#These are from my ask box but I cannot get to each individually due to the amount - please help out these families

[masterwords]

a yearning that you can't ignore

Summary: The BAU end up with a case in Chicago - missing college students - that takes them right to Derek & Aaron's doorstep. At first they're a little excited to be back in the action, but quickly the two of them find themselves mixed up and in too deep.

Words: 13.4k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan (background Reid/Alvez but it's not much here - they are a couple in this universe though)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, stalking/obsession, gunshot, hospital, swearing, vomit (quick, due to head injury)...it's a Criminal Minds story surrounding a stalker case.

Notes: I started this fic back when CME started airing as I thought about how Hotch and Morgan probably don't mind their quiet lives, but when the opportunity arises for a little action...can they say no? (No, they cannot. As you're about to find out.) Anyway, case fics are fucking HARD TO WRITE...and it took me half a damn year to figure this out. In fact, there are 2 other versions of this fic that have nearly 10k words too because I couldn't decide what to do for the case...so maybe you'll get more case fic when I figure out what to do with all of...that. Also, this is clearly setting up a sort of second part. But it's in the Chicago Times universe, so they're all interconnected anyway. So...here.

OH! And, one more thing?! THIS IS MY 300TH FIC ON AO3! Yeah baby. 293 CM fics, 300 total.

Look at me being SO multi-fandom. lol Okay, on with the show!

**

(1)

It started with a coffee.

Just a cup of coffee, an Americano piping hot and placed on his desk with a little smiley face and an “A” where the name should be. He could tell it had come from the student coffee stand not too far away, the one he stopped at in the mornings on his way to his classroom.

He always ordered an Americano.

“Did one of you leave this here?” he asked once class had started. Silence. Students glanced around the room eagerly. He'd worked in the BAU long enough not to trust food that was just left sitting around, or really even food offered by well-meaning individuals. Probably a student, or maybe another teacher, had decided he needed a pick-me-up. That wasn't untrue, he was dead on his feet. His insomnia was creeping back in at the edges, slowly eating away precious hours of sleep. Eroding his delicate grip on his life.

He ignored the coffee and moved forward with his lecture. Teaching was starting to feel like a trap, an endless cycle of bad days. The students only half listened to him, and he thought maybe he could handle that if the games the staff played weren’t so tedious. He wasn’t cut out for the behind the scenes drama of this any more than he had been at the FBI. As with anything, there had been a honeymoon phase but that had passed and now this job was grating on him. Each morning he dragged himself out of bed and wondered why he did it. He had no inflated sense of self, no certainty that these young adults were the future...they would make their way into the world with or without him. Most of them looked at him like he was the barrier that stood firm between them and what they wanted.

The coffee ended up in the trash after all of his students had gone.

He was home the next two days with Hank, playing and singing Raffi songs and grading an endless stack of papers. He even got in a couple of decent naps with Hank which helped a little with the lack of quality nighttime sleep and his general sulky demeanor. Little sleeps were better than no sleep at all Derek had told him when he mentioned the naps.

On his desk, when he came back, was a small box of chocolates. He glanced around for a note, some kind of indication that this was left specifically for him and from whom but there was nothing but an “A” written on the little attached card.

He left the chocolates where they were and sat at his desk to begin his morning routine. There was an hour before his first class and he had a lot to do. His office was shared with another professor and this year they’d managed to work it so they were in on opposite days, a way to pretend neither had to share. Maybe the chocolates were meant for his roommate. He nudged them off to the side and pulled out a book with color coded pages marked for his lecture, scouring the passages once more to make sure they were what he wanted to convey.

The chocolates didn't enter his mind again.

It wasn't that he couldn't have put those pieces together, but there didn't appear to be a connection that warranted too much thought. It wasn't unheard of that students would gift their teachers with small bribes, incentives to give them better grades, and he had plenty of kids on the verge of failing his class. Enough of them that he wasn't surprised when they cornered him begging for extra credit opportunities or for him to be kind to them because their second cousin on their mom's side was sick or their grandmother had died (not the same grandmother that died last semester, a different one...) or that their partner had broken up with them. Those were the most common complaints, and they usually came with an offer of some kind...a coffee, candy, promised tickets to an event, you name it. No one wanted to fail a class and lose their scholarships, lose their chances.

He was soft, but he wasn't that soft. There was plenty of extra credit he was willing to offer, he was even willing to accept service opportunities, internships, journalism...he wasn't too rigid to help them out, but he paid no attention to bribes.

(x)

“Someone is giving you gifts?” Derek asked, vaguely interested. The tacos in his little styrofoam container were of much greater interest as he attempted to dump hot sauce on them and eat without making a mess of himself in the process. A few onions and a mess of cilantro fell into his lap anyway. “You know who it is?”

“No idea. I have a list of students who are struggling to pass but I can't see any of them thinking a gift would help. Especially without taking credit. You would think that if they wanted me to raise their grade for coffee and chocolates they would make sure I knew who it was. They've both just been signed with the letter A.”

“For Aaron?”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe they're buttering you up. Were the chocolates any good?” Derek flashed that wicked little grin at him and Aaron rolled his eyes in immediate response. Derek knew damn well Aaron wasn't going to eat them, they'd probably found their way into the trash bin after hours. Hidden so no one saw, no one's feelings were hurt. But there was no way in hell he would eat them.

“Should I tell someone? Would that be overreacting?”

“What would SSA Hotchner advise someone of in your situation?”

Aaron glared from behind his sunglasses and bit into his last taco. Half of the meat fell out into his tray and he groaned miserably. He’d been on such a roll.

“SSA Hotchner isn't the expert in obsessional crimes. I'm looking for SSA Morgan to answer the question.”

Derek laughs and shrugged, telling him that he was probably overreacting. Like usual. Drawing conclusions where there aren't any because he’s so damn tired he could barely even keep his eyes open at lunch. “You sure you didn’t hallucinate the chocolates?”

“Shut up.”

“No I’m serious. Your sleep has been shit lately, baby. Not to mention...have you considered that you miss the excitement? That you’re looking for something to get your blood up a little? I know this teaching thing is starting to drag you down, I told you it would. You’re not a desk job guy. Might be time to find you something else to do.”

Derek was absolutely correct about the lack of sleep part (and the missing action part), even if he was very wrong about Aaron overreacting.

(x)

The gifts stopped for a full week once grades were posted, and Aaron thought it was a good thing he never mentioned his gifts to anyone else. It was obviously an overreaction brought on by years of barely contained paranoia. It didn't start that way. Once upon a time he’d been able to separate his life from his job, the evil of men from his every day. Until Foyet, until Peter Lewis. Until evil men marked him for some reason he never really did understand. He'd spent hours, weeks, months agonizing over the why. What did he say or do to make Foyet focus so hard on him? What was it that made Lewis target him? He didn't fit victimology for either of them, not by a long shot, and yet...they'd both managed, in their own ways, to ruin his life.

“Professor?” asked a timid voice from the doorway. He glanced up from the paper he was examining to find a student he didn’t immediately recognize smiling at him. He was good with faces, and she did look somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place her. The insomnia strikes again.

“Yes?”

“I um...I hope this isn't too forward of me to ask, but I was wondering if I could have lunch in your office today? I wanted to talk about getting into your program...”

“Oh, I uh,” he started, at a loss for words. He'd never had lunch with anyone in his office, let alone a student. It felt inappropriate and uncomfortable. “You'll need to talk to an advisor. Admittedly, I don't know much about how that works.”

“Oh. I know. But I kind of just wanted to ask you some questions about the classes and the topics you cover. I took your criminology course last year but I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue with that or move into forensics instead, you know? Do I want to learn how to catch them or clean up after them? Sorry, I'm rambling. Would you mind?”

She was already taking a seat at the chair in front of his desk before he even has a chance to register what was happening. He simply continued staring at her while he tried to switch gears from grading papers to using words. This not sleeping thing was going to be the death of him. It didn't matter as much when he was younger, he could dump gallons of coffee into his system and scrape by. Well, he still drank the coffee but not as much because it gave him heartburn so bad he thought he could breathe fire and he was not willing to live through that pain on purpose anymore. There was a time in his life that the pain was a necessary side effect in order to maintain his top of the food chain status...well now he was low on that food chain and he simply doesn’t need the stomach pain.

“I suppose I could talk for a few minutes. It isn't really appropriate for a student and teacher to eat lunch together like this, but as long as the door remains open, if you have a couple of questions I can try to answer.”

She didn’t seem to mind the rebuff, didn’t seem to register it at all really. Instead she set her lunch on her lap and began unwrapping a sandwich while she rattled off some background and finally a question. And then another. She hardly gave him time to speak, though when he did he found it somewhat easy to come up with what seemed to be a suitable answer to the questions at hand. She seemed pleased at least.

During a lull in conversation, he folded his hands together on the desk and glanced at the clock. He hadn't eaten his own lunch and would pay for that later with a bout of hunger induced heartburn that would probably make him sick, but there wasn’t any time left to do anything about it. He could chew a handful of Tums on the way to his classroom and hope for the best. It wouldn’t be the first time. Getting old came with a lot of new habits his younger self would get a good chuckle over. “If that's all, I really need to get prepared for my next class.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Well, thank you for your time...” she hadn't taken her eyes off of him. It was starting to make him more than a little self-conscious. He was acutely aware of every sound he made, every move of his body. The crack of his knee when he straightened his leg, the way his glasses made the bridge of his nose sweaty, the click of the desk clock punctuating it all like an external heartbeat. He kept his hands still lest she misinterpret something. She didn’t seem to care, though. She left without any fuss, thanking him again for his time and for having lunch with her. She called it a lunch date, and that made him vaguely uncomfortable but it passed quickly. It isn't the first time a student had bombarded him with questions in his office, and if he had tried to connect it with the gifts he might be a little suspicious, but he didn't bother.

The gifts had stopped and the questions seemed genuine. She didn’t come back, either. That fact put him at ease.

Two weeks went by quietly. Without a gift, without a question. Everything seemed to return to normal.

Until a student went missing. The first poster was placed on the bulletin board right outside his office.

Days later, another.

And then came a phone call from Emily. That part was inevitable. Chicago PD knew that he and Derek lived there now and they seemed almost eager these days to have the BAU come in and help them clean up. Probably their way of making something up to Derek, paying the debt they owed to him.

They would be paying that off for a long, long time. It was collecting interest faster than money owed to the IRS.

(2)

“Hotch?”

Spencer's voice carried through the sea of students moving briskly down the hall. It was familiar and slightly jarring, a voice that felt wrong – out of place. There was no way he could find the right mix of words to describe the feeling that voice elicited, the way it felt like coming home though he hadn't even located the source yet. Students moved in waves, in groups usually, laughing and talking or groaning about a strict professor pop quizzing on something they haven't even gone over yet. (“Just because you chose not to come to class on Tuesday does not mean we haven't been over the material,” Aaron has said on more than one occasion. The students seemed mostly unfazed by this statement. He was never really surprised, the memories of his own college years were distant now but he remembered that part. Too many classes, too many hours at his job, too few hours of sleep. Whatever the reason, he can understand it...but it was still his job to throw those quizzes at them anyway.)

Aaron looked around for the source of the voice, scanning the crowd until lighting on Spencer who stood slightly taller than the bulk of the students around him. He was waving a little excitedly. If he was a dog his tail would be wagging. Aaron waved back eagerly, realizing he'd never actually done that before. If he was a dog, he might give his tail a small test wag. To see if he liked it. A first time for everything. Seeing Spencer felt magnetic, he had to move toward him.

A salmon swimming upstream would have had more grace, but Aaron fought his way through the crowd to where Spencer stood in the open doorway of a teacher's lounge anyway. Elbows squeezed at his sides to make his lumbering less noticeable, his hips swerving one way and the next in a sad attempt not to bump into any of the students. He said “excuse me” more times in those few seconds than he had in years.

“Reid, what are you doing here?”

“Oh...um, Emily said she called you.”

Aaron frowned, searching his scattered memory banks for something. Maybe she had. Yes, she had. But what about? His sleep had dwindled to no more than three hours a night, and that three hours was if he was especially lucky. Just a phase like the moon but it sure managed to gobble up his memory storage. Still, he thought he could recall the conversation dimly. Her voice, anyway. Shrill, accusing, sarcastic, sweet. All of them rolled up into one comfortable friend shape. And even if he couldn’t remember exactly what she said (though he knew it was stored in there somewhere), he knew what they were in town for. It was all anyone could talk about.

Two students missing. No bodies yet.

It was all any of the teachers could talk about, and those who were aware of Aaron's previous life found an almost impossible addiction to cornering him. His office ceased to be the sanctuary it had been at one time. The student who never introduced herself was only the first of many, it seemed, who wanted to barge in on him during office hours and utilize his precious free time. And he found it impossible to say no.

There was a time in his life he'd had a scowl that would scare most people away, but not now. Now he was comforting because he knew. He understood. He'd seen it all. Most of it would haunt him forever; you can retire from the BAU but it never leaves you. What he knew, he wished he could erase. It no longer served him...but it served them.

They wanted to be told it was okay, that someone would catch the person responsible before it happened to any other students, that they didn't need to be afraid. He knew far too much for that. He refused to lie, and his refusal to lie was when the police decided they needed help. The people were busting down their doors saying they needed to call in help. Get their children back. Two missing now would multiply if they moved slowly.

When Emily called him, he vaguely remembered telling her he'd been expecting it. The police were in over their heads. He also remembered feeling a little jolt of excitement...he didn't like to admit it, especially to Derek, but he missed it. He missed being useful for more than diaper changes and helping with math homework. True, it was time for him to move on, things had gone too far, he’d been personally targeted by too many serial killers and he had Jack to think about. But if you asked him, if you caught him on a particularly honest sort of day...he would admit that he wasn't ready. He didn’t want a desk job. He didn’t want to teach.

Being forced out stung like regret.

“She did,” he said finally. Certain he'd spoken to Emily about it now, once he'd jumped down the rabbit hole of his scattered memories. “I'm sorry, I've been a little distracted.”

“Yeah,” Spencer added, nodding a little slowly. “I bet. Two students. Do you know them?” Spencer said “do”, not “did” so Aaron figured that was good sign, no bodies yet. It was very little hope but it was something.

“No, I don't. Did the entire team come?”

“Even Garcia. She probably could have done everything she’s doing from Quantico but I think Emily asked her to come because it was a Chicago case. She can't stop talking about the last time we were here and how we still haven't seen your house yet. She misses you. Both of you.”

“Well,” Aaron started a little hesitantly. They didn’t have a large home and the team...well it didn’t matter. They’d come all this way and if they had to cram into their small townhouse then they just would. Part of missing the BAU was missing these people. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it was only the job. “If you've got time when the case is finished, we would love to have you all over.”

“About that. I was actually hoping you might have time to...”

Here it was. Aaron knew it was coming. He was willing to bet that Emily or JJ was at the high school doing the exact same thing to Derek. They were crafty. Divide and conquer. All hands on deck.

Aaron narrowed his eyes, one hand shoved into his pocket while he fingered the worn shape of one of Derek’s challenge coins. He ran his thumb over and around, delighting in the smooth places and the rough places while he waited, trying to give the impression that he hadn't been anticipating this from the moment he laid eyes on Spencer across the hallway.

“Would you have time to come down to the police station later to look at what I'm working on? I could really use someone who knows the school...”

“I'm sorry, Spencer,” Aaron replied, accessing some internal autopilot. He had a script planned out for just such a question, because he knew it was only a matter of time. “Retirement has put a lot of things into perspective for me, and one thing I've learned is how easily I can fall back into old habits if I'm not careful. Leaving the BAU was among the hardest things I've ever done.”

Spencer nodded, crestfallen, though he didn't quite understand. There was something in Aaron's statement that felt like a big fat lie, or like he was desperately grasping at something that was already turning to dust in his hands. He could probably argue with Aaron right now and win without any real effort. His stance felt that shallow, that shaky, but he respected him enough not to.

“Okay,” Spencer replied quietly. Saying no sounded incredibly hard and he could understand that. Aaron had to walk away, and if he looked back now it might destroy the tenuous grip he had on his life. “That's okay. We'll let you know when the case is finished and maybe we can have dinner before we fly out.”

Derek, it turned out, wasn't so firm in his stance.

(3)

“You told them you'd help?”

“JJ came and did 40s with my football players. Told me that she'd beat my best player for an hour of my time. She put my entire varsity team to shame, Aaron. In heels. She was wearing fuckin' heels and she out-sprinted teenage boys. She probably would have outlasted me if I'd let her but I can't have my team seein' that.”

Aaron smirked but said nothing, just flipped the page of the book he was pretending to read in bed. He'd missed most of the last three pages thinking about Spencer asking him for help, and it would have been a lot better if Derek had also said no. Presented a unified front. He couldn’t be angry though. Just a little jealous. It was happening at his school, after all, and he wanted to say yes. Some part of him did anyway.

