There's always that risk. But that's also what a safeword is for.
[ she hasn't quite decided yet if she'll keep to the same one outside of ash — if it would be better to use something less personal with others, should the moment require it. ]
Then the trust goes both ways after that — trust that I'll use it if my limits are pushed too far, and trust that it'll be honored once it's used.
That trouble exists in every galaxy, I think. But won't with me.
[if he were centered, he'd consider the possibility it might be his that someone might ignore someday, but that would be the solipsistic narcissism of someone who's deliberately forgotten what it is to be victimized. usually, it serves him well.
in this case, he means it kindly.]
Is it easier for you to trust someone with your body than it is with your other gifts?
[ she's not fishing for compliments, just mostly curious about what he seems to have picked up about her over the course of their one and only conversation so far. ]
Disagree with respect, actually. If someone can hurt your body without marking anything else, it doesn't matter. Hardly impossible. The other way happens all the time. And nobody I've ever met has a safe word for that.
[ she knows he's asking hypothetically, but the question immediately makes her think of ash, and the debate. ]
I'd want to be surrounded by my loved ones, at the end. But when it happened during the commune, I was sleeping. [ which explains why she doesn't remember the arrow that had gone right through her heart, doesn't have even the slightest recollection of pain before the end. ]
[he wouldn't normally ask. good manners are an important pretext in this strange world. but she just mentioned she did, so the bar is in a weird place.]
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[ she hasn't quite decided yet if she'll keep to the same one outside of ash — if it would be better to use something less personal with others, should the moment require it. ]
Then the trust goes both ways after that — trust that I'll use it if my limits are pushed too far, and trust that it'll be honored once it's used.
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[if he were centered, he'd consider the possibility it might be his that someone might ignore someday, but that would be the solipsistic narcissism of someone who's deliberately forgotten what it is to be victimized. usually, it serves him well.
in this case, he means it kindly.]
Is it easier for you to trust someone with your body than it is with your other gifts?
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[ she's not fishing for compliments, just mostly curious about what he seems to have picked up about her over the course of their one and only conversation so far. ]
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Is it?
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Ever since the commune, I'd much rather have someone hurt my body in all the ways I want them to.
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[this is even sincere!]
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Can I ask you a hypothetical question?
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Ask away.
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Is it better to die alone, or in the company of someone who cared? Tried to stop it? Even if they couldn't?
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I'd want to be surrounded by my loved ones, at the end. But when it happened during the commune, I was sleeping. [ which explains why she doesn't remember the arrow that had gone right through her heart, doesn't have even the slightest recollection of pain before the end. ]
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[love is not—cannot be—part of the question. but he doesn't mind the analogue. he's curious about it.]
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Loved or unloved?
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But I did know I was loved, and I suppose that made the difference on its own.
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[he wouldn't normally ask. good manners are an important pretext in this strange world. but she just mentioned she did, so the bar is in a weird place.]
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