#pollux.

09/Nov/20

What do you do when you are loved but that’s not enough?

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No one can, and none should, fight the darkness inside someone else. What I do to you is pretend everything is fine, that nothing plagues me asides the daily grind, because opening the wounds would make yours grow, and that is the only thing that does not help. Because if I cannot fix it, I might as well just not make it worse. I make you coffee, I tuck you in, I stay your tiny always-love. Nothing will ever change, you are happy, I am happy.

“Yeah my friend, but she’s far away, lost in a confusing, lyric world, filled with songs, magic and adventure, and you do not even touch her soul. Yes, women are odd, so very odd.”

Woke up, hours before you, with that line of a song in my head. Am I lost in it? Should I be, though not-a-woman that I am, lost in that fantasy world? I wish I was. I wish it was that simple. What I am, what I feel, is shackled, but by what? The daily grind? Why is it a problem if I’ve conquered it, if I’m here out of my own achievement, and now it seems I don’t want it? Don’t want to work for it? How dare me! People would kill to have what I have! I’ve gotten this far, I can hold it. I can succeed, I can go farther, look what I’ve accomplished when I tried just a little bit, imagine what I can do if I put my all into it, this is my all! I’m sorry if it’s too little, don’t you see the first person I’m not enough for is myself?

I’m plagued by the tasks I have not done, cannot do. Wasted potential energy, turning into matter breaking the equation and weighing me down. “Just do them”, you say. Just start it, focus, and do it. It’s so easy, it seems, and it is. You, and everyone has said, are simple. No second intentions, no hidden agenda. No second guesses. You have real problems to worry about, no time for silly sentimentality, for overthinking like I am now. Easier said than done, to just do them, to sit past my guilt and self-loathing and start something way too late to be worth anything. You said you will only leave me after I have completely given up, but I guess you’re not looking deep enough, if you didn’t see I already have. That once more, I am going through the motions, letting the currents drag me down. I feel like I’m back in high school, the pressure inwards and outwards is all too familiar, and wonder if I have never left? Have I been stuck looking out at that parking lot between naps and messy handwriting, and the panic attacks, for the past six years? Do you really wish you had met me then?

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You go quiet. Too quiet, and still. I place my hand on your back to feel you breathing, that’s the only solace I can find. You’re still alive. Oblivious to me, but here. You did always say my smell makes you sleepy. I’m glad my presence is at least comforting. I think back to the noisy plates on the sink, and realize I don’t want you awake right now. You could sleep forever, I would still love you. Perhaps that would be easier, even, it wouldn’t be so overwhelming. Loving, living, it’s overwhelming. I’m entranced by you in the most mundane way, enough that I have to forcefully carve out a space for Me in the middle of Us, my first instinct is to leave nothing, to let Us eat Me alive, thoroughly and completely. You didn’t understand it then when I did that in your home, crawling into your sister’s bed and telling you what personal space meant to me through crocodile tears and stuffed animals. But is it you, is it your fault? Wouldn’t another also be overwhelming, me, enraptured by someone’s existence enough to wrap my life around them, as I’ve so often daydreamed, as I dare to do about another with my head on your chest, before the rumbles lull me into a dreamless sleep?

I woke up too early today. That’s not good, I’ve had too much time to think. And thinking aimlessly gets me like this. Maybe I should sleep again, maybe I should pour myself into the grind, maybe I should become a researcher like you. Keep my mind occupied while I don’t get new earphones that can fit my phone. It was so much easier with music. It keeps me from focusing.

You said looking at your soul from the outside is a good way to know yourself. I said, and I still think, that it just sounds like a cheat code to shadow work for me. A shortcut into bettering yourself. But that’s not why you do it? You don’t seek to be better, and now that I think about it, why would you? You do it for the knowledge, because “all the knowledge is worth knowing”, and when Dahr-Set mocked you, calling you a follower of Hermaeus Mora, you laughed, thanked them, and said you wouldn’t follow Him, you would become Him, overthrow a prince while He was too busy trying to learn every useless gossip in the world. Because of course you would. It won’t ever be enough for you, nothing is ever enough when you have the ego of a God, when your task, your duty, in this Earth is to make everyone the best they can be, even if against their will, because why would anyone not want to enact their full potential?

And it strikes me like a wave slapping at my neck. Another narcisistic Cancer, are you. One more to my list. More patterns etched down on my skin, the first time I broke that promise, bad enough that I downloaded the app counter, was under your roof. And you didn’t notice it. And it boils inside me, vile bile, that just once, I want to make you truly feel like me. Like you’re not enough, and nothing proves it wrong, I want it to cut deep enough that you can’t bury it away, that no amount of knowledge, or sunlight, or sex can ever erase that thought, that truth. You’re not good enough. And there’s only one way I could burn that into you…

Leaving you here and now.