“Do you think I should help too?”

Derek nuzzled into Aaron's hip and wrapped his thighs up tight, giving them an almost painful squeeze. His anaconda move. It usually meant he wanted Aaron to put his damn book down so they could fool around before going to sleep, to pay attention to him, but Aaron wasn't sure what it meant under these circumstances. Didn't feel like fooling around was the next logical step in this conversation.

Still, it was always on the table.

“I think you gotta make up your own mind on this one.”

Aaron didn't appreciate that answer one bit and he made a little huffing noise to punctuate his dissatisfaction.

“What?”

“You're supposed to tell me I should stay out of it. That I retired for a reason.”

There was something nagging at him already. Something just out of reach. If he could just sleep, get one full night, he thought he could for sure grasp it. There was a connection he was longing to make and he knew it, he was close to it. But not close enough.

“Am I? And then what, you're gonna do it anyway and then we're gonna argue? No thanks. I'll back you up no matter what you decide but I won't tell you what to do.”

“You used to love bossing people around. Arguing with me was your favorite past time.”

“Yeah? I've grown up. You gotta make your own choices now buddy.”

His body made the decision for him a few hours later, while Derek lay basking in the silvery glow of the moonlight fast asleep. They had fooled around, quietly at first, clumsy and quick until the springs on the bed started groaning and then they finished up quickly. That was enough to put Derek to sleep but Aaron remained wide awake until much too late. Staring up at the ceiling, he thought about the students, their photos tacked up on bulletin boards. Have you seen me? Missing! He'd seen them, but those photos were common...often jokes, he'd come to find after taking the first few a little too seriously. Those were the WITSEC days, when he was terrified of his own shadow and the missing posters felt a little too on the nose. Gallows humor. He half expected to walk by one and see his own face or Jack's plastered there with dead eyes.

But these weren't jokes. People were worried. Students clustered together more, stayed after dark less. The library had all but been abandoned. They hadn't enacted a curfew yet but Aaron postulated that it wouldn't be long. There were staff meetings called and student safety agendas passed out to every professor who had a classroom. The phone call from Emily hadn't been a surprise. “We're being called out to Chicago. You've got some missing kids?”

“We do. Doesn't sound like anyone knows much.” He'd been coy even then. He really didn't know anything but he wasn't stupid...he could have if he'd tried. It wasn't his place. He wasn't some retired old cop still looking for a piece of the action, missing the glory days. Besides, he was pretty sure these were his real glory days. He was simply an old man worried about a couple of kids now. A spectator who just so happened to have insider knowledge and a front row seat.

At 1:15am an alert buzzed his phone nearly off of the table as he sat pouring over everything he knew, making notes to at least give to Spencer. He could do that much.

The alert made his blood run cold.

Another student missing. This time he did know the face, he knew it well. Malachai Peterson. He'd taken Aaron's criminology course last year and written an article for the law review that made Aaron and Derek argue for a full hour afterward. All in fun. Well, not all. Mostly. “So who won?” Malachai had asked when Aaron approached him about his article. “And more importantly, who agreed with me? You know...who was right?” Aaron only stared in wonder at this kid who was definitely going places and sighed. It was like looking in a mirror at the little shithead he'd been in school. Admitting that it was Derek who had agreed with the kid's stance, Malachai beamed. “Your partner is smart.”

It wasn't that Malachai was more important than the other two students, it was simply that he couldn't ignore three kids missing no matter how he framed his own need to keep himself separate from the BAU. How could he not help? He would have to be careful about how he approached Jack about it, there were a lot of hard feelings there, but he was certain Jack would see that he really had no choice. Not this time. What if it was one of his friends? The girl he had a crush on maybe?

That certainty waxed and waned for a few hours before he chewed a handful of Tums and decided he had to stop thinking about it. Had to try and get a few hours of sleep.

(4)

“Have there been any bodies yet?” Aaron asked, entering the conference room that they'd set up in the police station at promptly 6am. He hadn't slept a wink. Didn't feel too bad yet, but it would hit him soon. Turn the world to putty and his mind to mush. Luckily, Spencer was waiting with coffees and a grim map of Chicago one one side of the board, a blueprint of the school on the other. Spencer pursed his lips and Aaron sensed his immediate hesitation.

Telling Aaron the truth, that a body had been found, was going to crush him. Spencer was acutely aware of the fact that Aaron had lost some of his walls, had become softer or easier to read and it was obvious that this case was hitting him hard. So hard that whatever stance he’d taken previously about getting involved had only needed one night to completely fall apart.

“One, but it hasn't been identified yet. It's one of the females, probably Melissa because she was the first abduction. The body was...”

Aaron couldn't help flinching and feeling immediately embarrassed by it when Spencer described the state of the student's body. He was out of practice. Or maybe he was too close. Probably both. He simply wasn't the man he used to be, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

“Is someone at the M.E's office now?”

“Tara and Luke are there.”

“Have you been able to determine any patterns? Any connection?”

“Aside from the fact that they were all students at the same university, not yet. None of them had any real overlap in classes or extracurricular activities...Garcia is looking into their social media and private lives now. It's possible she'll find something that all of them have in common.”

“Do we know when Malachai went missing?”

“That's interesting. No. The parents didn't say anything right away, apparently he had a history of not calling for days at a time, very busy. And they just moved, so their mail is being forwarded...it took an extra day or two. They didn't know anything was wrong until the letter made it.”

“I know him,” Aaron said quietly. “He's one of my best students. A real pain in the ass, but a brilliant mind.”

“Did you notice him missing from class?”

“Actually,” Aaron started, feeling a little sheepish after what he'd just said. “He isn't taking any of my classes this semester. But he does check in frequently, he likes to push my buttons.”

Aaron stared at the blueprints and frowned, sipping the hot coffee in his hand. It was bitter and comforting. There was definitely heartburn in his future but damn it felt good in the moment. Worth the risk.

By the time Emily and Dave showed up, he and Spencer were deep in thought, bouncing ideas off of one another that ultimately went nowhere but it felt good to be on Spencer's wavelength after feeling so dull and so slow for the last couple of weeks. Things were kicking into gear. He allowed himself a moment to mourn this, he’d missed it more than he’d even been willing to admit to himself.

“Who let this old fart in here?” Emily asked with a grin. She looked like she'd slept. He was a little jealous. “Good to see you old man. Sorry you’re missing bingo at the old folk’s home to help out. We’ll get you back in time for the early bird special.”

“Old? You have more gray hair than I do,” he pointed out, standing to hug her. She smacked him in the arm first, and then came in for the hug. Tight and a little too long. She felt guilty that he was there. She hadn't asked him to come, didn't want to involve him. Derek, sure. He could walk away a lot easier, he'd done it on his own...he made that choice because he was ready. Aaron didn't and she knew it. He just got lucky that he found Derek here in Chicago, because if he hadn't...she didn't want to think about the husk of a man she'd have seen walking into Quantico ready to take his office back. A man so desperate to cling to something familiar after being un-tethered so long. She knew the feeling. It hadn't ended well for her.

Without a doubt she wanted to see him. And being that he worked at the university it had made sense to ask him questions, but she didn't mean for him to feel obligated to step back in, let alone take orders from her. His departure weighed heavily on her heart. Still, she forced a smile and let go of the hug to scrutinize the way he seemed to fill out his polo shirt and khakis differently, at the way his hair was long and a little shaggy in places, definitely more salt than pepper at the temples and flecked with sparkly strands that caught the fluorescent light from above eagerly. He had more laugh lines than frown lines, and her guilt somehow weighed heavier on her after that realization.

He was happy and she was ruining it.

“Mine looks better.” It was all she could muster, and she did so halfheartedly. Thankfully, before Aaron could call her out on how hollow her insult sounded, they were interrupted.

“I don't know about that...” Derek's voice chimed in from the doorway as he waggled a box of donuts in the air. Penelope and JJ flanked him with eager smiles. “I think he looks damn fine.”

“Ew. Gross. None of that here.”

“Whatever. You're just jealous, princess. You coulda had all of this...”

“Oh please. Not on your life.”

The team fell back into a familiar pattern of thought, of bouncing ideas off of one another, of sarcastic banter and camaraderie. While the differences were stark and unsettling they also somehow worked. There was some nostalgic whimsy and a clear bond that couldn't be broken by something as common as time passing. When Tara and Luke returned, things kicked up a notch. Derek and Aaron both found themselves wishing they’d had an opportunity to work with this team. This group of minds.

Aaron stood beside Derek naturally, like that was where he’d always belonged. He'd always done that, arms folded over his chest and deep in thought. Derek commanded the attention of the room like it was what he was born to do, all eyes on him. He knew the city inside and out, it was sewn into his very being, and he'd already figured something out.

“This isn't about the kids he's abducted,” he said, saying what they had all been thinking. “They're just tokens. You wanna know what I think? I think they were taken for attention, and then when it wasn't the right kind of attention they started dying. This is for us. I mean, this is for you guys.”

Emily nodded sagely. “I had my suspicions. Things like this usually escalate. I'll bet once we find him, we'll find that he started small. This is about one person, and it'll have started on a very personal level but that went unfulfilled so it gained momentum. Now he won't stop until the object of his desire gives him what he wants.”

“Which is?”

“Attention.”

Aaron felt a trickle of fear in his spine and he glanced at Derek, silent communication. Derek understood it immediately. It all fell into some sort of symmetry. They didn't have all of the pieces yet but his coffee and his chocolates were connected. When Derek opened his mouth to say something, Aaron shook his head adamantly. Not yet. They would push him into staying at the police station, put him in some false version of protective custody, and he thought for sure the kids remaining would die if he disappeared. If this really was about him, he had to continue looking. Had to make things look normal, or worse, look like he wanted to find them. Like the attention was wanted.

“We can't let you two go out into the field,” Emily announced as everyone prepared for their assignments. “You can consult but you're civilians.”

“As civilians, you can't really tell us what we can and can't do...” Derek pointed out with a sneaky smile. She glared at him, not at all joking. He hadn't seen her this serious very many times.

“No, I guess I can't. But I shouldn't need to remind you that you have children who depend on you not to be complete morons. Let us handle the danger.”

(5)

“You have an opinion now,” Aaron said as he ladled soup into bowls for everyone. He splashed some on his hand and hissed in surprise, wiping the broth on the towel nearby. “Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”

Derek, throwing spoons on the table, hummed and Jack smirked. Hank, oblivious to the new tension, slammed his fists on the table and delighted in the way it made the spoons (and Jack) jump. Their house was not quiet.

“You're gonna have to be more specific, I have opinions about a lot of things. Like how you always put barley in this damn soup even though I prefer rice.”

“You've never said anything.”

“Well, because it's not a big deal. Just an opinion. Barley's fine, rice is better.”

“Sure, it's just an opinion and you'll eat the barley but if I knew you had a preference I might make it the way you like. I do enjoy making you happy, you know.”

“You hearin' this guy?” Derek asked Jack with one eyebrow cocked. He knew very well that in this situation, he had an ally in Jack who had been dealing with Aaron's rigid cooking for a lot longer than he had. “You think he'd make it with rice?”

“No way. He'd tell you that it's called beef and barley soup, not beef and rice soup.”

Aaron let out a long, miserable sigh. They weren't wrong, that was the worst part. “What does this have to do with your thoughts about me helping out on this case?” he asked, hauling bowls of steaming hot soup to the table. Derek grabbed the others and followed him out of the kitchen with an exasperated look on his face.

“Look. Do I like it, you getting involved? No. I didn't really think much of it at first cos I figured you were gonna say no but now...I think that place is bad for you. I think you didn't sleep last night because it's already getting its claws back in there and I don't like that. But I know why you showed up this morning, I recognized that kid's name too. I get it. So whatever opinion I have...doesn't matter. I just want you to be smart about it.”

“You think I won't be?”

“I think that you're not as over the BAU as you think you are. And I think that could be dangerous if you're not careful. I think you still miss it and helping is going to make you question your decision, and that worries me...maybe I'm bein' selfish there, but I like the life we've got right now and the BAU doesn't fit into it.”

“You want me to tell them I can't help?”

“No. I'm kinda excited to be fighting crime with you again. But I worry about you, that's all. I know what makes you tick. You miss it and I think that it's dangerous when you tell yourself you don't. If it's a one time thing, it'll be fun. I like this part of us too. Like old times. But what if you can't let it go? What if they get on that jet and head back and take part of you with them? What am I left with?”

“I love our life too, Derek.”

“I know. I'm not sayin' you don't, I'm just sayin' that maybe you miss it more than you let on. You miss the excitement. You got all antsy about some student bribing you with coffee and sweets for a good grade...”

“Okay. Point taken.” He had yet to tell Derek how he’d been feeling about teaching. About the way it made his soul ache for more...of anything. About how walking into that school filled him with a sense of dread long before the students started going missing.

“What ever came of that, huh?” He hated the idea of someone having their eye on Aaron, and it was easier to make light of it than give weight to what they were both thinking now. That it might be connected. That Aaron was the center of the whole thing. That the coffee and chocolates meant something dangerous.

“I said point taken.”

Jack stirred his soup quietly, eyes flickering from one to the other while he waited for an argument. A real argument. Those didn't happen often, and they were usually over before they really got going, but this one had all the makings of a good one. An epic battle for the ages. Even Hank stared wide eyed at them while he mushed soup in his little fists and spread it out over the table in front of him. “Uck spoop,” he said as he smashed little bits of barley into the wood.

To Jack's disappointment, it all but fizzled out there. Either they would talk about it later or it was settled entirely, he wasn't sure. But things went quiet and Aaron yawned and Hank spilled what remained in his bowl into his lap and Derek groaned and took Hank to the bathroom to run a bath.

Dinner as usual.

“How was school?” Aaron asked automatically and Jack groaned this time. He had opinions about Aaron helping the BAU but his opinion, so far, hadn't been asked. He was a little touchy about it and decided not to control his teenage mouth...or the eye roll.

“Fine. School was fine. I've got a lot of homework...can I eat my soup in my bedroom?”

That was that. Aaron was left alone at the table, soup dripping onto the wood floor from one side, his muddy tired thoughts revolving around a photo of Malachai Peterson. He yawned again and glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too early to call it a day and head to bed. He was acutely aware that he was no one's favorite person at the moment.

(5)

Three nights of insomnia and Derek knew as well as Aaron did that this was a bad idea. The problem was, two more students were missing and they weren't any closer to figuring anything out, with or without help. Aaron found himself working in his classroom during the day and staying late in the office to make sure nothing happened. If students were going missing from his school, that was where he could help. He was organizing teachers and administration, trying to create some sense of safety. He would spend a couple of hours at the police station with Spencer and then come home to dinner with his family. Dinner on time one night, late the next.

No one said anything.

To be fair, though, Jack wasn't saying anything to him at all. Not a word. He’d gone radio silence, even to the point that he’d taken all of his meals right to his bedroom and shut the door with a finality that made Aaron’s heart sink. The BAU took his mother, ruined his life, and of course he was upset. Aaron thought about backing out. Saying he’d done what he could and washing his hands of it. Hell, he might even take some vacation time just to be out of the school.

Except he knew he couldn’t do that. Even entertaining the thought seemed silly. He was already in too deep, and furthermore, some latent anxiety told him that he was at the center of it all. Somehow.

In the meantime, he found papers in his office trash can crumpled into balls that hadn't belonged to him. He asked Spencer, discretely, to have them checked for prints without saying why. The last thing he wanted to do was look like a paranoid old man but he was pretty sure they were important. Could have just been from his office mate, but he had his own can – why would he walk to the other side of the office to use Aaron’s can?

(6)

“He stayed at the station late last night,” Emily told Derek over coffee at his desk. His office was a mess of sporting equipment, some broken and needing repair, some signed by famous athletes, really just athletic chaos. There was a net tacked to the ceiling, dangling precariously and filled with various balls – footballs, volleyballs, basketballs, soccer balls. Some nice and new, some with chunks taken out of them or deflated. There were tackle bags and dinged up old weights, baseball bats, hockey sticks, all lending themselves to a general odor of chemical cleaners, dust and sweat. Except his desk, that was pristine. “I think he and Spencer might be onto something though.”

“He's not sleeping,” was Derek's only viable complaint. It was quick. A little flash of anger though it wasn't really directed at anyone in particular. It wasn't like they'd been forced into helping, they made the choice and it had been fun at the start to feel that rush again, to know they were trying to save lives. It was just...they got out. They got away, and their lives were better for it. So much better. And now...he could see it shifting too quickly, spiraling out of control. If this case was solved soon, they might still have a chance. But if it took too long, or if it ended badly, whatever misgivings Aaron was having about his job would manifest in other ways and then they’d be in real trouble. He groaned miserably. “They'd better be onto something.”

