imadewritingmyjob
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O5-10 // She/They - Ace
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lab safety but the teacher just wants you to die
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Finally done with something I was working on since Christmas. (Work work work... Just a few more weeks before summerrrr)
Trying a few things in this one but... yes
The light in the dark
#scp fanfiction#scp#another time#scp foundation#scp fanart#art#my art#franklin siegel#the factory#base by daft20170618
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look
The only lie Foundation has ever told her father is that she doesn’t remember his face.
He’s pale, from too little time spent in the sun and too much spent with her, with slicked-back hair streaked with gray. Gray eyes. Her own are brown from the dirt she’s hidden under, and her face is darker because of everything inside her, but gray is the color of her hair and her bones, which she knows from all the surgeries that made her forget the faces of everyone else. And the shadows under their eyes are both darker than the rest of them, except maybe his suit.
The blindfold is only for security, of course. Never mind that even if her lie was the truth, she’d be able to tell him apart from anyone else, and the other twelve, and her younger brother, in ways much deeper than skin and color, or even smell and voice and touch. But he insisted, and she supposes it’s a good reminder it will always be his job to know better.
The fabric is comforting, if itchy, if impossible to forget.
She never thought of him by his face anyway. He was simply cool, soothing, numbing any trace of guilt that might have fought its way to her conscious mind despite her induced amnesia. When he touches her, she can tell his lockpick fingers are stained with ink from all the paperwork he signs, or above ninety-eight point six degrees from their time on warm computer keyboards.
So why is his… colleague asking her to take off her blindfold?
It’s not an order. It’s not an order.
O5-10 is the keeper of her memories, and her first thought is that they’re presenting her with a test. She’s wondered what they–and everyone else–look like, of course; curiosity isn’t something she can make herself forget. But Archivists like them don’t last long. She’d quashed the worst of her speculation on that role long ago.
And then–wait.
She thinks she’s known them for… less than a decade, probably. She knows, from the time she’s spent inside their head, they were always too young for this. She knows, from the scalding passion she’d seen, that they were always too emotional to face everything she’s done.
This feels familiar.
That’s all she has to go off of, impressions left in her by everyone before them that acid didn’t eat away at. It makes sense, too, that they’d want her to remember their face once they were dead, as some kind of return for all the memories they’d held for her. Which would be illogical, since all her father would have to do would be to cut out an eye to make her forget again, but suicide isn’t usually any more rational than that.
She asks. She never lies to the thirteen, and that includes about her worries, when it’s not an order. It’s not an order.
Silence, and then they put a hand on the place where her blindfold’s tied and it’s, “Of course not. Do you feel it in our exchange?”
It’s hotter than usual, and it increases as they speak, extra conviction to convince her.
It’s hotter, but at its core, the same desire to protect, bathed in more blue than before. She wants to take off her labcoat.
She shakes her head.
“So what are you worried about?”
It’s such a ridiculous question, she’s able to finish thinking that before she remembers they’re one of the thirteen, and anything that sounds ridiculous from them is just sensibility that she doesn’t have the right memories to understand.
“It’s against protocol,” she says instead.
They pull their hand away from her blindfold. “I don’t think it’ll be an issue. You have a thousand other ways to identify me, and you deserve to know something like this about me when I know so much about you.”
A bit of green lances out from their feedline. Something from a previous affiliation she’s never been able to wipe out; it stings, badly, and she wants to scowl. She stays silent.
“Ira?“
“…I don’t know, mixer.”
“You don’t have to, of course. I just think it will be better this way.”
The exchange softens, and she feels its warmth in the sharp points of her fingernails. She wants to shake it away, or entrap it, rid herself of the temptation. Her father would be able to get rid of this with a touch.
He’d also advised her to comply with the others’ wishes, even when it wasn’t required.
“…Go ahead.”
It’s only for him, of course.
“You’re sure?”
Well, why would she say that if she wasn’t?
She nods.
When she makes no move to take it off herself, they grasp the bottom edge of her blindfold and pull it down for her, letting it fall to her neck and hang like an incredibly loose collar. She keeps her eyes on it for a few seconds before she dares to look first at their suit–as black as she remembers her father’s being, though without a red tie–and then at their hands–the nails painted blue–and then their face.
They’re smiling, to her surprise, and she musters one back. She’s fairly certain that’s what one’s supposed to do.
The warmth is still there, coiled around her heart, stopping it from hammering itself to death like she knows it’s what it would be doing otherwise, with the… adrenaline of looking into an Overseer’s face as if she were an equal, and the fear they’ll go the route of everyone else that locks up her bones sometimes. They’re smiling. They’re wearing glasses. Their blue hair is the brightest thing in her line of sight.
Their hair is blue.
Out of the thirteen, it does make the most sense, but she checks her impressions and it’s not familiar at all.
They have the shadows under their eyes and the pale(r) skin most of her own develop as side effects of their exchange, at least, and the suit is good. But the hair.
“It’s not… too big of a deal, is it?” They laugh; her smile seemed to have leeched any tension about this from their body. “Do you like what you see?”
