#chapters about therapy sessions would be really interesting and necessary

[chodzacaparodia]

No desire for my favorite character to be the best striker, or even for two characters whose relationship goes far beyond platonic to get together, can compare to the desperate need for professional psychological help in Blue Lock.

These kids aren't alright.

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 4: The Repertoire of Memory is Worn

← Prologue

← Chapter 3

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 8.8k

Chapter Warnings: pining, some angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name use for reader, some swearing, use of 2nd person for the reader, book dialogue

Summary: "It was as clear as day, no matter how many times he had brought his tie to his nose in the days that followed, that you had no interest in him.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: Basically a therapy session for him

You can read the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"The repertoire of your memory has shown me you yourself before you left. There were names of various countries, dates and sojourns and at the end a blank white page, but with rows of dots…as if to suggest, if it were possible: ‘to be continued’." -Eugenio Montale, The Repertoire

Perhaps he should have given the Gryffindor Prefects less credit after all. He should take back the bonus sapphires he had reluctantly given to the red gryphon for his "hospitality."

Because at that moment, it felt anything but.

He remembered the look Hermione had given you when you were about to tell him your deepest, darkest secret.

Okay, maybe that's too far-fetched.

But your tone of voice and the look in your eyes clearly showed that whatever you wished to disclose to him wasn't something you would have told Umbridge... or any other less preposterous teacher either.

He wasn't looking for validation, nor was he fishing for pity.

But maybe he did wish to be seen.

All things considered, no one in his new circle of friends — which looked more like a segment and a dot, given he didn't yet know where he stood with you — knew of his misadventure, nor of the reason he occasionally tugged at his sleeves when the cardigan itched at his wrists.

He wanted to tell Daphne.

He wanted to tell you.

He wanted to tell everyone.

Hell, he'd have even told Draco Malfoy if it meant that at least someone would acknowledge his standing, no matter how asinine and annoying their comments might be.

"...unless it's absolutely necessary," he recalled. But where was it that he could draw the line between necessary and extremely-and-idiotically-self-indulgent?

It had been two weeks since the Artefact had brought him there. Two weeks in which he hadn't seen Ominis or Anne — not that they wanted him around anyway. Two weeks without hearing her voice. Two weeks in which you hadn't visited the Undercroft, not even once.

He was there all the time, much to his dismay. If he sat there long enough, he could almost pretend nothing had really changed. He could almost trick himself into waiting for her to walk in and practise Confringo with him. He could almost hear Ominis and Anne's laughter as the Gobstones splashed him with their juice.

Almost.

He wanted to ask you to practise some spells with him there. Maybe, just maybe, if you placed your body at a certain angle and shrugged off your Gryffindor robes, he could see her.

Your hair was shorter. Just a little.

He had noticed it the day before when you'd turned around to collect your potion ingredients, and it had been eating at him ever since. Stupid, really, because your hair should have been the last point on his list of discrepancies between you two.

As demonstrated by your escapade in the Library, it was quite obvious that, aside from some physical features and your last name, you two were like chalk and cheese.

"I can be sneaky, let's go," she had said, naively.

"Hold on, now," he had answered her with a small, knowing smile.

"Is it always this easy to sneak in?" he heard his voice say again.

"The Library is closed at this hour, so no. It's not."

"You said the librarian would be gone by now!"

"I said usually!"

"It's five to eight. That means we have twenty minutes, at max , before Madam Pince returns," and he had nodded in understanding.

He took a loud, deep breath that sounded more like a choked gasp.

Everything felt wrong. Everything was wrong. It felt like the Universe (or that damn Supreme Being that had been toying with him since he arrived in this world) had swapped your places. And the more he looked at you, the less he saw her.

And that scared him.

Because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he was a selfish, heedless bastard when it came to matters of the heart, and if the only way to have her back by his side was to love her vicariously through you, he wasn't going to budge.

But now he was starting to notice too many differences, and not just on a physical level. Because while he could ignore your eyes, especially when you were facing away from him, or the birthmark near your lip, or the crease which only showed when you drew your eyebrows together, he couldn't ignore your lacking presence in the Slytherin Common Room, or your sagacity and boldness, or your confidence and wit, or the way you appeared to know how everything worked to the brim.

Or how you always seemed to be one step ahead of him.

And yet, he had to reluctantly admit that he didn't completely hate it.

And that scared him, too. If not more so.

Because he felt like he was doing her a disservice by admiring you.

Sebastian wasn't stupid, he knew that the reason his heart leapt at your mere presence wasn't because of some real-life fairy tale about love at first sight: he'd never doubted that what was going on in his nervous system (and in his stomach, which for some reason couldn't get rid of those stings) was just the result of poor emotion regulation and transference (and also a form of intrigue, though he wouldn't admit it out loud). He was extremely self-aware, he prided himself on that, but in the last year, when he had let his feelings take the reins of his body, the results had almost always been disastrous.

And he was sure that this time would be no different.

So he thought back to his promise. To stay away from you, as he told himself. To find out what had happened to her, and then to ignore your presence and existence as best he could.

But how could he ignore you when you were everywhere now?

There had been days when he had scrubbed his hand more than once to get rid of your drawing, only to regret it the next day when he saw it fading more and more.

And so it went on, an alternating nightmare.

Two weeks of it.

He often caught himself staring at the seat next to him on the sofa near the fireplace in the Common Room: the seat where she always sat. Now Daphne occupied it most of the time.

"What are you staring at?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are my hips funny or ...?"

"What? No," he snapped out of it, and averted his eyes, only now realising exactly where he was staring.

To anyone else, it would have looked like he was gawking shamelessly. But it was Daphne he was talking to: some days she seemed to know him better than he knew himself. She was bloodily perspective in her own way, and he was more than willing to open up to her, against his better judgement.

If it weren't for her loose blonde hair and bright blue eyes, he would have seen Anne in her.

He seemed to be forgetting that it wasn't only you whom he shouldn't get attached to too much.

"I just spaced out."

She clicked her tongue as she smudged a little on her diagram. "I suppose the Chinese Chomping Cabbages aren't exactly piquing your interest, are they?"

He watched thoughtfully as she struggled against the ink, and the only answer he graced her with was a guttural sound at the back of his throat. She seemed too distracted to care.

"Why won't it stop dripping?" The blonde hissed, annoyed, and Sebastian half-smiled in amusement.

And then he reached into his pocket.

"Try this."

Daphne furrowed her eyebrows and picked up the weird stick he was holding.

"Is this a new kind of wand or…? Didn't know Ollivander had stepped up his game."

He rolled his eyes. "It's a pen. A… A muggle invention. Just press it on the paper and write. You won't need ink."

She looked at it suspiciously, as if asserting that it wasn't a Zonko product that would spray her with Bouncing Spider Juice when she least expected it. In the end, she seemed to trust him enough and shrugged.

And so she did as she was told.

"My, my!" The girl grinned. "You know I'm going to steal this from you, right?"

There was a pang in his chest, and his breath was cut short at the idea. He remembered the playful twinkle in your eyes and your smile as you handed him that same pen.

"No you won't," he retorted, his voice trembling slightly more than he had hoped.

"Ho ho," she said, keeping the pen tight in her hand and biting her lip to stop a sly grin from breaking onto her face. "Why not? Is it… special?"

He took in a sharp breath. "No. It's just my first muggle object… and I want to enjoy it."

"Your first muggle object, is it?" She shook her head. "You took it for a tattoo-making tool as well then, I reckon?"

"Tattoo-what?"

"Those weird marks Muggles draw on their skin. Permanently," Daphne shook her head, emphasising the last word disapprovingly. "But yours wasn't permanent, which means..."

"Mine? What are you talking about?" The boy leaned back on the armrest. "I've never visited a Muggle - er - tattoo-maker."

She sighed, seemingly exasperated, but her small, teasing smile told him otherwise. He felt cold sweat run down his spine.

"It might be gone now, but I remember that weird circle on your hand, and I don't suppose you've drawn it yourself, so either you joined a cult or… someone else who would possess muggle objects drew it for you."

He flushed and hid his hand by instinct, even if now the skin was smooth and unblemished again.

Just how perspective was Daphne Greengrass? Or was he just far too easy to read?

"I joined a cult."

She broke into a laugh. "Alright, then. I won't steal your most prized possession from you."

He loved and hated talking to her at the same time.

Sebastian watched musingly as his friend twirled the item in her hand, stopping now and then to draw symbols and write short words on the worn parchment, and he thought back to the wide range of abstruse sketches on your notebook, and on how he wished you would take that same notebook with you to the Undercroft when you would finally accept his invitation to study together.

He tried in vain to pull himself out of that reverie, to finally come to terms to what it really was: a whim he shouldn't indulge in. What was really important, and the only reason he should keep you in his company, was to find out what happened to her, what had made the wizarding world repute her achievements perfunctory and irrelevant enough to enshroud her existence to everyone.

It was a rickety plan you were both treading on, going from pillar to post those last few days with no success. You had told him you had visited the Restricted Section again, but that the only book who made mention of Ancient Magic had just said something about the hides of dragons and their protection.

His heart broke a little upon knowing you felt the need to do that alone without sending for him to accompany you: he thought you were in this together. On the whole, though, you had only been the bearer of bad news, but despite the crushing weight of repeated failures, he wouldn't acquiesce to the sinking reality of the impasses you were piling up. He was as stubborn as a mule and intended to remain so.

As always, you got away with no one being the wiser. He could not help but be envious and enticed at the same time.

Sebastian had always felt like he knew everything: what other people thought, what his environment was like and, above all, what he himself was like. He had an assertiveness that few people could master and many would emulate. He knew exactly what to say to make people tick. He knew better than anyone how the school worked. He had studied its rules and guidelines, and knew exactly how to put one over on them when he needed to.

And yet he had got caught.

You hadn't.

Neither that time, nor the previous times.

Now, he had kept Tracey Nettlebed at bay by fulfilling her stupid requests, and that seemed to prevent her from telling what happened that morning — how she knew was still a mystery to him — but, to anyone other than Sebastian, Daphne and Tracey, you still looked as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.

He wasn't even sure the Professors would believe Tracey if she had — as people around Hogwarts said — "dashed the dirt" on you two, given how much of a blabbermouth she was, but Dean definitely would have, and that was the reason you had been so adamant not to let your adventure out in the open.

So, despite his own reluctance in having to ask you to get those Snackboxes-whatever from the Gryffindor Common Room whenever Tracey cornered him near the slithery entrance of his own — and the constant twitching of his left eye whenever you mentioned said boy — he had decided to push his own qualms (and feelings) to the side and had yielded to your wishes.

He hadn't properly told you Tracey's exact words — having learned a bit later that the shocked expression you had worn, which had made the pit of his stomach drop to his knees, was due more to the fourth-year's tone of voice and threatening look when she'd said his name than to the 'your little crush' remark — and he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

It was as clear as day, no matter how many times he had brought his tie to his nose in the days that followed, that you had no interest in him.

And his marks on cricket darts seemed as appealing as squeezing Bubotuber Pus from its plant with his bare hands.

In the end, the house elves had been quicker, and had probably had enough of him and that damned tie lying biasedly on his bed day after day, and managed to snatch it and launder it properly.

The avocado was gone.

As he looked over at the girl copying her diagram — or, more specifically, at her hand to assure the pen wouldn't disappear into thin air — the familiar feeling of holes being bored into his head came back. He grimaced.

"Look behind me, see if she's staring," he whispered to Daphne, and the blonde lifted her head slightly to peer over his shoulder.

"She is."

He gave a world-weary sigh and rolled his eyes once more. "She is going to ask me for those damn boxes again."

"I say you cast Obliviate on her and end this nightmare."

His lip twitched up.

"Tough when you have to salvage your crush's reputation and hide her escapades from her other crush." She continued with an exaggerated sigh.

He grabbed the heaviest pillow he could find and threw it at her head, while she brought her hands up to protect her face. She laughed as her hair flew everywhere.

"Alright alright, sorry." She took a loud breath. "But seriously, I think Tracey might have been following you to know all that."

"Would you have guessed?" He replied sarcastically. "Stupid Library date, stupid Dean—"

"Is that what you asked of her? Where to find Dean?"

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"You know it's funny that if it weren't for Tracey, you two would have never been caught. Gryffindors have been outdoing us lately."

That was a low blow — not that Daphne knew any better.

Because in a way, in his twisted, homesick, lovestruck mind, that could just as easily add to the competition between you and her.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's say some people have been… tarnishing our reputation…" She shot a glance behind them and he followed her gaze to Malfoy and his group. "While Gryffindors are prospering with all kinds of renegades. Harry Potter for once: he has been basically rewriting the rules of this school ever since he arrived. Ron Weasley, his best friend? might appear a bit as a nitwit, but I assure you he's lost more points in his first year than I did in five of my own. Even Hermione Granger is a little sly one, despite her goody-two-shoes image. And the Weasley twins… don't get me started on them. They are the inventors of the Skiving Snackboxes your little friend loves so much: the Weasley products have been thriving in this school."

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, and hoped Daphne had forgotten about you, but she had decided to twist the knife deeper — inadvertently of course.

"Not to mention…" and she knowingly quirked her head to the side, lifting her eyebrows in the meantime, "she's just as reckless and slightly more cunning. If she hadn't been a Muggle-born, I'm pretty sure she would be sitting in my place on this sofa right now."

That wasn't a low blow, that was a whole punch in his gut. Part of him wanted the girl to just stop talking.

Part of him wanted to know more.

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Well, she was almost a Hatstall, after all. The hat kept going back and forth between the two."

His throat did a strange thing, blowing out air so quickly he choked on his breath. He tried to cough as quietly as he could.

"S-So… she could have been a Slytherin?" He asked, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Daphne seemed to ponder.

"To be honest… I think she could have. But I don't really see her as an ambitious gal, do you? I think she is a perfect Gryffindor after all…"

He nodded absent-mindedly.

Yet another thing he added to his list.

-

"Why have you never visited the Undercroft?"

"I—"

To tell the truth, you had wanted to... but only when he wasn't there. Good old inquiry for your worries and doubts.

But he was there all the time.

Whenever you approached the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, you would see him wandering about, looking ever-so-suspicious as he pretended to strut nonchalantly through the hidden corridor.

He stood out like a Thestral in a herd of Unicorns.

It was a sight to see, really.

Once you had even approached him just as he was drawing his wand, and he had jumped up in alarm, as if you were a Muggle who had just seen him walk through the enchanted wall in King's Cross.

For a moment you thought he was going to erase your memories like some common Ministry minion.

He had obviously invited you in, with an expression on his face that you couldn't quite decipher: too welcoming and too afraid.

And a bit too hopeful.

But eventually you had to decline his offer, fearing another ambush by his fellow Rita Skeeter-wannabe Slytherin, and walked away.

You weren't quite sure what to make of the way his face seemed to fall faster than a Quidditch player hit by a bludger.

And whenever your separated Houses graced you with different planned lessons and, consequently, different free periods, it was either Umbridge strutting in that same corridor (albeit with a bit more authority and self-assurance than your classmate), Hermione dragging you back to the Common Room or the Library to study, or Fred and George cornering you to recruit you as a test subject for their new projects (from which you always managed to scurry away much to the twins' displeasure) that ruined your plans.

You were on your way to the Astronomy Tower when you saw the familiar head of messy brown waves walk towards you. And all your terrible luck and, quite frankly, not-so-nice neglect of that place Sebastian seemed to hold at heart had led you to this conversation.

"I mean, of course you don't have to come in if you don't want to, I just…"

He seemed at a loss for words, searching his mind for a reason to give you why you should visit the Undercroft with him.

And the way his eyes darted around as he turned his head slightly to the right and upwards told you that he perhaps had at least one, but one he'd rather keep to himself.

You didn't inquire.

"It's not that, I've just been… busy. O.W.L.s and stuff," you replied.

It was the most conventional answer a fifth-year could come up with, and frankly, most of the time it was rubbish, a fib of the highest order: any Hogwarts student could see through that lie like they could see through the numerous ghosts wandering out and about, and yet it was a silent agreement between the younglings to accept it as a reasonably polite excuse that most likely meant, 'I don't want to hang out with you'.

(Perhaps Hermione was the only exception: she actually meant it, but she didn't need to use it as an excuse either, because she tended to make it everyone's business. In a way, she saved the grades of most of her friends that way.)

Sebastian didn't seem to catch on, though — perhaps it was due to a cultural difference from his old school, you suspected — and you were actually glad of it, but he definitely had his difficulties reading between the lines and recognising the underlying implication.

"You… We… We could study there, though? I mean, McGonagall did tell me I needed a tutor."

(He had no care for tutors, he could catch up damn well on his own, thank you very much… but you didn't need to know that now, did you?)

"Isn't the Library better for that? Less dusty…"

"Less private," he replied with a playful smile.

You shook your head and let a chuckle escape your lips at his beckoning.

"Maybe… I usually need a special kind of environment to concentrate. As of now, the only three places that have lived up to that expectation were the Library, the Beech Tree and the Common Room," you answered honestly.

"The more the merrier, no?" He encouraged hopefully.

You almost gave in.

Almost.

In a way, you needed to talk to him about something important — he deserved to know as much as everyone else.

But not that night.

"We'll see, I suppose," you answered awkwardly, averting your eyes from his, not missing the way his face fell again.

-

Just the day after, though, as Sebastian was wallowing in self-pity at your conversation, as Sebastian was conveniently looking away from you as you sat next to him in Potion, you slipped him a piece of parchment on the table.

He did his best to ignore it, even going as far as pretending to swat it away as he reached for his Beetle Eyes, but in the end he couldn't keep his curiosity at bay.

'We need to talk.'

It was simple. Simply enervating. Simply invigorating.

Simple enough to make the Beetle Eyes fall from his hand.

He saw you frown at him as he quickly bent down to pick them up off the floor, and he would have gladly disappeared if you hadn't followed him to help.

"Butterfingers, eh?" You teased.

He couldn't stop the small smile on his face.

"What did you need to talk about?" Sebastian followed you out of the classroom as your fellow students walked to the Great Hall for lunch.

He stared frontwards and saw Hermione's head turn left and right in bewilderment. When he looked over at you to ask what she was searching for, you were gone.

Now, if he had also started to hallucinate you, he would have considered it his last straw.

But then Hermione turned back and your hand appeared from Salazar-knows-where to grab at his robes and pull him into another corridor.

You looked around urgently, assessing that no one was in earshot, before you turned back to him and conspiratorially whispered: "Hermione doesn't want me to tell you this..."

His eyebrows shot up, and so did his ego.

So you were about to tell him, even if Hermione didn't want you to.

His heart began waltzing again, and he wondered what sort of secret you wanted to share with him that was so important you were willing to betray your friend’s trust for it.

"What is it?" He asked, trying to appear nonchalant and level-headed, but letting the façade drop when you didn't buy it.

"Are you willing to break some rules? Well… again, I mean."

Now that he wasn't expecting, and a thousand scenarios of what 'breaking some rules again' meant for you crossed his mind.

He imagined another escapade in the Restricted Section, this time with no Tracey following you, but maybe involving that same wardrobe.

Or perhaps a journey into the Forbidden Forest, meeting Thestrals, fighting giant spiders, kissing against the trees.

He slapped his forehead and you flinched a bit.

"I'll… take that as a no?"

"I'm very keen on breaking rules," he moved that same hand through his hair, trying his best to ignore how stupid he must look with a red print the shape of his palm on his face, "just… er... just what do you mean?"

Another part of him dismissed his earlier thoughts of any intimacy and imagined you asking him to follow you on some sort of cloak-and-dagger adventure; imagined teaching you curses and spells, telling you his every thought and having you sharing yours in return, showing you every side of magic he was willing to explore still.

He wanted to pretend that you would follow him into the deep, dark abyss of immorality and sin, that you would take the Cruciatus Curse for him if he had asked, that you would forgive him if he had told you about Solomon, that you would stand by his side even after his soul had been warped and infected and lost, and that you would do your best to put it back together and keep it with you, safe in your arms.

Of course, that's not what happened.

"We're thinking about having secret Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and we are supposed to meet this weekend in Hogsmeade to discuss the details. I figured, since you hate Umbridge just as much as the next person, that you deserved a chance."

His mouth fell open. Secret lessons?

"Like a secret club, or…?” He couldn’t help but think of Lucan Brattleby and how Crossed Wands would suffer without his presence. If any of them even noticed.

“We’re not sure yet, it's barely an idea. It’s just... you know how Umbridge has been treating our education, and given what has happened in the past few years, and especially last year, I think we should all be prepared for what’s out there.”

What's out there? Last year? How much did he still have to catch up on?

He knew about some Dark Wizard being around — Ron and Hermione had explained all about it his first day — but the way you spoke about it, the whole ordeal seemed far more serious than he had anticipated.

“Sure, count me in,” he simply said, clasping one hand in the other.

“Then we’ll meet this weekend and go to Hogsmeade together. Mind you, let’s stay away from Hermione at first, or she’ll become suspicious: it's better to ease her into the news once she has no way to moot… or argue.”

Sebastian didn’t want to let his thoughts wander.

But there was a certain word flying around in his mind that he desperately tried to keep under key.

“Is this a date?” He asked with a playful grin, letting the key fall with a clang.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell me why I knew you’d say that.”

That should have made him feel somewhat proud, but he only felt a painful twinge in his heart. Is that all you thought of him?

He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Do you have your permission slip?” You asked him, and he shrugged.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

-

The day came, just like any day when you live in a world where clocks just won’t stop.

And Sebastian dearly wished they would.

You were a few steps ahead of him — a well-conceived strategy not to let Hermione have her suspicions — and he just couldn’t stop staring at your hair.

And how it should be just a bit longer.

He wanted to slap his forehead again, but that would have drawn too much attention to himself, and, honestly, he could do with less attention lately. He already had too many holes in his skull from Tracey’s piercing eyes.

Add another one right through his glabella from Filch.

After the caretaker had ungracefully leaned in towards Harry Potter to smell him, he was now eyeing Sebastian up and down like he was a rat who stole cheese right under his nose.

His permission slip was perfectly valid, though, as Dumbledore himself had guaranteed for him given the circumstances.

He walked a few feet behind you, with Daphne following suit.

"So it's a date, or…?" She gave him a smirk.

"Not really." He replied curtly as he remembered your words.

As you reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, you seemed to have found an excuse to separate yourself from the group, and he said goodbye to Daphne who in turn went and joined another Slytherin boy, whom Sebastian recognised from that day in Charms.

As soon as the trio was far enough that you could barely distinguish their shapes, you motioned Sebastian to join you, and he did so with a grin and a bouncing of his feet.

And a growing shame in his bones once he realised it.

"Well well, looks like you will be my tutor after all?" He tilted his head and let a small, teasing smile play on his lips.

You weren't looking at him, though, but at the spot on the ground right next to him, scrutinising it like it was the most interesting place in the Highlands. Your eyes then began running up and down under a frown, inspecting the air. He turned his head, half-expecting to see someone standing next to him, or at least anything more than the flying, rusty leaves.

"Are you seeing something I'm not?" He asked half-jokingly.

And then it hit him. Maybe you were seeing something he wasn't — maybe some white drops dancing on the ground, maybe traces of Ancient Magic, maybe your gift was actually there, only dormant, maybe—.

"Was Daphne not interested?" You interrupted his musing, finally gracing him with eye contact.

His chest seemed to deflate. "What?"

"In the lessons, I mean. I expected her to be, perhaps I was wrong."

Sebastian hadn't told Daphne what his meeting with you was for: he had thought it was a secret between you two. Sure, he knew Hermione would be there, and if she was, so would Ron and Harry, but it would have been easier to steal you away from three people than more.

He had even planned the lessons in his mind like a madman, dreaming of the day when he could teach you everything you didn't already know yourself.

"Uh... she had something else to do."

You nodded in acknowledgement. "We're meeting at the Hog's Head. It's a bit more hidden and away from prying eyes. No one would mind if a bunch of students suddenly came in there."

A bunch? How many people were supposed to intrude?

It's not intruding, he reminded himself. This wasn't his idea. He was the one intruding.

"Fine by me… so, how many people are we talking about?"

"A few… could be ten, could be twenty…" you shrugged.

That was a great deal more than a few.

"Good… all right…"

There was a beat of silence as the two of you set foot on the High Street.

“So, I had promised Hermione I’d meet them beforehand, so you’ll either come with me and witness her wrath, or you’ll come in with everybody else and endure the ugly stares they're going to throw your way.”

The boy stared at you for a moment. “You have an awful way of making people feel welcomed.”

"I'm glad," you smiled and cocked your head to the side. He sighed.

"Wouldn't I get ugly stares nonetheless?"

"Yes, probably, but in that case I'll be there, and I'll guarantee for you."

"I'll send you an owl next time I'll face trial in front of the Wizengamot."

You turned your head away with a dampened smile.

There were a few new houses around the village and fewer shops than in his time, at least on the main street.

"I assume the school has been lending you its supplies in the past two weeks?" You asked.

"It has, but McGonagall has advised me to buy my own earliest opportunity."

"Well, seems like an opportunity to me," you grinned up at him. "Come on, let's indulge in some calm before the storm."

He gave a low chuckle.

The two of you walked through the town, stopping every once in a while to greet other students or shop for supplies. He had a limited budget — he didn’t have his own money after all — and made sure to pay extra attention to the prices.

You didn't comment on it for which he was glad.

"Are those the infamous Weasley twins?" Sebastian asked when a tall, red-haired boy sent you a wave from the entrance of Zonko's Joke Shop.

"That's Fred, the other is George. Infamous, huh?" You waved back.

So they were the Fred and George you had mentioned.

After a last stop at J. Pippin's Potions, you suddenly turned towards him.

"It's time, I believe."

He felt the hairs stand on his neck and nodded, following you to a side street, towards a small, scruffy Inn with the picture of a severed boar’s head over its entrance sign.

“That looks cosy,” you muttered and pushed the door open.

Now he could understand the fuss about that Gryffindor boldness, because he would have happily hesitated outside a bit more.

Sebastian followed suit, stepping on the soft ground of the pub. He frowned slightly and looked down, confused as to why one would deprive himself of the privilege of a stone floor.

It turned out the only privilege the owner deprived himself of was hygiene.

“This place hasn’t been cleaned in centuries, has it?” He asked, kicking the dirt with the point of his shoes.

“Adds to the aesthetic I suppose.” You chuckled, handing him a dusty, dirty bottle of Butterbeer.

He frowned. “No glass?”

“Oh I don’t think you want a glass,” you sent a glance to the dirty rug resting in the transparent cups on the counter, “might as well chug from the bottle like real cool drunks.”

You cleaned the top with your sleeve and brought it between your teeth, cracking it open. He did the same.

“If only it were alcoholic.”

“Everything can be alcoholic if you bring extra aid.”

He chuckled, and then reached for his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

“Just be quiet and let me do the talking. That’s my prize,” you whispered, sending a glance to the trio sitting at the far end of the bar, hidden behind the wall at the entrance which was mercifully still shielding you two from your ugly fate.

“Here goes nothing,” and you stepped forward, letting the three Gryffindors see you. Sebastian followed right after.

And while the trio seemed happy to see you, their expressions quickly changed upon landing eyes on the Slytherin boy. They sent you a look of disappointment and confusion that sent chills down his spine.

“Before you say a word,” you began, placing the dusty bottle on the table, “let me explain.”

“It was supposed to be private,” Hermione said between gritted teeth.

“No,” you interjected, now getting worked up. “You said it was open to anyone who wanted to learn, and he —” you pointed at the boy behind you, who would have most surely liked to be swallowed by the filthy ground under him, “— wants to learn.”

He gave them a tight-lipped smile, mustering as much poise and politeness as he could.

“But he… he’s —”

“He’s what?” You cocked an eyebrow daringly. “A Slytherin? Who gives a damn.”

Sebastian flinched at your harshness, but his chest warmed up nonetheless… and no, it wasn’t because of the Butterbeer. Hermione seemed to deflate in her seat, gasping once or twice before finally yielding.

“Fine… I— I suppose if you trust him…”

“I do.” You interrupted, and scooted closer to him for good measure. He couldn't have stopped his face from flushing even if he wanted to.

Harry and Ron only glanced at each other with wide eyes and buried their attention in the bottle in their hands.

"Well, that was easy enough," Sebastian whispered to you once you sat down, making sure the trio wouldn't be able to hear his words.

"Shut up. My heart's beating in my face," you sighed slowly, taking place next to him and downing half of your bottle in one go. He suppressed a chuckle, and you nudged his arm with your elbow in protest.

"You have Butterbeer on your lips," he observed, his lips stretched into a smirk.

Your eyes widened and you quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of your robes, a light blush on your cheeks. "If you breathe so much as a word..."

"You missed a spot," he taunted you further, grabbing a napkin from the table and leaning in to clean it for you, but you flinched away from it.