If they weren't, if Aaron was just not sleeping with no end in sight, he couldn't imagine how much longer this could be sustainable. He was worried more about their lives than the case. He still had a firm grasp on where he was and what was of value.

“Why didn't you say no?”

“How do we say no to helping people, Em? These are kids disappearing. One of them is a kid we know.”

“Right.” She didn't look convinced. “Have you heard from him today?”

“He said Spencer was going to meet him at his office...”

“Nerds.” She just wanted to lighten the mood. Judging by haunted the look in Derek’s eye, it hadn’t worked.

“Hey, did he tell you about the coffee? And the chocolates?” He knew he shouldn’t be bringing that up, it went against every discussion the two of them had had recently but maybe it was time.

“What are you talking about?”

“A couple weeks before you guys got here, he found a coffee in his classroom. Someone had left it for him. He didn’t drink it…”

“Of course. It’s Hotch.”

“Right. Well then a little later he found a box of chocolates on his desk. They both were addressed to “A”, so we assumed Aaron but...I guess it could also be the person signing their own name.”

“He didn’t eat those either.”

“No. He threw them away. I told him he was probably overreacting, drawing connections when there weren’t any but I’m not so sure about that now…”

“Was this before the first abduction?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. If you’re right then he’s the center of it. Try calling him.”

Derek was already on it. His stomach was twisting in knots, tighter and tighter with each unanswered ring.

(x)

Spencer had a lot of ideas about what Aaron’s office might look like. At first he thought maybe it would look just like his office at Quantico, a smattering of achievements, well-loved and used books, some photos or relics from Jack’s childhood, maybe a vacation photo of he and Derek...but it was bare. There was nothing in it but books and files that related directly to his coursework. Aaron noted Spencer’s disapproval and shrugged.

“I started working here during WITSEC. No personal effects. I just got used to it.”

Spencer nodded. “I understand.” It looked like Aaron carried his own personal prison around with him in the same way Spencer did. It looked different but it wasn’t really, not when you whittled it down to the core. “What did you want to show me?”

Aaron reached beneath his desk and grabbed a small wastebasket with a tiny box of chocolates inside. The thing was still wrapped in plastic, in the same condition it was bought in. “This. It was left on my desk just before the disappearances. I threw it in this wastebasket so whoever gave it to me wouldn’t be offended, but it was un-signed and I - “

Before he could continue, a face appeared in the doorway. It was the student who joined him for lunch uninvited. “Professor H,” she began, eyes suddenly flashing a nervous energy as they flickered from Aaron to Spencer to the chocolates. “You didn’t like them?”

He stared, dumbfounded for a moment and then it all clicked. Quickly, he tried to save what there was to save, to keep he and Spencer out of trouble. “The thought was sweet, I do appreciate them. I just don’t eat food given to me unless I know the source. We had a few frightening run-ins with…”

“Cannibals,” Spencer said, following Aaron’s lead. He’d already managed to slip his hand into his pocket to speed dial Emily. “We had this case where a guy fed one of his victims to a search party. The people out searching for her. I haven’t eaten chili since, have you Hotch?”

“Not once.”

The student stared at them with her mouth open for a beat too long before forcing a too-wide smile. “I see.” She was blocking the doorway with her body, standing in such a way that they had no real way to get a handle on the situation. Aaron was armed, but it was his ankle holster only...Emily had forbidden he and Derek to go into the field, and if she’d seen him packing, she would have flipped her lid. As it was she probably knew he was wearing this but let it slide.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name when we ate together the other day,” Aaron said, smiling as soft as he could manage. “I was mentioning your interest to a colleague and realized how rude of me not to ask.”

She beamed at that and hugged her bag close to her chest. “Ashby. Ashby Hastings.” Aaron nodded.

“I’ll remember that when I see her next.”

“No you won’t. You’ll forget like everyone else.”

There it was. Spencer’s blood ran cold and he wanted to glance over at Aaron, an instinct to look to him for guidance...except he stopped himself abruptly because he was the FBI Agent with the gun slung around his waist and Aaron was, for all intents and purposes, a victim. God that felt weird to think. And this student in front of him, small and benign as she looked with her mousy brown hair and her big doe eyes was a murderer.

“Ashby,” Spencer said, approaching cautiously. “Professor Hotchner and I need to get going, we have a meeting we can’t miss. It was very nice to meet you.”

She shook her head in an oddly twitchy fashion, like she was arguing with herself, and reached into her bag. In her hand was a gun, now aimed at Spencer.

“You can’t take him from me. Everyone keeps trying to get in our way. I just…”

“It’s okay, Ashby. Where do you want to go?” Aaron stepped around the desk, his hands raised slightly from his sides to show they were empty.

She startled at that, switching the gun from Spencer to Aaron and back again. “I have something to show you. In the photo lab.”

“Where is that?” Spencer asked, though he already knew. He’d studied the blueprints of the entire school. The photo lab was in the basement. She was going to try to get Aaron into the basement.

“You don’t need to come. You can go to your important little meeting.” She moved out of the way, motioning for him to pass by her with her gun. He frowned at the gesture and thought briefly about what the best course of action would be. Leave and get help right away? He knew where she was taking Aaron. But he didn’t want to let Aaron out of his sight. Who knows what her plan was once she had him alone. Stalker cases never ended well, and if anyone knew that, it was Aaron. He’d play along as long as he could but eventually he would upset her, do something to ruin the fantasy and then he’d end up dead. When he chanced a look at Aaron, he understood -

“Tell Emily I’m sorry,” Aaron said as he walked out of the office beside Ashby and her gun. Spencer waited until they were nearly out of sight before he grabbed his gun and followed.

(7)

The sound of Aaron's body hitting the ground was sudden and shocking. It could just as easily have been the unsub or it could have been Spencer, but somehow Derek knew it wasn't. He knew it in his bones.

“Dammit,” he groaned, his heart skipping more than one beat. It nearly stopped, along with his breath as he followed behind Luke and JJ. “No going in the field” Emily had warned, had repeated many times, but she couldn't stop him. Not when he knew Aaron was down those stairs in the dark with the unsub, how and why he couldn't fathom except that every fear he'd had came true. He knew Aaron would get in too deep. He'd catch a break, he and Spencer would crack it wide open, and then the two of them would put themselves into a situation they didn't want to be in. Couldn’t get out of.

The problem was, they didn't mean to.

“What happened?” Derek hissed, approaching cautiously with his flashlight poised ahead of him. Afraid to point it right at Aaron, he captured Spencer in the beam. He was hovering over Aaron's limp form, his hands flying fast over his body, searching for wounds beneath folds of soft fabric and tufts of hair. There hadn't been a gunshot but there was blood. Enough to be scary.

“She went that way!” Spencer shouted angrily at them, cursing them for stopping when he was already there. One set of hands was plenty and of all people he did not want Derek hovering over him. Not now. “Emily and Tara are following her. Go, go!”

“We need a medic!” Rossi shouted into his comm, dropping down beside Aaron and Spencer. Derek followed Luke and JJ down the corridor, there wasn't anything he could do for Aaron that Spencer and Rossi couldn't. What he could do was get the damn unsub and end this.

Of course nothing was ever quite that simple. There was a mass of confusion, of loud gunshots flashing in the dark, bullets connecting with metal, boilers hissing steam and voices calling out for an end to the shootout. They were going to destroy the school at this rate.

“You're surrounded, Ashby! There's nowhere to go!”

“You kill me, you never find those other kids...”

Emily glanced at Derek in the dark, a desperate and fearful look. Kids? Two more bodies had been found so far, she should only have one by their count, just Malachai, he was the only one she had kept even after more went missing. She was playing her trump card.

“We don't want to hurt you, Ashby,” Aaron said in a weak, hollow voice. A. She wasn't writing A for Aaron, she was writing A for Ashby. That thought had been circling his mind since the moment he saw her face. She’d signed her name and if he’d only been more with it, been awake instead of riding the waves of insomnia, he would have asked her name. He would have put it together. When Garcia sent her information over to Emily at the precinct, Derek’s heart sank. He knew. “Reid just sent me an SOS. I think they have her. We need to move fast.” One quick search through her laptop led to photos of Derek, of Jack, of Hank. Aaron’s press conferences from years before, papers he'd written, everything. Even information about Savannah overseas. Her entire hard drive was devoted to Aaron Hotchner and his life. She had even followed him home, followed his son to school, his partner to work...she knew everything about him.

But he wasn't afraid of her. She didn't seem to want to harm him at all, she just wanted him to notice her. He could do that. Or so he hoped, because in the condition he was currently in...he might not have much time to get the job done. The world swam in a sea of muted black and gray, swirling like an angry whirlpool. He was doing everything in his power not to be sick.

There was no way he could sit up on his own, let alone walk. He was being helped down the hallway, draped over Spencer and Rossi's shoulders, blood running into his eyes from a wound on his scalp. He needed medical attention fast, but he also knew he was the only one who could talk to her. She wouldn't listen to anyone else, she'd done all of this for him. It was one big love letter.

“They were your favorite chocolates!” she cried out into the darkness. “The ones with the gooey mint inside. You didn’t even look. You just tossed them in the trash.”

“I’m sorry, Ashby,” he said quietly, though it came out in more of a jumble than he’d hoped. She laughed at that and he decided it was in his best interest to stay quiet. She was building up to something.

His getting involved was by design. All of this was. When he scorned her gifts, she made sure the BAU came, knowing he couldn't say no. The coffee and chocolate had been a mistake, she knew that now. He wouldn't accept gifts of food from a stranger, that made sense. It had hurt at first but she forgave him. But the disappearances, well they were the perfect. He couldn't not help. It was all just bait and he took it. He’d never felt more like a silly old man.

“Do you like it? This was all for you. You won't even give me a chance. Our lunch date meant so much to me, the way you looked at me and talked to me...but then you ignored me. I had to get all of these people out here just for you to pay attention.”

“I know that you feel like an outcast. That these students mocked you, and that you've been keeping score. I know that Melissa and Tamika made fun of you in the showers, and they told you that a man like me would never see anything interesting in someone like you. I know that Shelly told you I only liked men and that you were being ridiculous. And I know that Malachai stood you up for a date...” Aaron was speaking between pained breaths, it came out slow and almost slurred in places. His arms being raised pulled at the angry, splintering pain of his broken ribs. Derek was afraid for him, but he kept his gun trained on the unsub as he listened to his partner try to grasp at the deep roots of his crisis negotiation knowledge. He would let Aaron try this tactic, try talking, but he wasn’t planning to let it go on too long.

Any move at all and he was shooting. He was not fucking around.

“Malachai thinks he's so smart,” Ashby said, and in the flare of the flashlight on her face Derek could see tears and the flash of the gun. She had it to her own head now. “And so do you. You just think he's so great.”

“He is smart,” Aaron whispered, hissing when Spencer moved against his side. His ribs flared pure white hot pain, and there was a nagging pull in his hip that felt like fire. “But so are you. I read your article on BTK in the school newspaper. Your analysis was...” his eyes closed for a moment and he almost gave in. His vision was swimming, going from black to gray, spotted with flashing lights. The pain in his head was almost overwhelming. “I'm sorry. My head hurts quite a lot, Ashby. Your analysis of BTK was fascinating. You um...” he sucked in a ragged breath. “You asked me questions about switching programs. If you haven't made up your mind yet, you're surrounded by the best team of profilers the FBI has, and I'm sure they'd love to talk to you. If you could just...” Aaron went limp mid-sentence, unable to hold on any longer. The pain in his head was shredding his conscious. Rossi quickly pushed him over entirely onto Spencer so he could get his own gun. Things were going to happen fast if he wasn't able to continue.

Spencer wrapped his arms around Aaron, holding his entire body up as long as he could.

“Just what?” Ashby asked, her voice thick with tears. “I just love you so much. Don't you see that? Don't you see how good I could be for you? You need someone to take care of you. Who appreciates you.”

Derek scowled and primed his trigger finger, feeling slighted by the attack. As if he wasn’t a good partner. As if he wasn’t everything Aaron needed and more. As if their relationship was trivial and meaningless.

“Agent Hotchner isn't able to speak right now. You hurt him very badly. We need to get him to a hospital...would you put down your weapon and come with us?” Rossi didn't even flinch, didn't hesitate when he called Aaron Agent, and Ashby frowned.

“You mean Professor Hotchner. He's retired. He's finished with you.”

“Right. I'm sorry, just a force of habit. I've known him for many years.”

“Let me see him.”

“No. He's hurt. Ashby, you need to put the weapon down.”

It didn't take long before she decided she was being lied to, that they were concealing something under the shroud of dark. That something about Rossi didn't sit well, that Aaron was being kept from her on purpose. That he was simply pretending to be hurt so she would listen to them and do as they said. Just hiding from her.

Or maybe dead, and if he was dead then she had nothing left. All of this was for nothing. That thought did her in, and soon after the bullets were flying again madly into the darkness. She didn't really intend to kill anyone, she had her eyes closed. She really just wanted them to kill her. If Aaron was gone she had nothing left.

Derek felt a bullet graze his arm, slicing hot fire through his skin like a molten knife. He did not miss this part of it. This bullshit. He really fucking hated being shot at, and he hated actually getting hit even more.

“Spencer,” Aaron whispered, grappling with consciousness. The sound of Derek crying out that he'd been hit stirred something in him that had been dormant a long time now. He could feel it vibrating in him. “My gun...”

“No way. Morgan will kill me.”

“Spencer...now.”

He managed to grab his ankle holster, his familiar friend, and in the madness he could somehow make out Ashby's face flickering in the flashlights and gunfire. His vision was red, eyelashes sticky with blood, but his sight...he knew he would hit her. He had the only vantage point that was a sure success, no tanks or other pieces of large equipment in the way. Some feeling, a strange icy feeling, flowed from his shoulder to his fingers and he knew...

Bullets were flying, she was going to hit one of them soon. He could hear Derek's voice, mad as a damn hornet, and he knew that for now Derek was okay. Hurt, yes, but not dying. Not yet. He had to do it now or she was going to kill someone. If he hesitated. And that someone might be Derek...his righteous anger coursed through him.

He aimed his sight right between her eyes and clicked down just a notch, just enough to put her down without killing her. He didn't want to kill her, he felt sad for her. He felt guilty for whatever he'd done to make her feel this way. But he was also angry that this entire situation was happening at all. She fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, a heavy thud, blood seeping out of a wound in her shoulder. She didn't try to get back up, didn't even try to move. She just cried.

“Is he dead?” she asked at the sound of the gun being kicked out of the way of her hand. “Is Aaron dead?”

“No. He shot you.” JJ's voice, stern and uncharacteristically cold, rang clear through the new unsettled silence. He could hear Ashby laugh, then, and it sent a chill down his spine. Laughing and crying.

“But he didn't kill me...” she sang quietly, smiling. “He must love me. He didn't kill me.”

“I will if you don't shut the fuck up,” Derek spat, walking past her with his hand covering the wound on his arm. Blood pooled between his fingers and the feel of it just made him angrier. He wasn't an FBI Agent and he sure as shit didn't have to watch himself anymore. This was fucked up and he was pissed. No, he wasn't going to shoot her, he had no desire to go to prison himself but he'd be damned if he was going to sit there while she spouted off about how much Aaron must love her if he had the shot and didn't take it.

Meanwhile, Aaron lay slumped against Spencer, the smell of gunpowder fresh in his nostrils. “...'m gonna be sick...” he mumbled seconds before emptying the contents of his stomach all over the ground where Spencer had been moments before. His reflexes were just sharp enough to save him from that. Derek rushed to where Aaron was, sat down beside him while he tried to get the sick feeling to pass, and frowned.

“What'd you have to go and chase this chick for huh? You couldn't wait?”

“Didn't chase her. She would...she was going to kill Malachai...did you get him? Is he safe?”

“Yeah, man. We got him, he was in the closet in the photo lab. He's with Tara now. What the hell happened? You said you wanted to show Reid something and next thing I know you're unconscious at the bottom of a stairwell...”

“I showed Reid the chocolates...my office...she walked in...it’s the student I had lunch with, Derek. The coffee...the chocolates...she wanted to...to show me something down here…” Malachai, he thought. She was going to show him what she’d done to Malachai. He gagged painfully again, this time a strangled sob escaped along with it. His chest hurt so bad. It had been a long time since he'd had a head injury that made him sick. “She let Reid go, but he followed us. When she went after him, they were near the stairwell. I got her off of him, and she threw me down the stairs. She didn't mean to hurt me...said she was sorry before she ran...she said she loved me...I didn't even know her name until today and she said she loved me...” He wasn't crying, exactly, but he was damn close. This was too much, it was just too fucking much. What was it about him that made people behave this way? Foyet? Peter Lewis? Now this?