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And I sit with that thought, not knowing what to do with it.

it’s not the first time I thought it.

and it seems so easy…

I can stomach the pain of the loss. The regret. I’ve done it before.

I’ll free you from me.

Then you can become Hermaeus Mora by yourself. Without this dead weight along, without someone who doesn’t understand it, doesn’t think you should.

I love you enough for that.

I sit with the thought, while you still sleep beside me. The light of my screen and a sliver at the window barely filling the room. The stench of tears on my face, I better wash this before you wake.

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Good morning, love. Want some coffee?

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Love always,

Meet COMTESSA “Tessa” GODFREY. They are over TWO THOUSAND years old and hail from UNKNOWN LANDS. Tessa embodies the star, POLLUX.. They use UTP pronouns and are employed as POLARIS’ head librarian. Their faceclaim is LILY TOMLIN.

Pollux reminds me of dark, dusty rows of book-lined shelves, making her wife forget that bad experience they had one time at her favorite restaurant so they can go back (they have good shrimp, it’s not like she doesn’t have an excuse), a page turning in a silent library, eyes that have seen it all, long baggy cardigans, vials full of memories that–if broken–are lost forever, long hours spent pouring over spell books, reading Fifty Shades of Grey by the lake (again), speak up, I can’t hear you, why are you shouting at me, this is a library, Olive Garden (shut up), dangly earrings, the person at staff meetings who drags on conversations that everyone else wanted to be done with twenty minutes ago. .

BIOGRAPHY

There is no beginning, middle, or end for Comtessa. She lives in perpetuity, whenever and however she wants–not through time magic, but through memories. This can happen and un-happen as she wishes, because while she can’t erase events, if no one can remember them, then it’s as if they never existed at all. She could recount anecdotes from her childhood but there’s simply no way of knowing if they happened or memories she has created somewhere down the line, and if you’ve spoken to her in depth for more then ten minutes, then, frankly, you can’t be sure that you trust your own memories, either. She is gaslighting in human form, but luckily she’s not shitty enough to exploit that, normally. 

(tw: allusion to physical & sexual abuse) In terms of specific memories locked away in a vault somewhere in Siberia, things that Tessa cannot immediately recall (as per her own preferences) are that she grew up somewhere cold with a violent father who used her as an outlet for aggression in more ways than one. Her first husband was a similar story, but in those times, you just dealt with it. But he died of old age, and Comtessa moved on, free. These memories are stored away somewhere, and all that’s left is a lingering sentiment that men ain’t shit.

It was in these struggles to internalize her trauma that Pollux came to her rescue when she was at the tail end of her first century. While she had no resources to explain the constellation’s appearance or the happenings that followed, her inclination was notable enough that she was contacted by the Ursas to come train at Polaris. Tessa knows this was due to the fact that memory manipulation is dangerous and not that she was remarkable in and of herself, but once she began to train, it was clear where she belonged. 

Her arrival at Polaris marks her first in tact memories, although it’s messy considering that, in the heat of being unable to control her own magic, her own memories (and others) were corrupted along the way. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. She does know that she loved those times, enough so that she’s made a home with Polaris–naturally studious, Tessa has been the resident librarian for over 1000 years, making her one of the oldest Polaris staples. There have been other formative life events, of course–her numerous adopted children, meeting the love of her life both among them–but her identity is rooted in Polaris, whether anyone likes it or not.

These days, Tessa is careful with the use of her inclination. She has the ability to do a great deal of damage, and she doesn’t have the trust of the student body if they think they may walk away from her with precious memories altered, and she doesn’t want that–she wants to care for the library, ensure students have access to the resources and information they rightly deserve, and be a safe space for the kids and professors alike.

She has, however, taken up a big project; the replication and storage of memories of actual magical events and theory that get so distorted over time. Tessa has worked for years to make the Polaris library one of the most robust sources of magic history, theory, and spellbooks in the world, but she knows she’s far from complete. She often travels for weeks at a time, gathering memories from people all about the world.

Needless to say, Comtessa is a chaotic lesbian/old woman who has no time for your bullshit who dishes out tough love like it’s Ibuprofen if you have a problem, but she will always be there to try and help–often distracted, always so busy as she barrels towards the light at the end of the damn tunnel (retirement), but a help, nevertheless. She’s not a great person, but she’s not a bad one, either; at the end of the day, she’s just a damn librarian.

INCLINATION

Pollux’s magic lies in the creation, extraction, and manipulation of memories. If Pollux tells a situation, that’s how it went. Pollux’s magic is currently saturated in the storing of memories and learning ways to keep important magical ideas in tact. Pollux describes memories as fluid, and past Pollux sponsorships have been known to be excellent with water magic as well.

CONNECTIONS

Filling the role of Noemi Shepard’s Advocate.