"I'm not putting that thing anywhere near my mouth." — you attempted to do it yourself, using your robes again — "There are probably traces of Spattergroit from the eighteen hundreds."

He rolled his eyes and tossed it back on the table. "Fair enough, although the eighteen hundreds aren't as far back as you think." He pushed his sleeve down to cover his palm, keeping it in place with his thumb, and gently brought it to your lips, holding your chin in place with his other hand.

You stared at him as he cleaned your lips. If he weren't so gentle in the way his fingers pressed on your jaw, and the way the fabric only lightly caressed your skin, you wouldn't have felt your breath hitch as it did. And your heart would probably be doing its own job properly instead of missing so many damn beats.

His eyes were tender as he examined your face, fleeting over your skin to find any drop he might have missed. "We wouldn't want you to make a bad impression at such an important meeting."

"Oh, shut up," you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks burn at his words, and his gaze finally met yours. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and you felt a twinge of guilt at your harsh words. "Thank you."

Your voice was breathless and shaky, and you cursed yourself internally for it. Sebastian only suppressed a smirk as he let his eyes linger on your lips for a second more.

"You're welcome."

Much to his dismay, his eyes inadvertently shot to the trio next to the two of you, who had been watching it all unfold with wide eyes, looking between you and Sebastian like they had missed a crucial Charms lesson right before their O.W.L.s.

You cleared your throat and moved away from the boy, your finger tapping nervously on the bottle in your hands, and he let go of his sleeve, smoothing the wrinkles caused by his grip.

-

After some small talk, Sebastian heard the door opening and a crowd of people trooped into the pub. He noticed a bunch of Ravenclaw girls, followed by a group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. No Slytherins came at the rear, much to his disappointment. Maybe he should have invited Daphne, after all.

One of the first people to enter, though, was Dean, and Sebastian immediately noticed the way your eyes seemed to light up at his sight. He took another swig and averted his eyes.

“A couple of people?” said Harry, his green eyes looking even wider behind his glasses as he stared at Hermione in bewilderment. “A couple of people?”

“Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular. Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?”

The red-head grunted and stood up. Sebastian had half a mind to help, but he couldn’t risk losing his seat next to you to Dean Thomas, so he stayed put.

One of the twins approached the counter with long strides and a charming smile. “Could we have —” he stopped to count his companions “— twenty-five Butterbeers, please?”

Poor barman, Sebastian thought as his eyes were lazily set on the man getting down and back up behind the counter twenty-five times.

“Cheers!” Said twin began handing them out. “Cough up, everyone, I haven’t got enough gold for all of these.”

The Slytherin boy watched in contemplation as the students began searching in their bags and purses for Sickles, and at the same time ignored the dirty and confused stares sent his way all the same.

“What have you been telling people?” he heard Harry whisper to Hermione urgently. “What are they expecting?”

“I’ve told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say. You don’t have to do anything yet, I’ll speak to them first.” She replied nervously.

After a few greetings here and there, the students finally sat down (there was an abnormally large distance between Sebastian’s seat and the Ravenclaw girl next to him, who seemed to eye him like he was a leper). Hermione took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Well — er — hi,” she gulped loudly. “Well… erm…. Well, you know why you’re here. W—Well, Harry here had the idea…” Said boy shot her an ugly glance and her voice became even more nervous as she backtracked on her words. “I mean… I had the idea that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts…. a-and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us, because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts—”

“Hear, hear,” a Hufflepuff boy interrupted the girl and she seemed to shrink onto herself.

“Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands… And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells—” 

“You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?” said a Ravenclaw boy, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Of course I do,” Hermione replied indignantly. “But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because… because...”

Sebastian looked at her, his interest piqued when he saw your hands nervously crumple with each other under the table.

“Because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

There was an immediate reaction that made Sebastian frown, bemused. Some students shrieked, others spilled their drinks on themselves, others shuddered and murmured, afraid.

How could a name possibly incite such a response?

“Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?” a blond Hufflepuff boy asked rather harshly.

“Well, Dumbledore believes it—”

“You mean, Dumbledore believes him,” he shot Harry a glance.

“Who are you?” Ron intruded defensively.

“Zacharias Smith, and I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.”

Hermione sighed and lowered her voice to a calm tone. “Look, that’s really not what this meeting was supposed to be about—”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry, his voice more alive than Sebastian had ever heard it. If a voice could drip venom, the Slytherin was sure there would be a puddle on the floor already.

“What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back? I saw him.” the black-haired boy said, staring straight at Zacharias Smith with unwavering eyes. “But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you don’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

Sebastian could see the tough facade begin to slip from the Hufflepuff’s face.

“All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know —”

“If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you. I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.”

Sebastian faltered at his words and looked at you, hoping to meet your gaze. Something that could at least ease the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. But you didn't indulge him, your eyes trained on your friend, your hands clung to each other in your lap.

“So,” Hermione began again, her voice even more nervous after Harry sent a piercing, angry gaze towards her. “Like I was saying… if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, and where we’re going to —”

“Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?” A girl with long hair interrupted, aloof to Hermione's words, and looked at Harry, who confirmed it, still not lowering his guard. “A corporeal Patronus?”

Sebastian stared at Harry with curiosity as the girl introduced herself as Susan Bones. Producing a Corporeal Patronus in your fifth year was nothing short of impressive.

"You make a stag Patronus?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Blimey, Harry! I never knew that!” A Gryffindor boy grinned at him.

One of the twins chuckled. “Mum told Ron not to spread it around. She said you got enough attention as it was.”

“She’s not wrong….”

“And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office?” asked a Ravenclaw rather excitedly. “That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…”

“Er — yeah, I did, yeah,” said Harry.

There was a murmur of surprise and approval, some whistles and "wow"s reaching Sebastian's ears. But he ignored them. His eyes widened as he looked at the boy, and then at you as if expecting you to turn around and tell him this was all a prank, or that people were just making up rumours as Hogwarts students tended to do.

But your face was hard as stone, your posture straight and unwavering as you looked at your friend proudly.

“And in our first year,” another Gryffindor — who Sebastian had heard being called Neville — added, excited to have something to include in the conversation, “he saved that Philological Stone —”

“Philosopher’s,” Hermione corrected.

“Yes, that, from You-Know-Who.”

“And that’s not to mention all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past Dragons and Merpeople and Acromantulas and things…” added a Ravenclaw girl with long black hair, sending Harry a soft glance.

Sebastian's hands trembled around the bottle as he spaced out looking at the dirty floor. Dragons… Acromantulas… all thpse seemed a bit too familiar for his comfort. He shot you a glance again, hoping you'd turn around that time and tell him that it was no big deal. That you could do more. That you could do more with him .

He didn't know if he was more shocked at the fact that Harry — a simple wizard with no Ancient Magic — could accomplish all of this on his own or the fact that you — her direct descendant — hadn't.

“Look, I…” Harry sighed, interrupting Sebastian's train of thoughts. “I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but I had a lot of help with all that stuff.”

“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” the Ravenclaw boy sitting next to Ron’s sister spoke again. “That was a seriously cool bit of flying….”

“Yeah, well—”

“And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,” said Susan Bones.

Dementors as well?

“No, no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is —”

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith.

“Here’s an idea, why don’t you shut your mouth?” Ron said rudely, looking as if wanting to punch said boy right in the nose.

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” Zacharias blushed.

Both the twins stepped in, taking out a large metal instrument they had bought from Zonko’s Joke Shop and branding it threateningly.

“That’s not what he said”

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?”

“Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this.”

“Yes, well, moving on…” Hermione sighed tiredly, “the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?”

A murmur broke through the pub, but overall, everyone seemed to be in favour. And here went all of Sebastian's plans. He wondered how suited Harry was for this. Sure, he had accomplished a lot, but… how much did he really know? How many spells could he actually teach him? How many spells could he teach you?

And for the first time, he felt a pang of jealousy that wasn't directed towards Dean Thomas.

“Right." Hermione continued. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week—”

“Hang on, we need to make sure this doesn’t clash with our Quidditch practice.” A tall Gryffindor girl interrupted solemnly.

“No, nor with ours.” Said the Ravenclaw girl.

“Nor ours,” added Zacharias Smith proudly.

Hermione seemed to refrain herself from rolling her eyes. “I’m sure we can find a night that suits everyone, but you know, this is rather important, we’re talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort’s Death Eaters—”

“Well said! Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” Another Hufflepuff chimed in cheerfully, looking around his companions as if inciting a crowd. “I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who , but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —”

“We think the reason Umbridge doesn’t want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts is that she’s got some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he’d mobilise us against the Ministry.” Hermione explained.

Sebastian took another swig of his Butterbeer. Not only was Umbridge useless, she was also completely daft.

After some more discussion — and an argument initiated by a blonde Ravenclaw girl with big blue eyes about Heliopaths, a Ministry army and Spirits of fire Sebastian couldn’t care less about, they finally got to talk about where to meet.

“Hem, hem,” it was Ron’s sister who interrupted the argument, coughing in a perfect imitation of Umbridge that made Sebastian snort. “Weren’t we trying to decide how often we’re going to meet and get Defense lessons?”

“Yes  we were, you’re right. Well, the other thing to decide is where we’re going to meet...” Hermione sighed.

A few students began suggesting different places.

“Library?”

“I can’t see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,” said Harry.

“Maybe an unused classroom?” said Dean, and your eyes shot to him immediately. Sebastian hid his scowl behind the bottle top.

“Yeah, McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Triwizard…” Ron said thoughtfully.

You sent Sebastian a side glance and he panicked, his heart skipping several beats. Were you about to suggest what he thought you were about to suggest?

He sent you a pleading look back, but you had already looked away from him and he braced for the worst. But you didn’t speak.

“Right, well, we’ll try to find somewhere. We’ll send a message round to everybody when we’ve got a time and a place for the first meeting.” Hermione said, taking a parchment and a quill from her bag. “I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here.”

There was some resistance from the students: many of them didn’t look too happy to put their name on a list that everyone could read (the Hufflepuff, for once, was pretty quick to backtrack on his statement), especially with something as delicate as this, given the circumstances.

The twins were the first to sign, and then you yourself took the parchment and wrote your name without hesitation. After that, the students seemed more and more convinced and lined up in front of the parchment. After everyone had finished, Sebastian had a strange feeling rising inside him, as if he had signed a contract he couldn't get out of. It worried him and he looked up suspiciously at Hermione and then down at you, who didn't seem fazed at all.

It wasn't long before the crowd began to disperse, and you too decided to leave the filthy inn and say goodbye to the trio. Sebastian followed you outside.

"For a moment I thought you were going to suggest the Undercroft as a place..." He chuckled gauzily.

"For a moment I thought so too," you replied, lost in thought.

His breath caught.

"S-So, is all that true? What they said - what Harry did?"

"Yes, of course," you turned to him, puzzled by his question about your friend's achievements. “You had never heard of him?”

Yet another mistake he had made: the lack of thorough research into his contemporary environment.

"Let us say that I ... never indulge in gossip."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Of course..."

"But I noticed the scar," he added, hoping you would tell him more.

You shrugged and turned back around. "Who hasn't?"

"Very peculiar shape."

"Yeah well, it's only one of the most powerful curses there is. Nothing too big." You retorted sarcastically.

He felt a cold wave wash over him as he confirmed his suspicions.

"The- The Killing Curse."

"The boy who lived."

His heart stopped in his chest.

Taglist

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[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter One—Am I an Asshole? (Rhetorical)

My boyfriend got invited to play baseball this evening. One of their usual players was sick, so a friend asked him if he could fill in for that other player. He texted me in the late afternoon to ask if we had any plans (i.e. he was seeking my approval) and all I could muster was a simple “You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want”. A sentence that boarders on sassy, but still allows me to vent my hurt feelings and frustration covertly, without him thinking much about it. We had playful banter through out the rest of the afternoon.

The issue was: we had just received an email from our new landlord confirming that we could move in early, however, we would need to prepare some paperwork. All of which he said we would do tonight during that short text exchange. I scoffed at his answer as I knew that it would take the back burner to the exciting plans he had with his friends, and I went back to work feeling a profound sense of loneliness.

That feeling was made worse when he told me, upon arriving home from work, that they had also invited him to go swimming after the game. A great way to cool off after a game on this terribly hot day. I couldn’t help but feel that sense of loneliness swallow me whole as I saw him packing his swim trunks in his sports bag. I stonewalled him, but not wanting to seem difficult or irrational, just played the “tired” game. Like always, he gives me the benefit of the doubt, kisses me goodbye, and leaves for his night of fun and excitement that he desperately needs and deserves.

“How to feel less lonely”

A statement I shamefully type into Safari as tears start streaming down my face. This Google search (not surprisingly) gives results such as: Join a Sports Team, Volunteer, Practice Self-Care. But those answers are unsatisfactory. The deep, intense loneliness is something that comes from an intrinsic feeling of unworthiness and shame. I have attempted to mitigate these symptoms with art, hiking, dancing, volunteering; all which work for a while, until I become too exhausted to handle them, and I crawl back in bed still lonely and empty inside.   

“Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and loneliness”

My second Google search of the evening. If you haven’t noticed by now, or couldn’t guess from the title of this...whatever this is, I suffered a lot of childhood trauma and have been in therapy for years trying to heal from my childhood experience of living with a narcissistic (mentally ill) mother and a father who is ruled by his own trauma. Those experiences caused me to have great dysfunction when it comes to relationships, closeness, and connection. Many of these things, I’m too ashamed of bringing up in my (very expensive but necessary) therapy sessions.

So there I was, overweight and crying, in my PJs ordering takeout on UberEats, watching my childhood trauma therapy Youtube videos that make me feel less alone and crazy, while my partner was having a blast, making new friends, and having what would probably be (in my opinion) a better night than being home with me and completing the “sorta but not really” urgent paperwork for our new apartment, smoking weed, and spending time in separate rooms until it was time to meet up again and hang out just before bedtime.

Inside, I know that alone time is important for all relationships. And it’s not necessarily the fact that he was invited somewhere without me that made me feel so absolutely alone. I feel alone because unlike my very popular and extroverted boyfriend, my phone remains vacant of incoming messages or calls (unless it is Statistics Canada asking me to complete their survey). Even still, infrequent messages come from distant relatives or acquaintances who (in my opinion) either want something from me, or have for some reason taken an interest in me out of some underlying duty to be polite and to keep in touch. No one is texting me to make plans. All the plans I have I’m only invited to because of my partner.

And I do not reach out to anyone. The fear of being “left on read” or ignored is too painful, which further fuels my loneliness.

“Does life insurance cover suicide?”

My final Google search, as I’m considering the fact that this loneliness may end of killing me with how deep and profound it is. My partner has a $300,000.00 life insurance policy in my name that he will be entitled to if I die. I want to make sure that he is taken care of, especially in this economy, if this did in fact lead to me taking my own life, which I know is a real possibility.

It would mostly be an inconvenience for me to kill myself. A mess to be cleaned, a 230lb body to cart to the morgue. I mostly think about ways that require no clean up—launching myself off a bridge, going “missing” in the woods and dying of starvation, going to the most turbulent ocean and drifting innocently into a rip tide.  All of which could be covered under my accidental death policy. My self view is so horrendous that I can only think about how inconvenient it will be for those left behind to clean up the mess I make. How absolutely fucked, eh?  

Funnily enough, the first search result is the Canadian Prevention for Suicide website screaming DON’T DO IT, GET HELP. But what if I don’t want help? I’m an adult, I pay a third of my paycheque to taxes (and I probably pays for that initiative), I have an education, career, and home. Why can’t I decide if I live or die without so much judgement or people telling me not to do it?   

“Life is sacred”

But what if I do not feel like mine is? What if I feel that I do not belong, like an alien in a human’s body. I’ve always felt that way. A burden, not good enough, ugly, fat, just wrong in all sorts of ways.

My life isn’t sacred. My lack of social relationships proves that. No one can stand to be my friend after they get to know the real me, or they just put me on the back burner while they find closer connections with less damaged people. Ones that are not too exhausted by their lives that they can text first and often. Ones that aren’t filled with shame and find agony in reaching out and making plans. Ones that can afford to spend the night and will be there for you no matter what. I cannot offer those things. My trauma will not allow me. It is too exhausting for me to take an active role in someone else’s life. Which is why my friendships fizzle out and die.

I’m too ashamed of my appearance to reach out to my old co-worker who I used to spend time with every summer drinking and tanning in the Quad. I was a lot skinnier in college, and she works hard to keep her body tight and strong. I couldn’t help feeling shame and pain the last time we hung out because of my appearance. “Why would she even invite me over?” “Was it to make fun of how fat and ugly I’ve gotten?” Those thoughts circled in my head, and that was the last time I was invited to hang out with her.

Embarrassment and Shame rule everything I do, and it keeps me lonely. So, am I an asshole for feeling so strongly about my boyfriend having exciting plans when I can’t even get my best friend to prioritize a phone call with me? I think the answer is complicated, not unlike like my complex trauma.    

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 13

Chapter title: Finale

Word count: about 4200 words

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this fic. From the ones who were here at the beginning to the ones who joined in along the way, and even to the ones who are just reading this for the first time now: thank you! I really appreciate your support and willingness to read all about this idea of mine. I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Warnings for nightmares and vague descriptions of violence, just in case.

First  | Previous 

...

In the end, another week or so was needed to finally get everything sorted out with G.U.N.- seven days which began to feel less and less stressful and more like an extended sleepover as time flew by. Eventually, though, the organization was shut down and most of their contacts closed off, leaving the country as safe as it could ever be for Teams Dark and Sonic to return.

Even as the former team began to move back into Club Rouge, setting up what little personal artifacts they had left (the suitcase they’d had was being shipped back to them from the motel in Central City where they’d left it), the club itself remained dark and empty, the three residents living above it still too wary to feel ready to reopen. Rouge, Shadow, and Omega spent about four days just living off their considerable savings and watching TV, attempting to get used to a somewhat normal life again after so long without it. 

Rouge got to enjoy those late mornings she’d been hoping for, Omega was able to do his favorite activities without taking responsibility for the team anymore, and Shadow…

...there were good times and bad times, with him.

He would often find himself utterly at peace in some moments, cooking a meal after insisting that Rouge couldn’t eat takeout all the time as his two best friends shouted wildly at their newest favorite show, and he couldn’t help but smile at all the cheerfulness that surrounded him. But at the same time, he woke up screaming nearly every night, unable to stop seeing Rouge and Omega dragged off to an unknown fate by G.U.N., or worse, seeing them lifeless and sprawled on the floor, unable to do anything to save them at all….

Both his friends would always come into his room (they’d actually started sleeping in there now to help him better) and hold him until the panic dissipated, assuring him that they were alright and that there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

This, however, wasn’t entirely true just yet.

One night, a would-be attacker (one of the last remnants of G.U.N.’s influence guiding them, most likely) picked the lock on the door and entered the club, sneaking across the ground floor. Rouge heard them first with her hyper-sensitive ears, whispering the situation quickly to Shadow. Suddenly, before she could stop him, he darted silently to the door, prepared to fight if necessary. The bat could defend herself just fine, of course, but he was still very much on edge.

It turned out that he didn’t need to worry, though, because as the intruder began to creep up the two flights of stairs, they glanced to their left on the darkened first floor. And spotted an absolutely terrifying pair of glowing red eyes staring at them from the darkness.

That alone would have been enough to make them scream and leave rapidly (they weren’t by any means as trained as some of G.U.N.’s other contacts) but Omega saw fit to point two charging laser cannons at them, too, and quite honestly even Sonic would’ve been surprised at the speed with which that intruder ran.

After that, Rouge decided that she’d had enough relaxing for a while and that she needed some structure in her life, so she opened up the club again and started it working (albeit on a limited basis, she wasn’t quite prepared for a full schedule yet). The well-known hotspot had been sorely missed, as evidenced by the large number of customers- and tips. The bat was delighted to see some of her favorite regulars again, and they were more than happy to accept the shortened hours just so long as it stayed open.

Eventually, though, as it became clear that the bat was fully prepared to just sweep the stress of this adventure under the rug and go back to daily life as it was before, she ended up subjected to quite a few discussions from Omega, Knuckles and even Sonic about her...habits. They were all too aware of how much strain she’d been under during their time on the run, not to mention all of the verbal attacks and physical stress she’d had to deal with beforehand. At first, she managed to brush it off, insisting that she was perfectly fine and that this sort of thing wasn’t necessary at all.

Omega had cornered her one day in her room though, with only a single sentence to say: “Think about the example you’re setting for Shadow.”

Rouge’s ears drooped slightly in guilt as she realized just how much a) Shadow based some of his behaviors off of her and b) how vehemently he had opposed the idea of therapy when it was first mentioned. 

She sighed quietly. “Just one. For Shadow. And nothing’s going to come of it, you hear me?”

Two days later, she walked into the office calmly, her cool business face on and her skepticism high. The therapist she met with was young, friendly, and quite earnest and eager to help her in any way they could. As they listened to the story of her life, though, their face twisted in concern. “I understand you enjoy your job and the risks that come with it...but all those awful things people have said to you- that’s terrible!”

Rouge shrugged her shoulders. “It’s part of the job, y’know? Just have to grin and bear it.”

They looked down at their desk quietly. “How long have you been ‘grinning and bearing it’ for, exactly?”

“....a while.”

Rouge left the office after a little more talking with a distinct feeling of unease in her chest. She drove home quietly, with none of the usual music or radio that she liked on. The bat remained absolutely silent as she entered the house, too, which was the first major sign to both of her friends that something was wrong.

Shadow and Omega appeared at her side quickly, asking her what had happened and what was wrong (with quite a few threats of violence to the person who had upset her) which unfortunately had the opposite effect to what they were hoping for and instead just made her eyes start to water a little.

“Rouge, what’s going on?” Shadow asked, worried, as he pulled her over to the couch. 

She managed to calm herself relatively quickly, and eventually found the words to explain how  the biting words she heard every day cut deeper than she let on. How she took on mountains of emotional stress because she was the leader, and the oldest, and it was her responsibility. 

The bat quickly tried to add that neither of them needed to worry about this, it was fine, that she was still the oldest and she’d accepted that responsibility and she could work out the stress on her own. As Omega began to insist on providing various objections to every last one of those arguments, Shadow vanished, only to return within a couple of minutes with a bag of mystery supplies.

“Today’s your off day, right?” he asked, with a determined look in his eyes.

“Yes, hon.” she said quietly. “I should probably go do the shopping at some point-”

“After therapy? No way.” Omega declared, putting a hand on her head and pushing her back down onto the couch after she’d started to get up. 

“I’ll go shopping tomorrow.” Shadow said calmly. “I remember you haven’t been to the spa in a long time, and even if we can’t make you an appointment this late, we can still do something else.”

Omega pulled a packaged ‘hydrating and exfoliating face mask’ from the bag, holding it by the corner and looking as confused as he could possibly get. “I have no idea what this does, but if you like it then that’s fine, I suppose.” he said, handing it back to Shadow gingerly.

“Aww, guys, you don’t have to-” she insisted, disliking the idea of them having to do any work regarding her own emotional burdens.

“Yes we do.” they said in sync. 

“And this needs to be at least a biweekly occurrence, too.” Omega declared.

“A Rouge day?” Shadow asked. “I agree.”

The bat protested weakly, but allowed herself to be dragged upstairs, and various soaps with relaxing scents to be placed in her hands. “And here’s a bath bomb. Or, uh, three.” The hybrid looked sheepish. “I don’t know which kind you like.”

“And do not come out until you are sufficiently relaxed.” Omega ordered her, before pushing her into the bathroom gently.

Rouge gave a quiet yet fond sigh as she looked down at the various self-care items in her hands. Those two could really be stubborn sometimes, whether about fighting or friendship.

Quickly, she swung open the door and gave them both a hug, then vanished back inside the bathroom before either could react.

The rest of the day was spent taking care of Rouge, whether it was Shadow painting her nails or Omega agreeing to watch her favorite show that night (even if he couldn’t seem to understand why people in drama shows didn’t just do what they wanted instead of agonizing about it so much). That definitely wasn’t the end of it, though.

Eventually, she managed to go back for a few more sessions just to straighten things out and figure out how to care for herself better in the long run. It didn’t hurt, either, that anytime Shadow or Omega caught someone insulting her (and her ignoring it), whether it be for her looks or her interest in a store’s jewelry, they would verbally tear into the person with such fury that Rouge was nearly embarrassed…

...but not quite. It felt good to be looked out for, she had to admit, and they were showing how much they cared about her in their own way.

It turned out that Shadow was showing it in another way, too, albeit one she didn’t notice at first. One day, as she checked through her finances, the bat realized that her bank account had begun to grow too quickly to be normal. When she checked through her balance, she discovered that someone was adding mystery payments every Friday.

Rouge found out why one afternoon when she came back from shopping early to discover Shadow standing in the living room, pulling off some sort of light green shirt and draping it over the back of a chair as he moved to the kitchen (probably for some coffee beans).

“Something you need to tell me, hon?” she asked, and was only slightly surprised when he yelled in shock, hands crackling with Chaos energy before he realized it was her. 

“Ugh...Rouge, don’t scare me like that…” he sighed.

“You didn’t answer my question, Shadow.” she shot back.

He shuffled around nervously, seeming unwilling to provide her with a straight answer. Once he realized that there was no getting out of this, though, her sensitive ears picked up the sound of the hybrid gulping briefly before taking a deep breath. “I...I’ve been working part-time arranging flowers.” he said, rushing the words out as though that would keep her from understanding them.

“Honey, you know you don’t have to do that- we still have enough money to handle the club’s current hours for a while longer…” she began, worrying that he was pushing himself too hard.

Shadow folded his arms. “Keeping us afloat isn’t all up to you, remember? And I actually enjoy it- it’s kind of calming.” he said, almost defiantly.

“If you insist.” she replied. “But make sure not to mess up your schedule, you know you need to make sure you’re getting your rest after everything.”

The hybrid rolled his eyes. “I’m the Ultimate Lifeform, I don’t need-”

“Wrong answer.” Omega said from the doorway, folding his arms and glowering at Shadow. Rouge had an expression to match, seeming pretty distressed by what he’d said.

“Shadow, hon, you keep using that title as an excuse not to take care of yourself, and that’s just as unhealthy as me ignoring people who try and bother me.” she said softly. “I...think you should really consider talking to the same person I did- it’s really helped, you know that.”

The hybrid sulked in the car on the way to the office a couple days later, but didn’t actively attempt to resist, so he probably knew that Rouge was right. He told his story to them in the most calm, nonchalant manner he could pull off, though his friends did take over the story occasionally when his voice trailed off.

By the end of it, the young mouse was frowning at their desk again. “Honestly, I’m...I’m speechless. The fact that so many people were willing to treat you so badly- it’s horrible. So...I’m really glad you’re here, and I’ll do my best to help you however I can.”

Shadow was a little touched by this amount of concern from what was essentially a stranger, though he remained resistant to their suggestions at first. However, a day or two later, he had yet another nightmare- and a bad one too. Ordinarily, he’d just ignore it and lie awake for hours trying to get back to sleep, but this time, he happened to recall what the therapist had said.

“It’s okay to ask for help, Shadow. You deserve it just as much as anyone else- no matter what some people may have said.”

He tried to avoid the thought, but his mind wouldn’t rest and he couldn’t even begin to relax. (Truthfully, he was too scared to, in case the nightmares came back.) Guiltily, he got up, shuffled over to Rouge’s room, and opened the door quietly. It took him a long moment to even work up the nerve to walk over to her bedside, but eventually he did. He shook her awake gently by the shoulder, unwilling to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Shadow….” was all she said, before pulling him gently under the blankets with her and holding him tight.

The hybrid felt so pathetic and childish, yet he still buried his face in the crook of her neck, letting out a quiet sniffle. He could smell a mixture of her perfume and shampoo, and it calmed him slowly, as did the feeling of her arms around him. Eventually, he managed to fall back asleep to the sound of her breathing, and spent the rest of the night in relative peace.

When Shadow woke up early in the morning and Omega was right beside the bed, one of his hands resting comfortingly on his side, he didn’t even question it. He just placed his hand right over one of the giant metal fingers before resting a while longer, a small smile on his face.

As the days continued and the two Mobians started taking care of themselves more- with lower stress levels and many more peaceful nights as a result- Shadow finally even worked up the nerve to spend some time with Omega at the firing range. 

They had made careful plans. There were noise-canceling earmuffs available for free upon entry, and Shadow wouldn’t even be in the same room as most of the weaponry. He had a katana sword and he knew where the practice dummies were, and that was enough.

They’d be able to see each other through a glass window and wave (and show off, of course). So while Shadow approached the building with a slight air of trepidation, he also felt rather excited to be able to work on his fighting skills once again, especially with his friend.