“Looks like we need to start up our hand-to-hand training again huh?” Derek asked, keeping his voice as casual and light as he could. He pulled Aaron close to him. Just having him close right now was all he really wanted. The sound of his body hitting the ground, the silence that followed, it made him feel hollow inside. “You need a refresher course.”

They wheeled Ashby out on a stretcher and she stared at them sitting on the floor waiting their turn, at Derek holding Aaron there by his side. The sight of her made him angry all over again. But he won, he was the one who got to hold Aaron. Who got to take him home and kiss him and love him. It was childish of him to be angry like this, the girl had serious problems and he did feel for her...but she’d nearly taken something from him. Something big. She’d been stalking his family, prepared to go to great lengths. She had pictures of his toddler on her laptop, pictures of Jack who had already lost one parent to violence. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share any of that with Aaron, it might be better that he didn’t know.

Aaron didn't seem to notice her passing at all, he just let his miserable head rest against Derek's shoulder. His t-shirt was cool against Aaron's too hot cheek. It would be fine if he just...closed his eyes...for a minute...

(8)

“A concussion, two broken ribs, stitches in your scalp and a pretty badly bruised up hip. You're a complete shit show, you know that?” Derek said every word with love and exhaustion competing for top spot. He thought they were past all of this, but he had to admit...it was about one million times better sitting side by side like this, knowing they would go home and lick their wounds together. Sleep in the same bed, care for each other. No one was going home alone. That was a far cry from the old days.

They both had enough sick leave stored up to take real time away from work. To heal. Hell, the university was practically throwing sick leave at Aaron to make sure he was placated. Didn’t find a reason to pursue legal action...he wasn’t even thinking about it, though. But he’d take the time off.

And they would both have to tell Jack what happened. Do that walk of shame. He was already upset, this was just going to make it unbearable. Maybe they’d take a trip, go hole up at the lake cabin for a few weeks, repair things with some quiet quality time in the woods.

“You're not so hot yourself. You have twelve stitches. That tattoo's never going to be the same.”

Derek was a little upset about that. About the bullet ripping right through his ink, but he had been thinking about a new tattoo and maybe this was the reason to do it. Have it fixed, changed to meet where he was in life now. Who he was. In the meantime, his arm hurt like a bitch. They’d stuffed it into a sling for him and while he usually ripped them right back off, this time...he was going to leave it. The way it took the pressure off eased the pain some.

“You remember what Spencer was saying a few weeks ago? About one of us getting hurt and not having rights in the hospital?”

“Me. He said me, Derek. But yes I recall the discussion.”

“Guess he wasn't so far off, huh?”

It hadn't been easy, getting in there. They had to wait in separate triage rooms, sign papers, call him the emergency contact in the interim just to move things along. It was a little insulting having their entire relationship relegated to the emergency contact line of an intake form.

“I suppose not. At least we were both conscious when we came in. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah. Might not be so fortunate next time. So...I was thinking...you wanna hitch your cart to this wagon officially? Bet we could find a chaplain around here somewhere and...”

“I do want to marry you, Derek. But not in a hospital with a splitting headache and stitches in my head. Can we wait a couple of weeks?”

“I've already been waiting a lifetime, what's another couple weeks huh?”

Aaron laughed and groaned with tears in his eyes, one palm pressing into his aching side. “Don't make me laugh. Please.”

“Right. Sorry.” Derek put his arm around Aaron and rested his head against Aaron's temple. “You know, it’s pretty cool. I'm basically getting married to Indiana Jones. College professor who likes to throw down a little action montage in his spare time. You haven't lost anything in your old age, even if you do eat Tums with your coffee and think I don’t see it.”

“Derek…” Aaron began, ready to tell him he was having second thoughts about the whole school thing. About teaching. Derek seemed to know without him saying a word.

“Okay okay. Let's go home, the team is coming over for dinner tonight and I'd like to get a few hours of sleep before they take over our house. We’ll talk about the future career path of Aaron Hotchner afterward...”

It was 3am. The last time they'd seen 3am like this...well they couldn't remember. They were beat. Aaron thought he might even be able to get more than three hours of sleep.

(x)

The noise level in their small house was almost deafening, and Aaron was for once glad that the hearing in his right ear was slowly giving out. He was propped up on the couch with ice on his hip (and his head) while Derek and Jack ushered anyone who wanted it around for the grand tour. There wasn't much to it, the house wasn't large. It was the perfect size, old woodwork, simple neutral design, Aaron's damn boats. The kids' rooms had more personality than anywhere else except the backyard which was a sight to behold. Derek had built boxes and boxes while Aaron filled them with dirt and plants and life. They had a hammock that stretched between two old maple trees that would blanket their yard in gold to be raked up once autumn hit.

“Your house is nice,” Emily said, plopping down on the couch beside Aaron. He let out a little whimper at the jarring movement and nodded.

“It is.”

“I don't know what I pictured, really...but this isn't it. It's so...”

“Normal?”

“Yeah. Normal. You and your fucking boats...what's with that anyway?” She was staring at a painting of an old boat hull over the mantle. Gray and brown wood set against shocking green water and huge evergreens. He followed her gaze and smiled.

“My grandfather painted that. He had a cabin on a lake in northern Idaho, and there's this boat that was sunk there. The Tyee II. You can still see the hull today, it's sunk in this little bay. It was the last wood-burning tugboat on the lake, hauling logs to the Diamond Matchstick Company. He sat on the beach and painted this right after my grandmother told him she was pregnant with my father and wanted to move back to Virginia to be closer to her family. When I lived in Seattle, Haley and I took a trip over to that lake. We stayed in a gorgeous resort and managed to find our way up the eastern side of the lake all the way to the wreckage of this boat...it looks almost the same now, a little worse for the wear but preserved shockingly well. On the mantle, there's a framed photo of Haley in the water beside the boat as it was when we went.”

“Okay, warn me next time you're going to give me a history lesson...” she smirked, tossing back the rest of the blood red wine in her glass. “I'm kidding. That's amazing. Sometimes I wonder why I decided not to have roots like this. But then I look at Derek's face yesterday when he saw you on the ground and I know...I can't do that.”

“You could.”

“I don't want to.”

“That's fine. You don't have to.” He let out a small sigh and leaned to the side, resting heavy against her. He was too tired to support himself any longer. Everything hurt. “I saw the way you looked at me yesterday.”

“Yeah. Don't you ever...ever do anything stupid like that again. I have Luke and Matt to break down doors and make stupid fucking decisions now, I don't need you and Morgan adding to my troubles. God. Seriously, Hotch. Tell Emily I’m sorry?! What were you thinking?!”

“Where is Matt?”

“Oh, he's on leave, his wife just had another kid. They have so many, like probably a whole sports team...all adorable. With him out, I thought I was in the clear...wasn't going to have anyone trying to get themselves killed for a while...”

Aaron smiled. “There's nowhere to add any more gray hairs, you’re all full up.”

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuck you asshole. You retire and move in with someone you love and you think you suddenly have jokes?” She didn't move though, not even when he started to feel heavy. Not even when she wanted more wine but his head was on her shoulder and she could feel his shallow, pained breaths starting to slow and even out. She just managed to flag down Tara who refilled her glass for her, offering a sweet little wink for her trouble. “You know, you guys could consult for us sometimes. No field work, for the love...no field work. But you could consult, if you wanted to. Having you two doing some of the thinking really helped us out. You saved that kid.”

“The team saved him,” Aaron corrected, his eyes drifting shut. “He would never have been in trouble...you never would have been there if not for me. It was all my fault.” His head hurt so bad, he just wanted to sleep. Not allowed to watch television or even read, not allowed to do much of anything but live life as a fixture on the couch for a few days...he didn't miss this. Not even a little. He could hear Jack in the kitchen telling Tara about him being little and knowing that his dad got hurt by whatever meal they had when he got home. If he was okay, they would cook. If he wasn't, it was hot dogs or canned soup. Something that required minimal effort, minimal time, minimal standing. Or Jessica would stay and cook them something, but he didn't like that as much because hurt dad didn't bother forcing him to eat vegetables the way aunt Jess did.

He peered into the swirling house, a sea of people in shapes and colors and sizes that confused his rattled brain and smiled. This house had seen its fair share of gatherings with Derek's family, or co-workers, Jack's friends, preschoolers for Hank's birthday...but it was a strange comfort having this particular group of people all under their roof. Luke and Spencer were standing and admiring the Tyee painting over the fireplace with their hands locked together (while Luke asked Spencer if he knew about all of Aaron's marksmanship awards and wondering if he could talk Derek into some hand to hand time just to see if he could take him), JJ and Tara were entertaining Jack in the kitchen, Penelope hadn't put Hank down the entire time she'd been in the house. She was glued to him, and he was thrilled to have someone to babble to about everything he loved. Aaron was a little worried she might try to stuff him in her purse when it came time to leave. He was pretty attached to the little guy. Derek and Dave were out back smoking cigars while Derek asked him for landscaping advice he didn't really need, he just liked to listen to Dave talk. He missed that. Dave had landscapers and groundskeepers who did the work for him, but he was the one who spent all the time dreaming up his spaces. He lived for entertaining, for filling his home with people he loved, and Derek thought now he understood exactly why. Their home never felt lonely, and it was rarely quiet, but this was a special kind of alive that he didn’t realize he was missing. These old friendships, they were missed.

“We're going to get married, you know.” Aaron whispered it, already half asleep, through barely parted lips. Emily nodded and hummed. “Soon. You'll come back for that won't you?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world." She paused, licking her lips and glancing around the room at all of these people she loved who seemed so at home in this place they'd never been. Home wasn't a place, it was people, she'd come to learn that the hard way. "Are you happy, Hotch? Even after all of this? You’re really really happy with this life?” She couldn’t shake it, that guilty feeling that in the morning they’d all go back to Virginia and she’d return to her office that used to be his office. Her desk that was his desk. She needed to hear him say he wanted it this way. He would choose this way again and again. She needed it like she needed air.

“Mmm,” he hummed, nodding. “Yes. I am. Stop worrying. Let me sleep."

[mainsbe]

Rocky balboa speech subtitles

#ROCKY BALBOA SPEECH SUBTITLES MANUAL#

Use conventional and unconventional methods to solve problems.Breakdown problems systematically and address them layer by layer, to hit at the source of your mentee’s challenges.If your mentee struggles to take great strides, use baby steps to overcome the most difficult challenges.Customize learning experiences, based on your mentee’s evolving needs as they progress.Do not underestimate your abilities and their impacts on others.Here are the key takeaways, one can walk away with from this experience: Aaron continued to make great strides and advised me that he could speak confidently to his colleagues at work at a major telecommunications company. My goal was to test his ability to deliver prepared speeches as well as his ability to improvise. None of this is textbook, but thought to myself, the best test is to put Aaron through a variety of situations, where he must engage people differently. I had also planned for him to reach people with different English accents to call him to test his listening skills and his ability to respond from the feedback I receive from the caller.įor further learning, my recommendation to Aaron was to set up a test panel interview with my industry acquaintances to put Aaron through the wringer. Each week as I detected improvements, I kept asking him what he struggles with and, as a boxing coach, get him to hit that punching bag with new methods and techniques. My volunteer work with Aaron was not over, and I spent a few more months to put him through my boot camp program to deliver the knock out punch. Here was a man who was willing to do anything within his means to face his most difficult challenges despite the odds. Working with Aaron for almost a month, I could see dramatic improvements in his speech delivery, and he kind of grew on me. Perhaps, I made a difference in people’s lives in the past but was too humble to take credit for what I had done. An amazing thing happened at this moment, he said I was his “guru.” For decades, I have always been a humble individual and was deeply moved that, for the first time in my life, I had made such a significant difference in one’s life. When a coach teaches a boxer a technique, and it delivers the knock out punch, I cannot tell you how gratifying it was for me to hear this change in his speech delivery. I guess this sounds ludicrous, but thought to myself, it’s working! Excited by this development, I asked Aaron to read a multitude of sentences, and when he assumed an “angry” persona, he was confident in his delivery. For some strange reason, when he did this, his confidence levels shot through the roof, and his sentence clarity improves by 75%. My suggestion to him at this point was to ask him to repeat the sentences back to me a second time, except on this occasion, I asked him to imagine that he was angry and distraught at me. After reading these sentences, I could detect improvements however, his confidence was still an issue. At this point, I found a couple of test sentences off the internet and requested Aaron recite them to me.

#ROCKY BALBOA SPEECH SUBTITLES MANUAL#

Toastmasters International has a method and a manual for this purpose but decided that I would intentionally avoid the ‘cookie-cutter’ approach and challenge the status quo.Įven after all of this, something was not clicking, and I was on the last straw. While I was excited about his enthusiasm, I had a moment of hesitation fearing the unknown, if I could help him. Due to this fact, I was willing to do anything to change his circumstances. I had to hand it to Aaron, that he was tough as a nail. I was not sure how he would take it, so I spent a few minutes speaking about my work experience and why I would be his ‘go-to’ man for all things public speaking. (To respect his privacy lets call him Aaron) I called Aaron, cut to the chase, and did the unthinkable, I offered to be his mentor to help him build his confidence and public speaking skills. After seeing him struggle for a few weeks, I could not bear to see him melt like a stick of butter on stage and decided to contact this man. On top of this, English was his second language, and as a result, enunciation was an uphill task for him. It was at this club that I noticed a young man who would attend week after week, struggling to build his confidence in public speaking. Last year, I returned to my greatest love, public speaking at a local Toastmasters club here in Vancouver, Canada.

[ashbrea381writings]

Flying Blind: Chapter 2, Meeting the Bats

“Bunnyx? Should I be concerned?” Ladybug asked, turning to look at the person behind her. Bunnyx was obviously a good five or so years older than the rest of the team, and Batman would have shrugged it off if it weren’t for the next words from Bunnyx’s mouth.

“Nah, I wanted to be at this meeting since current me wasn’t.” Bunnyx pulled up a chair and flipped it backwards to sit on it that way. “To explain, Batman, I can’t tell them too much or the timeline would become unstable, and that really isn’t good. I help where I can and where they are going astray from the correct timeline.”

“Who is to say the correct timeline?” Robin asked. “Couldn’t you nudge it into a more favorable outcome?”

“Not without disappearing. Back to the Future style.” Bunnyx commented bitterly. “Been there, almost disappeared, it sucked. But I can tell you this, LB, it’s okay to trust them with the info you’ve got so far. They’re very helpful.”

“Thanks Bunnyx. Sticking around?” Ladybug asked, handing them a plate with some pastries.

“For the best pastries in Paris for free? Yes, for sure.” Bunnyx started laughing as they took the plate and took a few steps back. “I’m probably gonna let you all strategize without me though, I just wanted to hear the convo I missed the first time ‘round.”

“Oh please, you know they would feed every one of you guys for free if you asked. Unless you’ve had a falling out in the future I don’t currently know about?” Ladybug teased, loosening up more than she had so far.

“Nah, but at the point I’m at, I’m trying not to drain them, you have no idea how much time travel makes you hungry.” Bunnyx chuckled. “Besides, with the rest of these guys stopping by constantly, I’m surprised they even manage to make any money.”

Ladybug shook her head but didn’t comment, turning back to Batman and sighing. “We also have a friend who cannot always help out in battle for civilian reasons. That is Tempest, who has the ability to transform into three different forms; lightning, air, and water.”

“And you’re all about the same age?” Batman asked, his frown deepening.

“More or less, within about a year and a half from oldest to youngest.” Chat confirmed as Ladybug nodded. “We try not to advertise our real ages for both identity reasons, and to try and control just how many people don’t want us doing this due to our ages.”

“And you have no mentor? No Adult to pull you out if things get rough?” Batman’s voice was incredulous, and he sat up even straighter in his seat.

“Unless you count Bunnyx who jumps back from the future now and then to check in.” Chat joked, poking said hero in the ribs.

“Watch it, Kitty-Cat, I can and will send my younger self something embarrassing about you.” Bunnyx slapped his hand away, but sounded bored.

“Who gave you your powers then? You said before that you got your abilities from items?” Robin asked, leaning forward and bracing his arms on the table.

“Like I said, he gave up his memories to protect more of the artifacts.” Ladybug sighed, “The items in question are individually called the Miraculous. There is a box that I have custody of that usually holds them. I won’t say how many there are. Right now I’m letting each person here use one, Chat and I were picked by the former Guardian. When Hawkmoth found out the identity of the former Guardian, he attempted to find out our identities too and wanted to steal the box for himself.” Ladybug stood and began to pace slightly in the little room there was. “During the battle, Chat and I were able to retrieve the contents, and the former Guardian transferred his title to me. The magic of the Miraculous wiped his memories to keep the secrets of the Miraculous from ever being taken from him.”