Wife: Honestly, this can be as simple as them being the resident Old Polaris Village Married Lesbians™, where they’ve just been together for centuries and eat lunch together on a bench by the lake every day, or it could be complex in a way that Tessa manipulated their memories in a way that set them on the path to get together disingenuously and she has been living with the weight of their fake relationship ever since, even though Wife is none the wiser. Only thing is that they should be 1,800+ in age, probably. Give me cute or give me angst, but more than anything, give me lesbians. #knifeemoji

Kids: There’s probably, like, 10-15 of them, all of differing ages, because fuck it–mostly adopted, maybe 1 or 2 biological if they’re older. If you think Tessa isn’t the kind of person to take people under her wing who need help, you’re wrong! She’s not necessarily an altruistic person, but she does give a fuck, kind of. It’s also not unlikely that some of these kids come from traumatic pasts and have had their memories manipulated by Tessa so they don’t recall the full extent of it. It’s worth noting that she’d only manipulate these memories after a long discussion and with their written consent, but it’s within her moral compass to do this, for sure.

Best Friend: Someone either just as off beat as she is or her complete opposite personality; doesn’t matter, they’ve known each other for so long that, at the end of the day, they’re too old for bullshit and they’re just a constant companion for each other. If the Wife connect goes the evil route, they’re the only person who’d know about it.

Student Helper: This is someone else who’s skilled in memory manipulation magic that Tessa has taken under her wing. She knows that she’s running out of time, but she’s in the middle of important work that she wants to be sure continues when she retires (hopefully soon, what the fuck, she’s been working for so long). There’s a lot of pressure on them, both because Tessa desperately wants to retire, but also because it’s a big task and Tessa needs to get it right. This student should be just as passionate about it as she is.

This is because the siblings have different fathers. Leda, who is an NPC, was cast as Filipino. Her children, namely Helen ( fathered by Zeus ) and the half-siblings Clytemnestra, Castor & Pollux ( supposedly fathered by Tyndareus, but rumored otherwise ) are at least 1/2 filipino. The parentage of the “mortal” princes is subject of much debate, and will have quite a significant relevance plot-wise. This being said, we only suggested fcs that respect the 1/2 filipino rule, as this is the only lineage they have in common. Hope this answers your concerns !

Thank you for your interest, lovely ! Due to Castor & Pollux being related to Helen and Clytemnestra, they would have to be at least ½ filipino on their mother’s side. This being said, we can suggest alt FCs such as James Reid, Xian Lin, Steven R. McQueen or Michael Copon.

                                    𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐘𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐒.

— NAME : pollux.

— AGE : 20s.

— GENDER : m/nb

— FACE : bob morley, charles michael davis, manny jacinto.

While the fates of you & your twin are illustrious, plainly written for the heavens and already ringing with the chorus of triumph, they are still occluded to you both. The full extent of your purpose, of what you will be called to do, is still a silhoutte in the treeline. Among mortals, you are strewn aside for reasons left unsaid. You've taken it in stride, in a manner similar to that of your true sister, resorting to velvet whispers and the politics of the court rather than demanding respect yet unearned; reverence that could not hold a rotten candle to the one received by your other sibling. Yet can anyone ascribe Helen anything earned ? Out of Tyndareus' lineage, only Clytemnestra and Castor will ever forge their own name. But while Castor designs his little acts out of ambition, out of ardent desire to further his reach, you do it because it is fun ; because you are good at it. Your machinations are effortless, and you look beyond this contest, this show of golden fools, beyond Sparta — such idle curiosities are best left to the short-sighted and the desperate. Beware the spider that bites out of whimsy rather than self-preservation or hunger, for this is the venom that kills.

                                                   𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

✹ CASTOR  —  Your life at court is defined by the grapevine, by splinters of rumour that you and Castor are both illegitimate. Something more than love-children, less than acknowledged, you are seen as open-ended questions to the dilemma Leda once was — do we call a God's paramour holy, or harlot ? Throughout it, your brother kept bitterness at bay, and lent you delight instead. You work in the same tandem of chaos: pranks, ruses, hordes of gossip of your own. There is not a soul in Sparta that is not subjected to your web of knowledge, laying in wait for when the moment ripens, and the target comes under.

✹ CASSANDRA  —  This princess, this emblem, more fable than fact. Perhaps it is this aura of rumor that did you in; what started as a professional challenge, an natural itch to learn more things about her, unravel myth from truth, turned into a quest for something much greater. You must approach her: you have to let her know. She possesses your thoughts, besieges your waking hours, and how can it not be so ? In a world where women raise hell to become legends, she was already made one without a single word.

✹ HEPHAESTUS  —  You have an eye for lost things, hints that stir in the shadows. And you are adept at wielding them, too, these vengeful souls, mind brimming with plans of retribution, veins alight with repressed power. The Burnt God always seemed like a useful patron: a knack for building matters up as well as grinding them down, ruining them on a whim. Their grudge against Aphrodite is only an afterthought to you, a secondary element. Their plans for your sister' marriage, however, need to be closely observed.