That is, until the attendant at the desk refused to give him the headset when he asked for it.

“You have to rent an item to get the free headphones,” the young woman said, looking bored and generally unsympathetic. “That’s the rule.”

“I don’t see anything saying that.” Shadow shot back, but inside he felt more nervous than anything. He couldn’t stay here if he didn’t get that equipment, but he’d really wanted to spend some time with Omega today…

The robot appeared behind him surprisingly quickly, wrenching aside the attendant’s computer to glower at her better. “I have seen others come in here and get headsets for free while bringing their own weapons, so you had better have a good explanation for why you refuse to give him one.”

“He’s got a sword,” she pointed out unhelpfully, “so he shouldn’t even need one. Headsets are only for people with projectile weapons, anyway.”

Omega’s fingers tightened on the counter until they made a noticeable scraping sound. The attendant winced and even the otherwise impassive Shadow’s ears twitched at the noise.

He lifted up his hand, revealing deep scratches in the stainless steel. “You should think about being fair and providing Shadow with a headset now. Before I become really irritated.”

“That’s- I shouldn’t have to make an exception, he isn’t going to be on the firing range!”

“He does and you should. My friend does not do well with the sound of gunfire, so he deserves to have one. Right. Now.” Omega insisted, glaring at her.

“Well, if he doesn’t like guns then he shouldn’t be here.” she said irritably. “I’m not giving him one. And that’s final.”

The robot turned away suddenly and stalked towards the door. “Then I refuse to spend one moment longer in this building. Congratulations on losing your establishment some money.”

Shadow followed his friend, feeling more than a little like he’d just experienced some sort of verbal whiplash. “Wait...what just happened?”

“I decided that this place is clearly not good enough to deserve our patronage. We can find somewhere else to spend our time.”

“But I thought this was the best place in the area- I don’t want to make you miss out…” Shadow said, feeling bad for his friend.

Omega put a heavy arm around Shadow’s shoulders. “Amenities mean nothing to me if the people there insist you suffer in the process.”

The hybrid leaned against his friend, grateful. “Thank you, Omega.”

(They did eventually find a new- if slightly less upscale- place to go, and Omega managed to hit fifteen bulls-eyes in a row before being informed that they didn’t quite have the money for prizes there. Shadow enjoyed being able to use his sword, and he got significantly more respect on the way out of the building as opposed to the general confusion and mild derision he’d received on the way in...particularly after he defeated one of the most respected patrons in five minutes flat.)

…

Nearly a month and a half after Team Dark left Angel Island, Sonic set up a little party with some friends to celebrate their general success, as well as their slow steps to getting better, day by day. The team had been pretty reclusive and slightly paranoid as of late, so this was their first proper social outing in a long while.

Once they got over to Sonic’s house, all three members of Team Dark were immediately greeted with a shriek of “GUYS!”, followed by the sudden appearance of one cheerful pink hedgehog. “Rouge, Omega, Shadow, hi! How are you guys? Do you need anything?” Amy Rose asked, managing to simultaneously be cheerful, sympathetic, and doting in a way only she ever could.

“We’re doing better all the time, hon. Thank you.” Rouge answered kindly, while Omega waved at her and Shadow offered up a quiet nod. 

Amy wasn’t deterred by the latter’s behavior- she’d spent enough time with him to know that they were pretty good friends and that he was probably just a little overwhelmed, so she gave him his space. Blaze greeted them all politely as they entered the living room as well from her seat on the couch, but was quickly overshadowed by the other spacetime traveler present for the party.

Silver dashed over to the group, looking them all up and down worriedly. Upon seeing that they were mostly unharmed, albeit tired, he focused his attention on his personal hero and occasional mentor on Chaos techniques (Shadow).

“Are- are you going to be okay?” he asked worriedly, hovering (both literally and figuratively) around the other hedgehog. “Silly question, sorry, I just, if you’re not okay then I’m here if you need-”

“Silver.” Shadow cut the psychic off, but in a gentle manner. “I think I’ll be alright. If I’m ever not, though, I’ll keep your offer in mind. Thank you.”

“Okay.” He sighed, his nervous energy dissipating. It was replaced by a smile almost instantly, though, as he added, “Okay! I’m just so glad you guys managed to stop G.U.N. and everything. And that you’re alright now!”

Shadow offered him a small smile. “So am I.”

Soon after, Omega hurried down to Tails’s workshop with a shout of “What have you been working on? I need to see everything right now” and Rouge busied herself with scaring the living daylights out of Knuckles by sneaking up on him from behind. Meanwhile, Sonic stepped into Silver and Shadow’s conversation, at ease with both of them and enjoying the party. “You got some food yet?” he asked the hybrid, smiling warmly at him.

“No…?” Shadow said cautiously.

���Oh, man! There’s so much, you’ve gotta try everything!” Sonic exclaimed, dragging Shadow into the kitchen with one hand while Silver did the same with the other.

Moments later, he found himself with a plate filled with every kind of food available in the kitchen, from french fries to mini-sandwiches to cupcakes. Shadow startled slightly upon realizing that everybody else seemed to have brought several nice foods, and all his team had thought to bring was a bottle or two of soda. “I apologize for our lack of food-” he began, feeling somehow as though he should have done better, but Sonic silenced him quickly.

“Dude, no way! We’re having this party for you guys anyway because of all the stressful work you went through!”

Silver chimed in quickly. “We didn’t ask you guys to bring food because we didn’t want you to worry- you’ve done more than enough work for a long time.”

Shadow, in response, quickly shoved a mini-sandwich into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything too emotional.

Later, as they all settled down to watch the pilot episode of an old but well-known TV show, the hybrid found himself squeezed in between Rouge on one side, still flirting with Knuckles (punctuated by the occasional check-in on Shadow) and Sonic on the other side, in a surprisingly intense argument with Blaze about whether or not this show, Nebula Expedition: The Following Age, was better than the original.

Omega, meanwhile, was trying his best not to utterly crush the beanbag chair on the floor he’d been given after the couch had nearly tipped over the moment he sat down. Tails was leaned against him, while Amy, Blaze and Silver shared the other sofa.

Suddenly, Sonic turned to him, his expression intense and serious. “Shadow. This is the most important question you’re gonna answer all week. Which show is better: The Following Age or the original?”

The hybrid shook his head, a smile appearing on his face despite his best attempts to ignore it. It was crazy to think that he’d gone from the most important question of the week being “Am I going to be captured by G.U.N. and imprisoned?” to “Which show is better?”, and he couldn’t help but allow a laugh to escape him. It was just a quick little snicker, but it was enough for Sonic’s eyes to widen and for him to grin. 

“What’s that all about?” he asked, half joking and half serious, leaning his shoulder on Shadow’s. “You think this question’s a joke? Your answer’s really important here, y’know!”

“Well, for your information…” the hybrid began.

Sonic leaned in a little closer. “Yeah?”

“I like Asteroid Battle the best. Only the originals, though.”

The hero gave a cry of dismay and flopped back against the couch, throwing his hands up in the air. “Asteroid Battle? Asteroid Battle?? That wasn’t even an option!” he cried. “It’s not even in the same franchise, for Chaos’ sake!”

“Too bad.” Shadow replied smugly, folding his arms and still smiling. “Because that’s the one I like best.”

Sonic smacked him on the arm and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, too bad to both you and Blaze, because it’s my TV and I get to pick the show.”

Shadow wasn’t the least bit bothered about that as he settled in to watch, surrounded by his friends and safe as he could be. This atmosphere- of cheer and kindness and laughter- this was what he’d wanted to be able to enjoy all along.

He wasn’t entirely there yet- and maybe he would never be able to know the freedom that came when people didn’t carry the memories he did. But in the end, he couldn’t say that he regretted that burden too greatly. Even through all the bad, he had enough good in this world that it was all worth the struggle in the end, if he got to be here, now, in this place with the people he cared for most.

Shadow met Rouge’s eyes briefly, and then Omega’s, hoping that the words he couldn’t say right now would be understood.

Thank you both so much. For being there for me, through the good times and the bad. For being happy with me and sad with me. For standing by me when I decided to take on the largest military organization in the world, and afterwards as well. Just...thank you.

For everything.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (16/17)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Note: 

I know I said on tumblr I was planning on ending the story today and apologies for dragging this out longer.

The final chapter is already written out but editing is gonna take me an extra hour or so. Also, this week has been hectic, work especially has been very hectic since I'm covering a job for 3 people now while they hire. I ended up getting a little sick today so I decided to put off a lot of the asks and postings until Sunday.

I could post the final chapter earliest, tomorrow night. Latest, I'll be posting the final chapter is Wednesday. I wanna get it out soon but there are still a lot of stuff I'm hoping to fix up so, apologies for not meeting the expectations.

Thank you so much for reading though. It really means a lot to me. 

As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

“You can take a seat Hange.” Shela’s voice was gentle. She had taken her time pronouncing every syllable.

Still, something jumped inside Hange as she heard it. She gathered herself together and willed herself to make eye contact. “Sorry about that...I got a little distracted,” she said. She was starting to get a little self conscious. Did she actually jump? Was her tone too jittery? Were her eyes too wide?

The woman in front of her seemed unfazed as if she was watching Hange do something so normal as to just stare at the room in front of her for a long few seconds. Still, Hange avoided her gaze and looked around as she made her way towards the sofa.

Levi had only ever talked about how much of a hassle and how much of a pain the whole process of going to therapy was. Over time, he had started ditching the sessions altogether. Consequently, Hange had expected an atmosphere that would make her feel a little more restrained than what she had felt then.

It turned out just entering the room made her feel the complete opposite of what she had expected.

Shela’s office was more spacious than Hange had imagined it to be. Or more full of life.

Filled with too much life in a way that Hange couldn’t understand. But it seemed to hold more than the average doctor’s office she’d been to. Maybe it was the paintings on the wall or the wooden bookshelf that stood so tall and wide it was an omnipresent in the room.

Either way, it was comfortable and Hange chalked it to the rustic feel of the room. The ambiance was just too strange, the shades of the wallpaper, the rustic carpeted floor was too indulgent of her senses and she could have been taking a little more time than necessary to get to her seat.

It looked like Shela followed suit. By the time Hange had settled on the chair, Shela had still been on her way.

Shela leaned forward from her seat and reached out a hand in greeting. She seemed excited, too excited. “It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you like this, Hange Zoe,” she said.

That excitement in her voice was enough at least to pull Hange’s focus away from the ambiance of the room and towards the woman in front of her. A clear reminder that she was there for a reason.

Or two reasons. Hange corrected herself as she pulled out her file. “Thank you so much for agreeing to go through this with me,” she said. “Since Levi started having sessions with you, we kept in touch so at least we had some history beforehand… And given your background, I thought you might be the best person to give me some extra content on my thesis.”

“For your review of related literature?”

Hange nodded. “It’s not yet done. I did research already on the biological aspect but I thought you might have information on the psychological aspects of it…” She pulled out a folder from her bag and slid the file towards Shela.

Shela was quick to scan through the title. “Looks interesting. What made you pick this topic?”

“Many things...” Hange said. “I thought I would be able to help more people doing this type of thesis. And maybe I can take further studies and---”

“Does this have anything to do with Levi?” . Shela raised one eyebrow at her.

“Oh? Was it obvious?” Hange asked. She deemed it futile to have even denied it then.

Shela started to flip through the pages of the draft a little quicker. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. He never replied to any of my texts.” She stood up, gesturing for Hange to continue talking as she made her way to the shelf at the back of the room.

“He went home,” Hange said. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds and she felt some inclination to fill it herself. “Back to his hometown,” she added. “He probably wanted to spend his birthday with them, or maybe Christmas. I guess this is a good time for him to go home… He---”

“So Hange, do you wanna talk about Levi? Or would you like to talk about your thesis?” The way Shela said it was far from abrasive.

From her position, Hange couldn’t even tell what face Shela was making. Yet she found herself a little shaken, particularly self conscious she was taking up precious office time. And for a few seconds longer, Hange struggled to find the right words. “There are things I wanted to ask about… Like definitely, I told you I need to discuss the psychological aspect and…”

“Well, from what I’m seeing, this didn’t need a session. I could have emailed you the pdf file of my thesis and just answered if you had any questions.”

Hange only noticed then as Shela walked back to her seat that she had pulled out two binders from one of the bookshelves.

“If you need any more sources for your thesis, you can read through this.” Shela placed the binders on the table and flipped to the last page of the thicker one. “And you can check through my bibliography for any more sources and I’m sure you’ll figure the rest out on your own. Levi told me you were a pretty good researcher growing up…”

Hange felt the blood rush to her face. That only made it harder to grasp for the right words. “When was your last session with Levi?” There were many other things Hange would have wanted to ask then. Her mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“A little more than a month ago. A few weeks before your finals. “ Shela answered. She rested her elbows on her lap, her chin on her hands.

“Finals ended more than two weeks ago. I was hoping he talked to you before he left.”

Shela shook her head. “No word from him.” She must have sensed the disappointment in Hange’s face because only a second later, she continued. “But maybe going home would be good for him. He might find someone to talk to there.” Her tone was cold, disconnected and it didn’t look like she believed it herself though.

“I know you would tell him to write, he told me that much about your sessions. But did he ever tell you about his stories?”

“Commander Zoe and Captain Levi?”

Hange nodded. “Oh, he did. You see, I wanted to talk to you about that. But I don’t know either whether or not I should be talking to his therapist about this...But I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“He deleted the file.”

If Shela was shocked, she didn’t show it. The only hint to any emotion in the room had been the short silence that followed. “I suspected he’d do that much,” she said.

“Suspect that much? Did he tell you something? Was there something wrong with his writing? Is he okay?”

Shela shook her head. “ I’m not in a place to tell.”

“Why did he get so attached to his stories? Why did it affect him so much that he couldn’t even accept a death?”

“I’m sorry Hange, I don’t wanna waste your time here so I’ll be upfront with you. What Levi and I talk about here stays between us.”

“I respect that.” Hange expected the answer, still she kept her tone long and drawn. She still found herself clinging to some hope that there was something Shela could share.. “I want to know though… Is this because of the injury? He lost a lot because of that and I know I was somehow involved with it but I just can’t shake off this feeling of guilt. ”

Shela sighed. “You know, I may not be able to tell you what we talked about. But I’m sure you know more about this than I do. You might even be able to contribute more insights to this discussion than I can,” she said. “Tell me Hange, what went on after our last therapy session. Did he really have finals?”

“Yes we did. I was busy too so I didn’t think too much of it then but the weeks leading up to finals are usually more hectic for any student….”

“Would you know if he still continued to write after the finals?”

“He did.”

“You seem sure.”

“He shared the document.” Hange started. She unlocked her phone and opened her drive document. It wouldn’t be there, she was sure of that but she could have saved it and it would have still been there. She forced a smile as her mouth threatened to curl down. Hange was still scolding herself for wasting such an opportunity. She let her phone fall carelessly on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back on the sofa. “So I got to read it.”

“Did Captain Levi really die?” Shela asked.

“No. Commander Hange did.”

“So before he deleted it, Commander Hange died?”

“That was the last chapter I read. Then an hour or so later, I confronted him about it, he asked me to leave me alone, then the next thing I know he deleted the file.” Hange leaned her head back on the backrest and stared up at the ceiling. “But you know, he didn’t want to believe that Hange died. She burned alive, he described it so vividly in his writing but he kept telling me, she didn’t die.

“Oh?”

“If someone burned alive, they should be dead right? Maybe there was a sequel to it that he just didn’t write yet.”

“But if Hange were alive, wouldn’t Levi have seen it through instead of doing something so rash as to delete the whole thing? Levi has a tendency of…”

Running away? Not processing things? Hange looked back at Shela and nodded slowly.

Shela seemed distracted. She was staring at something upward, mumbling to herself as if finding the right words to say. “Trying not to regret things,” she added a few seconds later.

“Regret… I noticed that. With the jumping and the injury but I wanted to ask you, if you think the story is somehow connected to how he’s processing his injury.”

“I have theories but they’re not mine to tell. Have you asked Levi yourself?”

Hange was almost tempted to laugh. That seemed like the only way her body knew how to process the last week alone in the dorm. She had sent three texts, a question about when he had gone home, a birthday greeting and a New Year’s greeting. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me anymore,” Hange said. She avoided Shela’s gaze. Somehow, her heart was racing then, her blood was rushing to her face much faster than usual and she found herself curling her fists into a ball, finding some semblance of control in them. Was she ashamed that Levi wasn’t talking to her? She shook her head. “But you know, I can try to talk to Levi.”

“What about this… I’ll contact Levi when he comes back. I’ll try to get his side of what’s been happening. Maybe I can even get him to reply.”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything now? Maybe even something vague. I can try to figure the rest out for myself,” Hange said. She couldn’t tell then if she had raised her voice.

Shela didn’t seem shaken at all. She shook her head again. “This is between me and my patients.”

Hange had integrity, she understood confidentiality clauses. She had been researching all her life though, and that side of her still continued to fight. Maybe if the hints weren’t all there, poking at her, just provoking, she would have given up much more easily “I just wanna understand it, I wanna understand him. Even if we don’t talk after this. Even if Levi wants to end this, you know I’m fine. I just wanna figure out for myself why he acted that way. I’m worried.”

Shela cocked her head to the side, her expression unchanging. “Believe me, I’m worried too but I can’t say much. Levi’s my patient and whatever we talk about in this room is between us.” She pushed the two binders on the table towards Hange and continued. “But I don’t want to leave you empty handed. I wrote two pieces for my dissertation which you might find useful, something personal and something professional, I can send over a copy of both of them to you over email. Or if you want a hard copy, you could have this photocopied in the library nearby. What do you think works for you?”

The digression had Hange’s lips trembling then. Shela knew things she didn’t for sure and Hange found herself tempted to even curse silently at that confidentiality clause.

She opened the cover to find the title page in black ink, in one of the most readable fonts.

Signs that suggest the reality of reincarnation and its manifestations in patients.

You got what you wanted. Hange thought to herself as she scanned the title page of the document in front of her. It was a cold and professional title. The researcher inside her should have been satisfied. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t ungrateful either. “Thank you, I’ll make sure to read it,” she said. It was still help anyway.

Another, much thinner book was pushed next to it.

Musings on a Past Life: Written by Kuchel Ackerman

“This is my own personal copy,” Shela explained. “It’s not something you should be emulating when doing research but… I thought it could give you some insight to your thesis.

“Okay, if I have some extra time, I’ll---”

No actually, let’s make this your little homework. I want you to read both pieces. And if you get a chance to talk to Levi again…”

Shela probably said something after that. At that point though, Hange was somewhere else. She had pulled the thinner document towards her and propped it on her lap, and scanned through it. She only had to read through the first paragraph on one of the final pages to understand why it wouldn’t have passed up as anything academic.

She wasn’t rattling off procedures, scientific speculations or statistical procedures. She was painting pictures of dark streets, cramped streets and a shabby one bedroom alone with a baby. She spoke of soft skin, a baby scent that never faded and illness. She reflected on loss, regret all manifesting in that last face she saw before she fell asleep for the final time.

A teary eyed face. A shaken voice begging at her not to fall asleep. And then nothing.

Maybe there was darkness, darker than the ceiling of the underground, darker than the room that had been hers and her child.

That was left to mercy of  Hange’s speculation.

It was only when she was alone in the dorm, two days after, did she reopen it. It had taken her more time than necessary to finish it and maybe it had been because she had ended up rereading whole paragraphs, flipping pages back more times than she could count.

And it was only then, after finishing that personal file did she feel compelled enough to read the official output.

She opened a page, towards an introduction, a foreword or a message. Possibly all of those at once. But it connected so seamlessly to Kuchel’s own musings.

A False Bottom.

All humans feel. Even when they say they don’t, they feel something.

Human psyche is an endless blackhole of emotions, knowledge and experiences….

There are still things psychologists cannot comprehend about the human psyche. All we can do is endeavor to make sense of it…

With this thesis, the researcher proposes that one possible explanation for unpredictable bouts of emotion, out-of-character decisions, the phenomena of irrationality is the phenomena of reincarnation…

Manifestations of our past life.

“And maybe there are emotions that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life.. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it manifests itself.”

And how many times did Hange allow those words to echo inside her as she sifted through page after page. Enough times at least to have her open a blank document.

As she soon found out, it wasn’t easy at all to embrace the blank document. She was completely aware she didn’t have to open the blank document, she had a half filled one already, having started on her own thesis a while back.

But something had willed her to do just that. Something inside her that wanted answers to questions, and it begged for them,  clamored for them and Hange was starting to forget who even asked it. She? Or Kuchel?

Musings of a Past Life. Hange had typed out the title days ago already. Maybe it wasn’t easy because it wasn’t her past life to write. It was Levi’s past.

Or so that was what Levi claimed when he wrote it. “Ugh…. What the hell am I doing?” Hange removed her headphones, closed her eyes tight, inhaled then exhaled. “Okay Hange. You wanted to write this thesis for Levi right? You read his whole story. This should be easy.”

She just needed to write enough to remember his story. Enough to at least shoehorn him into her own thesis.

“And after that, you never have to think about him again,” Hange said. She opened her phone again and stared at the last sent message.

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

“I wonder…. Did you talk to Shela?” Hange asked quietly, almost to herself. But Shela would have told her right? But what if Levi told her not to tell? What if he just wanted to cut it off already?

It was an idea Hange didn’t want to entertain just yet. Thesis was looming, graduation was hanging over her head like some sort of dark cloud. She didn’t have time to deal with heartbreak.

So in the wee hours of morning, Hange composed a quick last message to Levi.

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

And the next few actions after that were automatic.

Settings. Profile. Ignore Messages.

She had more important things to think about then. She had to admit, her inbox was starting to look a bit better without that thread she was constantly checking that had a string of messages that had been so pathetically ignored.

That last decision and the last few actions leading up to it had sapped more energy from Hange than she had expected it to. Or maybe it was the dim light of the early morning and the small yet strong light of her lamp that had her realizing how exhausted she had been then.

She switched off the lamp and fell back on the bed. The impact had shaken her to the bone and Hange found herself sinking into the mattress. She was happy to let it swallow her then.

The night was surprisingly bright. Yet, at the same time it had been a dark night, she was sure. She traced the sources of the light on the ceiling above. The light painted triangles, squares and straight cut angles. There were spots from other sources, maybe where the moon bounced on some glass objects.

Hange was too exhausted to sit up to see those refractions for herself.

She may have been too exhausted then to type in front of a computer or even sit up in bed so instead, she continued to count spots, trace the dim weak rays in the ceiling of her room, as she traced them back to the wide window, all the way to the point where she would have to crane her head to see what lay beyond. She soon realized, she still wasn’t tired enough to doze off.

The gears in her brain continued to turn. And they had only started to turn faster with all the intricate patterns the moonlight had created as it shone through the wide window of her dormitory room.

Should she close the curtains so she could get a good night's sleep? That question only occupied her for a second or so before she thought of something else.

And maybe there are sensations that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it breaks open.

But if these emotions transcended worldly experiences, if they transcended life, then they should be unfathomable, not worth the effort of understanding.

Hange though, had been a researcher for as long as she could remember. She had mottos. She had habits. She had unshakable ways of thinking.

Turning to her side was easy. It was a quick, comfortable movement and maybe she had done it to sleep better. Or maybe she had done it to just get a better angle of the stream of moonlight that entered through the window.

Her desk sat on a familiar angle. Her laptop was open but turned off. Her bag slung over the chair.

The stream from the moonlight shone over her canvas bag and down to the floor. It created a web of intricate patterns, patterns that had Hange hypnotized at that moment. They were angular yet they were round and it would have taken hours for Hange to trace them in her exhausted state.

Yet they were hypnotizing enough for her not to want to look away. So in an effort to keep up with the challenge the moonlight had given her at that moment, she continued to reflect as she traced at it with her eyes.

False bottoms. Sensations that transcend worldly experiences, Emotions that transcend the constraints of time and space.

“But if they are things that transcend human comprehension, then how do we make sense of them?”

Ironically, it had been in the most intricate of patterns that Hange saw the answer. It had been in something so mundane that Hange had to blink twice and question it for a second longer.

“Dreams?” Hange asked, barely a whisper.

If there’s something you don’t understand, go out and learn to understand it.

She didn’t understand Levi’s dreams. She didn’t understand how his mind worked. She didn’t understand the stories he had written out.

There were things she didn’t understand for sure but there were things she remembered.

And maybe all she needed to understand something, was the right amount of hints, the right amount of crumbs to make sense of it herself. Maybe all she needed was the review of related literature, the observations and her own analysis to write a conclusion.

The dreamcatcher hung aimlessly from her canvas bag like it always did. It had been something almost unnoticeable before. Only in the night when the moon shined on it, when it had etched a large shadow on the floor, possibly even a hundred times larger than the small keychain in her bag did Hange think about it again.

And she thought about it hard enough to reach for it from the side off her bed. She stretched her hand farther and farther and in the dark, her sense of distance may have been a little worse.

She thought she had been almost there and she was pulled back into that cruel reality in a single moment, with a loud painful thud.

“Ow!” Hange quickly got up, a result of that adrenaline rush from the harrowing experience of a painful fall from her bed. She unfastened the dream catcher from her bag, on the way back to the bed, she grabbed her phone, her earphones and sat on her bed.

That time, she eased herself onto the bed and under the covers.

She held the dreamcatcher above her, tracing the purple, the green. She knew they were purple and green but under the moonlight they seemed almost blue, and maybe she could have even mistaken the purple and green for one another.

Her only hint to the shades after all were the way they reflected the moonlight on themselves.

Eventually, her arms got tired, still aching from that painful fall. She slipped the dream catcher under her pillow and turned on her side. She put one earphone on her left ear, another on her right and she turned on her phone and shuffled her music.

The dormitory was silent with everyone gone for the holidays.

Eerily silent. She was used to living alone, it wasn’t anything new. But recently, she had frequently found herself missing him, maybe missing her parents, she started to realize the silence, the isolation that came with it was almost unbearable.

So maybe she had been listening to music, maybe she had been talking to herself a little more.

And those dreams, they probably would help. Hange thought to herself as she set her phone to her side, a good distance from the edge of the bed.

She had dreamt enough to know, she couldn’t control dreams. But if they did come, they would come in hints, puzzle pieces and maybe something she could easily write down in the morning.

So she willed them to come in that silent night. She whispered to Commander Zoe. She pressed that dream catcher one more time.

Hange closed her eyes, adjusted the volume of the music and evened her breathing.

The dreams would choose when to come, if they chose to come at all. All she could do was trust in them.

***

Levi would have liked to blame the snow for his inability to concentrate.

It was fucking loud. The patter came too randomly, Levi struggled to find patterns in it. For a few seconds at a time, the snow would patter on the window in big loud waves. Other times, the snow came in plip plops reminiscent of a rainy spring day. A few times, it shifted to something slow and gentle Levi could have used it to lull himself to sleep.

It was a piece of music on rubato, and the musician was just a little too keen on leaving his audience unhinged.

And just that quick thought at least absolved Levi of any blame. He didn’t feel too much self loathing then. Just utter frustration and maybe a pinch of sadness.

The document in front of him was just a mish mash black words on white paper and for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine they could be anything else. The top section was descriptive, very descriptive that he should have been able to do so much as to smell the whore house. He should have been able to grieve the loss of a mother.

But it was just black on white.

So Levi scrolled down three pages to find a source of investment elsewhere. He found vivid descriptions of life on a wheelchair, a frequented grave but for the life of him, he couldn’t even imagine the large tree above, or the vivid descriptions of airplanes on the blue sky.

But it was just words on paper.

“What do you think?” Hange asked. She looked at him expectantly. “It’s not a lot… I’ve just been working on this in between my thesis and I don’t have much going for me but my own memories… But I rewrote some bullet points while I was trying to remember it and I just thought you know if I put my own writings in between what you have so far...maybe it could help you process it.”

“Process... it?”

“But if you don’t wanna think about it, it’s fine.”

Remember? Levi wanted to remember. Those weren’t black pixels on white pixels, conveniently strung together to make symbols. They were vivid descriptions of another world, another life for sure. But why couldn’t he bring himself to invest in it… Anymore?

“Maybe I just need a break,” Levi set aside the laptop on the side table and leaned back on the bed.

“You’re tired, injured. You could even get sick,” Hange said. “I don’t expect you to think too much of it, I just thought it would help pass the time.” She looked away guiltily.

“I’m not angry about you forcing me to get my knee checked again. Jumping in the dead of winter with a sprained knee was a stupid move.”

“I know it was. But I also know you’re probably tired of hospitals already.”

“I am tired of hospitals. But you were right. When they tested my knee, it didn’t feel right. I’m pretty sure I tore something again.”