“So not only are you a superhero as a teenager, but you guard a set of ancient artifacts that each hold incredible power?!” Batman stood abruptly. “If there is some sort of title involved, who gave that title to your mentor?”

“People who are a combination of long gone or not welcome here due to antiquated ways.” Ladybug snapped harshly. “Do not presume to know what is going on with us. Age does not mean wisdom, just that you assume you know what is best for other people.”

Batman took a step back and sighed. “I am angry on your behalf that you were put under this amount of pressure.” He took a moment to calm himself and shook his head. “Am I correct to assume that Hawkmoth is of a similar age to me?”

Ladybug studied Batman for a few moments, sharing glances with a few of the other teammates who all made some sort of gesture or facial expression that they understood among themselves. “Roughly, yes, we cannot be precise but I would judge you and him to be within 3 or so years of each other.”

“What other information do you have? We might be able to help figure him out.”

“It will be difficult, the magic of the Miraculous makes it difficult to pinpoint an identity, and tends to make you want to drop the search. Although, there are some exceptions. Rena figured Carapace out after meeting him in the mask twice.” Ladybug pointed out. At that comment, Rena chuckled and elbowed a blushing Carapace.

“Not fair, LB, you know why it was that easy for her to figure me out.” Carapace muttered, pulling his hood lower over his face.

“My point is, maybe someone with an outside perspective would be able to push past it.” Ladybug shook her head at her friends. “Here, this has everything we’ve observed about Hawkmoth, and information that will help you to identify him more easily. Some of that information covers Miraculous holders in general from our own observations about ourselves. Don’t look into our identities with this, just Hawkmoth.”

“What kind of information?” Batman asked, taking the flash drive.

“How much of a height difference we have when we transform, how much things like hair and eye color change, Chat is an exception for the eyes part.” Chat gave a bow as Ladybug said his name. “It also has Hawkmoth’s approximate measurements from what I’ve been able to figure out the few times we’ve seen him in person. He’s a very tall, slender man.”

Batman handed the flash drive to Robin, who plugged it into a screen on his glove, asking quietly, “Hmmm, how accurate are these measurements and how did you get them?”

“I’m good at sizing people, there’s a civilian reason for it that I won’t name. I could probably give you yours if you wanted.” Ladybug chuckled.

“She’s nearly dead-on, actually, I’ve seen it in action.” Chat added, smirking. “Like that time she figured out who was who at a costume party.”

“That was one time and it was a bet, King Monkey should have known better than to challenge me, he’s known me for years.” Ladybug sniffed. “Besides, it was a good team-building exercise for me to identify you guys in the crowd while you switched costumes.”

“Team building exercise?” Batman seemed unconvinced.

“We’d only just decided that we all needed to know who each other were. So we went to a big costume party with several quick change outfits and tried to identify each other so we’d always know who was who even if we switched Miraculi.” Ladybug explained.

“You all know each other as civilians?” Robin asked, looking shocked.

“After what happened with the former Guardian, I was rather… Stressed and didn’t have a way to tell anyone why it was so bad, so I confided in Rena, and she basically told me that it was time we all knew each other. She’d known Carapace from the start and he found out about her shortly after, so it was something that just made sense. We coordinate better now and know what’s going on in each other’s lives and can adjust for it.” Ladybug shrugged. “We know if one of us is sick, or busy, or can’t get away from civilian life long enough to handle Akuma’s now. We’re more coordinated in our plans and can cover for each other both as heroes and civilians.”

“Do your families know you’re all doing this?” Batman asked quietly, seeming to think about the situation.

“One of us has parents that know, I won’t say who.” Ladybug crossed her arms and stared the Bat down.

“And what do they think?”

Chat chucked, “They’ve basically adopted everyone who wasn’t their kid already and told everyone to stop by anytime. They also keep an eye on the news and give excuses for the one that’s their kid to make sure they get to be at Akuma fights when they’re needed for it.”

“They also offered to patch us up if there’s ever an injury that the Cure doesn’t fix. We haven’t run into that problem yet though.” Honey Bee added, making a gesture like she would start touching up her manicure before being stopped short by her gloves. “By the way, Bug, you need to teach us how to adjust our suits manually, you said there was a way.”

“That’s an entire Saturday on it’s own, Bee, save it for the next girl’s day.” Ladybug waved her off casually.  “Now, I’m sure you guys have what you need to start the investigation with you?”

“Yes, we’ll keep you posted.” Batman held out a comm unit to Ladybug. “The batteries last three days, if it takes longer than that I can meet you here to switch out. It’s also undetectable while you’re wearing it and muting it and turning it on and off is intuitive.”

“MmmmHmmm, I’m willing to bet it’s also a tracker. Pegasus, take a look?” She passed the device to said hero and he plugged it into a small tablet he pulled out of a pocket.

“There is the ability for it to track movements, but that was disabled before I even touched it.” Pegasus handed it and Ladybug tucked it into her ear, testing the settings a bit before leaving it muted but on.

“I know how important secret identities are, the tracker is only in there because it’s the same type as what Robin uses and I’d rather not have him injured somewhere and not be able to get ahold of him.”

“I still don’t like the tracker either, B.” Robin muttered, causing the Miraculous holders to chuckle.

“We can track each other when we’re suited up.” Ladybug swept a hand around the group. “It’s useful to know when each other is on the way or where someone is when you need to meet up.”

“Anyway, we all have places to be, so we’ll check in once and a while through LB to see how it’s going.” Chat said, cleaning off the table and tucking the dishes back into the baskets they came from. “Bee, here’s yours, I think you’ll be missed sooner.” He passed one off the Honeybee who promptly zipped away on her top, waving as she passed over the building. “LB, delicious as always, I need to convince them to teach me their ways.” He sighed, handing Ladybug a basket.

“Don’t be shy, if you ask I’m sure they’d show you. They don’t have anyone willing to take over when they retire, and it might be good for you to have a job like a normal person.” She laughed, taking the larger basket and setting it on the ground before wiping down the table with a cloth she’d pulled out.

“Don’t think I won’t… Next time I’m home alone for the weekend, I’m there.” He laughed and collapsed the table after she wiped it. One by one, the other Miraculous holders put away the chairs and helped Chat wrangle the table into it’s storage shed.

“How often do you guys do this?” Robin asked, watching as the other heroes took off in separate directions.

“As often as we have the time and can get away from our civilian lives. Since we all know each other, it isn’t as hard as it was.” Ladybug shrugged, ruffling Chat’s hair.

“We keep it to a reasonable amount of time and not everyone is always able to make it, but it’s always a nice way to get in some bonding time with the team.” Chat added, pushing Ladybug’s hand off of him. “We’re basically family to each other at this point, so we don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t spend time together. I gotta run, it’s almost time for my next thing.” He sighed and launched himself up with his stick, waving at them and running across the rooftops.

“We’ll be in contact, and I’ll be listening on the comm.” Ladybug pointed to her ear where the device was invisible to any who didn’t know it was there.

With that, the rest of the remaining heroes left, leaving Batman and Robin in a closed-off alley with a beautiful garden and a small shed. “Want me to check what else is in the shed?” Robin asked after making sure his comm was muted.

“No, there was nowhere to hide anything, it’s only big enough for the stuff that’s in there and they left it open the whole time we were talking.” Batman sighed and looked at the sky that was going pink with dusk. “Let’s get to the hotel.”

[avenging-criminal-bones]

Claustrophobic

Spencer x Reader

Requested?: YES

Word Count: 2264

Warnings: Mentions of unsub, guns, violence, hurt/comfort, panic attack

A/N: SORRY! I kind of got carried away with the prompt from anon

* * * * *

If there was one thing that no one on the team knew about you, it was your extreme claustrophobia. Small spaces, dark corners, the whole nine-yards would set your off in a heartbeat. Especially if you had to share the space with someone else. 

No one knows. Not even Spencer. 

Who you’ve been dating. 

For almost a year. 

It stemmed from your childhood. Your parents had both died in a house fire when you were young, seven, to be exact. So when they were no longer there to take care of you, your uncle took you in and raised you as if you were already a trouble maker. 

There was a closet in your uncle’s house about four feet high and three feet by three feet as the interior. Relatively small. Whenever you needed to be punished of have anything done, you were locked in the closet. Some nights, he would be so wasted or hyped up on weed that he’d forget about you in there, leaving you overnight to fend for your food and bathroom situation. 

For eleven years that was the only form of correction that he’d give you, until you left. You got out of there as soon as you were eighteen. 

Which is why the current case put you in a sort of predicament. You aren’t in any sort of danger, at least not immediately, but the unsub had capture you and Spencer. He locked the both of you in a dark metal box. It must have been an old shipping container, since you’d chased the perpetrator into an abandoned warehouse. 

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was rough. The two of you had been drugged, just now waking up from the chloroform-induced sleep. In passing, you wondered if this was going to react badly with Spencer’s previous, forced-drug abuse. “Are you in here?”

“Y-Yeah. Spence... where-”

“I don’t know.”

You feel him shift beside you, not being able to see him due to the pitch blackness of the storage container. A moment later you feel a presence directly beside you and jump slightly. “Wh-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Just my hand. I’m trying to gauge how wide this box is.” His voice sounds much too composed for the current situation. “Judging by the fact that I’m six foot one and my wingspan is about that same length, combined with the unfortunate reality that about three feet of my arms cannot stretch out, I’m going to guess that we are in a three by three foot container. The metallic sounds of my nails hitting the wall,” he drums his fingers a bit to show you, “means that this is a thicker metal, which translates to: no phone service.” He pauses for a second and hears the sound of your whimpering from directly in front of him. “Y/N?”

Your anxieties have been building up since you had come to your senses just a few moments before Spencer. You didn’t want to think about the fact that you were stuck in a small, dark, damp container, much like the closet from your childhood. You didn’t want to think about how you and Spencer had a shared, limited��amount of air. You didn’t want to face that reality, but Spencer wouldn’t stop talking. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer grabbed your hand, but you jerked away quickly, hyperventilating as your thoughts raced in your head. 

“I-No. I c-can’t. Spence- I can’t b-breathe. Please. Oh my- I can’t. I can’t.” Your words stutter out and they’re progressively getting more desperate. 

Spencer’s eyes furrow and he shakes his head, not that you could see the confusion written in his body language though in the darkness. 

“Y/N. We’re not running out of oxygen yet,” your breathing still came out in sharp pants, not relaxing by his words. “Judging by the burning alcoholic smell in my nose, and the fact that we woke up about seven minutes ago, lack of oxygen in this container, which has an area of 27 inches times three,” he works through the math in his head for a moment, “won’t be a concern for another 113 minutes.”

“No, no, no...” You whimper to yourself, murmuring no in hopes that your denial can magically open the container. “NO! I c-can’t- It’s not- Spence- it’s small... there’s no- I can’t...”

You interrupt yourself with quiet sobs, willing Spencer to understand what your problem is so you don’t have to try and explain it in your state. 

“Y/N? Are you- is this claustrophobia?” His voice is soft, trailing off at the end. He knows that panic attacks are a consistent sign of things like phobias and mental health disorders, but you’d never given him a reason to associate it to you. 

You nod your head, forgetting that he can’t see you until he repeats your name to try and prompt an answer. 

“Y-yes. I know. It’s dumb- I just... I can’t. Spence- It’s not. I just need- I can’t breathe.”

Spencer lowers his voice to a gentle lull, being careful not to startle you as he talks. “Y/N, I’m going to approach you. I’m going to rest my hand on your face, and I’m going to grab your right hand with my left, okay?”

Again, you nod first before answering him vocally, “Yeah, yes.” 

Spencer’s shoulders droop slightly, hearing the hitching in your voice mixed with the relief that you’ll let him help you. You feel a shift in the container as he switched from sitting to kneeling in front of you. He does exactly what he said he would and slowly, you sense him getting closer to you. After a moment of that, your chest heaves, your brain not allowing you to get a full breath in before it thinks you’re being attacked. His hand rests on your face then and he gently puts pressure on the back of your neck, alternating pressures with each of his fingers individually. 

“Can you feel me?” He asks gently, cooing into your ear in an attempt to calm you down. 

Not having words, you just shake your head. You don’t. You know that it’s there, but right now everything is just too much. There’s too much in your head, too many distractions running through your brain. 

Spencer reaches forward with his other hand and grabs your right hand like he said that he was going to. He places your hand over his heart, leaving his hand there when he did. 

“Y/N, you’re okay. We’re okay. I promise.”

It broke his heart to see you shattering like this. Something that Spencer had admired so, so much in you before you started dating was your fearlessness. Now it seemed like that was being torn away from you.  

Spencer rested his forehead against yours and sighed to himself as he kept his ministrations going on the back of your neck. 

Your breath hitched as you started to calm down. The hand on his chest clutched his once-nice shirt in your hand. It was wrinkled from the vice-like grip, but Spencer wouldn’t have cared. He just wants you to be okay. 

“S-Spencer, I can’t... I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t-” Your desperate words devolved into short pants, strangled whines as you doubled over yourself, trying to find something to anchor yourself to.

“Y/N! Hey, hey, hey. Y/N it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe, I promise.” Spencer didn’t know what to do. His heart was breaking for you; he hated the way you were shaking so badly, and sobbing so openly. 

You sat there a few minutes with Spencer trying to calm you down. Eventually, your breathing calmed to quiet pants and hitches, and you subconsciously leaned into his hand that was cradling your face. 

You were stilled curled up, still in no position to open your eyes and look around. 

“... ‘m sorry, Spence...” You were exhausted now. There was no way you’d be able to stay awake much longer. 

“Y/N? Why are you apologizing? It’s okay to have fears. It’s okay to have crippling panic attacks. Did you know, at my niece’s birthday party last year she had a clown come?” He pauses for a second, not really expecting you to answer yet. He continues, “ Anyways, I’m deathly afraid of clowns. And this guy popped up behind me to surprise all of the children. Long story short, I had to leave early because I punched the guy in the face.”

For the first time since you two had been captured, you huffed out a short laugh. Breathlessly, you asked, “You punched a birthday clown? Oh my God, Spence.”

Spencer’s shoulders finally dropped, the tension releasing as he saw that you were slowly getting better. “Yeah, it was a catastrophe in itself.”

Reaching over, you grabbed Spencer’s hand off of his chest and held it close to your face. You snuggled up to him, ignoring the fact that he is your co-worker and this is wrong. 

“Spencer?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh slightly before asking your question. “Is the team going to come for us?”

“Oh, sweetheart... Of course. Yes. They will come for us.” 

Spencer squeezed your hand in an attempt at reassurance. He could tell that your eyelids were drooping and that you were fighting to stay awake after your panic attack. 

“Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll wake you up when you need to be alert, okay?” His voice is soft as he speaks to you. 

Your eyes were finally closing, you hadn’t even responded to his request before you were drifting. 

The sound of gun shots hitting the side of the container wakes you up quickly, jerking you out of your sleeping state. 

“Spencer?!” You exclaim, sitting up fast as you tried to adjust to the darkness to look at your teammate. 

“I’m here, I’m right here.” His hand finds yours again and he subtly tugs your closer to him, trying to keep you out of harms way of a stray bullet. 

More gunshots follow, the sound of them hitting the space around you too loud, causing you to throw your hands over your ears. 

You only pull them away when you feel a hard flinch from beside you. From Spencer. 

“Spencer..? Spence?” You flip around fast, seeing his pained face. 

You can see him. 

You shouldn’t be able to see him. You were in an enclosed space... A box... No windows. 

Except for the inch-wide hole right in front of Spencer. 

The whole from the bullet. 

That was lodged in his arm. 

Spencer’s arm. 

“No... No, no, no. NO!” Without thinking, you press against the wound in his shoulder. Too close to his clavicle. Too close to him. It’s second nature to you, but even so, you whisper sorries to him ever minute for causing him pain. 

Distantly, you notice that the gunfire had died down. The only sounds now were your dry sobs and Spencer’s labored breathing. His pained groans. Because he was shot.

“Spencer, please. Please, please stay with me. Stay with me damn it. Spence!” You can’t even tell what you were saying anymore, you just knew that you were stringing pleas from your lips to your boyfriend. 

His blood was all over your hands, spilling onto the ground. He was shaking as he reached up to grab your arm. 

“Y/N... It’s okay. I’m- It’s fine.” You chose to ignore how he didn’t say that he was fine. “It’s okay. Do you h-hear that? It’s Hotch and JJ. I’m okay.”

Suddenly, you feel even worse about the anxieties from a few hours ago. Compared to this, it seemed even less important and relevant than it had then. 

“I don’t... I don’t-” You break off, covering your mouth to keep in a louder sob. Thinking, you realize that if he wants to think that the help is here, then you need to let him. In the chance that he doesn’t-

NO. You will not think about that. 

