Work Text:
she blinks.
how long was she out for?
ah fuck, its four am.
she should've just gone to bed. of course her stupid brain decided to go off into her silly little world full of her silly little ideas in her silly little imagination.
amy would've never done this.
amy is their perfect little girl.
cy crawls out of bed, it's too late to go back to sleep, too early to get up. realistically, she's been awake for hours and literally just pulled an all nighter but at this point, cy doesn't care. she didn't even put her pajamas on for fucks sake. at least she can wash her hair before school.
she steps in the shower, the water lukewarm, cy likes it that way. cold enough to keep her grounded, warm enough for her to stay interested in showering. only her baths are boiling hot.
shit, cy even left her makeup on from yesterday. skincare is so arduous.
fischl hates school.
she's called amy even though her name in the school system is fischl. sure, she hasn't told her parents but it at least tries to give her a piece of mind.
except it really doesn't. the kids around her call her amy. it makes her want to crawl out of her already torn skin and climb into another. cy doesn't even bother with her cy/cyr/cyrs pronouns. its too much for the people around her to even care; they'd use she/her just for the shits and giggles anyway.
she puts on a black skater skirt with a belt and an off the shoulder mesh top over a black tank top. she puts her fishnets on, her old worn ones. she's had them for years, she doesn't even fathom how they still fit. the holes are torn, the strings making holes of various sizes. she puts a few rings on along with some fingerless leather gloves. she finishes her outfit by putting in her green contact, eyeliner and a chain necklace. she accidentally showered with her earrings on, oh well. they'll be fine. probably.
cy rushes out the door, granola bar in her hand. her satchel is next to the door. she grabs it, still sprinting for her bus. damn, running in platforms is hard, how the hell to people do this?
fischl makes her bus, a few seconds to spare. cy grabs her earbuds out of her bag and connects them to her phone. she clicks on a wordless song and stares out the window. she has a twenty-one-minute bus ride to school, so she knows to lookout for six different song changes. she also feels the bus stop, so that's a sign too.
in her world, cy can manipulate electricity and has a pet crow. cy's always liked crows. they're smart and mysterious with secrets hidden behind their eyes. they've seen things day through night.
the time passes in cy's universe, the sky turning dark and the sun setting behind cyr. prinzessin fischl stands behind the glowing oranges and yellows, contrasting cyr's normal palette. cy runs freely, the tails of cry dress flowing behind. the sound of oz's wings are similar and steady. a clean steady beat to ground cyr down to earth. cyr hair trails behind, the blonde tresses of hair are light as they flow in the wind. cy loves it, the feeling of being cyrself as she dances in the dusk all til dawn. the night sky twinkles above cy as the stars shine through. the view mesmerizing as cy waltzes to the sound of life around cyr.
she jolts forward, almost falling.
her eyes blink.
oh. she's at school.
she turns down her music, the sound diminishing ever so slightly. she steps off the bus, head up, eyes down. she stares at the ground as to avoid contact as well as gross shit that people have already dropped on the floor. she learned the hard way as a kid when she held her head up too high and didn't see the wet floor sign on the ground.
she drops off her afternoon shit in her locker, the tug of her bag less burdening. she walks to the library to wait for the first period bell to ring. the library is quiet. though often filled with kids, there is little noise.
she opens her phone to check the time, there's still about fifteen minutes until the bell. she opens discord to check on her friends and backreads a few conversations. it is her job as a moderator to oversee these types of things after all. cy types out a 'gm' and sends it in the thread, only two others before cyr. she clicks the side of the phone and watches it go dark. her mind is looming and apprehensive about the day. the only thing stopping her mind from spiraling into thoughts is the light music in the background. she finally looks up from her phone, tucking it away in the side of her messenger bag. only five minutes left in peace.
her bag is gray. it has patches for a stylistic 'punk' look. it's sturdy because cy made it and cy's been sewing since she was seven. it's always been an art form of her. she made the patches on it and ironed them on cyrself. the pins she bought at the mall and the keychains are old earrings who lost their pairings years ago.
cyr's art teacher has always liked her. creative, intuitive, kind. mr. albedo even teaches cyr's chemistry class. albedo is kind. he uses cyr's pronouns and name. it's nice to feel accepted. another thing to not have to worry about under the pressure of school.
when cyr's not designing, cy is often painting. she enjoys gouache and oil paints the best though she dislikes any fort of crayon or pencil because its hurts cy's hands. she finds that cyr is too impatient for watercolor. she often finds cyrself painting cy's friends from her universe. birds, scenery, friends. you name it, cy's made it. the people cyr's surrounded by are diverse. africans with poofy big hair and long box braids rich with melanin in their eyes and skin. aisans of all types, chinese bearing names of beauty and power, indians with delicious food and all with beautiful differences. cultures that are fascinating to learn and thousands upon thousands of stories to tell through and through. tales of hardship, friends, love and people that both are and aren't like another. each person has hundreds of words to say with not enough time to say them all. french with tales of selflessness and koreans with stories of both war and hope. egyptians with tales of work and worship and russians with diverse minds. all are smart intellects. brazillians with designers just like the prinzessin and styles unique to another.
they are all so special to cyr. cy's brain too small to be filled with ages of information.
but she could never tell anyone this.
the peers at school hate her. how she talks, how she dresses.
sometimes fischl thinks they're out to get her just for the shits and giggles because it'l be funny.
she's been called all sorts of names from slightly normal ones such as "freak" or "loser" to slurs that she can not reclaim herself.
school is full of bullshit anyways.
whatever. even her 'house' is better than this.
the nice thing about her 'home' is that once she kinda sorta finishes her work, she can just lay in her room scrolling through media. cosplay ideas, prop ideas. instagram gives her so much inspiration. tiktok gives her the teenage angst that she likes from her favorite fictional characters while reddit keeps her just a little real with stores of horror to happy endings. twitter giver her updates on her games and animes while discord allows a place where cy can chat and be herself.
fischl lives off of cyr brain's inspiration. another character in her world, another flower to be planted inside her. all of it comes from her jumbled fucked of a brain.
her parents are sure, neglectful but the give her food everyday and told her to get a job so she could do with her money as she pleased.
from cyr clothes and cosplays to the props and art supplies, she bought it all with her money.
the money cy worked for.
oh how she craves for a character to hold her as she mourns about in her brain. stuck in her mind and nothing ever quite right.
she's been to multiple therapists and psychiatrists and no one can figure out what's wrong with her.
but she lies so she can gatekeep and gaslight cyrself a little more that she's somewhat normal.
cy's peers however, think otherwise.
cyr's 'crazy'. apparently.
she thinks she normal though. as normal as a girl can be.
but she's fine and always will be.
as long as cyr has stories to listen to, it'll be alright in the end.