“It was swelling… And I knew we could have just iced it but, you know you jumped pretty high, you ran pretty fast, it’s kinda scary you did that with your knee... In the middle of winter of all times of the year? God---Levi, What were you thinking? Armin told me he’d stop by the field to pick up Mikasa’s things so you know if I didn’t go out to meet him just in case he got lost, I probably wouldn’t have made it. At least Armin had half the mind to text me when you wouldn’t listen to him…” Hange trailed off. “But I wish I had arrived earlier, maybe I could have stopped you.”

“You wouldn’t have convinced me not to jump,” Levi said.

“Why do you say that?”

“No one would have convinced me. I was dead set on jumping that one last time.”

“Why did you wanna jump?”

“Closure.” It was a simple answer to a simple question. But as Levi enunciated each syllable, he became a little self conscious about how pretentiously short that answer had been. It was closure, he was sure but there were layers to that answer he couldn’t comprehend for himself in that moment.

Hange seemed to sense it too. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth ready to speak before she closed it again and let her eyes fall on the hospital bed. “Couldn’t you find closure elsewhere? Did you have to risk your knee for it?”

“What do you know? ” Levi ran his eyes over his thighs and up to his knee propped on a few pillows. He started to feel the beginnings of guilt a second later. His intention never was to offend.

What do you know? That question had been for him.

You didn’t live your whole college life jumping only to end up in a state where you can barely walk. Was that what Hange heard? Maybe. She looked like she did. After all, she was blushing then. As if she had been aware of that slight vulnerability, she bit her lip, looked away and stretched out over the side of the bed to get back her laptop.

Levi felt obligated to reassure her. “You know I don’t intend to jump again. I wish I could. But I think that last jump helped me accept that that part of my life is over.”

“So, what next?” Hange asked. “Erwin mentioned you could get surgery to fix the partial tear.”

Levi shook his head. “And skip more school then hope I can jump again? The surgery isn't necessary. The knee can heal on its own.”

“But what about other---”

“Jumping opportunities? Other athletic opportunities? I said, that part of my life is over.”

“You had a lot of talent you know.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

Hange managed a smile, a smile that was far from happy. But at the least, it could be contagious. “Then it was an honor to see you fly that one last time Captain Levi.”

Levi could have sworn he saw something glisten as she crinkled her eyes, a supplement to her wry smile. “I was never the captain of my team. You know that,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I meant---” Hange had been meaning to finish, or at least she looked like it. The knock on the door though had been loud and it tore through that soft conversation.

Hange stood up from her seat and opened the door slowly.

“Erwin told me you too would be here. I finished up early today so I thought I’d pop in.”

Levi nodded in greeting. He had been too ashamed to say anything else. But he was determined at least to show some respect.

“It looks like you two are talking again. Doctor Erwin told me what happened and I thought…” The moment Kuchel made eye contact with Levi, her eyes widened. “Levi… You…”

Levi found himself particularly self conscious then, he looked down at his thick sweater, at his knee. “I sprained my knee again.”

Kuchel was quick to recover. “I noticed that much,” she said. “I was talking about…” She gave him a long awkward onceover. She shook her head.

She wasn’t the only one who seemed uncomfortable then. Hange hadn’t looked back at him since Kuchel had entered the room. Her whole disposition had somehow changed in that few seconds.

“You okay?” Levi asked.

Hange didn’t answer. She booted her laptop again and angled it towards Kuchel who had approached them and set a chair next to his bed.

“It looks like you managed to let go already Captain Levi.” Kuchel said, as she cocked her head to the side and smiled.

Captain Levi. The words whispered once again inside him, too softly Levi found it easy to brush it away. “You know, you were right. The emotions would leave on their own. It still hurts but I don’t see any reason to fight it if I know it’s gonna heal eventually. That’s how closure is supposed to feel like right?”

Shela shook her head. “Closure manifests differently for each person. But it’s normal to forget when you accept. Sometimes we find ourselves forgetting why we were ever sad at all. Or sometimes we just forget the details. Or sometimes it just feels like everything was all just a bad dream.”

“These past few months since the injury, they’re starting to blur together like some dream.” He turned to Hange who was starting to seem more and more uncomfortable. He chose that moment to reflects and he started to wonder why he had even avoided her in the first place. His next few words came out automatically “ I’m sorry what I did, and about our fight last month, I wasn’t angry about the injury if that’s what you think,” Levi said. The apology came out of nowhere, it felt misplaced. He started realize that maybe he should have given that apology much earlier.

Why then?

Hange had heard the apology for sure, but maybe she had just chosen to ignore it. “But Levi, you wrote these right? These dreams?” Hange said, as if she had taken his stare then as some cue to speak. She turned to Kuchel and to Levi, her movements seemed desperate then. She had at least kept some composure in her expression.

“I wrote them out,” Levi said. “But to be honest... I’m starting to forget why I did.”

"Emotions and dreams fickle things. They come and go when they please but sometimes we wanna keep them on record so we could relive it and process it. That’s why if you wanna grasp it and preserve it before it leaves... If you wanna be able to relive it, you have to write it down. This is why I ask all my patients to write things out. "

"Levi did." Hange turned to Levi. You wrote everything down right? You showed me a while ago, you wrote this and this… Shela, if they were his dreams, his emotions...he was writing it"

Shela’s expression was unmoving. "Those dreams weren’t supposed to be his. Maybe that's why they had been just a little more fickle. Who knows? Maybe Captain Levi just took it back already.”

“Why take it back?” Hange asked

“Maybe he fulfilled his unfinished business. Maybe he found closure.”

“But Levi you should have remembered writing it? You’ve been on it for months. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten these last three months right?”

“I haven’t,” Levi said reassuringly.

“Then why aren’t you thinking about it anymore. Why am I the one thinking about it for you?” Hange pressed. There was a crack in her voice and Hange looked ready to slam her laptop on the floor.

“I remember writing it. I’m just wondering for myself why I wrote it out in the first place. Maybe because I didn’t have much to do. I got injured, I was stuck at home and you know, those days in your apartment, those days stuck in the dorm, they just blended together.”

“But you weren’t just indoors… We went out to the mountains. You were telling me these stories and you were telling me how Commander Hange was like. Levi, I felt things. I remembered all of it. You can’t just leave me hanging like this---”

Shela cleared her throat, uncharacteristically louder than usual. “You know, you seem more relaxed now. How does it feel Levi? Does it feel like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders? Like you walk up from a bad dream?"

Levi nodded. "I'm just wondering why I'm exhausted."

“Of course you’re exhausted, you jumped while injured in the middle of winter. But relaxed is still a different feeling altogether, particularly compared to you the past few months. When I look at you now, you seem… freer?”

Freer? Levi shrugged. When had he ever been trapped?  

For a while the room had been silent and it was Hange who broke it. "Levi, I wrote everything out, about what happened to Captain Levi in the survey corps. You may have deleted the file but I remembered them. These were your stories. These were the dreams you had. Hell, if Kuchel’s theory is correct, these are memories from your past life."

To humor Hange more than anything, Levi reread the bullet points and the effort quickly proved futile. They were bullet points of events, they could have been a timeline that Levi couldn’t for the life of him make sense of it. And he found himself a little annoyed at her tenacity.

“You still have a lot to write Hange, even I can’t make sense of it,” Kuchel said from behind. She gave Hange a reassuring pat.

The pout on Hange’s face, the way it had darkened into something similar to disappointment, had Levi almost guilty. Her emotions ran deeper than disappointment, he was sure. And for a second or so, Hange seemed crestfallen, ready to leave the room. The only thing tying her to the room then could have been her own strong penchant for seeking answers,

“You think you’ll be able to write again?” Hange asked. She looked like she could have said more. It was as if squeezing out that one sentence had sapped all energy out of her.

Levi shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“When?”

“When the inspiration comes again.”

***

When will the inspiration come again? Hange always asked good questions and if she asked a question that couldn’t be answered, she always had an explanation to follow. Or at the least, she knew how to phrase questions in a way that could get answers.

Levi couldn’t answer and Hange wasn't helping him either. The tense silence that followed, loomed exclusively over the two of them. Although the conversation had shifted to a dialogue between Levi and Kuchel, even when Hange had kept quiet, pulling her focus back on her laptop in front of her, or her phone, the tension never left.

Levi had attempted to cut at it by focusing on Kuchel. He had provided a long drawn out explanation of his own emotions for Kuchel and in return, Kuchel had provided a long drawn out interpretation of his explanations.

Maybe drawing the conversation out longer than expected was unnecessary. In the end, the only take home Levi had for himself then was that the past few months were a blur and any effort to make sense of it would be completely futile.

Kuchel left them both in the silence, mentioning something about another meeting. Alone in the room, in the tense silence continued to haunt. It was Hange who spoke up again asking that same question. “When will inspiration come again?”

“You sound pretty fixated on my inspiration. Maybe you should write the end for yourself then.” The sudden acceptance had Levi relaxing on the bed soon after Kuchel had left the room.

“It’s not about writing… This story in particular, it meant a lot to me too.”

“I’m sure it meant a lot. It meant a lot to me too but weirdly, I just don’t care about it as much as I used to.”

“What about us?”

“What do you mean ‘about us?’”

“About us… The past few things you were writing the story and you were talking about Commander Hange and Captain Levi. That was about us right?”

“You heard my answer to Kuchel, it was a blur.”

“No, I meant about us in the past few months. Are you angry with me? Do you want me out of your life?”

“You wanna leave?.”

“No it’s not that. It’s just…” Hange breathed out, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Levi looked away, hiding the wince in his face. “I told you, I’m sorry I don’t even remember why I did it.”

“So do you want me here?”

“Yes, I don't want you to leave, I thought it was obvious.”

“Well it looks like it wasn’t so obvious, I thought you’d want me to leave. You didn’t reply to any of my messages and I remembered, we’ve only known each other for months.”

“I think 'months' are more than enough for me to realize that I want you here. For a long time. Maybe longer than that.” Maybe even forever.

Did he say that ‘forever’ part out loud? He didn’t expect Hange’s smile then.

Her eyes were wide open, her lips curled up into a big smile. The overall expression on her face had seemed unreadable. She could have been mocking him, she could have been freaked out or she could have been that good balance between surprised and happy “So what are you saying? We’re soulmates?” She asked.

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Levi said. The facade of disconnect was hurriedly done, consequently, it felt almost shoddy.

“Fate?”

“You told me yourself, you don’t believe in fate either.

“I don’t.”

“It was a choice right? Everything that brought us to this point was all just borne of choice. You made the choice to work for me, I made the choice to cooperate and here we are.” Levi felt a hand slip under his and it grabbed him from underneath. Levi didn’t have to look down to comprehend it, Hange’s face had said it all.

“But you know, I’m starting to believe in this abstract thing called soulmates. And this other abstract thing called fate,” she said

“Aren’t you a researcher?”

“I have the evidence, Levi. Someone has been coming into my dreams too and she’s been telling me about you.”

“You know, they must have been some really good dreams if they convinced you to believe in them.

“They were. They really were. And you know what, they only keep coming.”

Levi had closed his eyes long before then. And the patter on the window had mellowed to something rhythmic and along the way it had softened altogether. Whether it had been due to the even patter or through her own volition, Hange had stopped talking, her breath had evened out.

And when Levi started to dream again, the shift had been too gradual, too kind. The dreams weren’t loud, they didn't demand attention. They didn’t make themselves known. When Levi opened his eyes again, the idea that he had fallen asleep had seemed almost surreal, unbelievable.

“You can go back to sleep,” Hange said. She seemed focused on something on her laptop again.

Levi looked out the window, the sky was dark but the snow continued to fall.

“Erwin told us we could stay another night.”

“Why?”

“We’re completely snowed in.”

“Okay,” Levi said. He had attempted to go back to sleep and it had only proved frustratingly unsuccessful. The confusion at having the view by the window so suddenly shift from sky blue to complete black still had him disoriented.

So he found orientation in Hange’s concentrated look then and the white of the screen reflected in her glasses. Even behind the glare, her long lashes were noticeable, her hazel brown eyes could still be traced, the shades of brown discerned. So he continued to looked, and he had managed to pass the time much more quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Hange asked as she looked up at him. The glare of the screen disappeared from her glasses and Levi found himself unable to respond for a second longer as he appreciated the unmarred view of her eyes then.

It was a lucid view of her then that sent a pang of regret through him. It was quick and if Levi didn’t let it wash through him then, if he didn’t give it full control over him in that moment, maybe he would have never remembered it happened, maybe he would have never remembered to appreciate Hange then.

“I feel like I just had one long dream,” Levi said. maybe the dreams could have explained the slight pang of regret then. But they were too far off already for Levi to look back on. So he surrendered quickly and kept silent.

Hange didn’t hesitate to take the reins of the conversation. “I was writing.”

“About what?”

“About your dreams. I'm trying to remember what else you wrote.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think you ever gave names to the two titans you caught for me."

Titans? Levi couldn't follow the conversation. With nothing else much to contribute, he nodded.

Hange continued. “So I named them myself.”

“What did you name them?” Levi asked, an attempt to humor her more than anything.

Hange’s face had curled to a smile as she spoke and she opened her mouth a little bit, exposing her teeth underneath. She seemed to be enjoying it. “Their names are Sonny and Bean"

Somehow, Levi was starting to get invested too. “Hey Hange, since we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, maybe you can tell me what a titan is.”

[yuzusorbet]

Kikuchi-san’s book, partial translations

Akira Kikuchi is the trainer who accompanied Yuzu to many competitions in the past.  Since elementary school days, Yuzu has gone to his clinic in Sendai for therapy sessions after skate practice.  Last year (2019), Kikuchi-san published a book titled 'Strongly, beautifully, 30 Methods to train' (my translation from the Japanese title).   I read a Chinese translation of some parts.  Very interesting to see things from his perspective, and quite touching too, so I decided to translate them to share.  Not ideal to translate from another translation but I don't have the book, and usually Chinese fans' translations are pretty reliable. 

  *paraphrased means I summarised a few lines there.   *more info means I added notes for myself, and it's not from the book.

Chapter 1, part 5.  The muscles that were forged after the earthquake.

He became the World Junior champion, and also started school at Tohoku High School,  and at the age of 15, Yuzuru made his debut in senior level competition.  His 1st competition was Season 2010-11 NHK Trophy in Oct where he landed his 1st quad jump in competition and was in 4th place.   2010 Nov was Cup of Russia in Moscow, where he placed 7th. (more info: Japan nationals in Dec, he placed 4th.  Then 4CC in Feb 2011, he placed 2nd.)

At the end of his first senior season, the Great East Japan Earthquake happened.  (March 2011)

When the earthquake occurred, I was working, seeing 4 patients.  My home and clinic felt the shaking but were not damaged due to being on higher ground.  But very quickly, the electricity, water and gas were cut off.

[paraphrased:  Everyone was worried but preferred to stay on.]   I continued treating the 4 patients.  When they left, I closed the clinic temporarily.

Soon, people whose homes were washed away in the tsunami or destroyed by the quake took refuge in nearby sports halls.  When I heard about this, I brought a simple bed into the sports halls and did massages for the  people there.  That was how I spent each day.

The reason I did this was because I thought of my father that night after the earthquake.  He was a policeman and was very strict with himself.   He was upright and always thinking of the safety of others.  He lived his life for others and he is the man that I most respect.  If father was here, he would definitely go to the evacuation centres to do his best to help......

Giving a massage to people at the centre, I was just doing the only thing I could do.

Yuzuru also went through some hard days.

On the day of the earthquake, he went to his usual training rink 'Ice Rink Sendai' after school.   It was at the rink that he experienced the "shindo 6"  earthquake.  (More info: shindo 7 is the highest.  See this: robintlewis/what-is-the-japanese-seismic-intensity-shindo-scale.   On the Richter scale, this is a magnitude 9 earthquake.)

That child felt the strong shaking and I heard that he rushed out of the building wearing his skate boots.  Next to life itself, the most precious thing is his skates.  Figure skaters always put skate guards on the blades when they leave the ice, they would never let the blades be exposed.  Rushing out without his skate guards, he must have been very scared.

Staying 4 days in the gym of a school which served as an evacuation centre, he seriously thought about whether he should give up figure skating.

It was also figure skating that made him pull himself together.

His home rink was damaged in the quake and he lost his usual training place. His coach during elementary school days, Tsuzuki Shoichiro, inquired about him.  Tsuzuki-sensei is the one who gave Yuzuru his foundation in figure skating.  Before the quake, he was coaching at a rink in Yokohama.

Subsequently, Yuzuru went to Tsuzuki-sensei's rink to train.

About half a year after the quake, around October, Yuzuru who had returned to Sendai came to my clinic.  He told me about what he had been doing.

During that period, he was participating in commercial ice shows and earthquake charity ice shows all over Japan;  I knew about this.  "For the people affected by the disaster, I want to give them some encouragement," I had read his interviews in the newspapers.  In the 5 months after the earthquake, he skated in 60 ice shows throughout the  country.  "I hope that my activities can become strength for the victims"-- to have this thought, he must have pulled himself together.

"When I participated in ice shows, I could do some training if I arrived early at the venue, and the intervals between shows also became my own training time," said Yuzuru, looking straight into my eyes.  (more info: usually there are a few shows at one venue, eg. 3 shows spread over the weekend)

After such an unprecedented earthquake disaster, what had Yuzuru learned, mentally how had he changed, all these I was not sure.  But the moment I touched his leg muscles, I immediately felt his efforts and I almost cried.

Since elementary school, I had been seeing him almost everyday.  Even a small change in his body I would know.

The muscles forged after the earthquake told of days filled with harsh figure skate training, day after day.

Skating in ice shows "for the disaster areas", and practising fervently in between shows.  During the performances, he must have also put in all his efforts so as to "convey something to the people".

Moreover, the muscles developed after the quake were not only those used for jumping, they were also those for bearing the impact of landing.

Landing on the ice after a jump, the impact on the body can be a few hundred times the skater's weight.  To withstand such an impact, the muscles around the knees, the gastrocnemius muscles in the calf and the tibialis anterior muscles must be sufficiently trained.  If these parts are not strengthened, injury will happen easily.

In a short period of half a year, those muscles grew to such an extent.   How much jump practice did he do after the earthquake.  Falling down countless times and getting up again.  How on earth did he train to develop muscles like that.

Yuzuru's leg muscles are different from other athletes that come to my clinic. His muscles were not developed by specialised muscle training but were formed naturally though figure skating practice.  In other words, they are muscles that grew only for figure skating.

Until now, that child still mentions that he "does not know how to ride a bicycle".  In my opinion, I think it is because he does not want to develop muscles except those needed for figure skating.

The muscles used for cycling are the same as those for speed skating.  Speed skaters have cycling in summer training;  bulging leg muscles are necessary for them.For figure skaters, if muscles become big and bulging, the weight can be a hindrance to jumping.  But still, strong muscles are needed to do quad jumps and to bear the impact of landing. [paraphrased]

Yuzuru overcame the earthquake disaster and developed muscles for jumping quads and for bearing the landing impact in a good balance.

Those well-trained leg muscles are the external manifestation of his experience of the Great East Japan Earthquake and his determination to fight as a top skater.

- translated by me from this Chinese translation: weibo

-----------------------

Chapter 1, part 6. Overcoming pain in the hip joint

The first time I went along with Yuzuru in the team for a competition was in his 2nd year of senior level, the November 2011 Rostelecom Cup (Russia) in the Grand Prix series.  Traveling with a team to an international competition as a trainer, it was the first time for me.  Not only that, it was also my first time watching a figure skating competition up close.  What a disgraceful old man. Almost everyday I listened to Yuzuru talk about all things related to figure skating but I had never watched his competitions live at the venue.

I saw Yuzuru only at my clinic, diagnosing leg problems, applying tape to stabilise ankles, this kind of interactions, the relationship of a therapist and a patient, I felt this was enough.

I had the role of a 'sports trainer' before, but not for professional  athletes. Supporting local high school and junior high students, I was already very content.  I had served as 'team trainer' for the swimming, baseball, and track and field teams of Tohoku High and Junior High Schools where sports is very popular, and went with the athletes for competitions.

Once these children graduated, the relationship between trainer and athlete would end.  Those who wanted to continue their sports career, some would leave Sendai, some would get a professional trainer to guide them.

"Rostelecom Cup is going to start, Sensei, can you go together with me as my trainer?" Yuzuru asked me.  I answered in a relaxed manner, "Oh, alright."​

As an athlete, Yuzuru was steadily rising.

"Whether it's an international competition or the Olympics, let me be your trainer and take me along!"  This was what I said to him jokingly when he was in elementary school grade 4;  I don't know if he still remembers it.  But this kind of joke has really come true now, so I was actually feeling rather emotional.

This was also like a commendation from Yuzuru for the treatment he had received so far.  "Well, it's just doing the physiotherapy in Russia instead of the usual place in my clinic," this was how I thought at that time.

However, at that Rostelecom Cup, at the official practice, Yuzuru injured his hip joint (the joint between hip bone and thigh bone).

The injury was treated by a trainer sent specially by Japan Skate Federation.   I was just Yuzuru's private trainer.

I understood the situation fully when we were back in his hotel room.  The treatment for the injury had ended but the pain was still there.  I was very sure that it was not suitable for him to do more skating.  Even walking would be painful.

"In this situation, it's better to withdraw (from competition), isn't it?"   When he heard this, he said with absolute certainty, "Whatever happens, I will compete in Rostelecom Cup."  Actually for this competition, Yuzuru must win first place in order to qualify for the Grand Prix Final which is for only the top 6 skaters of the GP series.  He wanted to compete, no matter what.

From that moment, I felt for the first time that I have "joined forces with an extraordinary world".  Yuzuru was so focused on the competition, "want to compete", "want to win", these desires were way above any pain.  As a therapist, of course my advice was to withdraw.  But as a trainer, I had to respond to such intense wishes of the athlete.

All I could do was to take care of his hip joint.  I also taped his ankle, and then sent him off to compete.  I knew the pain of the injury was still there.

But, Yuzuru, he did it....... short programme and free skating both were ranked 2nd, but his total score of 241.66 was higher than other strong rivals like Javier Fernandez and Jeremy Abbott, and he achieved his first victory in the GP series.

At that moment, witnessing it with my own eyes, I was crying.  Even though he received treatment, his hip joint injury was quite serious.  Any jump would be very painful, especially when landing, he would feel severe  pain.  In spite of this, for the free skate, he made a mistake only for the quad jump, the other 7 jumps were all successful.

For the first time, I realised it was such a cruel world that Yuzuru was fighting in.​

In the spectator stands were many Japanese ladies and they were looking at me with a surprised expression "why is this old grandpa crying so much??"  But it did not matter anymore, I did not care how others were looking at me, I was crying my heart out.  I was so happy..... really so happy.

That Rostelecom Cup was my first experience as a trainer stepping into the figure skating world.

After this, I did not accompany Yuzuru to any more competitions.  I stayed in my clinic treating patients, and sometimes I would treat Yuzuru who came back from travels.

​After Rostelecom Cup, Yuzuru rose rapidly at an astonishing speed.

For the GP Final, he was 4th, then at 2011-12 World Championships, it was his first time at Worlds and he achieved 3rd place.  At the age of 17 years and 3 months, he broke the record for the youngest World Championship medalist in Japanese figure skating men's history and ascended to the podium.

Then, from April 2012, Yuzuru moved his training base from Sendai to Toronto, Canada.​

Before he had overseas competitions, I saw him almost everyday at my clinic.​ We had been together for the past 10 years.  So I would miss him quite a lot.

But it's for becoming stronger that he went to Canada.  For greater improvement in figure skating, he made the decision to move to Toronto.  He has already "graduated" from my place here.

"Sensei, I'm going off!"​

And just like each overseas trip, Yuzuru set off from Sendai, and started on another journey.

- translated by me from this Chinese translation: weibo

This is the book on Amazon Japan: https://www.amazon.co.jp/

(I will share parts from Chapter 2 soon.)

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 1

Here are my extremely unfashionably late takes! They’re long, so strap in if you want.

okay, I genuinely thought the scenes in Gumb’s basement were ripped from the film for a second. extremely well done.

I both appreciate that they’re acknowledging the Bureau-mandated psych eval Clarice would have to go through (not sure she’d have to have another one a year later?)...

...but I sure wish they hadn’t chosen to open this show in a therapy-like session. it’s going to be subject to enough NBC comparisons as it is.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is so pretty, and in the same almost, idk, elfin kind of way Jodie Foster is.

“Bride of Frankenstein”! a novel reference! and a Hannibal Lecter reference even though they can’t use his name! I’m excited

I was afraid of this part, though--everyone’s going to call her “Clarice” aren’t they?

it’s very significant that in the books, Hannibal is virtually alone in using her first name to address her; even Ardelia calls her “Starling.” but of course this series chose “Clarice” as its title, so...

“the checkout lady at the Safeway asked me to autograph a melon” omg

so Clarice has supposedly been “mandated” to see an FBI therapist for an entire year? hmm.

tbh, this feels kind of like a proxy for Hannibal’s scenes in the movie, especially with the therapist calling her “Clarice.” not sure if I dig it.

“...given that your last therapist was an inmate” Hannibal reference #2!

they’re explicitly talking about Hannibal without being able to name him and it’s hilarious, frustrating, and immensely satisfying all at once.

there’s no way to avoid talking about him altogether without being disingenuous to Clarice’s eventual character arc, so I’m glad they’re ripping off the band-aid early

“you let that relationship be intimate”  Yeah, Clarice and Hannibal’s relationship IS intimate and YOU! SHOULD! SAY IT!!!

it’s kind of ridiculous for this guy/the show not to acknowledge that little trainee Clarice was sent to see Hannibal by someone who should’ve known better. That Crawford was doing it with the intention to save lives doesn’t mean he didn’t use the shit out of Clarice.

that’s not to take away her agency or minimize the choices she made after she met Hannibal. She wouldn’t have been in a position to make those choices if Crawford hadn’t arranged it, though.

even if they don’t have the rights to Crawford’s name, either (I have to assume that’s the case) couldn’t they at least mention this??

“hasn’t seen her own family in years” Are they actually going to address Clarice’s maybe-dead-maybe-not mother (depending on the canon they adopt, book or film) and possible siblings??? Please tell me they are!

Clarice’s “egregious” PTSD doesn’t have much to do with Buffalo Bill ofc, and this therapist seems to be making excuses to be the first in a long line of men getting in the way of Clarice’s career goals...

...which she recognizes and confronts him about. Call him out!!!

*Anthony Hopkins voice* That’s my girl.

the way she’s been written in this scene gives me a lot of hope going forward! she’s funny, she doesn’t take any sexist bullshit, she’s calm and polite but you get a glimpse of the rage underneath. 

wow, they promoted Senator Martin to Attorney General!

the opening credits (if you can even call them that) are a let-down, though

she has her beads!

can anyone who’s not Hannibal please stop calling her Clarice

wonder if they’re going to touch on any of the extreme tension that existed between Senator Martin and Clarice in the novel? they didn’t interact in the movie, but in the book, Martin is under intense stress, and it doesn’t go smoothly.

of course in “Hannibal,” Martin invites her to “ride horses,” so they obviously reconciled after Catherine’s rescue and kept in some kind of touch.

and speak of the devil: horses! (and Catherine)

“I can’t have a reputation, I’ve only done it once” Thank you for being the voice of reason, Clarice.

“Paul Krendler” *ugly screaming commences*

“you don’t have any people, Clarice” Aaand that’s the plot of the Hannibal novel!

looks like they even gave her the ring Jodie’s Clarice wears!

oh yeah, this Krendler looks like a sumbitch if I ever saw one. No one will ever be as perfectly cast as the dude in Silence imo, but a much better fit than Ray Liotta. 

“small carat, but it’s a sweet ring” A very in-character observation probably directly informed by her comments about nail polish in Silence.

she mentions this victim’s nail polish (!) being “tasteful,” and I shrieked a little again.

I understand it’s necessary for Krendler to be a douche, but there’s not even going to be any payoff for the audience (or Clarice) when Hannibal eats him, so boo.

wait...wait, why aren’t Clarice and Ardelia in their Alexandria duplex? They’re not just best friends, they’re roommates! For the entire seven-year story! GIVE ME THE DUPLEX!!!

BUT points for Ardelia bringing Clarice a treat, since she was always leaving her candy bars in the Silence book!

Clarice interacting with the washer/dryer is a nice nod to the books, too.

speaking of... “What did we learn in the laundry room back at Quantico?” For some reason this line made me actually cry, I guess because this whole episode has been such a love letter to something I love so dearly, and it’s making me emotional.

FIRST PRINCIPLES!

DESPERATELY RANDOM!!!

wow, the men in Clarice’s new office giving her lotion as a hazing “welcome” gift is awful, and now I’m just mad (which is the point of the scene ofc).

so this ex-military OC is the John Brigham stand-in, I take it?

if that means John Brigham won’t be here, No Thanks.