And goosebumps rise on her arms at the movement of their mouth and jaw and chest, and all the muscles that are, functionally, the same to her own. It’s okay when they’re still, when she can evaluate them like a picture, but videos are never this vivid, and just–
They’re moving. She can see them moving.
“I do, mixer. Thank you.”
She’ll figure out if that’s a lie or not later.
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Page 91 of "For Your Own Good Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the Roots of Violence." by Alice Miller, 1980 - (Am Anfang war Erziehung, 1980) / Chapter 7 of "Another Time" by @imadewritingmyjob on Ao3.
Theres so much I can analyse from chapter seven in regards of Julius, and the interesting language he uses which was highlighted in this post. It's clear in Julius' speech highlighted in the post that he is both parroting his own fears about what he could be himself, a "pansy" or "weak", descriptors that Julius despises in others, and most certainly fears to be true about himself.
Alongside the quote "The child's plasticity, flexibility, defenselessness and avaliablity make it the ideal object for this projection," particularly stuck out in regards to Aaron, since in AT as a child he has a heightened sensitivity to his surrounding, compared to Franklin due to being a much younger child and also autistic, and Julius definitely did not like to deal with that further vulnerability of his younger son, hence treated him much much worse as a result of that fear and disgust Julius holds.
It also implies failure on his part to "toughen" Aaron up as well, and in his mind he is too perfect to "fail" to parent the desirable son. Instead in Julius' own mind, its soley the child's (Aaron's) fault for his own flaws, as it is believed and stated in the practice of poisonous pedagogy Miller speaks about.
And so punishment and retribution is the only way Julius expresses his negative feelings of that failure and percived disobedience/disrespect from Aaron, in the form of those training sessions, not to truly prepare Aaron from the horror's he'd seen at war, but rather punish and also discipline what Julius sees as a part of himself which is wholly unprepared, something which the older man cannot allow, lest he allow an extention of himself and also his property to be harmed in the process.
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Announcement
120% forgot to announce this. I'll be on a writing break for a few months until works calm down. I will/ should be able to double my work on here starting this summer. We'll see what happen until then.
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Ordered this intriguing book that came today and it brought me back to thinking about AT with several excerpts that particularly reminded me of specific characters
"We punish our children for the arbitrary actions of our parents that we were not able to defend ourselves against,"
"It is very different for children: they have no previous history standing in their way, and their tolerance for their parents knows no bounds. The love a child has for his or her parents ensures that their concious or unconcious acts of mental cruelty will go unnoticed."
"Whatever if was that happened in Paradise involving Adam, Eve, Lilith, the serpent and the apple, the well-deserved Biblical thunderbolt of prehistoric times, the roar of the Almighty and His pointed finger signifiying expulsion — I know nothing about that at all. It was my father who drove me out of Paradise."
"If the question is not just a rhetorical one and the questioner has the patience to listen, he will come to realise that we love with horror and hate with an inexplicable love whatever caused our greatest pain and difficulty."
I mean... if the shoe fits...
That whole family is messed up on so many levels.
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i crave more blackbird MOREE
Would you be willing to wait for me to write him into my fic? :)
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Also me everytime someone bothers while i read. Xp
in honor of chapter 13 of @imadewritingmyjob’s Another Time
Original:
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Come on.
I'm smoother than that when I stab people in the back. :)
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little autistic beanie baby is in awe of the lightbulb
i dimmed it down just for him
He be having childhood flashback to seeing his first lightbulb...
Adorable.
Perfect autistic baby.
nom.
#scp foundation#another time#scp#scp fanart#10 answers#o5-1#art#He's adorable#I want to squeeze him until his head pop <3
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Chapter 13 is live!
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Another Time V2 is on the starting line!
Finally done with the V1 version of Chapter 13, which does means it's rereading, correcting and harmonizing time :)
The chapter should be out within the next week but please be patient with me i'm literally doing three things at once. XP
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[10.exe] has stopped working
Please restart the system
Loading...
Love it <3
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Another Time small update
Alright, we're almost at 21k for chapter 13.
Only two parts left (which is really one part left because the last part is just a small conclusion) which means we're getting closer and closer to the V2 and I can tell you that once we've reached the V2, the chapter will come out within the next week. ;) So keep an eye on the pinned post.
So you guys will probably have a nice Christmas gift this year, full of angst, of course. But that's what you're here for, right? XP
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Requesting even more blackbird thoughts because he lives rent-free in my head
Well, I can share one thought.
He's a mama's boy and no one would ever guess because he's also quite private outside of work. But his consortium can sometimes suddenly find handmade sweets in the breakroom that he for sure doesn't have any time to make. :) His mother always make too much for when he comes and send him back with what's left. And well, he can't eat it all of course.
So really his team love him for that.
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Another Time small update
Alright gang!
We broke the 15k words ceiling for chapter 13. :)
There's basically the 3 most action and feel intensive scenes left and the conclusion. We're getting there!
Can't wait for you all to finally be reading this. I have so little time to write with my job but it's always a pleasure to do so and imagine how you will all react. <3
Patience is key.
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