understanding all over again.

if you notice something, that is already your mind sending you a signal that something's going on. "look with the heart"... but say it, too