Clarice telling him she’ll drive...a tribute to Dana “Why Do You Always Have to Drive?” Scully, perhaps (who was herself inspired by Clarice) as well as a nod to Clarice’s love of cars?

“Why do they call you the bride of Frankenstein?” Sorry, I don’t have the legal rights to tell you about my last intimate relationship.

“Already on my way to West Virginia Granny Witch” Look, this show could crash and burn from this scene on, and it would still have been worth it just for these first 25 minutes.

I like that Clarice is shown wanting to help people, and the scene of her with the baby is a nice call-back to the eventual shoot-out at the beginning of “Hannibal”...but I hope they don’t try to domesticate her too much. Clarice needs her hard edges. To be tough (reasonably so)--a cub growing into its big cat’s claws.

also, somehow I doubt that Miss Valedictorian spent her six years in the Lutheran home “changing a lot of diapers,” but sure, okay. If her siblings are alive in this, she might have changed their diapers!

even though Krendler’s a real dickwad so far, he’s not slimy enough for me. Needs more grease.

“I got a call from your therapist who’s concerned that you might genuinely flip out” I really do not like this subplot Sam-I-Am. Aren’t the huge glass ceiling/Boys’ Club obstacles enough?

seriously, though, I know Hannibal tells her that the metaphorical lambs will come back--at the end of Silence, though, she’s at some kind of temporary peace, not in danger of “flipping out” any time soon.

if Esquivel really is our Brigham stand-in, I’ve got...problems with that. He was Clarice’s teacher and became her friend, not some Krendler double-agent. (Also worried they’re setting him up as a love interest for her which...eesh, no thanks.)

and sorry, I actually hate that Catherine kept Precious the dog in this.

I have no problem with Catherine being a character, or with her interacting with Clarice...that said, I don’t know if her being shown as severely traumatized and reaching out to Clarice as a form of emotional lifeline is...a good idea?

I understand the symbolism of Catherine’s smashed mirror, but...smashed mirrors are already a Thing in this series (albeit not Clarice’s chapter in it), and that’s all I can think of here.

Catherine’s a victim of unthinkable trauma. Nevertheless...she’s talking to the woman who saved her life. Who risked death to do it. I just don’t like the way this scene is written. Apparently, in this show’s canon, Catherine hasn’t gotten the help she needs. But Clarice isn’t her therapist, and it’s upsetting to have Catherine being all “I’ll never be safe and neither will you.”

how does Catherine remember “the mannequins, the autopsy table”?? And why is she throwing them in Clarice’s face?

I’m going to stop talking about this scene now because it’s making me angry and a little upset, which is maybe the point? I just don’t think it’s written well. If Catherine’s going to be a recurring character, I hope she’s shown getting professional, medical help.

Clarice finding the victim’s papers in the box of pads is a direct callback to her finding the photos in the jewelry box in Silence. Nice.

let’s agree that Hannibal and Crawford are both in Ardelia’s (too-cutesy-for-me) book

another nice little X-Files homage?

I have some qualms about that big climax, but...meh. It was capital-F Fine.

Yikes, this is a full week late. Thanks for reading this entirely-too-long post through to the end, if you’re still here! 

To sum up my thoughts...

The Good: 

the visual connections to the Silence film (that green coat/blue knit scarf combo in particular)

Rebecca Breeds’ performance overall so far

Clarice’s strong writing/characterization

her sense of humor and her inclination to call out bullshit

maybe it was just me, but I also got a sense of Hannibal’s influence on her in some of her dialogue--her blunt observations--and I love it

Ardelia Mapp

the repeated in-your-face references to Hannibal Lecter

the respectful, non-exploitative way the victims were treated by the narrative.

let’s just say, not all Harris-inspired shows managed to do this. :)

the many, many allusions to the novel

“you let that relationship be INTIMATE” !!!

The Bad: 

the near-constant implication that all Clarice’s trauma stems from her experiences in Gumb’s basement

I just don’t understand this one...it’s not supported by the text imo

the “Clarice-is-a-psychological-loose-canon” subplot

almost everyone calling her “Clarice”

NO DUPLEX IN ALEXANDRIA! Boo!

Esquivel maybe replacing Brigham

the narrative choices they’ve made surrounding Catherine so far.

Seriously: please let Catherine seek/get help instead of screaming “HELP ME” at Clarice, who after all risked her own life to save Catherine’s, over the phone.

The Ugly: Paul Krendler, lol. Confession time: I also don’t care for the way they’ve styled her hair. Not sure why it bugs me, it just...does.

Overall, I’m thrilled to death with this. I was so afraid it would be disappointing, so even if it’s not a five-star episode (and pilots rarely are), it’s a great beginning! It’s beyond amazing to see our girl on the screen again. Just this hour-long episode did her character way more justice than the entire Hannibal film. Despite its shortcomings, it’s such a loving homage to characters and a story that mean a lot to me, and I love it just for that.

Going forward, I’d like to see more of Clarice as a person. Her hobbies and interests--cars, sharpshooting, running, fashion magazines stuffed under her bed, horseback riding, her total inability to cook...anything would do. I of course want to see more of her with Ardelia. I want to hear more about her backstory and find out which version of it (truly orphaned when her father dies or sent away by her mother) they’ll choose to explore. And while we all agree that this show is about Clarice and she don’t need no man, I won’t lie: I’d gobble up more sly references to Hannibal. He’s her endgame, after all.

I’d also like to really see the warrior underneath. There are flashes of her in the last twenty minutes of this episode. But Clarice Starling is a big cat, she’s a warrior, she’s between iron and silver. I’d hate for her to spend most of this show doe-eyed and traumatized. I want her to be ferocious, to see the woman who’s a match for the monster.

Krendler needs to get nastier. He should make us feel like we need to shower. In the novels, he wants to use Clarice--only for her body. And when she won’t allow him to, he takes his revenge. That’s what makes him so particularly awful. Let’s amp him up here.

And finally...maybe I’ll appreciate Catherine’s scene more on a second watch. Maybe I’m not being sensitive enough to her trauma, her struggles. But I didn’t like the way that scene was staged or scripted, and I didn’t like the suggestion that she just hasn’t gotten help after a year and is subsequently taking her pain out on Clarice on some level. I hope future episodes handle this subplot, and her character, a bit better.

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do another of these monstrosities for the next episode. (I promise it won’t take me an entire week this time!) And thank you again for reading!!! 

[hybridequalist]

Thinking Out Loud (Part 5)

I live! I write! It’s here!

Previous Chapter (tumblr link)

Taglist (Lemme know if you wanna join this, btw):  @nesli26, @manga-crazy, @venomemes, @galleyleelol, @makingtimemine, @jackie-sugarskull, @nightshade7117, @skysthelimit291, @randomshizzles101, @inumorph, @snow-massacre, @phantom-fangirl-stuff, @pixellated-sparks, @vsalamandor2, @otaku-mai, @snarky-badger

Your legs were bouncing as you sat in Lauren’s front seat, staring blankly out the window. You were focused on your breathing techniques to settle yourself, settle your pre-outing jitters. It had been a surprise, after all.

Eddie had called earlier and asked if you were available for a rescheduled lunch outing. You’d given the affirmative and Lauren had helpfully offered to bring you downtown to the cafe on the way to some errands she needed to run. You knew that she was offering just to be nice and give you some comfort and more time to transition to being in a social situation, but you appreciated it...even if it felt like your mom driving you to a High School dance.

The car halted at a stoplight and you automatically glanced at your landlady, just in case she wanted to talk to you.

Her finger tapped the steering wheel before she twisted to look at you, signing “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“If I’m not,” you sign back, “you’ll be the first to know. Just keep your phone close. But I think I’ll be okay. Eddie is nice.”

Lauren gave you a meaningful glance as the light turned green. Her thoughts reflected the look, full of a fierce protectiveness, one that all but screamed "if he makes you uncomfortable I will end him."

You fidgeted, tugging at the edge of your frilled blouse. You’d wanted to dress up since it was the first time in a while that you had gone out with a friend, but you were starting to remember why you never wore your nicer clothes: they were itchy and still felt too new. Just the minor friction of the less-than-comfortable fabric was stressing your nerves even more.

You took notice of the anxious energy building and took a few deep breaths before resuming the meditation breathing pattern you had learned in one of your infrequent therapy sessions. After a few minutes of focus, your heart rate slowed and you felt more grounded. You glanced away from your feet and out the window, realizing that Lauren was now looking for a parking space or some free pavement space to drop you off.

You pulled out your phone and started typing.

We just made it. Looking for a spot to stop.

Your phone indicated that Eddie had read the text. You pulled down the sunshade and checked your appearance, fiddling with the microscopic flaws that had developed.

This might be a meeting between friends, but Eddie was still a relatively new acquaintance--he was still investigating you and deciding what labels to give you. It was a time to put your best foot forward. Especially since he'd gotten a glimpse of your...issues.

You glanced at your phone, expecting to see the beginning indication of a return text, but instead you heard some muffled shouting. You automatically turned your head towards the sidewalk and saw a familiar figure waving at the car from the street.

“ EDDIE! SHE SAW US! CAN YOU  HEAR US?!”

The mental yelling rang through your skull, making you wince a little at the invisible volume. You waved out at them and tapped Lauren on the shoulder before she crossed the intersection.

“Eddie is over there,” you pointed out, letting her take the time to follow your gestures and resume looking back at you. “I’ll get out here. I will call your phone if I need to get picked up and text you the details.”

“If it vibrates, I’m turning right back around,” she promised. The two of you shared a quick hug before you unbuckled yourself and stepped out. Careful of other cars, you quickly speedwalked over to the sidewalk where your friends waited.

“Good to see you again,” Eddie greeted you, lifting his hand for a high five. You smiled and reciprocated.

“ DON’T IGNORE ME ,” Venom complained, sounding for all the world like a kicked puppy. You reached up and patted the sleeve of Eddie’s jacket, where you knew the alien was hiding. The preening feeling from Venom’s thoughts made you want to laugh aloud.

“So...lunch?” Eddie asked. “Have you tried this new cafe? They really go hard into the whole ‘sourdough is the food of San Francisco' thing. Probably meant to get the tourists, but the sandwiches still are great.”

There were a lot of things to respond to in that brief sentence and you fumbled with your conversation cards, flipping through them to string together a sentence that made sense.

“No. That sounds interesting. Let’s go.”

“It’s just this way,” he gestured, straightening from bending closer to read your cards. “Stick close; we might hit some of the lunch rush on the way in.”

You grabbed another card.

“I’m not good with crowds.”

“Then we can order to go and find somewhere else to sit. It’s no problem.”

“ WE WERE GOING TO SHOW YOU MY SURPRISE FROM LAST TIME ANYWAY. THE PRIVACY WILL HELP ,” Venom added.

Eddie offered his arm and you blinked at him before you caught his thoughts. He wanted to make sure you stayed beside them since you couldn’t very easily let him know you were being left behind--not like how most people let their friends know. Venom’s feelings were tacked onto the thought, revealing that he liked the thought of you holding onto them because he could protect you better the closer you were.

You looped your arm through Eddie’s.

The walk to the cafe was silent from a vocal standpoint: Eddie and Venom conversed with one another about their thoughts on the food and their past experience, the more deliberate wording telling you that they were actually talking to you without expecting any replies. All the same, you couldn’t help but feel awkward at how every passerby viewed you--both pedestrian and driver. Most thought you were on a date, others were convinced you just didn’t want to get separated. Almost everyone wondered why you and Eddie weren’t having a conversation. After all, wasn’t it the polite thing to do when out for a walk?

“ ARE YOU LISTENING TO US, MORSEL? ”

The symbiote’s question pulled you back. You’d gotten caught up in the overwhelming noise of everyone else’s thoughts, losing your ability to distinguish internal words from external ones with the din of other people’s conversations mixed with their observations of you. But Venom’s mental voice was much louder than the humans walking past and was able to cut through the ceaseless hum.

You immediately reached for one of your cards, feeling the well worn, bent corners and not needing to check it for the words on it.

“Sorry.”

You reached for another, equally used phrase.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Hey, no worries,” Eddie replied, tone deliberately soft so as to comfort you. “You just looked like you were spacing out a bit and I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’re almost there.”

You nodded and let your friend resume guiding you, deliberately focusing on his and Venom’s thoughts to let the others fade into background noise.

“ I tried your name a few times, but you weren’t answering. I’m glad you’re okay for now. Do you think you’ll be okay in the shop? Just because it’s closer quarters. ”

“ EDDIE, WE FOUND HER IN A GROCERY STORE. I’M SURE SHE CAN HANDLE A FOOD TRANSACTION. ”

“ Do you remember the spoons metaphor I told you about? ”

“ AND I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY IT HAS TO BE SPOONS! IT JUST MAKES ME THINK OF FOOD AND I AM ALWAYS HUNGRY. ”

Their banter was comforting. Their partnership might still be relatively new by normal standards, but spending all their time together--literally every waking moment--had quickly built their bond beyond what two ordinary humans could achieve in similar circumstances. They had actually reached a point where words, while convenient to keep their identities distinct, were not entirely necessary. Images, sensations, memories, all were equal communication tools.

It almost made you jealous at how easily they could literally share their thoughts with one another. You were stuck having to pretend you were oblivious to what people really felt.

The cafe was nice and cozy. There thankfully wasn’t a huge line--it gave you plenty of time to pick what you wanted from the menu and look at the carefully selected decor of the shop (mostly to ignore the man standing behind you, who was actively checking out anyone who looked to be of age and was daring to show even an inch of skin). You typed up your order on your phone and showed it to the cashier, who thankfully took it all in stride and smoothly got the process started. Eddie ordered a healthy sandwich and a slice of very rich chocolate cake, which had Venom purring at the thought of dessert.

You slipped out of the cafe, the line having grown significantly behind you and your friends even in just the short time. You could feel a headache forming from the combined vocal and mental chatter as you held on to Eddie and let him guide you away.

“Are you okay with taking a few backroads?” he asked and you saw he’d noticed your scrunched brow. “Just for some peace and quiet away from the main street? It’s probably only going to get louder.”

You nodded vigorously and Eddie picked up his pace, practically pulling you along with his brisk speed. He guided you through an alley onto a much narrower footpath with significantly fewer pedestrians, hesitating as he silently asked Venom to help him remember the way to a green space he remembered eating at before.

You took the break to check yourself over for signs of overstimulation. So far, nothing that some cleansing breaths and food wouldn’t take care of.

And then, like a ping on a psychic radar, you heard a familiar mind call your name.

“ Y/N?! But didn’t the suits snatch her?! ”

Your eyes snapped over to where you felt his thoughts and your heart began to race as you saw a face you’d prayed would never cross paths with you again.

At a first glance, he wasn’t a physically imposing man: barely five and a half feet tall, he didn’t show any obvious muscle or have any “red flags” to his features that might suggest he was dangerous. You almost would have looked right past him--his hair hadn’t been a blonde crew cut when you’d seen him last--but those deep hazel eyes held yours prisoner. You didn’t even need your powers to see the obvious greed ravaging his thoughts.

“Y/N? Hey, are you with me?”

Eddie’s words felt like they came from far away, even with Venom echoing them with his impressive volume. You were just staring at the other man, a silent scream trapped in your mute throat.

Your sight was suddenly filled with brown leather as Eddie stood in front of you, bending over to look you in the eye.

“Y/N,” he repeated. “Are you okay? Are you present? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Excuse me.” The familiar voice made your skin break out in goosebumps as a chill ran down your spine. “Ma’am, are you going to be alright?”

You jolted backwards, throwing your hands up to clamp over your ears. It was a futile attempt to block out the feeling of his mind, his thoughts, the way he felt the world and took delight in your weakness, in your fear, in the worry of the others who were witnessing your distress…

“ EDDIE, MASK? ” Venom asks.

“ It’s too public ,” his partner protested silently even as he verbally stated, “Don’t crowd her please.”

“Let’s go,” you signed frantically, unable to stop fixating. “Please.”

“Come on,” Eddie ushers you,  holding out a hand for you to take--which you did with an iron grip. “It’s not far.”

You kept pace with your friends as you put rapid distance between yourself and your old acquaintance, still highly aware of those hazel eyes on you. The sound of the city faded as your feet hit grass and Eddie sat you down onto a bench, dropping to one knee by the armrest.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, looking you over.

“ WHAT CAN WE DO? ” the symbiote echoed.

You just kept holding Eddie’s hand, fighting tears as you made yourself breathe deeply, clinging tighter when he tried to retract.

They were concerned. They wanted to help. And that was enough to help ground you to the point where you could pull out your phone.

I’ve met that man before. His name is Mitch. We used to be friends. It didn’t end well.

“ I’M GOING TO EAT HIS HEAD! ” Venom howled. His human counterpart took the revelation a little better: he took a second to process it--suppressing the flurry of questions that flooded his mind--and then he stood to join you on the bench.

“Do you need to talk about it now, or do you just want to put it aside for now?”

Put it aside. Please.

“Not a problem. Shall we eat?”

You were a little surprised he agreed so quickly--especially with how vocal Venom was being--but it was a relief nonetheless. You opened your take-out bag and retrieved your food, setting about enjoying it despite the residual shakiness in your hands.

You were about half done when a realization struck you, making you bite your tongue by accident. You jolted your phone out.

Did you respond to me signing back there?

Eddie read it and then laughed a little.

“Uh, so about the surprise Vee had for you...I’ll let him show you.”

“ FINALLY! ”

You watched curiously as Eddie relaxed and then his hands began to move--and you could see in his mind that he wasn’t in charge of the motions. This was all Venom.

The motions were careful and slow, but you sat straight up as Eddie’s hands started forming familiar words.

“Hi. My name is--” there was some hesitation as they briefly conferred with what name to use but they quickly resumed-- “V-E-N-O-M. It is good to talk to you.”

You gasped and gave them a brief applause. You then returned to typing.

How did you learn that so quickly?

“Vee has lots of free time when I’m sleeping,” Eddie shrugged, smiling as he regained the use of his arms. “He’s been looking at Sign dictionaries trying to string that whole phrase together.”

“ I’M BETTER AT FINGERSPELLING ,” the alien admitted, still basking in pride. “AND I KNOW ALL OF THE BASICS: HUNGRY, EAT, DRINK, YES, NO, GO, STOP, PLEASE, THANK YOU AND CHOCOLATE.”

You laughed soundlessly as Eddie rolled his eyes.

But why? You asked. Why go to the trouble?

“ BECAUSE WE WANT TO MAKE IT EASIER TO TALK TO YOU MORE! ” There is no hesitation in Venom’s response. “ IF YOU ARE IN TROUBLE, WE NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IS WRONG QUICKLY! ”

“Not that we’re expecting trouble,” Eddie adds. “I just figured it would be helpful in general. But you’re gonna have to forgive me if he--” he tapped his temple--“has to do some translating in the beginning since he’ll pick it up way faster than me.”

You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again. They were willing to learn Sign for you? No other friend had been willing to do that for you since High School.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” They’d noticed your watery eyes. They were worried. They knew you had been stressed out during the whole outing and wanted to make you comfortable and safe.

Nothing,” you fingerspelled, taking care to make each letter distinct so they could more easily follow. “Thanks.”

“ EDDIE, I WANT THE CAKE NOW ,” Venom complained, changing gears faster than you or Eddie expected. “ WE HAD YOUR HEALTHY SANDWICH, NOW GIVE ME THE GOOD STUFF. ”

“ You absolute addict ,” Eddie thought back, taking a determined bite of mostly lettuce just to make the symbiote pout. You gave another silent laugh as you too returned to eating, happy to just listen to their chatter for a while longer.

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Sorry, Rebels fans. This is not Chopper the droid, but Chopper the clone trooper who was part of Slick's squad before the battle on Christophsis. Chopper has a number of physical and psychological scars, and that should be enough background for you to enjoy this chapter.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 00389: Chopper

Kix packed his medic's bag, preparing for the trip mentally as well as physically. The dread he felt at the prospect was only slightly lessened because he knew his patient dreaded their appointment equally much.

Neither of them liked their meetings, but they were extremely necessary. After the explosion that had caused such extreme injury to Chopper's face, eyes, and body, the 501st's medic at the time, Coric, had started Chopper on a strict physical therapy regimen. Since then, Coric had been reassigned, but he had passed the physical therapy responsibility down to Kix.

The extensive scarring on Chopper's face, chest, arms, and back required constant physical activity or they would stiffen and he would essentially become paralyzed by the scar tissue.

Chopper, for his part, was terrified of all medics and medical personnel, a holdover from his time being treated after the injuries, when the non-clone staff had debated sending him back to Kamino. Even then, every vod had known that was code for reconditioning. Much as Kix had gotten a reputation for treating his brothers whether they liked it or not, he didn't enjoy torture, and that's how Chopper saw their sessions.

An hour later, the transport Kix had hopped was preparing for arrival at an outpost on the secluded edges of wild space… which was a nice way of saying it was in the middle of nowhere on the galaxy's shebs.

Parable Outpost was the kind of place troopers prayed they wouldn't be assigned to. It was quiet to the point of dullness, there was no local life to speak of, and no combat had ever come within 100 parsecs of it. The outpost was the home of foolish brothers, the lazy ones, and any men who had found some way to piss off a superior officer badly enough enough. No brother wanted to go to Parable, but more than a few ended up here. Chopper, however, was here on purpose.

Just before Coric had left the 501st, the medbay had been subjected to an audit and Coric, Captain Rex, and General Skywalker were required to submit a form detailing general medical expenses over the past year. They had managed to disguise the amounts that had gone toward Chopper's treatment due to - as the general put it - creative bookkeeping, but Coric had moved on and Chopper had shared his desire to do the same.

It made sense to Kix. After all, if the GAR or the longnecks found out that there was a trooper with such severe injuries - and several psychological problems as well - they would order him sent back to Kamino for reconditioning.

No one was willing to take that chance, but Chopper had to be moved out of such a combat-heavy detachment. To everyone's surprise, Chopper had come up with a list of places he would be interested in moving, including Parable Outpost.

Chopper had been marked for infantry almost as soon as he was decanted, and he was karking good at it. Over the years, his injuries and aggressive attitude had kept him from being promoted to higher ranks, but he had gained expertise on a remarkable level when it came to battle analysis. Now, Chopper worked at Parable Outpost as a Combat, Munitions, and Enemy Tactics Specialist, a division all of his own invented by General Skywalker and ratified by Generals Kenobi, Secura, and Koon.

It was a dream assignment for the temperamental trooper. In short, Chopper stayed at Parable Outpost and analyzed battle footage sent to him. He compiled reports and sent suggested improvements for tactics and weapons technology to the appropriate departments and generals. He had complete control over how much contact he had with brothers - most of whom he outranked - but could train as much as he wanted.

Even so, Kix couldn't fight back a shudder as he stepped out of the transport and approached the door leading from the hangar into the outpost itself. He wouldn't want to be stuck here, not surrounded by brothers with chips on their shoulders, trapped with troopers who had been reprimanded for underperforming.

He exchanged nods with a few random men as he made his way toward Chopper's office. The first few times he had come to Parable, Kix had been stopped over and over by men who didn't recognize him and wanted to check his credentials. Now, he was accepted as a common sight on the outpost and no one questioned him.

Chopper's office was at the end of a long hall on the officer's side of the outpost. There was nothing marking the door as his, nothing to invite anyone in, but Kix knocked with total confidence.

"Enter," Chopper barked after a long pause.

Kix stepped through the door, carefully closing it to avoid making any unnecessary noises. Chopper was a bit sensitive to unexpected sounds. The trooper in question sat at his desk, surrounded by datapads while a holoprojector adaptor threw footage from a battle on a far wall. Chopper's two-toned gaze was fixed intently on the scene, and he scrawled hasty notes on a pad of flimsi as he watched.

"It's time for your therapy," Kix said, loathe to interrupt, but equally eager to get this over with.

"We just kriffin' did this," Chopper grumbled, still writing.

Kix scoffed. "Three months ago. You know we have to work the scarring at least four times a year or it'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, it'll freeze up," Chopper interrupted. He sighed, pausing the holovid in place while he finished making notes and stood. Despite his dread of the therapy, he was already dressed in the gray outfit all clones wore to work out and spar. "Let's get this over with."

Kix nodded, opening the medical bag. He tossed Chopper a bottle of medicated lotion. "Here's enough for the next three months, at least. Are you still applying it twice a day?"

"Mostly."

Now it was Kix's turn to sigh. "Mostly? Vod…"

"I've only forgotten a few times," Chopper explained defensively.

"We'll see about that," Kix told him threateningly. "If you've been skipping applications, I'll be able to tell from the results of your range-of-motion tests."

To the medic's pleasure, the results were positive. "You've gained three more degrees of movement in your right shoulder and two in your left. That's really good, Chopper."

"Uh-huh. Let's just get through the rest of this," Chopper dismissed.

He infamously hated the next part, he always had. Kix had to work the muscles in each area, a process that required a great deal of physical contact. From what he understood, that had never been one of Chopper's favorite things, but now, the trooper despised touch on a nearly phobic level.

Kix worked to complete the process as quickly as he could while still working every patch of scar tissue as much as was necessary. By the end of it, Chopper was sweating lightly and his jaw was clenched to keep in the small pain noises.

From past experience, Kix knew his own face was pale. He hated - hated - hurting his brothers, and causing Chopper so much pain made Kix feel physically ill.

When he finally stepped back, Kix fought to observe Chopper with a medic's gaze. The trooper was pale and sweating, eyes glassy as his attention turned inward. He was fixating on the pain - never a good thing.

"Do you want the therapy machine?" Kix asked carefully.

Most sessions, Chopper refused the additional help, but it had been a long time since Kix had seen his brother in so much pain. It was a testament to the strain of physical therapy that Chopper gave a single jerk of his chin in the affirmative.

Kix wasted no time setting up the machine and attaching the small pads to Chopper's scars. The trooper's joints got a few more attachment points just because Kix had worked them so hard. Chopper didn't speak or react at all during the process.

Within two minutes, Kix had attached all the necessary equipment and powered up the machine. Chopper's shoulders crept downward slightly, dropping further from his ears with every breath.

As he stared at the small, lightweight machine that was currently blocking Chopper's pain receptors and causing a surge of endorphins, Kix fought not to fill the silence. Chopper didn't like unnecessary conversation and there was nothing Kix needed to say, anyway. He was just used to checking on the men's pain level and progress. He already knew Chopper's pain level - kriffing high - and there would be no real progress. This wasn't healing, it was preventative maintenance. Saying anything would just drive home that Chopper was deeply damaged.

Kix took in a deep breath, intent on releasing it as a silent breath, but words snuck out before he could hold them back: "I'm sorry."

Chopper's dark brows furrowed and he stared up at Kix through mismatched eyes. "No need," he said simply, dropping his gaze again.

The room's silence remained unbroken until Kix had detached Chopper from the machine, packed it away, and began to move for the door. Chopper stopped him.

"Hey," Chopper said, avoiding eye contact and speaking in a low-pitched rush of words. "I know I don't act like it, but I appreciate what you're doing for me. I don't like medics, but… I know you're a good man. A good brother. Thanks. See you in three months."

It was probably a good thing Kix walked with the crisp gait of a soldier and a medic. If Chopper had caught a glimpse of how much those words had affected Kix, the scarred trooper would have been more uncomfortable than he had been during the therapy. Still, Kix allowed Chopper's soft pronouncement to bounce around inside his helmet during the trip back to the Resolute, smiling all the while.

[not-close-to-straight]

Lost and Found (Winteriron)

A peek at the first chapter of a winteriron commission for @striving-artist! Set between IM1 and 2 and ft. a WS!Bucky who was wiped/abandoned by Hydra before Avengers and CATWS. 

Can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

***********

“Tony!” Pepper was using that specific tone of voice, the one that meant she had tried and failed to get Tony’s attention at least three times, and God help her, if he didn’t respond right now she might actually scream. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“I was listening to every word you said, Pep.” Tony turned from the window and forced a smile that was just a little bit too bright, a little bit too wide. “You said if I didn’t stick to the script for tomorrow’s hearing they might actually come and forcefully take the suit and that’s the last possible thing Stark Industries needs right now.” 

“Right.” Pepper’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And then I said--” 

Tony tuned her out again, slouching against the upholstery and staring out at the scenery passing alongside the limo. Washington DC was ugly and boring, the senate committee hearings redundant and frankly ridiculous, and he had too much on his mind to give a damn if his continued arrogance in front of the senators reflected poorly on the company. 

He just didn’t give a damn. 