“Yeah, Spence. I hear them. They’re rounding the corner now.” 

Your tears fall openly now, with Spencer holding your hand and the dim light from the middle of the day shining through that small hole. That tiny hole that might have decided your boyfriend’s fate. 

Sure enough though, your boss runs into view of the hole and you almost let out a sob of relief. Keeping the pressure on Spencer’s shoulder, you feel him tense beneath you. “Stay awake, Reid. You stay awake. Hear me?”

He nods his head weakly just as Hotch opens the lid. Immediately, you stand up and he helps you up before sending medics in to help Spencer. As soon as you’re out of the confinements, you collapse to the ground, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. 

You knew you’d have to tell the team about your claustrophobia when it was reported in the debrief, but for now, you didn’t have any worries other than Spencer. 

You knew he was going to be okay as soon as you sat in the back of the ambulance with him and he started spewing off facts about the likelihood of a gunshot wound to the left arm below any arteries was to do any serious damage. According to him, the number was low, so you knew that if he slept it off and got the bullet removed in time, he would be just fine. 

Silently, you mouth ‘I love you’ to Reid, him already knowing it was coming. He said it back before falling into a deep, adrenaline-crash sleep, you tucking your head right next to him and doing the same thing, hoping for a better tomorrow. 

[jeoseungsaja]

“ i don’t know what the future holds. all i know is that i hope you’re in it. “ - Shin @ Yeo 🥺

@mythvoiced ♚ from x.

♔ -----------

  Centuries lodged in their bones; wisdom of passing eras attached to their veins. You’d think that creatures with extended longevity might know it all, but there are certain things the universe still keeps away from them; secrets still in dark box, questions unanswered no matter how much they might ask. 

   The future is one of those things. One of those secrets. One of those unanswered questions. The future, unpredictable as is, might smile one day but laugh at you the next; might embrace you in warm blankets or stab you where it hurts most. It walks unbiased, with roots that become intricate, changeable pathways. 

   Kim Shin might know more about the future, considering it only takes one look for him to acknowledge someone’s fate. In one second, he can get transported into a dimension that’ll tell him if a person will be successful, if they’ll reach their goals or face disruptive kismet. He can see danger from miles away, offer sandwiches to those who need to take a detour on current path; be the guardian he’s always been, even before acquiring the abilities he current holds. 

   Wang Yeo, as a nine-tailed fox, can see a few miles ahead, too. Not so much as to reach someone’s grave, but enough to perceive what could happen if a decision is made. He can calculate some of the risks and take those that might bring the best odds, even if the probability isn’t always successful. It helps, at times. 

   What’s ironic about all of this, is that they both seem to be blind to each other’s future, like a curtain of dense smoke that doesn’t let them see what’ll happen to them. They cannot look straight upon a mirror and see their fate, they cannot look into each other’s eyes and know what’ll happen next. 

   But here, standing in front of him, of Kim Shin, Yeo feels like the future doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Knowing what’s written before letters can even reach the paper seems like cheating to him; a lack of delight in the unknown. It is frightening though, he’ll admit, especially because of what they’re facing here; of what Kim Shin faces. 

   A sword still stuck in his chest, with no other name but his own branded on the bloody hilt. No one has come forward to claim it, or to at least whisper that they can see a vision of it. Not even Yeo, and the fox is not sure of what this could mean --- if he’ll stay like this forever, blind to the blade burdening Shin’s soul, or if he’ll ever be worthy as to see the true pain embedded. 

   What will happen to them if Yeo never sees the sword?    What will happen to them if Yeo sees it?    What will happen to them once the sword is out, to Shin?

   A breath leaves red-haired individual, reaching out to hold Shin’s sleeve, just around the wrist. His mind feels convoluted, his heart feels like producing a sting. He just wants to be here, with him --- is that so much to ask? Is that too much of a burden for the universe to accept? 

   It feels as if Shin can hear his thoughts, as if Yeo’s face was painted with enough hues and streaks for Shin to interpret what’s going through his head. It feels this way, because of the words Dokkaebi decides to utter, words that make Yeo grasp onto Shin’s wrist a little tighter, a little closer. 

    Thoughts made of glass shatter as soon as Goblin’s words get wrapped around his head; attempting to come back to his usual senses. It seems Yeo can think too much about these things, swimming in the sea of notions...but Shin’s the buoy that lets him know where to go. 

    Yeo straightens his back, a little smile conquering lips due to the warmth of Dokkaebi’s words. He lifts Shin’s arm from the wrist, where his hold was before.

  “I...guess I wouldn’t mind having an antediluvian Goblin by my side for a little longer.” 

   A mechanism of defense, this part of him that teases regardless of having deep thoughts before. 

  “Or...a lot longer. Did you know we, nine-tailed foxes, can live more than a thousand years? Are you willing to be around when I get to a thousand years old? How about two thousand? Three thousand? Will you be...there?” 

   Then, he places a sunflower between Shin’s fingers; carefully and gently letting go of the hold he had around his wrist. 

   “You do know the meaning behind flowers, right? Sunflowers have plenty of meanings, but...they’re usually a symbol of longevity. Adoration, loyalty, happiness...” 

   Pure, unconditional love. 

   “It matches the sweater you’re wearing.” 

   He looks at the flower, then at the sweater and, finally, he lifts his gaze to look at Shin’s face; his eyes, his nose, his lips; the hair swaying softly due to delightful breeze. He looks at him and his heart grows, so much so, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep it in his chest for long. 

   Is it even in his chest? Maybe the ghost of it is. Because, whenever he looks at Kim Shin now, it feels as if his heart is not within his rib-cage, but under Dokkaebi’s hold...much like the sunflower he just gifted him. 

   “Stay, Kim Shin. No matter what the future holds. Stay...with me.”  

----------- ♔

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 18

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: someone last chapter said y/n was like cinderella and now i can’t forget it. i just love that movie, it’s such a good live-action remake. hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

    - Gwen, you don’t need all of this. - half the staff of the penthouse was carrying bags and more bags into the lift that was almost filled with what looked like the full contents of two medium sized bedrooms. - It’s only for three weeks, Gwen. Besides, it’s freezing cold you won’t need a bathing suit. 

    - What if dad takes me to the Caribbean for New Years? - she crossed her arms, still pulling more and more clothing off her chest of drawers making the room look more messy than a bin area. Y/N sighed, grabbing some clothes and starting to fold them, placing them on the bed. - I have to be prepared, Y/N. People cannot see me looking less than. 

   - No one would see you as less than, Gwen. - probably over the top but never less than, Y/N thought to herself. - I don’t think all of this is gonna fix in the car. You’ll probably need to put some in the front and back seat. 

   - That is a great idea. - she closed the drawer with her feet. - You can go tomorrow so we have more space in the car today. 

   - But ... Gwen.

   - You are so smart. - the heiress patted her shoulder, handing her one of her brand named luggage. Y/N just sighed, it was probably alright to go tomorrow but that meant she would miss the decorating of the big Christmas tree in the big lobby. But then again, it was Christmas, the time to think of others and if bringing the entire wardrobe made Gwen happy, then Y/N was happy.

With two luggage bags hanging from her arms and one being held in her arms, she adventured herself into the staircase. However, due to the fact her sight was obstructed by the amount of suitcases, her feet tripped over each other and soon enough she felt herself flying towards the ground. She awaited the impact but instead someone grabbed her by her arms, the only impact felt being the sound created by the bags as they hit the floor in loud bang noises. 

   - Slow down, little angel. - she bite on her lip, recognising the voice. - You could’ve hurt yourself.

   - Just some last minute packing. - Y/N jumped off his arms onto the marbled floors, straightening the fabric of her dress with her hands. 

   - Doesn’t look very last minute. - he commented. - Three weeks, huh? That’s a bit long without seeing your pretty face around. 

   - You should be saying three weeks without seeing your wife to be will be long. - she handed one of the valets Gwen’s bags before she came downstairs and started panicking. 

   - You shouldn’t lie during Christmas. It’s Jesus birthday. - he chuckled, immediately returning to his regular stoic presence once Gwen came down the stair holding another bag. - Genevieve, my whole staff should not be packing the car. 

   - Not your whole staff besides if you need anything ask Y/N, she’s still staying here for a day longer. 

   - Gwen needs space in the car. - Y/N spoke up and before Sebastian could argue her own selflessness, she, along with several bags and Gwen, were already going down in the lift to the entrance where several staff where waiting with golden rolling cages to put all the luggage in so it could be hauled easily into the car. As everything got settled and placed, Y/N peaked her head into the window. - Are you sure you’re alright going on your own?

   - Yes, Y/N. You can go now, I’ll send the car for you tomorrow.

Y/N stepped back, waving goodbye as the car drove the heiress back to her family home. Sure, deep on the inside where no one but herself could see it but her, she was grieving losing what they did just before Christmas Eve. The decorating of the tree where she could put her very old yet near and dear precious ornament on the tree, the baking of the dough for the sugar cookies so they could be baked tomorrow but Christmas was not about Y/N, it was not about just one individual, it was about being there for those you loved and despite all, Y/N loved Gwen as much as a friend could ... sadly, she might also love her husband to be. 

As the car disappeared in the horizon, Y/N returned to the lobby, smiling at the lobby staff before she entered the lift which took her back to the penthouse. She had to admit the penthouse looked beautiful in the Christmas spirit. As she noticed the Christmas tree by the piano, an idea came into her mind and like a flash, she went into her bedroom, grabbed the red box and returned to the living room. Her hands delicately opened the box, staring at the still intact by time golden ornament. In her wildest fantasies as a child, she dreamed of marrying a prince, living her own life in her own little kingdom and pass the bauble down to her offspring. Yet those were childish fantasies and every once in a while, people need to grow and get newer fantasies. 

   - Leaving the room will not stop me from arguing with you, angel. - she held the ornament to her chest, softly turning on her feet to see Sebastian standing there, looking at her with a teasing smile. - She doesn’t need all that luggage. 

   - It’s alright, Elias said he’d drive tomorrow. 

   - What do you have there? - he pointed at her red glossy box, noticing the gold written Cartier on top. - A present from Gwen?

   - Not quite. - she opened the little drawer, holding onto the golden string of the gold bauble. - Mr. Forrest gave it to me when I was little. I always put it on the Christmas tree on the 23rd. 

   - You sure you don’t want me to drive you there myself? I’m sure if ...

   - I don’t wanna bother you or the staff. They deserve a Christmas break too.

   - I don’t know if it helps but ... - he stepped next to her. - You can always put it on our Christmas tree. 

  - Why don’t you put it? - she handed him the bauble and he probably would’ve said no, had it not been by the soft smile and hopeful nature her shining eyes had as she held the string. Sebastian merely smiled back, putting the ornament in the first free branch he saw, something he hadn’t done since he was a young boy. - It looks lovely. Doesn’t it?

  - You find beauty in everything, angel. - his eyes glued on the golden necklace that was always wrapped around her neck which somehow seemed to glisten even more than before. - You know, you never really told me about that little necklace you lost when we first meet. 

  - Oh ... it was my mother’s. - she smiled. - It’s been with me for ages. It’s a robin you know? The bird. When I was a little girl I used to think that was her name, Robin. 

  - My father used to know someone named Robin. Peculiar name, isn’t it?

  - Yeah, I always wonder about them during the holidays. Do you not ... wonder about your parents that is?

  - My father and I didn’t have the best relationship but I do miss my mother. She passed away a long time ago but ... she used to have the best sugar cookie recipe. 

  - You don’t mean to tell me the mob boss cooks. - she poked his shoulder playfully. - You ought to teach me someday. 

  - Of course, now go pack. 

Y/N had spent most of the day packing, deciding what to bring and what to show to the house staff. Not that she had a lot that she could show for but she wanted to bring the dress Sebastian gave her to show to the maids of the kitchen. Also because it had quickly climbed up to be one of her favourite gowns even with all the hand me downs from Genevieve.

She had fallen asleep mumbling Christmas carols, her mind going to one of her favourite time of the years and to the smells of cooking in the kitchen. She woke up with an unusual cold rushing down her spine. She popped her head from under the covers, eyes gazing at the outside of the Upper East through her window only to see it fully covered with lots and lots of fluffy snow. Oh no.

She rushed down the stairs like a mad men, punching the button of the lift which seemed to take ages to arrive and even longer to reach the lobby. She ran to the doors, pushing it open to the see the very busy Upper East Side with nothing but people walking. 

   - I’m sorry, sir. Are any cars leaving? - she asked the valet outside the door

  - Not today, Miss. All the streets are blocked. Pretty bad blizzard last night. 

  - Oh ... - if her heart could physically break, it had just broken. - Thank y ...

  - MISS Y/N. - one of the bodyguards rushed after her. - You almost gave us a fright, you could’ve gotten hurt. 

  - There’s no cars leaving. - she spoke with the weight of the world on her voice, following the bodyguard onto the living room. Most of the staff was gone and only essential and in-house living staff was in, mostly cooking for the holidays. 

  - Angel, are you alright? - Sebastian showed up from her left, still dressed in what looked like his sleeping clothes. 

  - There’s no cars leaving NY. - Y/N didn’t dare look anyone in the eyes, afraid her overwhelming sadness would manifest into tears if she dared to do so. - The blizzard ... nothing’s leaving ... I can’t go home. 

  - Nonsense. There must be something leaving. - his hand rested against her shoulder which was rather cold due to the contact with the cold weather outside. - Why don’t you go with Amelia and have something to eat? We’ll figure it out. 

  - Yes, come Miss Y/N ... - Amelia put her hands in the small back of Y/N. - I’ll make you some warm tea before you get sick. Come on.

Y/N was rushed into the kitchen by the cook while Sebastian grabbed his phone. Surely something had to be working, it wasn’t like she could walk what would regularly be a half an hour ride, she would freeze to death. No planes or personal flying vehicles were clear for take off and no cars or drivers were being allowed to drive.

  - Angel ... - he called out for the young girl who looked bluer than night ice. - Why don’t you go and take a warm bath while I figure this out?

  - Come along now. - Amelia pushed her off her seat before she could rebuff him. As the two disappeared into the hallway, Sebastian called out whatever he had left of staff which wasn’t too much. Luckily the stores were open and brave souls could adventure themselves into walking into them.

  - Right, you all have exactly one hour to turn this house into a Christmas paradise. Food, carolling, movies, all of it. It’s an order. Now go.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir​ @stuffforreferences​ @thebadassbitchqueen

[doctorfiction]

Hi! I have a character that is shot in the head by assassins and ends up permanently blind, but without any other brain damage. As currently is, the bullet goes through the optic nerves - but is this realistic? Is there enough room between the optic nerves and the frontal lobe for a bullet to pass through? Or would it make more sense for the bullet to go somewhere else, like the occipital lobe? Thanks!

Hi! I have a character that is shot in the head by assassins and ends up permanently blind, but without any other brain damage. As currently is, the bullet goes through the optic nerves-but is this realistic? Is there enough room between the optic nerves and the frontal lobes for a bullet to pass through? Or would it make more sense for the bullet to go somewhere else, like the occipital lobe? Thanks!

This is a fantastic question and shows a good basic grasp of neuroanatomy. While a gunshot to one of the optic nerves would result in partial blindness, it would also most probably result in death, or at the very least, a devastating loss of cognitive function. Rendering the victim totally blind would require a second assault on the other optic nerve. The sum total of these combined injuries would be death or at the least a persistent vegetative stage with no conscious brain function.  Occipital lobe injury is a more plausible scenario. Even so, it’s still a very densely populated building with some very sensitive neighbors.

We will approach this dilemma in our usual manner: a minimal number of needed terms, simplified anatomy, physiology and pathophysiology with a drawing to answer your question and a twist that you might find useful in your story.

PROBLEM:

An assassin’s bullet renders a character blind but otherwise sensate with minimal to nil collateral sequelae.

SOLUTION:

What you are looking for is cortical blindness. I am going to give you a plausible scheme for this and present a related condition called blindsight that you may find applicable to your protagonist.

TERMS:

Sight: The special sense by which the color, shape, position and form of objects is perceived when the light from those objects strike the retina.

Blind: Unable to see, lacking the sense of sight.

Cortical Blindness: Loss of vision with an undamaged eye due to injury to the Occipital Cortex.

Blindsight: The ability of individuals with blindness to detect and respond to visual stimuli despite lacking awareness of having seen anything.

Occipital Cortex: Paired region of the brain divided by a sulcus (a narrow tract separating organs). It is located in the posterior and inferior aspect of the brain and takes its name from the nearby occipital bone. It is the site of Visual 1.

ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, and PATHOPHYSIOLOGY

A brief (as humanly possible) explanation of vision as it applies to your scenario; Use this in conjunction with the Illustrations for a walkthrough of the pathways for sight and blindsight.

