ˏˋ꒰💐꒱ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
╰┈➤ ❝(v.) To attract and move deeply: rouse to ecstatic admiration.]
━━━in which a woman born in the 14th century, a time of pain and suffering, made her a woman of strength. With a passion for singing...
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: Rafael Hudson is her favorite person (1984)
━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦━━━━
GENESIS ACKERMAN FELT FUCKING LONELY. There's no point in lying to herself. Yes, she is very much an independent woman that can carry her own shit, but she wants to carry her shit with someone.
Centuries of no-attachments intimacy for the sake of wanting to let the steam off. Sex without feelings is fine with her, and she has needs, after all. But intimacy wasn't all about sex—no, it's her and someone watching the sunrise and sunset, talking and doing mundane things—domestic things, simply waking up with someone with their hands draped tightly around her waist and drinking in their warmth, sneaking in kisses, making them coffee or tea in the morning, cooking them breakfast, gardening in the afternoon and talking nonsense, or taking a lazy stroll at night with comforting silence and gazing at the starry night sky.
She wanted it all—not just the power, the fuck-ton of money because of her investments around the globe, or the silent justice she did during the night with Elliot.
And she wants someone to give her all of that this time.
Hasn't she given enough anyway?
Being independent is good, but it's all so exhausting.
Maybe that's one of the reasons she turned off her humanity during the late 18th century and turned it back on in 1919. She turned off her humanity for one-hundred twenty-nine years. She doesn't know if she did turn it off because she doesn't remember anything at all.
It was all black until she found herself in Mississippi and a few years later in Elliot Cresswell's office, who was also seeking redemption because from the painful ache from her chest that keeps haunting her indicates that she did awful—horrible things. The ache she was feeling from. Eventually, she concluded that it was her consciousness and that guilt was slowly creeping its way to the back of her mind.
Goodness, she thought she was a logical person but turning off her humanity for five decades isn't logical nor rational. What made her turn the switch off? She doesn't know. What triggered it? She also doesn't know. She asked, of course, that what happened to her was normal. In a way, it's the mind's reaction to blocking out the things she did for her own sanity.
One-hundred and nine-nine years' worth of memory was gone—memories she didn't know if she wanted to remember it. Maybe it's better that way before she truly loses herself after discovering the things she had done in those one-hundred years.
Genesis Ackerman doesn't even recognize herself. After gaining her humanity, something changed, and she doesn't know it yet, but it was a change she knows that will affect her forever.