Ton had to make a concentrated effort not to scratch at the patchwork lines bleeding out from beneath the arc reactor and setting his chest on fire. The little gadget he used to test the toxicity in his blood had registered nineteen percent this morning, and he had to clench his hands into fists to stop from checking it again. He had to present at the Expo tonight and the thought of putting on a show for the people made him want to vomit. Pepper was disappointed in him again and that made him want to vomit for an entirely different reason. He was tired and he was in pain and nineteen percent shouldn’t sound so scary but it did and Tony was terrified.

“I think it’s important for Rhodey to be there tomorrow, I know you said it isn’t necessary but a testimony from the Colonel about the merits of your suit could--” Pepper stopped again, disappointment leeching into the words. “Tony, are you listening?” 

“Have you ever eaten at one of those diners? One of those beginning of a horror movie diners?” Tony didn’t bother pretending he’d been listening and Pepper gave one of those sighs that signaled she was nearing the end of her patience. “You know, where the lights always flicker and the food is shockingly greasy and the one waitress should probably be a hundred years old but she’s sort of always fifty three? One of those.” 

“N-no, Tony. No I haven’t eaten at one of those diners.” Pepper put her tablet down and sighed again. “Are you okay? You’ve been weird for days and I thought it would pass but it hasn’t and--” 

“I’m going to stop and get some food.” he interrupted. “Lunch. You want lunch? We should get lunch.” 

“Tony.” Pep began gently, calmly. “We should go over a strategy for the committee tomorrow. I’ll order in lunch. Maybe we can call Rhodey and he can--” 

“I have to get some lunch right now.” the limo slowed to a stop for a red light and Tony opened the door and almost jumped for the sidewalk. “I’ll call you later okay, I just really need lunch. I need lunch. Is that so weird? Don’t look so worried, I’ll be back soon.” 

“Tony?!” Pepper called for him in confusion and a fair amount of worry, but Tony shut the door and took off at a quick job away from the car, away from Pepper’s disappointment away from the doom that was nineteen percent and the oddly horrifying thought that he’d die without ever having eaten at some sketchy diner with less than edible food. 

Looking back, Tony would call this a nervous break down but right now he was only going to call it lunch and as his expensive shoes scraped along dirty streets and the corners he turned led to grimier places and broken streetlights, Tony felt the ever present crush in his chest ease as he got further and further from all those expectations and closer to something sort of like anonymity.

Not that a man in a three thousand dollar suit and two hundred dollar haircut was anonymous in this part of town, Tony stuck out like a sore thumb as he jogged across the tracks and headed right for an ‘Open 24 Hours’ restaurant sign, but it felt good all the same. 

Not going to look too deep into why being nobody felt like a relief. Today was not the day for an internal therapy session. Tony could only handle one crisis at a time. 

Inside, the diner was everything Tony had expected and somehow quite a bit more. The tables were covered with plastic table cloths, the silverware was mismatched and his shoes stuck on a sticky spot at the door because that’s just how these things had to be. The waitresses were ambiguously middle aged, chewing gum and tapping pens on worn out menus, wiping their hands on faded floral aprons and shouting orders back to the line cooks in rapid fire repetition. 

The booths creaked and sagged, the Daily Specials placard was dated 2001, and when someone came to give Tony a cup of water, it was in a cracked Coca Cola glass that may have been bright red at one time and only had two ice cubes floating in lethargic circles along the rim. 

“Hi.” Tony tried to smile up at the waitress, at her teased up high hair and vividly colored eye shadow. “I’ll take maybe-- maybe pancakes. And coffee.” 

“It’s two in the afternoon, sugar.” she popped her gum and raised severely plucked eyebrows. “You want pancakes?” 

“Uhhh yes?” 

“Your funeral.” she said flatly and Tony-- well Tony didn’t know if she was teasing or not so he forced out a chuckle and leaned back into the uncomfortable booth to try and relax. 

His phone was buzzing in his pocket, over and over until it blended continuous and he knew it was Pepper calling probably first in panic, and then in anger. She didn’t understand why he’d gotten more reckless lately, why he was abrupt and then immediately sorry, why he couldn’t concentrate for more than a minute and why his always present anxiety had gotten harder to hide. 

Not her fault, of course. Tony hadn’t told her about the blood poisoning or that the reactor was killing him or that being forced to confront his own mortality for the hundredth time since that fateful day in Afghanistan was screwing with his head. 

Not her fault, and if Tony could just get his mind off of nineteen percent and onto something else then it would be okay. He could fake it through until it got too bad to hide and by then he would have made his peace with it all, right? He just needed to get his mind off it, he needed a new project and he needed--

Oh hello. Tony’s rapidly spiraling thoughts slammed to a halt when his mindless scanning of the restaurant patrons ended in the far corner of the diner, on a figure sat staring out the window at the gathering clouds, looking blank and empty and just as out of place as Tony felt. 

There was a glint at the guys neck that looked like dog tags, a flash of blue eyes beneath a curtain of dark hair, and even though Tony’s gaze lingered over the sheer size of the hand gripping a coffee mug, his attention was caught solely by the breadth of massive shoulders--

-- and a left sleeve that hung limp, pinned up to the guys shoulder and almost shocking with its emptiness. 

I can fix that. The thought popped unexpected into Tony’s mind, a line from some movie he’d sat through with Rhodey’s niece just the other night in attempt to be the Fun Uncle instead of the Drunk Uncle. I can fix that, the character said as he went through and all but rebuilt a schoolhouse and then kissed the tears right from some pretty girl’s cheek. 

I can fix that. Tony was on his feet and moving before his brain even caught up, idly scratching at the arc reactor heavy in his chest as he made a beeline for that back booth. He had a new piece of tech for the suit, something flashy and incredible responsive and just last week Tony had come to the conclusion that he’d never get a new suit finished before-- before-- so the arm sat abandoned in a case down in the lab. But it wouldn’t take more than a few tweaks and some tests to turn the piece of armor into a working prosthesis and if he was gonna do that, maybe it should be for a wounded war vet who looked like life had just chewed him up and spit him out and left him for nothing. 

I can fix that, and it would be for a good cause and maybe that would help Tony sleep a little better at night. 

“Hey, can I join you?” Up close the guys eyes weren’t just blue, they were glacier pale, shifting between blue and grey and boring into Tony like they were seeing through his core and for a split second, Tony regretted just showing up and sitting in the soldier’s booth. 

But Tony Stark was the king of handling awkward moments so after a brief second to compose himself and to notice the soldier’s left shoulder sat lower than the other-- interesting-- he started talking. 

“So my name’s Tony, and I’d like to say I’m not usually this intrusive but lets be honest, nosiness is actually one of my better qualities.” 

The soldier only blinked at him, and Tony rushed on, “So I work in the general area of robotics and that sort of thing. Prostheses and um-- protective gear? And I can’t help but notice you’ve only got the one massively bulging bicep and I’d like you to let me help you with another one.” 

Those pale eyes darted around the room, clocking exits and obviously sizing the other patrons up like he thought he might be in danger and Tony was reaching for the guys hand to comfort him before he realized what he was doing. He jerked back because boy howdy wouldn’t the press have a field day if they caught sight of Tony Stark holding hands with a man, and cleared his throat. 

“This uh-- this isn’t a scam. Or a trick or whatever. It’s just me here, no one is waiting with cameras or a ‘gotcha’ moment or whatever else you’re worried out. I get the need to check exits and worry that someone is gonna grab you but that’s not what this is.” 

Silence, and Tony cleared his throat again, feeling both parched and ridiculous but damn it he was too far in to back out now. “I can buy you breakfast and we can talk, maybe? I’d like to get you fit for an arm cos you-- you soldiers go through enough shit as it is, you deserve to come home with all your limbs. I can do that for you. For free.”

A flash of Afghanistan and the kids that had lost their lives defending him, and Tony softened his tone. “Not going to cost you anything, we can do it at my place or if that’s weird I can bring my equipment to you or we can meet a neutral location or a doctors office.? Where are you staying, anywhere close?” 

Belatedly Tony realized there was a good chance the soldier was homeless, especially if he was around this part of town, especially if his personnel file was stamped with PTSD and honestly, why the hell wouldn’t it be? Tony needed a stamp like that for his goddamn forehead. 

“You can come stay with me.” he said out loud, knowing full well Pepper would shriek about him bringing home a perfect stranger. “I have plenty of room, there’s a whole side of the house I don’t even go in. I’ve got a place in New York or if you prefer the beach you could come to Malibu or...” 

Silence, and Tony kept talking because that’s just what he did, “It’s a win-win for both of us, you know? You’ll get a top of the line arm and a place to stay for a while, I’ll get someone to listen to me talking while I work and I’ll do a little good for the world to help my chances getting to heaven, because I will need all sorts of help in that sector.” 

The guy just kept looking and Tony finally laughed a little, shoving his fingers into his hair and disrupting the gelled style. “Alright you know what? I’m starting to sound creepy even to my own ears so here. Here’s my number.” 

hH scrawled down his digits on a napkin and pushed it across the table. “You call me if you want to give it a shot, okay? Doesn’t matter if it’s tonight or a few weeks from now just maybe do it within a few months? This offer-- “and me. “-- has an expiration date and no pressure, but it’s already sort of going going and soon to be gone, yeah?” 

Tony got up from the booth and grimaced when his shoes stuck to the floor again. “I’ll get out of your admittedly awesome hair and leave you to your coffee. Have a good day and um-- sorry about ambushing you like this.” 

“...what’s your name?” the soldier’s voice was low and smooth, a hint of an accent that sounded almost Russian edging the letters. 

“I’m not real used to people not knowing that already.” Tony muttered, and then, “Tony. Everyone just calls me Tony.” 

“Tony.” the guy stood up and he was outright massive, looming several inches of Tony and dwarfing him in his shadow. “We leavin’ now, or what?” 

“Oh, you’re--” Tony blinked in surprise. “You’re coming? That speech worked? Which part of the millions of words I just said convinced you?” 

“None of it.” the soldier shrugged, then flinched when his left shoulder pulled uncomfortably. “But I got nothing to lose, and you’ve got bout the prettiest smile I think I’ve ever seen.” 

“...what?” Tony didn’t mean to grin but he couldn’t remember the last time a simple compliment had quite literally warmed him to his toes. “You like my smile.” 

“Sure do.” red lips twitched up at the corner like the soldier wanted to smile too. “We goin’?” 

“Yeah, yeah right now.” Tony tossed a handful of bills on the table, whistled for the waitress and pointed to the pile so she knew to apply it to his bill as well, then shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking the soldier over again. “What can I call you?” 

The big brunette hesitated, started to speak and then stopped, started and stopped like he couldn’t quite remember his name, which was insane right? Who didn’t know their own name?

“...James.” he finally said. “...My name is James.” 

[indistinct-aurora]

Just finished the dream thieves and had some thoughts on Adam. Probably nothing new, considering this book’s been out for awhile, but still want to put my thoughts out there. I’ve got a lot of them, so hit keep reading. tw for ptsd and child abuse

I really appreciated how the trauma processing was written. There’s the obvious analogy of accepting Cabeswater and having to integrate that into his mind and life for accepting traumatic events and their life-altering effects as a step in trauma recovery. This chapter is an example of Prolonged Exposure (PE) therapy in my opinion. I completed a 12 week course of DBT PE last summer, and while not as magical as what Adam did there’s a lot of similarities. 

Persephone is his guide through this, which would be like the therapist role. Ultimately, PE is just the survivor imaging the memory and speaking out loud what happened, typically 4-6 times during a session with time to process afterwards with the therapist. This is to habituate to the memory (and the thoughts/feelings that come up when exposed to it, such as shame, anxiety, anger, etc.). It’s interesting that Persephone tells Adam that the place inside him is unsafe because typically the therapist is there to validate the fear, but also acknowledge that the memory isn’t inherently dangerous. She deviates from the norm in that the place they need to go to isn’t safe. 

This partially comes from just the fantasy elements of the story, but also because this is her way of validating his fear while remaining non-judgmental. She acknowledges that what he needs to process is scary, but if he doesn’t do it then things (i.e. intrusive symptoms for irl survivors, and for Adam it’s the memory loss/Cabeswater voices on top of flashbacks about his dad) will only get worse. PTSD is an avoidance driven disorder: meaning that as long as the survivor continues to avoid the memory, it will continue to bother them. The intrusive symptoms are the mind’s demands to process this memory so that it knows there is no more threat. Avoiding scary, dangerous events is an adaptive behavior, and all PTSD is is a maladaptive response to something dangerous. 

So, the survivor needs to take on an “exposure-based lifestyle” (idk about regular PE, but DBT uses this term). There are two parts of PE: the in-session processing and then the in vivo exercises. These are usually activities done in order for the survivor to habituate to triggers. They vary A LOT depending on the type(s) of trauma, the duration, the age of the survivor when it occurred, and the survivor themselves. For many survivors of chronic trauma, all sorts of things can be triggers, and sometimes they aren’t directly related to the experience (i.e. in this chapter Adam just thinks about being back in the kitchen getting some water to drink and is having a flashback). Therefore, the work of processing isn’t limited to just the 12 week therapy course, but also coming up with a plan for how to deal with any future triggers and practicing in vivo exposures when necessary to habituate to an activity. 

This ties into Adam “being changed forever” after sacrificing himself to Cabeswater, yet continuing to try to live as he did before. The choice of sacrifice wasn’t the traumatic event that changed him, but rather the initial decision to choose an exposure-based lifestyle. He made the choice after ending the destructive relationship he had with his parents. Though not all survivors end the relationship with their abusers, many do. Adam’s situation necessitated it and, though that was a difficult decision, that wasn’t the one that launched him into his new life. Sacrificing himself to Cabeswater did, because it forced him to live differently. 

Though this chapter keeps highlighting Adam being alone, only having himself, doing things by himself, etc. sacrificing himself to Cabeswater ensured that he’d never be alone. His issues this book were caused by his neglect of it, as well as ignoring its voice. He didn’t have ill intentions by doing this, but instead struggled to understand it just as he struggles to rely on others for help. The “balancing” and “making peace” meant that not only did Adam receive power from it, but also tend to it. Part of Adam’s trauma response was leaning too hard into independence and all relationships function best when there is a balance between dependence and independence. Adam stating that “he wouldn’t be Cabeswater” reflects that balance between the two has been achieved because he is able to rely on it and it is able to rely on him.

The shift in Adam’s perspective after achieving balance is also an interesting detail. Again, this is partially attributed to the fantasy aspect of this, but also represents a fundamental shift in Adam’s self-perception. For many survivors, the stumbling block in processing a memory is acknowledging a lack of control during the traumatic moment, but also acknowledging control of how one responds. There are two example of where responsibility is misplaced that show Adam engaging in both. 

Earlier on in the book, Adam mentions he inherited the Parrish anger, and thinks that his behavior is beyond control. Though Adam was raised in a terrifying environment and it makes sense that mismanaging anger has been normalized, that doesn’t release him of responsibility. He can’t keep blaming other people because it’ll keep him stuck and only cause damage to his life. By taking responsibility for himself he needs to learn better ways of responding, regardless of the source of his behavior. He’s his own person. When he balances Cabeswater and himself this is where he makes the choice to take responsibility for this. 

The other example was one in which he had no control. During the intrusive memory of his father hitting him it says that he was “explaining, always about to explain,” showing that Adam thought that maybe his dad wouldn’t abuse him if he understood what was going on. Adam needed to let go of this. Nothing that he could’ve said would’ve changed his father’s mind. His father had a pattern of behavior, and it was on him to change it, not Adam.

So after balancing himself and Cabeswater out, which is the stand-in for the imaginal portion of PE therapy, he needs to process what occurred. Usually, in a PE session this would consist of the therapist taking note of themes that come up (i.e. repeating thoughts, beliefs that lead to feelings of worthlessness/helplessness, parts of the memory that were particularly challenging to recall, etc.). It’s great that Persephone acknowledges that Adam is different. 

Part of the healing process in PE is having someone hear your story, acknowledged how hard that experience was, and congratulate you for surviving. Persephone states that the others will notice that he’s different, though they won’t necessarily understand what he went through to get to this point. The language here is a bit vague, but I like to interpret it as the others not sharing the traumatic experience (and therefore never truly being able to understand what it was like and what processing it was like) but still being able to acknowledge how it made Adam different, including how his response to it made him different. Not just different from them, but also different from his previous self. Healing changed him, just as being hurt changed him. 

I love that the tarot cards are used as the medium for interpretation during the processing time. How survivors understand their trauma is essential to how they make peace with it. Though the tarot cards were also being used to give guidance about the next steps, they also showed Adam what his role in life moving forward was. This reflects that, the end of PE is not just the survivor being healthy and the work is done. Trauma never goes away, and while there is reprieve from PTSD symptoms, the recovery journey is life long which is shown by Adam saying “Maybe this is the future. But it’s not the end” to the initial three-card-draw. Just as there will be bad days, in which symptoms are aggravated or stressors persist, there will also be good ones. 

The ultimate symbol of his shift in self-perception, as well as embracing his exposure-based lifestyle, is obtaining the Magician card. This is him receiving a new role, one that reflects the changes he’s undergone. I don’t know enough about tarot to really dive too much into the symbolism of the card (maybe I’ll make a future post about that), but I think the last card not being about the present moment but instead representing the shift in himself is incredibly important. After leaving PE therapy, survivors’ lives look a lot different, and part of recovery means discovering what they want out of life and where they are going with all of the changes that have been made. The end of this book shows the beginning of Adam in his new role and how that affects his choices and I’m excited to see how he embraces it in the other books. 

[goddessofthundathighs]

X. REVELATION

Word Count: 2.9K

*taps mic* Is this thing on? Aight, I know I said that I’d update CS every 3-5 business months, but life happened for both me & @hearteyes-for-killmonger. Let me just tell y’all how many times I wanted to completely scrap this book, simply because for a second, I fell out of love with it. I also thought that you guys were no longer interested. For our loyal readers, thank you for sticking with us! This chapter is fairly short, but MAJOR progression is made!

It’s also late, so this is un-beta’d. Any errors will be corrected in the morning.

************

Skylar’s face turned up in a wide grin as O’Shea came downstairs with her latest flower arrangement. If Oya wasn’t good at anything else, she was a professional at wooing her. The bright yellow of the freshly picked sunflowers was a beautiful contrast to the deep red hue of the roses. She’d forgotten that she’d mentioned that they were her favorites.

“With love, from Bae,” O’Shea read teasingly, only making the smile on Skylar’s face stretch wider. “And again I ask, why aren’t the two of you officially a thing? The mutual attraction is obvious and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this wide. Like you’re really flashing all 32 right now,” she asked, placing the vase on the corner of Sky’s desk.

“Because it’s not that easy, Shea. I have walls that need to be broken down and we both have issues that we need to work through. This is why SPT is so important. I have to understand exactly who I’m dealing with before we take things to the next level.”

O’Shea nodded. She hadn’t really thought about their situation like that. She’d just assumed that Sky was still working through ridding herself of Monica and was afraid of being heartbroken again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. So is she Erik’s client now?”

“Yes. He’ll be her official therapist and draw up our plan of action as far as treatment.”

“Why does she feel like she needs treatment? She doesn’t seem to struggle sexually.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Shea. Behavior is also an indication that there may be underlying issues. Most of the clients that Erik and I treat are fully functioning. Look at you, for example.” Shea pulls a face. It was entirely too early in the workday for Skylar to be coming for her edges. She hadn’t even finished her acai breakfast bowl. “Aye, we not talking about me,” she fussed, placing her hands on her hips.

“But you fit the example. Personally, I think her excessive need to be sexual is a cover for something deeper, I just have to get her to tell me what it is.”

Sky couldn’t deny the soft spot she had for Oya. Even if things didn’t work out on the personal side of their relationship, she still cared for her and wanted to ensure she received the best treatment. Regardless of past situations, everybody deserved to be loved and accepted for who they truly are.

**

A pregnant silence engulfed Erik’s office as Oya and Skylar waited for him to speak. For the last 45 minutes he had been busy typing away at his computer, only pausing briefly to think before starting again. Once finished, he leans back in the Italian leather chair, stroking his beard as he gives the therapy plan a final onceover.

“Alright, before we begin, we first need to get to the root of the problem. Oya, why do you feel you need SPT and what do you hope to gain from it, other than my business partner as a mate?”

Ouch.

Oya recoiled slightly at his brashness. She hadn’t expected to be put on front street so quickly, nor was she prepared to discuss her history so soon. She suddenly felt bare, like she had been stripped of all of her clothing in front of a crowded high school auditorium and her anxiety was spiking. Skylar took notice of how withdrawn she’d become and placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“It’s okay, Oya. You don’t have to explain in detail just yet, we just need a general idea of what we’re dealing with so that we approach it in the best way,” Skylar explained, the gentleness of her voice causing Oya to return her soft smile.

While she knew that there wasn’t a logical reason to be afraid of Erik or his opinion, her brain had been conditioned to be critical of men ever since that fateful night in her uncle’s basement. Still, having Skylar there was comforting. Her presence made it easier to generate a Spark Notes version of her past.

“I was abused and shunned as a child and as a result, became overtly sexual. While I know that sex can’t fill the void that was left from that experience, it’s the only way to silence the voices in my head. I started looking into SPT because I saw that abuse survivors can benefit from it.”

Erik’s face softened from its usual hard line. While he’d assumed this girl had been through the ringer, his mind couldn’t begin to fathom just how deep her trauma ran.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he started. “Since it’s obvious that you’re a lot more comfortable speaking to Sky about this, how about the two of you do dinner. If not tonight, then later this week. During dinner, Oya, I need you to be as transparent as possible. I need you to go into full detail of what happened and then Skylar will report back to me. The two of us will formulate a comprehensive 8-week therapy plan, which will be implemented starting next week. Are you okay with doing this?”

Oya nodded, finally allowing herself to completely relax.

“We’re gonna get you right, Ms. Ramirez. Over the next 8 weeks you’ll watch yourself become a new woman, I guarantee it,” Erik smiles, offering her his hand to shake.

She accepts the invitation, returning his smile in the most infectious way before turning to Skylar.

“I know SPT doesn’t always require sex, but we can still implement some BDSM therapy, right?”

Sky laughs in response. Leave it to Oya to bring sexual humor into an otherwise serious situation.

“Baby steps, Ms. Ramirez.”

**

Oya's salmon arrived on the table and she licked her chops, having been out all day without eating. Why Sky had inquired about her level of hunger, Oya stated that her radiant smile was enough to fill her, however, the angry cry of her stomach told a different tale.

The pair opted for a Friday evening dinner, an excuse for Skylar to have a drink or two and not worry about having to work the following day. She sips her Hendricks and tonic slowly, savoring the crisp taste of the cucumbers she requested be added to the concoction.

Oya slammed face first into her plate effectively scaring the shit out of Sky who was currently rethinking a few things in regard to diet based on Oya's uncouth and grizzly attack on her fish. 

"Well. She eats fish like I eat pussy," Sky sighed, brushing it off. Still, she found herself keeping her eyes down to her own plate.

"I wasn't that hungry," Oya belched, wiping her mouth with her stained paper napkin. "I'll take another one still."

After her second fish, Sky was appalled at the way Oya had violated those salmon. She decided that she would also train Oya to eat like a human being and they would practice on a sushi date, since they require smaller bites.

“Alright fish murderer,” Sky finally chirps. “You’ve avoided the inevitable long enough, it’s time to talk.” Oya lifts her head slowly, much like a dog who has just been scolded for peeing on fresh carpet.

“Do we really have to talk about this? Like is it honestly necessary?”

“Yes, Oya. With all due respect, we can’t treat you if we don’t know what we’re treating. You gotta give us something.”

“I gave you something earlier,” she snaps defensively.

“Yes, but that’s not enough. There are several forms of abuse, Oya. Just saying you were abused doesn’t really tell us anything. We can’t use verbal abuse treatment methods to treat a victim of physical abuse. You understand that, right?” Sky asks incredulously.

Oya pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She was beginning to regret even bringing up the whole thing. While she thought she was ready to expose this part of her life, fear and her anxiety were getting the best of her. She was beginning to close up again.

Just tell her, her psyche coaxes. 

“I was raped by my mother’s brother when I was ten. It happened nearly everyday for 6 months. It took everything in me to say something to my mother about it, but when I finally did, she accused me of lying.”

A lone tear slid down Oya’s cheek at the memory.

“From that point on, I haven’t been able to trust or fully commit to a man. Which is why I couldn’t talk to Dr. Stevens earlier. I know he means well, but --”

“It’s a work in progress, I understand,” Skylar interjects.

“To this day, she refuses to acknowledge what that man did to me, even though he’s currently serving a 20-year prison sentence for pedophilia. From that point on, sex was my escape. I know it sounds oxymoronic, but it helped fill the void and silence the pain. Even if the gratification was short lived.

Skylar takes her hand, offering a napkin to wipe the fresh tears that slid down her face.

“I think we should start slow. I’ll get with Erik, but I feel like our first few sessions should be meditation and sensate focus. I want you to be comfortable with touching and being touched in a nonsexual manner before we move onto more advanced methods. Are you ok with that?”

“I think so,” Oya admits. “I’ve been using sex to run from my demons for majority of my life. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“And when this is all over, you won’t have to,” Skylar smiles.

“I still wanna be your sex slave at some point, though,” Oya jokes.

“Check please!” Sky laughs.

**

After several back and forth debates as to where the session should be held, the doctors finally decided that Oya’s house would be best.

“It’s somewhere that she feels comfortable, and therefore, it should be easier for her to open up,” Erik said once the final decision was made. Sky nods her agreement, texting Oya to alert her of the plan.

Sky: Instead of coming to my office, we’ll be doing the session at your house. Is that ok?

Oya: Ooh, I get the good doctor all to myself. Say less. Here’s my address

Skylar chuckles at her eagerness, adding the address to her Maps app for later access.

“She seems excited,” she tells Erik, pocketing her phone.

“For now,” he says, sliding a manila folder towards her. “She’s flighty, so her nervousness can come back at any moment. Make sure you keep her relaxed the entire time.”

“Why you talking to me like she’s my first patient?”

“Just making sure your head is in the right place. You’re typically behind the scenes. Patients like Oya can be tricky.”

“I got this, dad,” Sky groans, swinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands to leave.

“You better stop. You ain’t called a nigga Daddy in a minute, Nola.” 

“Goodbye, Stevens! I’ll let you know how things go.”

“Text me. I promised the baby brat we’d go to the carnival later. She’s been dying for a funnel cake and a new stuffie.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Sky beams, armed with new ammunition to tease Shea with once they were back in the office. After reading through the therapy plan for herself, she rests the folder and her bag in the passenger seat and heads home. She would need the rest of the night to prepare for the next day’s session.

**

The California sun beamed brightly as Skylar made her way to Oya’s apartment. It was a beautiful three bedroom, three bath unit in Playa Vista, not far from the beach. Skylar was immediately drawn to the brightness of the space, the white walls with soft marble and gold accents adding to the feminine charm.

“I was thinking we could do this in my meditation room,” Oya said once Sky was done with her exploration.

“Ooh meditation room,” Skylar squealed, following her into what would become her favorite room in the entire unit. Behind the curtain of strung selenite crystals lay a spiritual oasis. Two black Buddah statues sat on both sides of the entrance while pink, orange, and yellow pillows decorated the floor. They looked to be from Bali or some other spiritual region. On the east and western walls were sun and moon appliques, subtle nods to the orishas Yemoja and Oshun, while chakra posters and decorations line the southern wall. On an inverted bookshelf near the front facing wall lay her crystals, sage, and a small altar Sky could tell had been used recently.

“Okay, I already loved the rest of the house, but this room is a whole vibe,” Skylar compliments, pulling out her notebook and video camera. “It’s standard practice that these sessions are recorded, but if you’re uncomfortable being on film, I have a tape recorder.”

“No, the camera is fine,” Oya assured, taking a seat on the pink pillow. She sat Indian style with her palms resting on her knees. Skylar placed her camera between two rose quartz cathedrals, taking a few test shots to ensure the angle was perfect. Once done, she mimicked Oya’s stance on the yellow pillow across from her.

“It is the third day of March and the time is 3:33 pm,” Skylar says, beginning the recording.

“I see you, Universe,” Oya muses to herself, allowing herself to be consumed by the feeling of divine protection.

“We’re going to start with simple breathing exercises to get you relaxed and comfortable, okay?” Oya nods in response. “First I need you to sit up straight, but keep your shoulders and neck relaxed.”

Oya complies, rolling her neck to the sides to release some apparent tension.

“Now, close your eyes and visualize your happy place. It could be the beach or your bed, just wherever makes you feel the happiest,” Sky instructs, doing the same. “Now, breathe in deep through your nose, hold it for about five seconds, then release through your mouth.”

The two repeat these steps about five times before Oya is finally allowed to open her eyes. Skylar makes note of the sated look in her eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly.