Retina: Located at the “back” of the eye, this structure creates 2D image and converts it into electrical impulses to be transmitted to Visual 1 in the Occipital Cortex for processing. The receptors include Rods for light-sensing and gray-scale imaging and Cones for the perception of color. This organ then compresses the data to allow transfer along the limited capacity of the Optic Nerve.

Optic Nerves: Known as Cranial Nerve II (CNII), they carry monocular (one -sided) input from the Retina of each eye to the Optic Chiasm where they are converted to binocular signals.

Superior Colliculus: Paired structures in the midbrain that receive input from the optic nerve. Loosely, they allow the cortically blind to perceive and react to movement even though they cannot “see” it in the conventional sense.

Optic Chiasm: The X-shaped area where the Optic Nerves cross and combine the images from both eyes allowing for binocular and stereoscopic vision.

Optic Tracts: These continuations of the Optic Nerves carry information from both left and right eyes from the Optic Chiasm to the LGN.

Lateral Geniculate Nucleus (LGN): One of the nine nuclei the visual inputs pass through on their way to Visual 1; this nucleus is the major relay center for impulses to Visual 1.

Optical Radiations: The sorted fibers from the LGN represent the final transmission pathway to Visual 1.

Visual 1 (V1): Located along the Calcarine Fissure, this structure is the primary processing center for visual data associated with basic sight perception.

Calcarine Fissure: Narrow openings along the medial aspects of the paired Occipital Cortices where the Optical Radiations from the Lateral Geniculate Nucleus link to Visual 1.

SIGNIFICANCE:

So, the take home is this: To result in complete cortical blindness, an injury occurring prior to Visual 1 would need to be penetrating and duplicated on the contra lateral (opposite side.) Due to the other critical structures in this area, the result of the direct contact and “shock wave” of the penetrating missile (bullet) would be gross deformity, loss of cognitive and midbrain function and at best, survival on a respirator.

The only plausible scenario for a single insult resulting in bilateral cortical blindness without gross deformity and loss of cognitive and motor function would be a midline non-penetrating or minimally penetrating injury to the posterior occiput bone.

PATHOPHYSIOLOGY:

A gunshot anywhere along the described pathway will result in a visual defect, but only one spot will cause total Cortical Blindness while preserving the appearance of the eye and giving a chance to avoid catastrophic collateral damage or death.

Both Eyes: This would indeed result in total blindness but would grossly disfigure both eyes and  almost certainly be fatal.

Optic Nerve through the Optic Radiation: To cause total Cortical Blindness would require a shot on both sides and would pass through the Frontal and or Parietal Lobes. Damage would again be catastrophic with a near one-hundred percent certainty of death.

SOLUTION:

The only real possibility would be a single shot through the center of the Posterior Occiput. If the bullet were small bore (22/25 ACP) and round nose, (take a look at my previous post on the effects of different size bullets) there is the possibility that the bullet would not penetrate the occipital bone, but rather the shock wave would shatter the occiput and drive fragments through the narrow sulcus to the Calcarine Fissures bilaterally and result in total Cortical Blindness with little collateral damage.

This is a “long-shot” (excuse the pun,) but it is the most viable scenario and there are anecdotal accounts of precisely this mechanism and outcome.

Fictional Applications:

The fact that this injury leaves all of the “upstream” transmission, integration, and coding intact  allows for some interesting story applications:

Blindsight:

The protagonist is able to “see” things that others cannot:

The protagonist cannot see what’s in front of them …

 . . . but now has the ability to “see” events that are occurring elsewhere. These could be events happening now, events that are about to happen, or “cold case” events that have gone unsolved.

This provides a ready-made opportunity for introspection and character arc:

           Egocentric — Altruistic (Dr Strange)

           Bully — Protector (Pretty Woman))

           If you need a Superhero:

           Powerless — Powerful (Spiderman)

           Or if you need a Supervillain:

           Meek — Aggressor (Megamind)

 Consider the possibilities with a smashing title such as 2020 Blindsight, or Visual 1.

doctorfiction

The Doctor is In

“When to call me: you’ve been stabbed, shot, poisoned, separated from an appendage, knocked or beaten unconscious, run over by a tractor mower, or generally about to bleed to death. Otherwise, leave me alone.”  

— Aurelius Hogue MD, Doc Hollywood, 1991

Welcome. This blog belongs to a long time MD, a short time MFA. Doctor by profession, novelist by habit.

What I do on this blog: Every week, I’ll design infections, injuries, psychoses and neuroses for your fictional characters. You tell me the effect you want and I’ll tell you how they get there. Think of it as medical care in reverse.

What I don’t do on this blog: I do not diagnose or treat your real life infections, injuries, or psychiatric conditions. I do not help you undertake real-life nefarious pursuits. This advice is meant to be taken only in the spirit it is intended: helping bad things happen to good characters, fact meeting fiction.

Ground Rules: My ask box is always open, but the Doctor is only in once a week. Please keep your novel’s specifics out of your message. No character names, keep the scenarios general — we want it to be useful for more than one writer, if we can. Please do provide age and sex and any pertinent pre-existing conditions. I don’t need to see your character’s insurance card.

What is your chief complaint?

The Doctor is in.

— The Doctor

[bookwyrminspiration]

(Tw? Abuse?)

You don’t have to answer this since it’s probably a strange question and everything. But can I ask for your opinions on Keefe and tam’s trauma?

I keep seeing in the books (from Sophie’s pov) that Keefe has worse parents than tam (as stated by her) however a lot of people in the fandom say that tam had it worse? It’s just confusing me.

I’m not asking you to compare their trauma (in fact please don’t). I was just hoping to know your opinions on why there’s such a divide between the books statements and the fandom’s.

Yeah this is a part of the books that I personally...don’t think Shannon has handled entirely appropriately.

Like you said Nonsie, it’s not about comparing trauma. Trauma actually shouldn’t be compared to each other to determine “how bad” it is, you should compare your experience to what it should have been. When Sophie says, “Tam’s parents weren’t as awful as Keefe’s” (paraphrased from an in identified book) I got very uncomfortable, because that line should not have been written or published.

Both Keefe and Tam experienced abuse in different ways. They cannot be compared to each other because they are different, however they can be compared to what their childhood should’ve been. There is no “Keefe had it worse” or “tam had it worse.” Both Tam, Keefe, and Linh didn’t have the childhoods they should’ve had. People often forget that Linh also experienced trauma at the hands of her parents. They’ll say Tam was affected because of something that happened to Linh (like being banished), but then fail to say anything about Linh herself. I know we like to talk about Tam and Keefe a lot because they’re so similar, but I think we need to talk about Linh more.bBut because you asked about Tam and Keefe, I’ll stick to them for the moment.

They’ve both reacted to their situations in different ways.

Tam felt the responsibility to be stable and reliable because he had Linh to look out for. He needed to fill all the boxes for the responsibilities of the people who’d never supported him and on top of it navigate a dangerous environment. The people who were supposed to care for him couldn’t be trusted so in his mind no one could be. People can’t hurt you or betray you if you never let them in. And he’s pissed. He’s pissed at his parents and his situation and the way their society failed his sister, so he harbours a lot of resentment from that. His response to stressors now is to be guarded and defensive because he’s always had someone to defend and this was his way of doing so.

Keefe is responding to stifling expectations and emotional manipulation by ignoring them and going out of his way to do the opposite. He ditches class and makes strange friends and has hobbies his parents don’t like. He’s trying to disappoint his parents. You can’t be upset by someone being disappointed in you if that was you’re goal in the first place. Because then you can just tell yourself that what you’re doing is working and that you wanted this so really there’s nothing to be upset about. Because you wanted this. You tried to get this reaction and you succeeded. So really, isn’t that a good thing? And now in the later books we see him unable to do this in the same way, so he’s desperately trying to understand and fix what his parents (specifically his mom) are doing. In his mind he thinks there’s nothing to be upset about if he fixes it, because then the problem won’t be there anymore.

And to answer your final question to the best of my ability, I think the fandom just...has more liberty in talking about trauma and abuse than Shannon on her own does. Middle grade series often aren’t allowed to get into topics like abuse and trauma because they’re socially viewed as inappropriate due to stigma around them. So Shannon isn’t including it the way we discuss it because her hands are tied and she may even be caught up in the crowd that thinks open discussion about the effects of trauma is too much for young readers.

We, the fandom, are a group of diverse individuals with a variety of experiences and background regarding race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, family, backgrounds, family relationships, interests, and infinitely more. Simply put, the amount of research Shannon, a single person, can do on the topic and include in the books will never be able to compare to what all of us, with personal experience, will be able to accurately talk about. We are multiple complex individuals compared to a single one. We have the advantage here.

If any of this is confusing, inappropriately addressed, or something similar, please let me know. I want to be able to learn from and correct my mistakes. I hope I adequately answered your questions and approached the topic respectfully. This was an interesting aspect of the books I hadn’t thought about yet <3

[13yearslater]

Rights in the UK

I don’t really know what I’m about to write as I start this, but I’ve been feeling some feelings lately about the social and political climate surrounding trans people.

I’m grateful to be in the UK, which relatively speaking is a fairly progressive and safe country for trans people compared to many others. 

But I am still scared.

I’m not scared that I will be individually targeted and assaulted in the street. Although the 2,500 hate crimes against transgender people last year alone (a 210% increase since 2015/16) suggests that maybe my lack of concern is the privileged complacency of not being visibly trans, especially when we see that 81% of LGBT people don’t even report the hate crimes against them. That complacency lives on a tightrope however; I am one incident away, one incident of my trans status falling into the wrong hands, from realising that I am not immune to the abuse that I see my local trans sisters face on a daily basis.

And how confident would I be that any hate crime I were to experience would be dealt with appropriate and effectively? Well given that Scottish minister Humza Yousaf very almost pushed through amendments to Scotland’s Hate Crime & Public Order Bill that would directly exclude transgender people I may, perhaps naively, expect the police and courts to provide protection and justice for me now, but I am constantly reminded of just how fragile my protections are and how they can be snatched away at any given moment, and with public support. 

What really scares me is the disregard for our rights and the increasing amounts of ‘anti trans’ pressure groups in the UK who are continuing to gain support and traction, including many that are LGBT based wishing to exclude us from their community entirely. 

1. Gender Recognition Act

The Gender Recognition Act is one example I will address. This act is the means that trans people in the UK use to legally change their gender and acquire an updated birth certificate. This is a sixteen year old, heavily bureaucratic, expensive and lengthy process. It requires a payment of £140 and the following, many of which are also not free to obtain:

a) The requirement for the trans person to provide two medical reports, one evidencing a diagnosis of gender dysphoria and the other outlining details of any treatment received; 

b) The requirement for the trans person to provide a range of documentation that proves they have lived in their acquired gender for at least two years; 

c) The requirement for the trans person to submit a statutory declaration of their intention to live in their acquired gender until death; 

d) The requirement for married applicants to obtain the consent of their spouse or end their marriage;

e) The cost to the trans person of using the GRA process

It’s the very reason that over a decade later, I still have not obtained my gender recognition certificate. And given that an average of 300 GRC applications are processed each year compared to the estimated 200,000 to 500,000 trans people in the UK, I suspect I’m not the only one. 

So anyway, in 2018 there was a consultation about the Gender Recognition Act with over 100,000 respondents and promises to reform this act. The response was hugely positive with the vast majority supporting the reform. It highlighted all the issues with the process that is preventing trans people gaining legal recognition. We were all hopeful, and many of us who had been awaiting this moment to gain our own GRCs sat in wait. Unfortunately, two years later, the government announced that they had decided to scrap plans to reform the GRA altogether stating that this was not the priority for trans people. The consultation was also considered to be biased due to too many positive responses; despite only ~20% of respondents being trans themselves and ~20% being from all called upon by anti-trans groups such as Fair Play for Women.

2. The Keira Bell case

I don’t wish to get into the finer details of the case itself or my opinions on the matters involved, but to give a brief overview, a woman who transitioned and received puberty blockers at age 16, testosterone at age 17 and a double mastectomy at age 20. She later detransitioned and went on to sue the NHS (National Health Service) claiming that she was not challenged enough and that under 18s cannot consent to treatment such as puberty blockers with the aim to prevent the prescription of puberty blockers for all trans youth. 

Long story short, she was successful and the Tavistock clinic, ie the only gender identity clinic in the UK that treats trans people under the age of 18, is no longer able to prescribe puberty blockers to anyone under the age of 16, with those between 16-18 having to seek approval via court first.

If we take a look at who was involved in this court case we see Keira Bell herself and her mother as the claimants and the Tavistock clinic as the defendant. For the interested parties who had direct input into this case we had “Mrs A” - the mother of a 15yr old autistic child displaying gender dysphoria who is firmly against her child being able to access a gender clinic (interestingly, any of her input was regarded as purely hypothetical since her child had never attended, nor would ever attend a gender identity clinic), we also had Transgender Trend - an anti-trans pressure group and finally, we have the University College of London who are not gender specialists. Meanwhile, groups such as Mermaids who are a well-known charity aimed at supporting trans children and Stonewall who are campaigners for LGBT rights in the UK both applied and were both denied access to this case. The judge of course did also not have any authority on the subject. 

My issue here is yet again, how fragile my rights and protections feel and my ever waning confidence that government or legal processes are in any way fair and balanced. This was not a fair trial; there was no balance in stances, other than the defendant there were no gender specialists or even anyone heavily involved in the lives and care of trans people. The majority of interested parties were there with a firm agenda, and those that countered their beliefs were not allowed through the doors.

Puberty blockers are not an issue that affect me directly, but if a biased court taking the likes of “Mrs A” and her ‘theoretical’ input over reputable charities with a wealth of knowledge, experience and expertise can be created to make such rulings and remove healthcare from an entire demographic of people then what is stopping that happening to my healthcare? Nothing, that’s what.

3. The census

Our census takes place every ten years and has always allowed transgender individuals to choose the sex that aligns with their passport. For me personally, selecting male feels like a far more accurate representation of my place in society, my legal status and my physicality along with the fact that I have been listed as male in previous census forms. 

This year however, a second question was added. This questions asks “do you identify with your sex assigned at birth” with the options being yes or no and a box to enter further information when selecting no. The official guidance on the first question remained the same, stating that it was appropriate to select the sex that aligned with passports or legal documents. The first question allows data to be gathered on men and women, the second question allows data to be gathered specifically on the number of transgender individuals and other identities such as non binary - the two questions are entirely independent of each other and will generate separate sets of data.

But today, it came to light that anti-transgender pressure group, Fair Play for Women crowdfunded £100,000 to challenge this and bring it to court. This was successful and the official guidance has now changed to exclude all legal documents except a gender recognition certificate - which as previously mentioned, only a small percentage of trans people actually have due to the long, expensive and bureaucratic process involved in obtaining one. 

Personally, I don’t really mind if I have to tick female to a question that asks my sex at birth. The question doesn’t explicitly ask for sex at birth however and is more aimed at showing the demographics of the UK for which female is absolutely not accurate for me. What bothers me is that a group have raised £100,000 from the public to ensure that we can’t select an accurate representation of who we are and our place in society and that it was approved.

4. The toilet provision

This has flown under the radar due to Covid-19 but the government recently held a consultation around public toilets. It seems fairly innocent at first glance. Except again, we’re seeing these anti-trans pressure groups calling for action amongst their followers, some with the call to ‘protect single sex spaces’. Could this be the beginnings of American-style bathroom bills in the UK? 

---

So yes, I am scared. I’m scared by the fragility of my rights and freedoms; how easy they are to peel away bit by bit and how it passes by with little notice nor care, or in some cases with public support and even funding. I’m scared of the people who are given the power to make decisions about our rights based on no prior knowledge of experience of trans issues. I’m scared that we will be alienated and excluded from our LGBT spaces and supports. Will I be looking back in ten years, eternally grateful that I was able to transition when I did? Grateful for the gender clinics of today with their six year waiting lists? Will I live in a time where I must disclose my trans status on every document, at every job? Will I live in a time where I must provide my sex in order to use the gym? Will there be a time that I am not able to legally change my gender? I’m scared by the hostility of society, at times their vehement opposition to us existing amongst them, their disregard for the importance of our healthcare and all too often the anger that our ‘cosmetic’ surgeries are covered at all. 

In a time that my life and rights feel like a debate, unimportant and constantly at the mercy of others, in a time that members of the public will raise huge amounts of money just to stop people like you ticking a box on a form, you’re damn right I’m scared for the future. 