“Surprisingly, I feel really good. I do breathing exercises often, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed before.” “Good, that’s what we want. Now, we’ll move into sensate touching. I’ll need you to remove your jewelry and as much clothing as you’re comfortable with.”

Oya’s face turns up into a sly smirk.

“Are you getting fresh with me, Dr. Greene,” she teases, slowly removing the white Nike crop top.

Sky chuckles before answering.

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Ramirez. In sensate touching, participants are typically nude and free from jewelry. The method we’ll be practicing this afternoon is non-genital sensate touching, which means that I will touch every single part of your body except your breasts and your vagina. While sensate touching may cause arousal, it is important that you remain professional and focus only on your own sensations while being touched, understood?” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Oya responds, saluting for emphasis. This makes Skylar giggle.

“I can already tell you’re not going to make this easy for me, Ms. Ramirez.” “I promise to be a good girl, Dr. Greene. You have my word.”

“Alright. This first session will be strictly me touching you with my hands. If this goes well, then we can introduce other elements, such as feathers, scarves, and even oils. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or sleepy, let me know and we can continue another time.”

“I’m not allowed to fall asleep?” Oya questions.

“No. It’s important that you remain awake and conscious through the entire experience,” Sky responds, positioning herself behind Oya. Slowly and deliberately, Skylar rubs her hands up Oya’s arms, starting with just her palms. She moves up to her shoulders and neck, alternating between firm and subtle pressure to the pressure points there.

“Mmm,” Oya moans softly. “You should consider massage therapy,” she coos, allowing her head to fall slightly.

“You think so?” Sky asks with a grin. “Yes ma’am. Your touch is very relaxing, Dr. Greene,” Oya shudders as Skylar’s fingertips dance up and down her back.

“Well I’m glad you think so, Ms. Ramirez.”

The session continues for exactly 33 minutes before Oya’s eyes start to droop. “Okay, I think we need to stop, otherwise, I’m gonna be asleep in your arms,” Oya says, her voice audibly more soft and relaxed than when they first began.

Skylar shuts the camera off and makes a few more notes in her notebook before putting her things away. Without thinking, she sits down beside Oya, pulling her so that she was cradled against her supple bosom.

“I don’t think I’d object to that much,” she beams.

Oya bites her lip softly before staring up into Sky’s big green eyes. She could see herself getting lost in them for days.

“You think you’re capable of fixing me? I’m damaged goods, Dr. Greene.” Her voice came out just above a whisper, her tone laced with vulnerability. Skylar smoothed her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before delivering her heartfelt response. 

“A smushed Reese’s cup is still a Reese’s cup, Ms. Ramirez. And I happen to really like Reese’s cups.”

Oya’s smile spread across her whole face, a soft twinkle dancing in her eyes.

“I’ll be your Reese’s cup.”

**

@vikkidc @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @blktinkerbell @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @thehomierobbstark @ @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @forbeautyandlife @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @blowmymbackout @wakanda-inspired @yaachtynoboat711 @nickidub718 @heyauntieeee @princessstevens @bakarilennox @xaviera108 @alexundefined @raysunshine78 @dameshaemonique @laketaj24 @youreadthatright @theogbadbitch @bugngiz @amirra88 @post-woke @im5ftbutmythroat66 @blackpinup22 @maya-leche @blessyd-bthyname @unholyxcumbucket @eclecticblkgirl @kissmyafropuff @rick-sosa @jennajai @allhailqueennel @killmongersbaby @eye-raq @thickemadame @soulfulbeauty19 -

[zukuthehero]

Questions and Answers and Homes

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || AO3

##  Aizawa POV ##

I watched with growing dread as Nedzu picked through problem child’s file.

He really did just figure out his quirk, his first update for having a quirk was two weeks before school started.

He apparently updated it again just this weekend, noting a few additions and changing the name.

I was not happy.

Fuck I’d made the kid hurt himself on the first day just to use his quirk!

“What do we do?” I asked Nedzu.

“Why, we teach him! If his quirk does increase his mental capacity we’ll have to check, and of course hone whatever skills it helps with the most.”

Nedzu was studying the file carefully.

“His scores are pretty mediocre for someone with a mental enhancement quirk though,” he murmured, sipping his tea.

I frowned, what did that mean, was he saying problem child lied about that? Or something else? Did problem child hide his smarts? Why would he do that?

“Oh well!” He chirped, “We’ll just have to wait and see, hmm?”

I glared, that was the opposite of what I wanted.

“Do bring him by tomorrow after the memorial service, I’ll have a test ready for him.”

I sighed, “Fine, whatever. Also, check the cameras for outside my classroom right after classes let out, some students were causing trouble and harassing my kids.”

He looked up, a strange gleam in his eye.

“No need to worry Aizawa! I’ll deal with the one’s bothering your… students.” He grinned at me.

I nodded and quickly left, Nedzu was in a strange mood and no one wants to be around for that.

##  Tomura POV ##

I hummed, studying my Otouto’s file.

His quirk, Enhancement. Allowing him to enhance himself physically and mentally, too subtle to notice previously as it was limited to mental enhancement, but recent stress triggered his quirk’s evolution and gave him the capability to use it physically.

Does that mean the Otouto was never truly quirkless? Or did his quirk come slowly?

I studied the other notes.

Physical enhancement of a high degree, but special training needed to make his body able to handle the enhancement, otherwise the backlash breaks the bones. Troublesome.

Otouto would definitely be able to master it, and if it is a mental enhancement…

“Well Tomura, what does it say?”

I looked up at Sensei’s screen.

“Of course, sorry Sensei. His quirk is called Enhancement. It says he had it all along but it just wasn’t noticed cause it was enhancing him mentally, so he just looked smart.”

Sensei frowned, “Strange, I checked him for a quirk myself, to insure the doctor was correct. I didn’t sense a mental enhancement, or any quirk at all… then again…”

He trailed off and I perked up, “Sensei?”

“Well, I was unable to sense my brother’s quirk as well, perhaps the drawback of my quirk is being unable to sense family’s quirks. So perhaps he did have one and I just couldn’t sense it… I will have to think on this.”

Sensei shook his head and tilted it back towards me, “Continue Tomura.”

I nodded, “Says it recently evolved due to a mix of stress and physical training, giving it the physical aspect that I saw. Downside noted is that the backlash breaks his bones as his body can’t handle the stress.”

“Stress?” Sensei said sharply.

I frowned over the report, “Yeah, I don’t know. It doesn’t say what the stressor was.”

Sensei looked displeased, can’t blame him. Apparently Otouto was put in a situation sufficiently stressful enough to make his quirk evolve.

That’s not good and someone’s gonna die.

“Well, it is an interesting quirk nonetheless. The implications of its capabilities.”

I grinned as Sensei trailed of for a second.

“Yeah?” I questioned.

“What all can it enhance? Could he enhance his healing with it? His strength is an obvious part, but could he enhance his muscle strength as well to counter the backlash? Can he focus the enhancement? Can he enhance other’s skills? Share his strength with them? How does he gain the power to enhance himself? Does it build up over time? Or does it draw from something around him? Does he need an external force and hasn’t realized yet? I will need more information to insure he is able to train his quirk to his full potential.”

“Yes Sensei,” I nodded.

Sensei always makes excellent points, there’s a lot about the quirk we don’t know. Otouto probably knows more and is keeping it off the record, but it would be helpful to know more so that we know how to help him.

But if Sensei is correct about the scope of Otouto’s quirk then Otouto will need a lot of training…

“Shouldn’t we just pick him up now? He’ll need training and we can teach him here. Away from those filthy heroes. Obviously they’re not teaching him right! I mean, his quirk is hurting him! If they were teaching him how to control it then he wouldn’t be having those kinds of issues with it!”

“I know Tomura, and I want Izuku here as much as you do.”

I nodded, staring intently, of course Sensei does, Otouto is his precious son after all! He wants him safe more than anything.

“We simply need more information.”

I slumped.

“The Sports Festival will let us analyze him, see his strengths and weakness’s, let us see how he acts around his classmates. It will give us a large advantage in knowing what to focus on in teaching him plus allow us to see how he interacts with any friends he’s made. His safety comes first, but we mustn’t forget about keeping him happy either.”

I sighed, that’s true.

“I guess. But I want him here now!”

Sensei smiled, “As do I, but we must be patient.”

“None of them are worthy of Otouto, he’s worth more than all of them combined.”

“He is, and we’ll make sure he’s well aware of that when we retrieve him.”

“I need to figure out his room for when we do get him. He’ll need a soft space, plus of course video games. Otouto will only get the best.”

I need to start deciding now don’t I? What if Sensei changes his mind and decides to get Otouto sooner?

I heard a soft laugh, “Very well. Tomura, you should design and gather the supplies for Izuku’s room there with you. He’ll likely stay in your base for a while.”

I perked up. “Really!?”

“Yes, gather whatever think necessary for Izuku. He’ll also want some notebooks I’m sure.”

I grinned, “Yes Sensei! He’ll have everything he needs and more!”

I’ll need to find out all the details, I know his favorite food is Katsudon, does he have a favorite snack though? A favorite dessert? I know he loves Pokemon, so I’ll get some of the side games he doesn’t have yet. Yeah, a full gaming system for him would be best I think.

Oh, he’ll need clothes, not like we can just raid his house. His mom would probably be upset. So clothes, and soft blankets, lots of pillows.

He likes heroes but maybe we can compromise, and I can get him some vigilante merchandise? It’s close enough right? Maybe some underground hero merchandise? It’s less common but the underground heroes aren’t nearly as sucky as the show off ones.

Okay, he’ll need some electronics, a computer and stuff. Don’t want Otouto getting bored!

There’s so much to do and so little time.

“Kurogiri! We have stuff to do! Get ready to go out.”

##  Izuku POV ##

I shuffled slightly.

Tsu nudged my arm, glancing up at me. I offered her a weak smile.

The Memorial was today, the one for Mineta.

It was… stressful.

The other students finally seemed to remember that a student died, and they were all shooting our class looks. I’m very thankful that the class was hiding me and Tsu from view.

I swallowed as Principal Nedzu came up to speak.

“The year has only just begun, and yet we have already lost a student.”

His expression was solemn.

“His loss is a great tragedy, he stood by his classmates during the attack and in the end, he died for it.”

Well he didn’t exactly stand by us, more like he tried to flee at every opportunity but…

“Mineta Minrou was only a student, like the rest of you. He should not have been in such danger at his age. We will all mourn his death. Hold your silence for a moment in memory of Young Mineta Minrou.”

No one spoke.

“Thank you.”

His gaze swept around to study the students, “Now, I know there has been some discussion as to what happened during the attack. I am going to clarify it now.”

Everyone went silent.

“The villains that attacked used a being called Nomu to fight All Might. This creature is safely in holding now so there is no need to worry about it! The two leaders of the villains managed to escape before they could be captured due to one of them having a warp quirk. The other has a     quirk that allows him to disintegrate things. Currently the limits of his quirk are unknown, though it likely relies on touch. Both of them are extremely dangerous. The rest of the villains were unfortunately broken out by the warp villain, but the police were able to question them first.”

He looked around, “The villains are dangerous, and they won’t hesitate to harm you and were capable of bringing down two pros. If you run into any of them your best bet-“

~~Otouto~~

I shook my head.

Principal Nedzu was talking still.

“Now then, that is all that I can share with you about the attack. Please do not question your fellow students on it as it was a very traumatizing event.”

I swallowed, oh I hope no one questions me about it.

“Remember children, some of your fellow students just lost a classmate. Be kind, the students are recovering from their loss. If any of you are found to be bothering them,” He smiled brightly but I felt a shiver go down my spine, “You’ll regret it!”

They dismissed us shortly after.

I went to find Aizawa-Sensei.

##  Tsu POV ##

I sat quietly with Hound Dog. Midoriya and Aizawa-Sensei dropped me off before heading out, Midoriya apparently has to complete a test with Nedzu while I’m talking to Hound Dog.

The therapy session started out fine.

He asked me how I was feeling, fine, how classes were, fine, how did I like the hero course, it’s fine.

Then he moved onto the USJ incident.

Asked me how I felt about it, asked if I wanted to talk about the details, asked if I was alright, how I was holding up.

I answered as best I could.

It had been scary, I couldn’t believe that we’d been put in danger like that.

I still didn’t understand why the one villain called Midoriya Otouto. But I’d promised not to speak about it till Midoriya knew more.

So, I answered, I kept it vague, told him an outline of what happened.

“How do you feel about Mineta?”

And I broke down.

He sucked, I didn’t like him, he was groping me right before that.

But I didn’t want him to die.

I tried to stifle my cries, but Hound Dog gave me tissues and gently rubbed my back.

Mineta died right in front of me.

It could’ve been me.

It would’ve been me.

Except Midoriya told him to leave me alone.

And he did.

###  Izuku POV ###

The Test had been hard, lots of questions, lots of different scenarios, there was even a quirk analysis section (that was my favorite part honestly).

It wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been. I might have kept the grades a bit lower in school to avoid attention from the worst bullies (last thing I wanted was for them to try and make me do their work for them and get blamed for plagiarism on top of everything else) but Dad made sure that I had everything I needed to learn a lot. And sometimes he would send mini-quizzes in the letters, so I always made sure to do the reading he gave me.

Plus, it was from Dad, how could I not do it? He was sending me something to do, even though I was a useless quirkless child at the time he still did extra to humor me, even if just for mom. I refuse to let him down more than I already am or well, was.

So yeah, the test was hard, but Dad’s quizzes can be harder. For once I didn’t change my answers to wrong ones though, I’m trying to claim I have a quirk that enhances my mental capacity, if I do badly they’ll realize I’m lying.

Now I had to go back to class. After that is lunch and I have my meeting with Hound Dog then. That was fine, I brought some of the snacks Dad sent me in the care package with my bento today. I was excited to try the Cheez-Its Dad sent me. I’d try the Pop-Tarts another time.

Class was boring, just English lessons.

Present Mic was good at making it interesting most days but today I just have way too much on my mind.

“Midoriya! How do you say ‘The wind sent the rock across the placid lake.’?”

I answered it, barely paying attention.

Dad wanted me to learn English a while ago. I was fluent enough to be able to respond to his letters in English and talk to him on the occasional phone call. I was also alright at Mandarin, Russian, and French. But not fluent. French was the hardest but Dad wanted me to learn them. I could write in them and say some words but not much more… And I was going off track again.

I’m not excited for the therapist appointment. What was I going to say? Oh yes he died and I didn’t see it cause the Nomu was right in front of me? That I didn’t even realize he was dead till Tsu told me?

Ugh I was not looking forward to it.

The bell rang, jolting me out of my thoughts.

Right, time to go to Hound Dog. Aizawa-Sensei was waiting for me at the teachers’ lounge, he led me to Hound Dog’s office.

“Thanks.” I mumbled.

He studied me, “I’ll be here at the end of lunch to bring you back to class. Don’t forget to come to the teacher’s lounge after your last classes to meet with the detective about what happened.”

I nodded, mumbling an agreement, before turning to open the door.

Hound Dog was nice, his quirk was super interesting to I wonder exactly what he gets out of it? Is he human that’s like an animal or animal that’s like a human? My hands itched to pull out my notebook, but I forced the urge down.

“How are you doing today Midoriya?”

“I’m okay,” I murmured, shifting in my seat.

“You can pull out your lunch, I know it’s a bit difficult having to see me during your lunch hour.”

I nodded, pulling out my bento with the leftover Katsudon and the bag of Cheeze-Its.

“How are your classes going?”

I swallowed my bite, “Um, the-they’re doing okay.”

“Struggling in any?”

“Not really.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

I thought for a moment, “Math? It’s a struggle sometimes which is fun…”

Hound Dog nodded.

“Are you enjoying the hero course?”

I perked up a little, “Yeah! I really love learning to be a hero, I never expected to be able to get in right away. My original plan was to go through the sport’s festival.”

Hound Dog frowned, “Oh? With your quirk it seems like you’re more than able to be a hero.”

I shifted, “Well, my quirk only… it only became obvious recently. Before I was considered quirkless.” I looked away.

Hound Dog didn’t say anything for a moment, I nibbled at one of the Cheeze-Its, it’s good.

“That’s impressive.”

I blinked, “What?”

“You were planning to become a hero even when you were thought quirkless, that takes guts. You’re really brave, and clearly determined, to do that.”

I flushed, “Ah, well, I just- It’s not- I’m-“

Hound Dog chuckled, “Don’t undermine your strength pup.”

I nodded.

“Did you have plans for the kind of hero you were going to be?”

“Yeah, I was, I was gonna be an underground hero. No quirk meant no being flashy….”

He nodded, “True.”

I swallowed, “Ah well, I was gonna try to become an analysis expert. Um, I know they’re kinda rare, but my dad does analysis’s, I don’t know for which company but he’s good at it. He helped me learn a bit about it and I really enjoy it…”

Hound Dog blinked, “Oh? Have you still been doing it?”

I nodded, “Uh yeah, I try to…”

“Tell me a bit about one of your classmates quirks?”

I straightened, mentally going through the quirks my classmates have and which I have some info on right now.

“Uraraka has a quirk called Zero Gravity but that isn’t quite right because there’s more to it then just cancelling gravity. After all, there’s air resistance, friction, air pressure, and other forces involved as well. It seems more like her quirk reverses momentum or enhances it or something along that line. Her quirk lets her decide the momentum almost. She completely cancels the velocity of the object, even when it’s falling.  When she touches stuff, it floats up and drifts if it was just sitting there, which shouldn’t happen unless a force was exerted on it. But if she moves it, it just keeps moving till it hits something. Plus she seems to almost be able to control the amount that she affects the object that she touches.  That doesn’t line up with Zero Gravity.”

I paused for a breath.

“But moving away from the exact way her quirk works, the potential for it is massive. She’s limited right now on what she can move but she can easily keep an opponent from escaping with just a touch. She can lift practically anything, making her an ideal rescue hero. If she could add thrusters or something of similar nature to her costume then she could make herself weightless and use the thrusters, or a grappling hook at the least, and fly around. It would extremely increase her mobility.”

I faltered, noticing Hound Dog’s wide-eyed look.

“And um… yeah.”

“… Well… That is… very thorough. You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this.

I flushed, “Ah well… Quirks are interesting?”

He nodded, making a note.

“Well, it’s fairly impressive how much you’ve thought about it.”

I gave a weak smile.

“How are you adjusting then? Have you… analyzed? Your own quirk?”

I nodded, “Um, yeah, I uh, I’m still figuring it all out… but uh, I’m working on it?”

He nodded, offering me a gentle smile. Or well, gentle for him.

“Alright, have you made any friends?”

I blinked at the sudden shift in subject.

“Uh, yeah, um, Tsu, Tsu and Uraraka are friends…. I think.”

He nodded, making another note.

“Have you talked to anyone about the USJ incident yet?”

I winced, diving right in then.

He studied me, “You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want, we can meet as many times as you need.”

I shook my head, “No, no…. It’s okay. Um, I haven’t… haven’t talked to anyone yet… I uh, I have a meeting with the detective after this…”

He nodded, “Alright, how did you feel about it?”

“Scared,” I looked away, “Nervous. We all almost died… Mineta…. He…”

“It’s okay, it’s a hard subject, and you saw the death. That isn’t easy.”

I shook my head, “I didn’t see it.”

He blinked, “Oh?”

“The Nomu, it was in the way. I didn’t see it. Didn’t even realize…” I hunched in on myself.

“I see… that still can’t have been easy, to be right there, with two of the high ranked villains trying to kill you.”

How do I tell him that the villain stopped when I asked? How do I say that the villain did not try to hurt me? Could I say that?

“Yeah…”

He kept talking, coaxing me to talk about the events more. To discuss how it felt.

I answered him as best I could, he stopped a subject any time I seemed too worked up. We ended up jumping between the USJ attack and my Junior High and what it was like being diagnosed as quirkless and what I did for hobbies.

It got easier to talk when we left the subject of the USJ.

Then lunch was over and Aizawa-sensei was walking me back to class.

That was nerve-wracking, but I’m glad I did it. I felt surer of myself now. I would not let that happen again, I wouldn’t let someone be hurt right in front of me without me noticing. I would be a hero, a good one.

##  Naomasa POV ##

I settled down to talk to Midoriya Izuku, Toshinori’s successor. Toshinori said he’d be sitting in on the meeting to.

I quirked an eyebrow when Eraserhead brought the kid in.

I hadn’t gotten the chance to see more than his file yet, he was smaller than I expected.

He mumbled to the teacher who nodded, settling down in the seat to the right of Midoriya. Toshinori took the other one.

“Hey kid, how are you today?”

“Hi Al- Uh- Toshinori-san!”

“Wait you know him Toshinori?” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed on Toshinori.

I sighed, best to interrupt for now at least, give Toshi some time to come up with an excuse.

“Hello Midoriya-san, I’m Naomasa Tsukauchi. I’m covering the USJ incident case.”

Aizawa swung to glare at me.

“Hi,” Midoriya mumbled, peering up at me shyly.

“How are you doing today Midoriya-san?”

“I’m alright.”

“I’m glad.” I shuffled my papers and smiled gently at him, “Before we begin I need to let you know that my quirk Lie Detector will let me tell if you lie, so speak only the truth.”

He nodded, eye’s sparkling suddenly, “Yes sir,” He murmured.

‘How does he know when they’re lying? Is there some sense? A sound? A feeling? And can he turn it on and off at will? Can he tell when they’re withholding information or just when they don’t speak a truth? Does it work for truths in general or if they phrase the answer carefully can they slip past it? Can they complete the sentence in their head to trick it?’

I blinked as he mumbled out an analysis of my quirk, that was…. Impressive, and mildly scary.

I cleared my throat and he flushed, ducking his head.

“A thorough analysis Midoriya-san, but now let us move on to the questions.”

He nodded.

“Tell me what happened when you arrived at the USJ.”

He swallowed, “So we got there and Thirteen was talking to us when the lights suddenly sparked, that was likely because they cut the alarms and communications, probably through someone with an electric quirk, I believe he had a run in with Yaoyorozu and the others with her later on. Then the fountain acted weird for a moment, faltering and then the spray stopped momentarily, a purple portal made by the warp villain appeared and covered a large area to let the villains, and the Nomu, walk out. It’s also likely that this was the last group brought in as the villains were scattered already around the facility.”

I frantically wrote the notes down, looks like his analyzing wasn’t just for quirks.

“Then the one in charge, the villain covered in hands, yelled asking where All Might was. The teachers told us to run while Aizawa-sensei went to fight the villains there, the majority of them were mutant type quirks from what I saw, but the warp villain managed to reach us. He ended up transporting us around the facility after Kacchan and Kirishima tried and failed to attack him. I ended up in the shipwreck zone with Tsu and Mine-“

He faltered for a moment, before swallowing and continuing on.

“Mineta.” He paused for breath, “I landed in the water and Tsu saved me when a villain with a shark head mutation, who was able to breathe above water as well as below so it can’t be a full mutation but he didn’t seem able to turn it off which is interesting so perhaps-“

“What happened next?”

He flushed, “Right, um next we used our quirks to destroy the ship and cause a small whirlpool, using- using Mineta’s quirk to bind everyone together and Tsu getting us out of there while I made a shockwave.”

I nodded, he gives a pretty good outline of events.

Toshinori was looking at him worriedly.

“We landed by the shore, near where Aizawa-sensei was fighting. We watched the hand villain use his quirk on Sensei, it seems to be a five point contact quirk, he had to put all five fingers down to do damage, a disintegration quirk, works very fast…”

He stared at his hands, which were fiddling with a nice pen.

I scrambled to write down his thoughts on the villains quirk, Orochi still hadn’t gotten back to us.

“Um, right, so then the Nomu attacked, um, it hit Sensei hard and the disintegration villain started talking about how strong the Nomu was. He talked a lot of gamer speech, roleplay game speech mainly. But then the warp villain returned and told him someone got away and he said they would leave…”

He bit his lip.

“It’s okay,” I said gently, “take your time.”

He took in a deep breath, “So then he came at us, he stopped before he touched us though, said something softly then turned to Sensei and said Sensei was cool for stopping his attack. I attacked to get him away, but the Nomu got in my way. It started to grab me and then All Might arrived.”

I nodded. “We know what happened from there but is there anything you feel you should add?”

He shook his head, fingers deftly putting the pen back together.

“Alright, thank you for your time. I know this was hard.”

He nodded.

“Well, I have everything I need. Take care of yourself Midoriya-san.”

I gathered my things as Aizawa led the kid out.

“Well?” Toshinori asked.

I sighed, “Nothing really that we didn’t know. Though his thoughts on the Tomura Shigaraki’s quirk are certainly welcome, he seems good at that analysis thing.”

“Ah, yes I suppose he’s alright at it. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Analysis experts are few and far between Toshi. You should encourage him, it could be a big help to both him and other heroes.”

Toshinori nodded, “Yes, he’ll have time for that, but for now we’ll need to work on his quirk. He needs to get strong enough as quickly as possible.”

“The world won’t fall apart if he’s not ready when you retire, it lived for a long time without a symbol of peace and can do it again if it needs to.”

Toshinori sighed, “I know…. I just worry.”

I smiled, “Let the kid live, it’ll be okay Toshinori. Want to have dinner tonight?”

He nodded, offering me a wane smile, “I’d like that.”

[cultureisdarkbeer]

The Beginning - Chapter 3 

Three Meals and a Liberty Bell

Conduit/Jersey Devil/Shadows

Read Here

It had been two weeks since Ethan walked out.  Scully missed him, but she knew it was time.  It was nice to not have to answer to anyone, to concentrate only on herself.   She was going to take advantage of this time to decide what it was she wanted out of life.  When she left Daniel it was the hardest thing she had ever done.  This breakup was not the same. It had been on the verge of happening for a while now.  Scully felt smothered as she eventually always did in her relationships. Being emotionally close was not something Dana was comfortable with. Ethan was another victim in the wake of the great Dana Scully.  She knew that to leave headquarters would be a mistake.  Now she would focus on her career, on herself, and enjoy the alone time.  Especially the joy in having to answer to no one, having to explain herself to no one, and having the whole wonderful apartment all to herself.

Then she got to work.  As with every day, she started in Blevin’s office.  On the surface the powers that be made it seem all too innocent.  Their justification for their actions was simple.  Exorbitant expenditures, flimsy reasons for expense and case requests, all under the guise of concern for appropriations of federal funding.  If any resistance was given they would follow up with accusatory statements concerning Mulder’s obsession with looking for his sister.  Instead of a spy, she felt more like his defender.  At the time, she wasn’t sure why she had such an intense urge to protect him.  Did Mulder portray a certain bad boy image?  A rebel with a cause.  He was fearless of consequences, focused, and determined.  She couldn’t bear to think of being responsible to put out such a fire.  Were his pursuits truly unfounded?

[Post Conduit]

Mulder lifted his head and dried his eyes.  This was getting him nowhere.  He prayed one last time to the God that never spoke back.  A quiet bystander overseeing all.  He had prayed for the signs that would lead to his sister.  Was she out there alone and afraid?  Had she been abused?  Experimented on, part of some untold testing and torture?  He wanted to believe he could still find her and save her.  Pain emanating his heart and infuriating his mind.  “Please God help me.  Give me the strength and the wisdom to find my sister” He got up. Mulder didn’t have much faith in religions and with each passing day he was losing faith in the God that would allow such sinister plots to torture innocent children. Was free will really the culprit in all this? With the sign of the cross he left the church, picked up his cell phone and pressed the redial button.

*

Scully listened to Mulder’s Hypnotic Regression Therapy session cassette from the case file. Convincing herself she was doing it out of necessity to gain deeper knowledge into her partner and not from sheer nosiness sated her conscience. It squeezed at her heart hearing his voice so fragile and vulnerable speaking about her crying out his name and him being unable to help her.  He wanted so badly to believe he could find her. Even though she did not believe beings from another planet came to claim his sister, she felt empathy and knew she was abducted by someone just the same.  What a terribly traumatic experience for him to have to go through at such a young age.  She pictured him as a boy, watching helplessly as his sister was taken and it caused her to shudder and shed a tear as raw emotion enveloped her.  The cellphone rang startling her.  “Scully”

“Hey Scully, it’s me, Mulder.”

“Hey Mulder” She inserted the contents and quickly closed the file even though logically he had no way of seeing her.  She felt like somehow she was violating his privacy, his innermost demons, even though it was part of public record.

“It’s around dinner time and I really don’t feel like eating alone tonight.  Care to join me?”

She could hear the continued sorrow in his voice and she didn’t have the heart to turn him down.  She knew how badly this case had affected him and now she was able to begin to understand why.  The wounded expression when he relented, knowing how much he wanted to help that family.  How he saw himself in that boy.

“Sure Mulder, wherever you’d like.”

There they sat in another dimly lit restaurant at a corner table.  If someone didn’t know any better they would probably assume they were on a date.

“Mulder, I want to apologize to you.  Twice today I laid my hands on you and I shouldn’t have done that, it was inappropriate of me.”

Mulder frowned. He wanted to play innocent and ask what she meant, but her touch spoke to him.  It was soothing and warm.  Electrified and magnetic.  “No Scully, I should thank you.  Both times, when I was pulling those rocks off of that makeshift grave and when I was going after the boy in the hospital I was out of control.  You brought me back.  I need you to do that for me, that’s what friends do.”

He looked at her and his eyes sparkled, they reached out to her heart and she felt them hug her.  She closed her eyes to absorb it all and opened them with a warm smile that made Mulder stare down at his pasta to break away from the intimacy.

She asked him to share some stories of the good times he remembered with his sister.  As he expounded, an intense pained look came across his face.  It was the same look he had while he was opening up to her in the car.  She knew without him saying it that he had never spoke like this to anyone before.  She recalled his lips twitching and eyes trembling as he told her about closing his eyes as he walked into his bedroom in anticipation that he would open them and his sister would be there lying in the bed.  Her heart pained for him as she imagined him waking every day waiting for her return.  His love for her pure and innocent.  As he continued to speak she realized it wasn’t just about his sister, but having his family together again.  This tragic event eventually led to his parents splitting up and with it his childhood.  Scully wanted to reach out to him, comfort him in some way, but she had to remind herself that they were very much strangers.

[The Jersey Devil]

Scully wasn’t sure what to believe anymore with the uniqueness of the cases and Mulder.  She was beginning to think that was the point.  The fact that something could occur without explanation frightened her to the core.  In her world she needed structure and proof. None of which meant anything to an x-file case.  This week it was the Jersey Devil. Folklore becoming truth. Instead of enjoying the afternoon with her new found regular, dependable boyfriend, Scully found herself walking the halls of the Smithsonian with Mulder speaking to an ethnobiologist.  As they returned to the car, Mulder walked around to open the door for her. “Didn’t want to be a Neanderthal” he chimed, closed it and walked to his side of the car. As he got in he asked, “Do you like Chinese food?”

“I’ve been known to eat it from time to time.” She was hesitant not knowing where he was headed.

“I was thinking we could get some take-out and head over to my place.  I want to show you where I keep the rest of my files and there are some details I’d like you to know in case anything ever happens.”

With any other human being, one might interpret his invitation as one with sexual connotations.  Scully had learned that emotionally Mulder was still a twelve year old boy and had not progressed much since his sister’s abduction.  It was both frustrating and enduring simultaneously.  “Sounds like a plan.”

Scully followed Mulder into his apartment where he gave her the grand tour.  It hinted of old wood and leather.  His kitchen was small, but efficient and it was obvious he waited for the dishes to stockpile to a certain level before he deemed it necessary to clean them.  With the exception of living like a bum for the weekend in Atlantic City, Mulder’s grooming habits did not match his housekeeping.  Lucky for her since he liked to speak to her an inch from her face.  The more intense the conversation, the closer he would get.  His breath was either minty or had the fragrance of sunflower seeds.  The clean soapy smell of his skin was augmented by his cologne. Pleasant but not overpowering and complimented by his Mulderesque aroma.  He kept himself well groomed, although his five o’clock shadow was nothing to balk at.  As she continued to look around she noticed his desk which was cluttered with mail and files.  “You want dishes or should we eat from the containers?” He asked from the kitchen.

“I’m not above eating from a container.” Scully replied. Besides, she wasn’t completely confident in Mulder’s dish cleaning abilities.

Mulder returned with two forks and two glasses of iced tea.  Handing a fork to Scully he stated, “I didn’t peg you for a chopstick kinda woman.”

As they ate he turned on a football game and went into detail concerning how he was able to secure his connections in congress and how they in turn protected the x-files and provided legitimacy for them to stay open.  “Senator Matheson is my biggest proponent.  He has helped tremendously.”  As he spoke his intense gaze remained on Scully.  His passion on the subject was unquestionable.

Scully looked around and realized something was missing.  “Mulder, do you have a bathroom?”

“Yeah…it’s uh…right through my…uh, file room”

Scully got up and opened the door.  Pornographic magazines fell open at her feet.  She chuckled. “Good filing system Mulder.”

“There not mine I swear.  If they are it’s for investigative purposes only.”  She turned squinting her eyes at him, raised one eyebrow, then stepped over the pile and squeezed her way into the bathroom.  Scully was getting use to walking in on him at work with a magazine or something interesting on television.  Certainly HR would have a field day with him, but she didn’t mind.  He was always making some kind of excuse or trying to hide it, but she thought it was the most normal thing he did besides his fondness for sports.  If he would stop being so shy about it at some point down the road she may even consider watching one with him.  The thought made her teeth dig into her bottom lip. After all, she had needs too.  When she finished in the bathroom she decided to be nosy and have a look around.  What should have been the bedroom was covered from floor to ceiling with papers and newspaper clippings, files, filing cabinets, and magazines.  When she walked back out to the couch she noticed a pillow and blanket stuffed neatly in the corner.  “Mulder, can I ask you something personal?”

“No, of course not Scully.” He said with a grimace and slurped up his lomein.

“How do you…um…entertain without a bedroom?”

“Oh” He laughed. Then a real sullen expression came over his face and she was almost sorry she asked the question. “I usually don’t.  Woman don’t particularly gravitate towards you when you’re spooky.  Besides, I told you, finding my sister, this” He held up several x-files cases, “Is all that matters to me. My dedication doesn’t afford me the time for anything else.”

This was clearly a subject he didn’t want to discuss.  You could see his invisible wall erecting and he curled up around his Chinese container making his body appear to shrink. Of course, Scully pushed forward anyway, “You’re a good-looking guy Mulder.  I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who would be interested in you.”

He reached over and picked up the last dumpling.  “You’re not going to eat this are you?”  Scully shook her head and he popped it into his mouth.  “So Scully,” he asked chewing a mouthful of dumpling, “What was wrong with Mr. Right?  How come he didn’t pass muster for a second date?”

Scully picked up her fork and played with her food as she stared at it. “I don’t know.  I just got out of a relationship and the idea of starting another one with a ready-made family….I don’t know.  I told myself I would give myself time to focus on my career and that’s what I’m going to do.” She looked up at Mulder with her big blue eyes and smiled playfully. “Anyway, if I’m going to keep up with my partner I don’t have time for that kind of tomfoolery.” And with that she reached over and snagged one of his shrimp with a devious smile.

“No tomfoolery huh?”  He lifted an eyebrow laughing at the expression and stole a forkful of Kung Pao chicken from her container.  

“Hey!” she shrilled.

“I almost forgot.” Mulder got up still crunching a peanut and handed her a key.  “This is to my apartment.  In case I need to go on another extended leave.  I’ll need you to feed my fish.”

She took it graciously.  It made her happy that he trusted her enough with the keys to his place.  Little did she know his place was like Grand Central Station to anyone with an inkling and a hair pin.

[Post Shadows]

“Hey Scully, do you believe in an afterlife?”

“I’d settle for a life in this one.”

“Have you ever seen the Liberty Bell?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I’ve been to Philadelphia 100 times and I’ve never seen it.”

“You’re not missing much. It’s a big bell, with a big crack, and you have to wait in a long line.”

“I’d really like to go.”

“Why now?”

“I don’t know.  How late do you think they stay open?”

Closed at 5 P.M. read the sign to Independence National Historic Park.   “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait to see it some other time Mulder.”

“Maybe” The tires screeched as the car propelled forward into the park around the protruding arm of the entrance gate.  Securing a spot he set the car in park turning it off and removed his seatbelt.

Scully’s face held a soured expression, “Really Mulder?  Why is it that we can never go a day without breaking some law?”

Mulder smirked as he opened the door, “I’m just putting some life into your life.”

“Mulder, the park is closed and now we’re trespassing.  I’m sure there’s cameras and security everywhere.”

Motioning her towards him he ducked down besides the bushes.  He noted the security at the entrance and stood up puffing his chest out displaying his badge with a serious expression, his mouth in a line with eyebrows to match. He knocked at the glass door purposefully deepening his voice.  “Sir, FBI, we were informed there were some possible suspects in a crime that visited the area today and we would like to take a look around.  Make certain there was no sabotage or evidence of explosives left behind.”

The guard looked instantly shocked and worried.  Obviously he wasn’t use to any kind of excitement on the premises, especially at that hour.  Scully took out her badge and half-heartedly displayed it.

Mulder strolled down the hall with Scully in toe. Throughout the expansive, light-filled center, stood larger-than-life historic documents and graphic images depicting the facts and the myths surrounding the bell.  Inside the quiet alcoves, the two read on and watched some short films on replay as well as gawked at x-rays of the inner-workings and the bell’s crack.  Mulder’s hand slid into Scully’s and tugged her towards the grand hall. There stood the liberty bell in all its majesty.  The glass wall providing Independence Hall showcased in lights as the backdrop underneath the night’s sky.  Scully felt Mulder squeeze her hand and didn’t release it as he stared in awe.  She wondered what was traveling through his genius, but chose to stay in cozy silence. His index finger caressed her own lighting up her chest. When he let her hand go it twitched in protest.  He threw his arm around her squeezing her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Is this really such a bad life?”

She looked up at him and her mouth fell open, a warming sensation filling her heart. This was his response to her earlier statement. Wow, it was an incredibly romantic gesture even if it was meant only in friendship.  Which led her to pull away. The unbridled intimacy between them sending her off kilter. “Mulder, when I said I wanted a life, I wasn’t referring to one in a prison. We may be overstaying our welcome.”

As they left Mulder nodded to security which seemed indifferent to the whole situation and headed out for some dinner.

Scully looked across from her rebel with a cause partner as they bit into their cheese steaks.  "You never told me, what it was like to witness spectral phenomenon first hand.”

“It was everything I could have hoped for and more.  A little frightening.” Their eyes locked and they shared a smile.

“I’ll never get you to believe will I” Mulder looked almost sad.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say never Mulder, I only require you to substantiate your theories.”

“I think that ghost could have shook hands with you, danced around the room, and gave you his key to the pearly gates and you still would say it was only a figment of our imaginations.”

“Does that bother you Mulder?”

He sat silently for a moment in deep concentration. Carefully he spoke. “It can be slightly frustrating at times, but you add the validity to my work that I need.  You force me to justify my theories and conclusions with proof.  I can never argue with that. Plus, you respect my process and me.”

“I may not always agree with you Mulder, but I’ll always support you.”

As they drove off into the night headed back to D.C., Mulder set the dial to sports, his thoughts on spiritual unrest and its impact on society.  Looking over he found that his partner had drifted off to dreamland.  The comfortable, calmness in her face highlighted her youthful appearance.  She looked happy.  He hoped that he was partially responsible for that.  Knowing what was in store for them when they arrived in D.C., she would need her moment of peace to last as long as possible.

Continue Reading

@ms31x129 @today-in-fic @season4mulder @babygirlmulder1018 @muldermakesmehorny @kyouryokusenshi @wholeperson @enigmaticxxbee @kunataiporablog @baronessblixen

[w-ngs]

dec 20

wow! another semester of college done. everything goes by too fast yet so slowly all at once. #pandemiclife. but fr, everyone better be doing their part in being safe and healthy!! nothing will get better if we don’t all work together! also, it’s 2021, but it’s feeling a lot like the start of 2020 again. plz for how long will this go on.....

also, spoiler warning. they’re everywhere. nothing too major this time around, but they’re still there.

***

6 of crows, leigh bardugo — a good book. very good plot, great characters. i actually picked up this book i think about a year ago? before i even knew there was so much hype around it. but i couldn’t get past the first 50 pages cuz it just did not grab me. but then my fave girl @/withcindy on youtube hyped it up so much that i just had to give it another chance. and i’m glad i did. probs my fave aspect of this book was the setting and the vibes that came with it. in a place like ketterdam, it seems like basically anything is possible. it’s all very dark and messy but within that there’s a certain order to things that no one can upend. also, i freaking love love looove heist stories (has anyone read ally carter’s heist society books? top tier) and this definitely hit that right on the dot. also, kaz and inej are soooooo angsty it was a delight to read.

one thing that was a little off-putting though was the constant flashbacks. which i understand was necessary because we needed to somehow be introduced to our characters who came to be where they are specifically because of their past, but there was a liiiiiittle too much. but not enough for me to not thoroughly enjoy this book, which i definitely did. i enjoyed everyone’s varying personalities (jesper’s so funny), especially how kaz repeatedly shows us that he is not a nice guy. he’ll do what’s necessary to get the job done and be totally unapologetic about it. king shit.

a 8/10.

***

a curse so dark and lonely, brigid kemmerer — another book i read because of @/withcindy. she gave it average reviews, so i didn’t expect much from it. and good thing i didn’t, because i agree; it’s just an average story.

grey was my favorite character from the get-go. a smexy bodyguard who also loves kids and has unwavering loyalty??????? sign me tf up. i was also way more invested in his and harper’s chemistry than i should have been because i knew they weren’t even going to end up together. but i 100% think that if they’d spent more time together, she would’ve left rhen for him. and it would’ve been a lot more interesting that way. oh well.

i found it refreshing that she guessed the curse right from the beginning. it reduced all the annoying miscommunication that would’ve come from it. appreciate it. i also liked that the story focused on more than just the romance, bringing in the country and political stuff as well. but on the other hand it made the story kinda long when i just wanted to get it over with.

the best chapters were the one in the monster’s pov cuz they were the shortest. jk. lol

will i be reading the rest of the series? absolutely not. moving on-

a 6/10.

***

the remains of the day, kazuo ishiguro — ugh guys kazuo ishiguro ALWAYS. always. hits you in place you didn’t even KNOW could be hit and makes you question your entire moral compass. an entire genius that man is. he didn’t win a nobel prize for no reason, that’s for sure. read this, and also read never let me go. that one really makes you think.

the best written part-but i guess basically the entirety of this book?-was the utter unreliability of the narrator. his way of talking is hard to describe, but it’s partly him being unsure of what he’s saying and also wanting to sound more respectable than he really is, mixed with a kind of forced aloofness (the most heart-wrenching part). there are a lot of things he says that forces him-and us in turn-to realize that things weren’t as straightforward as we thought they were. it’s a shame his ideals kept him from realizing these only much after the fact. i felt bad for him, honestly. but aren’t we kind of all like that? living day-to-day the way we think we should, even if it might not be the right thing for us to do. then again, what defines “right”? lol now i’m getting way out of my depth. lots to think about.

me being a total sucker for anything romance, i was so distraught over his and miss kenton’s almost-but-not-quite relationship. like come on ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅜㅜㅠㅠ oh well. things happen in ways that we can’t always quite control.

i didn’t give it a full score because the beginning was a little hard to get into, but i guess that’s kind of the point. it’s so unassuming that you don’t think there’s much to expect, and then you get hit in the face with nazi stuff lol.

ah, to be more aware of the impact our decisions will make on our lives. but to always know that life goes on (stream be) and that it’s never too late to make your future.

a 9/10.

***

maybe you should talk to someone, lori gottlieb — nothing suuuuper mind blowing about this book, but it was definitely a good read. i especially liked the stories about her patients and how they grew in their sessions with her. regardless of how fucked up they were, it’s relieving to see that no one, not a single person, is beyond getting better of their own will. also, i admire them for even taking the step to go to therapy in the first place. i’m a pretty high functioning person (according to the book, someone that’s relatively self-aware and wants to work on improving themselves, or something similar) and even though i’ve been thinking about going to therapy just as a way to get things off my chest, i haven’t actually made the move yet. and though i know i probably should-everyone should, tbh-i’m not sure when i will.

i think i zoned out a little while reading somewhere around the middle lol but i finished it faster than i thought i would. the stories are very engaging. truly, you never really know what people are going through. i remind myself of this from time to time, because it always holds true. and this book was a good, solid reminder of that.

a 8/10.

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 4

Chapter Four: Clowning Around

Okay, so, I know I said I probably wasn’t going to get this written this week but...surprise! I tried out this tip where you write it in comic sans and it’s supposed to make you more creative and uh...it did. It definitely works guys. Like maybe it’s just the placebo effect but this was a BREEZE to write. And for all of my stats people out there, yes, I am aware that z-scores aren’t actually done like this, but it’s a JOKE, okay, a JOKE. Anyway, I hope you guys also think this is good.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr

Wordcount: 2655

Warnings: Mentions of death and murder. Clowns.

“When someone loves you, the way they talk about you is different. You feel safe and comfortable.”

-Jess C. Scott

“This one…isn’t real, right?”

You leaned over on your seat in the jet to whisper in Spencer’s ear. You just couldn’t believe this kind of thing could possibly happen. You had to be investigating some kind of prank show crap or something. Perhaps Netflix’s newest horror movie. Maybe Sara J. Maas wrote a new novel series that some LARPers got a little carried away with.

“Hotch never jokes,” Spencer whispered.

“Well yeah. I got that on day one. But maybe he’s like…wrong?”

“File it under Also Doesn’t Happen. The statistical probability of Hotch being wrong is so low that if you compared him to anyone else in his position the z-score you found wouldn’t even be statistically significant,” Spencer explained.

“I don’t remember what the words you just said mean but yes.”

“Well, a z-score is-“

“No no, don’t tell me. A little bit of mystery keeps things sexy.”

“You just don’t want to know because it’s math, huh?”

“Gosh, you know me so well.” You grinned at him.

“Yo, what are you two flirting about over there?” Derek’s smile was best described as a cocky, meddling grin typically worn by people who were sons of-

“Maybe it’s work. Maybe it’s Maybelline.” Spencer shrugged, and everyone on the plane stared at him.

“Spence…Y/N says that. Oh my gosh, they’re even starting to talk like each other,” JJ said, her face the same as Derek’s.

They were terrible people. Terrible, terrible people.

“You know, JJ makes a good point. You guys spend a lot of time together. What would you even do if we separated you?” Emily mused.

You stared at her, hating the idea already. Spencer was what you knew. He was who you worked best with. You were partners in…not crime. Even just the thought of getting up off the jet coach and sitting away from him was unpleasant. You two always sat on the couch, right next to each other. It was important. For brain storming sessions. Important for brainstorming sessions and your work, which you took very seriously.

“We work well together,” You defended your relationship.

“Well yeah, of course, but maybe you would work well with someone else. You haven’t really given it a chance though, have you?” Emily pointed out.

“Yeah. Lover boy over here is being selfish, won’t let you go for 5 minutes. The rest of us want a turn, you know,” Derek said.

“Well you can’t have one. Spencer is my partner. We’re maximizing efficiency, right Spence?”

You looked up at Spencer and he nodded, a serious frown on his face. It appeared that he also did not like the idea of you being ripped away from him, however adamant the team was that they get their turn. Children. Absolute children.

“But if we really wanted to maximize efficiency we would have to test the hypothesis that you and Spencer are the two members of the team who work best together,” JJ said, starting to get in on the fun now. “You know…Hotch, you haven’t given us our assignments yet and we land pretty soon…”

Hotch looked up, appearing completely unaffected by this conversation.

“Rossi and Prentiss, you two will be heading to the morgue. Derek and Reid, I want you exploring the latest crime scene. Y/L/N and JJ, I’d like you two to interview our witnesses.”

And just like that, all your dreams of a sweet, happy work day with Spencer were crushed. Not that your work days usually turned out sweet and happy, but Spence always made a bad situation better. Sometimes when you were having an off day you wanted to call him just to hear the sound of his voice giving you facts about Daniel Powter or something.

You sighed, slumping back into your seat and doing something that an uneducated outsider might call pouting. You, however, knew better. You did not pout. You only displayed disappointment on occasion.

“Witness interrogation?” You mumbled to Spencer. “How on earth am I supposed to interview some poor sap about a clown murderer?”

 “Okay, so it looks like our witness here is…let me see…Mandie Dawkins. 16, apparently saw the whole thing while sneaking out to meet her boyfriend, fled the scene then called 911.”

“They did do a tox screen on her, right? Like…I’m just making sure here.”

JJ’s face betrayed her own disbelief as she sucked in air between her teeth. “Yep. As hard as it is to believe, well…kids see the darndest things.”

You two entered the interrogation room to see a girl who was, frankly, terrified looking. You couldn’t blame her though. After all, she had witnessed a man dressed as a clown use a chainsaw to murder a guy. That left a mark that probably wouldn’t come out without a few good years of therapy. You definitely sensed a clown phobia developing here.

“Hi, Mandie. My name is Jennifer and this is my partner, Y/N. We’re just hear to ask you some questions about what you saw the other night.”

JJ spoke gently, and you were impressed by how soft her tone was. You had seen this side of her before, but only briefly. When she brought her kids into the office she was a completely different person.

“Hi,” Mandie said, sniffling slightly.

“Mandie, we know you already told the officers, but could you maybe just tell us again what exactly happened that night?” You asked, following Jennifer’s lead in speaking softly and slowly.

Mandie teared up as she recounted the events. “I…I thought it was just a joke, you know? Like, the whole clown apocalypse thing on the internet or whatever they’re calling it. Just like, a Halloween thing, you know? I didn’t think anyone was actually going out there and hurting people, or, or, or killing them.”

“It’s alright, Mandie. We’re going to catch whoever did this, okay? We’re going to need your help to do that though. I’d like to try something, if you’re alright with it. Can you close your eyes for me, Mandie?” Jennifer asked.

You watched closely. You knew what she was doing. A cognitive interview. You had never done one yourself, but you had been taught how to. They weren’t Spencer’s forte however, so you usually weren’t assigned to situations where that might be necessary.

“Alright, now I want you to imagine that you’re back there, walking to your boyfriend’s. I want you to tell me what you see. What’s the weather like?”

“It’s…it’s cold,” Mandie said. “And a little bit windy, too. There are goosebumps on my arms. I brought a jacket but it’s not heavy enough.”

“Alright. What else? Do you smell anything?”

Mandie thought for a moment. “No, not really. Just the rain from earlier and I guess gasoline.”

“Gasoline?”

“Yeah. Or like, propane maybe. Some kind of fuel.”

“Alright, you’re doing great,” Jennifer said. “Now as you get closer to your boyfriend’s house, what do you see?”

“I’m almost there when I see him. This guy, dressed as a clown. You know, the whole bit too. The really big shoes, a red wig, even the nose. And he’s got this chainsaw, but not like, an old-fashioned one. It’s electric, and it’s really loud. I don’t know how I didn’t hear it before. Probably the wind. Anyway, he’s lifting it up, and it looks like it’s really heavy-“

“Hold on,” JJ instructed. “Let’s stop there for a minute. You said it looked heavy. What made you think that?”

“Well the way he’s lifting it. It’s like it’s really hard for him.”

“Okay. What next, Mandie?”

“Well there’s this guy, right? And he’s just walking down the street, and I think he’s a jogger or something because he’s got sports clothes on. So this clown comes right up behind him and he must have just turned the chainsaw on recently because the guy doesn’t hear him and turn around and he just starts…hacking into him.” Mandie is struggling to speak through her tears. “There’s so much blood. Just like…everywhere, there’s so much blood and screaming and I-“

“Okay Mandie. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re here, with us. Try to focus in on what’s happening. Does anything stand out to you?”

“I can see his mouth moving. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but he’s talking to the guy. Or maybe to nobody. I can’t really tell, but he’s definitely saying something.”

“Okay Mandie. Thank you so much for all of your help. You did great today, and you helped us out a lot. Why don’t you go get yourself something to drink, okay?”

“Okay.”

You leaned forward in your chair, looking at Jennifer. “Wow. You’re really good at that.”

“I used to be press liaison for the BAU, so I dealt with a lot of families. I was doing stuff like this before I was ever profiling.”

You nodded. JJ’s history with the BAU had come up a few times before, but you had never realized how deeply it would impact her current work.

“Okay, so this guy can’t be that physically fit, right? If he’s having enough trouble lifting a chainsaw that Mandie can see it from how far away she was, then he must have really been struggling. Maybe he’s sick?” You suggested.

“It’s a possibility. Frankly, I’m more interested in the talking. Even though we don’t know what he’s saying, it gives us more insight into him as a killer. We know he’s killed before, because he’s too unmistakable not to be a serial killer. It could be that whatever he says to them is his version of a signature. Maybe he has to do it to get the right satisfaction from the kills,” JJ theorized.

“Yeah. I just feel like the more we find out the less we really know.” You frowned.

“Welcome to working with people who aren’t super geniuses.” JJ laughed.

“So far it’s been a little rough,” You joked.

JJ became more serious. “Do you miss him?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. The answer was instantaneous, screaming itself in your brain, aching somewhere in your chest. You liked the familiar rhythm you had with Spencer, and even though there was a lot you could learn from JJ, the steady work you were able to do with Spencer was what you preferred. Just you and him, thinking things through, applying logic until things made sense the way you needed them to. Still, you left a pause before you answered her.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s my partner, you know? Working with you is great, but it’s just not the same without him. He gets me.”

“Yeah. It’s always nice having someone who can understand you. But the challenge is important to, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. Spencer never fails to challenge me. The mere existence of his IQ is a challenge.” You laughed.

“I can understand that. When Will and I met he was such an intimidatingly good detective that I felt challenged. Not afraid to break the rules either, and I was such a good girl back then…I never rocked the boat, if you can believe it.”

You couldn’t. JJ stood up for herself so much now that you couldn’t imagine a meek, shy version of her.

“But Will and I, we get each other. In a way other people wouldn’t be able to. When I finish a bad case, he just knows. I never have to say a word when I get home. He can always tell.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Spence has a weird gift for that too. You know as well as I do that every case affects all of us differently, but he can always tell the ones that hit me the hardest. I always think I’m doing a really good job of hiding it, then come to find out he knew I was struggling the whole time and he has biscotti and coffee.”

“I thought you were a tea drinker?”

“I am. Coffee is for when I’m sad or celebrating. Coffee is for closers.”

“Case closers,” JJ joked.

“Yep. Remind me to take you out for coffee some time after this. We can catch up, talk about your kids. It will be fun.”

“Yes! I’ve been dying for a little girl time. We should definitely do that.”

You met with the rest of the team, and as it turned out, they had discovered more than you. In fact, you were fairly certain you had discovered enough to lay down a profile. Not before you caught a relieved glimpse of Spencer though, sharing a quick smile before being dragged over to help give the profile.

You were looking for a white male in his mid-twenties to early thirties. He would come across as weak and submissive in his personal life, and may be looked down on by his peers. Probably works in a job where he is effectively invisible. The last guy you would notice in a room. He would let others control him in his real life, then exercise that control in his killings. It was also highly likely that he was insecure about his physical fitness since all of his victims so far had been joggers and seemed to be in good shape.

“Alright crime fighters, here’s what I’ve found on our victims so far. I think you’ll like this delicious little morsel. As it turns out, our victims all went to exactly the same gym. Not the same times, mind you, but they were in and out on the same days of the week,” Garcia said from where she was video calling in.

“Can you tell us who was working those days and times, Penelope?” Rossi asked.

“Way ahead of you sir. I’ve got three different names that worked every session that our victims worked out and I’ve got even better news coming your way, two of them either have solid alibis or don’t fit the profile. You know what that means…”

“Garcia, I’m going to need a name and an address,” Hotch said.

“Already sent to your personal communications devices! Ta ta!”

“Thanks baby girl, you’re the best,” Derek said before hanging up.

As it turned out, Garcia’s information was good. You caught the guy, 32 year old Randall Myers. He worked as a yoga instructor at the gym and had been killing the clientele of the gym because apparently he felt like they were all judging him. In his mind, he had fabricated a world where he was somehow a victim of them and their bullying. Personally you always felt a bit judged by everyone else at the gym, but not so much that you dressed up in a clown suit and chain-sawed them to death while screaming ‘Who’s the clown now?’ But hey, maybe you were just a little bit too well adjusted for your own good.

You settled into your usual seat next to Spencer on the jet, and you had never been happier to have him join you.

“That was just about exactly as weird as I thought it was going to be,” Spencer said, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

You two sat in silence for a moment, letting your awkwardly separate day hang between you two. Were you supposed to talk about it? It didn’t matter if you were or not, because you did it anyway.

“I missed you.” You both said it at the same time, in near perfect sync.

“It…wasn’t the same without you,” Spencer confessed.

“I do add an unmistakable ambience to the dead bodies and the crime scenes.”

Spencer rolled his eyes tolerantly at your questionable sense of humor.

“You’re right though. I learned a lot from JJ, but I really just wanted to be with you. I guess you complete me, Doctor.”

“I guess I do.” He smiled at you.

You huffed a sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Such a weird day.”

“Such a weird day.”

“That’s how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can’t experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too.”

-Kaui Hart Hemmings