[keyofjetwolf]

The Holligay Birthday Fair! (YOU CAN WIN SHIT)

HELLO FRIENDS

As you are probably aware, this year has sucked donkey balls, and shows no sign of slowing! It’s great fun! As if it weren’t bad enough that there’s all this chaos in the world on a large scale, it’s also filtering into smaller, dense packets of disappointment. Such as, for example, fucking up my dear friend Doctor Holligay Esq. PhD. and her birthday plans.

This will be the first year since she was but a tiny gay that she won’t be going to the fair for her birthday. This makes her sad. I do not like when she is sad. So, in an effort to counter this, we’re going to hold our OWN fair! We’re going to get a deep fryer and pretty much FRY THE UNIVERSE! Dr. Jill is going to set up an obstacle course and we’re going to run Kitten, Witten, and Mina through it! (And maybe Hot Pocket, if any of us are feeling that brave.) I’m organizing and will do the calling for Bingo! AND WHO KNOWS WHAT ELSE WE’LL CRAM INTO THIS DAY OF NEARLY-FAIR AWESOME

Well, one other thing I DO know we’ll do is attempt to recreate one of Doc’s favourite parts of the state fair: the children’s art exhibit.

What is that, you ask? EXCELLENT QUESTION. It’s pretty much what it sounds like, where local kids make assorted pieces of art, and the fair displays them. They range from surprisingly lovely to HILARIOUSLY FUCKED UP, because, you know ... children. It’s amazing, and Doc absolutely treasures it.

Here’s where you come in! WE WANT YOUR CHILD ART. By which I mean you can send in art by actual children of your acquaintance, or you can grab a pack of Crayolas and once again become the five year old of your heart. And to help encourage you, each individual PHYSICAL piece of child’s art you send will enter you into a drawing for a free liveblog slot in September, content of YOUR CHOOSING, with both Holligay AND myself. TWO CHANCES WITH EACH PIECE WHAT A BARGAIN

If you’d like to help me try to make Doc’s birthday EVEN BETTER THAN THE ACTUAL FAIR, send in your child art to:

    Jet Wolf     ATTN: Children’s Art Gallery     PO Box 1621     Billings, MT  59103

The due date is Monday, 10 August 2020, so that’s nearly three weeks. I WILL HARASS REMIND YOU ALL OFTEN. And now a quick FAQ, but any other questions you have, just ask!

Can we get our submissions returned after the fair? Anybody who would like their submissions sent back to them, just include a note to that effect with what you send, and I’ll get it back in the mail to you within the week. ***HOWEVER PLEASE NOTE*** I can only be responsible for what you send me while it’s in my possession. I can’t guarantee something won’t happen on its way to me or on its way back to you. So please please please please don’t send anything you absolutely cannot bear the possibility of losing. THIS YEAR IS BAD ENOUGH NONE OF US NEED THAT

Does it have to be physical, can I send in scans? If you’d just like to have your child art included in the fair for Holligay, absolutely! But the physical, tangible object being there is a huge component of what we’re trying to recreate, so the receipt of the actual, physical thing in our hands is what will get you a entry in the liveblog drawing.

What age range are you looking for? Art from kids between about 5 and 11, ideally!

When do you need them by? They need to be in my post office box by Monday, 10 August 2020. Mail delivery for the day is complete by 10:30 and our fair will be that afternoon, so anything arriving after the 10th of August will be too late!

As I said, I’ll be GENTLY and LOVINGLY reminding you throughout the next few weeks, but why wait? Shower Holligay in birthday love and children’s art today WHILE ALSO POSSIBLY WINNING A FREE LIVEBLOG HOLY DEEP FRIED SHITBALLS

[squishneedsahero]

Answered Questions

Lost to Time | Part 7

Word Count: 1604

Summary:

The story of an original character, Allison Bennett. Growing up black in the short period between the world wars wasn't easy but Allison had friends who stuck with her no matter what. She was ambitious and had a million things she wanted to achieve in her lifetime and would try only to be told by the world that due to who she was it wasn't possible and she'd never live up to her dreams.

Allison jumped awake suddenly, setting off more than one of the sensors attached to her. She can't handle the noise so she quickly removes the cords and tubes attached to her and stands up.

Her mind is reeling with what had just happened to her. Suddenly all of her dreams made sense. She knew exactly how she had arrived in this place and time.

The 66 years she had been missing hadn't just been spent in a time jump. She had been around the entire time, she had spent 66 years on another plane of existence able to observe the world around her but not interact. She had been there to watch the world as they sent the first man into space. She had watched Rosa Parks stay in her seat on that bus. She had been there to see it all.

She had watched the motorcade through Dallas that had brought JFK's life to an end. She remembered all moments in history which she had experienced. She remembered with perfect clarity her entire life and could recall pages of books she had merely glanced at. It's as she's hunched over, leaning on her hospital bed that another memory strikes her mind with clarity, Bucky.

Bucky was still alive, she had watched as Hydra had sent him to kill the Starks. She had watched when he had dragged Steve out of that river, his mind still foggy but remembering bits and pieces.

The entity she had spoken with had talked of knowledge. Knowledge no mortal could comprehend and it's as she is reliving the last 66 years of her existence that she realizes that the entity hadn't been talking about one single piece of information. The entity had been speaking of everything. Every single moment in history. Every mathematical formula. Every book ever written. Allison had the ability to remember all of it.

The things and moments she hadn't experienced she couldn't recall, such as the civil war, but she could recall anything she had read in history books about the civil war. Her mind felt as though it would explode, she clutched at her head and held it in her palms as she tried to ground herself.

She knew too much. The entity had warned her of the dangers but she had disregarded them in her search for knowledge. As suddenly as she had woken she realizes the key to comprehending everything, she didn't have to comprehend it all at once. She lets go of her thoughts, letting them pass by like a train rather than stopping to look in each box. The fogginess leaves her mind and she is able to stand up straight, she wouldn't allow her mind to be lost as countless others had.

It's as she gets ahold of herself that others enter the room, Steve leading the way. "Allison, you're awake thank goodness," he pulls his friend into a hug.

"Yeah- yeah I'm fine," she comes to hug him back, "how long was I out?" She chooses to not explain what she now knew. It wasn't the time.

"Only about 12 hours," Steve says.

"I am so sorry Allison," Wanda says.

Allison quickly turns to her and pulls her into a hug, "there's nothing to be sorry for Wanda. You helped me out how I asked. I don't know yet how to explain everything that happened but you truly did help."

Wanda still cannot enter her friends mind but she can tell from Allison's voice that she is being genuine. "Alright, as long as I did not hurt you."

"You didn't, I am better than I was, thank you."

Allison turns back to Steve, needing an answer to the question tugging at her mind. It doesn't matter that Tony, Wanda and Sam are there. She opens her mouth and asks the question, "you didn't tell me Bucky is still alive?"

Steve had been watching his friend carefully this entire time, there was something different about her. Something different from when he had last seen her the day before. Her question surprises him, there was no accusing tone to her voice just pure curiosity, wanting to know why he hadn't shared that information. "I couldn't find a way to tell you," he finally settles on his answer, choosing one that she'd know what he meant but it wouldn't require explaining to the others.

Allison nods, it made sense. She had been hurting and wasn't sure herself how she would have reacted to Steve just coming out with it and telling her. She sees her close friends mouth open again and she shakes her head, "not yet Steve, I need to figure out things for myself first." It was a simple thing to say but it said everything. She didn't know how to explain that she knew everything she had ever heard seen or read, that she had been there simply observing the world for the last 66 years. It was too much for her own mind to even think about at the moment let alone telling everyone and having to answer their questions.

Once the others understand she is not going to be telling them anything at the time she changes the subject, "I'm hungry. Is it alright for me to go get something to eat or do you need anything from me first?" She directs her question to Tony. After a shake of her head she's off, leaving them to wonder what was going on with her.

Allison is slow to begin explaining all she had come to remember to the others. But eventually she gives everyone the basics, she had been watching through the 66 years she was thought to be missing and she remembered and knew what she could only explain as everything.

She doesn't explain much more than that about what had happened that day. But she does tell them a bit more of how she had gotten moved through time. That last experiment she had performed. She had been ready to give up, it was her last effort, she was so broken and defeated that she was ready to call it quits.

This final attempt, final plea she had given to the universe while longing for her friends had lead to something. She had been chosen. There were others chosen before her and would be others after her but she had been the first to pass the test. The test of resolve through leaving her drifting helplessly through time. The test of change, dropping her into the future and seeing how she adjusted. And finally the test of determination, what lengths would she go to to figure out how the world worked? Would she try to figure out her dreams?

The tests changed for each individual according to their circumstances and what would challenge them. The test of change had been easier than Allison would have thought, she hadn't remembered anything of her time drifting but she had still felt comfortable in this new time. It had been a quick thing for her, dressing different, being more herself and opening up about her story to the world.

Now that she had all of her memories back, the change was almost instant. She belonged more in this world and time than Steve did. Steve still struggled with the change but as soon as Allison had remembered there was no fear or hesitation left in her.

Allison didn't tell the world of the things that had happened to her, it was too much. Too many things she knew that they were better off not knowing for sure. But she did open up about her life growing up with Steve. Speaking on subjects such as the effort put into fighting the war. How she had all but been erased from history due to the color of her skin. There were many things she could no longer stay silent on. So many injustices had been committed and she could only watch those things happen. She couldn't stay silent any longer.

Allison's speaking up without fear made her both friends and enemies in high and low places. She adapted, got Twitter and Instagram and made her own place in the world as an advocate for the rights of the individual.

The summer following her arrival brought an accident that had the attention of the world. While the Avengers had been on a covert mission in Lagos Wanda had saved Steve's life but in turn had accidentally ended others. Allison tried to comfort her friend, yes maybe the situation could have been handled better but that wasn't on Wanda. Wanda had done and tried her best, if she hadn't done what she had many more lives would have been lost in that busy plaza. Unfortunately the news had both Wanda and the world convinced that it was her fault.

It was a month later that Tony showed up to the compound. He had brought the Secretary General with him. They were here to get the Avengers to sign what would be called the Sokovia Accords. Allison was present for their meeting but she wasn't an avenger, so she wasn't called upon to sign the act.

Despite her not being an Avenger she was looked to for her opinion after it had been presented. She merely shakes her head, "I doubt you truly want to hear my opinion as I will not agree with yours. Though I can also see what it is you are trying to do with these accords. The one thing I cannot sit by and watch get taken from someone is their freedom to choose for themselves."

[ami-incants]

Anxiety Grounding Pouch

Pictured: Small cream pouch with a blue anxiety sigil drawn onto it. Green aventurine, chevron amethyst, garnet, sodalite, black tourmaline, a key and a feather.

This pouch was requested by @nagemeikenu​. See under the cut for general information about using charm pouches and their components.

Pouch Colour: 

Black - Grounding Blue - Calming White - Protection Green - Healing

Crystals:

Amethyst - brings emotions back to centre, calming, helps in identifying the root causes behind one’s negative behaviours, habits and emotional patterns that create imbalance (chevron amethyst repels negativity) Green aventurine - calms nervousness and quiets roving thoughts, soothes emotional wounds, inspires optimism Black tourmaline - grounding, purification, cleanses the emotional body of anxiety and negative thoughts, inspires positivity Rose quartz - dissolves sorrows, worries, fears and resentments, replaces with healing, comfort and inner nourishment Amazonite -  soothes trauma, calms the mind, alleviates worry and fear, directs anger and irritability into positive action, increases self-esteem Blue lace agate -  promotes self-acceptance and confidence, encourages the speaking of one's own truth, overcomes negativity and bitterness of the heart, heals anger, fosters love, lends the courage to start over Citrine -  releases anger and negative feelings, deep-seated fears and destructive tendencies, reduces sensitivity to criticism Green fluorite - stabilising, dissolves confusion, gently brings suppressed issues to the surface, increases self-confidence, aids reasoning Black obsidian - grounding, absorbs negativities, particularly aids trauma recovery and lessening compulsive behaviours Sodalite - helps the identifying and verbalising of feelings, discharges anger and negative thoughts, empowers the release of fears, phobias and guilt Labradorite - calms an overactive mind, good when weighted down by responsibility, uplifting stone Garnet - protective, calming, grounding, aids pragmatism, brings courage Chalcedony - eases self-doubt, brings peace, encourages optimism, calms, eases worry, soothes anxiety

Herbs/Spices:

Chamomile/Lavender - Calming/soothing

Charms:

Broom - Brush away negative influences Hammer - Drive away malevolent energies Key - Power, unlocking hidden skills and abilities, locking up unwelcome thoughts Feather - Flying away from negativity and toxic situations. (Can be incorporated into the cleansing/charging of the pouch if you don’t want to damage it inside the pouch.) Personal charms - Any which bring you comfort and calm feelings

Sigil:

Anxiety sigil: I am calm, I am safe, I am in control (blue, black)

I cope well with change (black, blue)

I can do this (orange, red, pink, green)

I am enough (pink, red, green)

When I can’t control it, I let it go (black, blue, green)

I am valued (pink, red)

Spell:

Calming Spell - To be recited in the mind or aloud, while holding amethyst, the crystal that best suits your situation, or the entire pouch. Recite each line as you slowly exhale with your eyes closed, use the slow inhale to check the next line if you need to.

Take these thoughts that bother me Slow the pace, my mind must breathe Let me think, provide a balm Slow the pace, leave me calm

Re-energising Spell - When you feel that special brand of drained that sleep isn’t aiding, cast this in bed for a productive following day. You can use one motivating or event-relevant crystal for the whole spell, or use the following recommended crystals. While reciting the first line, hold amethyst to the centre of your forehead. For the second line, run malachite down both arms, or across a problematic area. Take amazonite for the third line and hold it over your heart. For the last line, place each stone, in the same order, under your pillow (or into a pouch to be placed there) as you say each statement.

Heal, heal, the worries in my mind Heal, heal, this tired flesh of mine Heal, heal, this weary, wary soul Let me sleep, help me heal, make me whole.

Ask box is open for suggestions!

Click here for my Use of Original Content Policy. Under the cut for information on the different elements of charm pouches.

 About Pouches

Pouches can be made of any material, but natural is better. I prefer to use natural cloth as it is easy to carry around, easy to access and I can feel the energies from the crystals through the material, and smell the herbs. Pouches do not need to be professionally made, you can use a simple drawstring bag that you have made yourself, or even use a handkerchief/cloth square secured with a ribbon. If you cannot source a suitable pouch in the desired colour, the protecting energies of white or the grounding energies of black work well for most situations. It is up to you whether you cleanse your pouch and its contents as a whole or as individual components. Due to the multiple ways I use my crystals, I cleanse and charge them regularly so do not feel the need for a full ritual when putting together a pouch. It is not necessary to use an item from each of the suggested categories, go with what feels right to you.

About Crystals

Choose the number of crystals that feels right for you, and is practical for you to carry around. My magic tends to work in odd numbers, particularly 3, 5 and 7. Black stones tend to need cleansing more frequently as they can get clogged up with the negative energies they have absorbed. Smoke and moonlight are easy and safe ways to cleanse. Sunlight can be used but may discolour some crystals. It’s common advice to cleanse crystals in water/moonwater but this can be risky as many crystals may dissolve, rust, discolour or release toxins. I cleanse all of my crystals by storing them with selenite and charge them under the moon/sun. The list of crystals is not exhaustive, use ones that you have which feel right to you.

About Herbs/Spices

Follow your nose and use herbs that you enjoy the smell of. Whole fresh herbs are highly preferable where available. They will be much more potent and can be added to the pouch as they are. If using dried herbs, you may want a smaller pouch/vial to contain them within your charm pouch, to avoid the mess. Some herbs are better ingested, and many are available in teabag form so could be carried within the pouch that way for their scent and for a cup of tea to pick you up if the occasion arises in a location where herbal teas are unlikely to be available. Ginger can be used to give added potency to any spell.

About Charms

Certain objects have particular meanings, but sometimes the most powerful charms are ones personal to us. I have two items of jewellery that I always wear to connect me to three important people in my life, and a third I wear in times of particular need. A personal charm could remind you of a person, place or time. As long as the memory it evokes matches the energy you want in the pouch, it should complement the magic of the other items. Not all charms need to be inside the pouch, you can wear them as you would normally, but if you want to give them a boost you could put them inside the pouch while you cleanse/charge it.

About Sigils

The sigil can be drawn (preferably in the pouch colour) onto paper, stone, wood etc to be placed inside the pouch, or can be marked onto the pouch itself. When drawing the sigil, think about the affirmation and visualise it already achieved. If using candle magic to charge your pouch, the sigil can be carved onto the candle. 

About Spells

Spells do not have to be written down and kept within the pouch. They can be used to charge the pouch, or recited from memory at times of need. If writing it down to serve as a reminder, it is beneficial to write it in the optimum colour for that pouch.

[lavenderradionoises]

Have You Heard?

Warnings: mentions of suicide 

A picture frame sits on a shelf above a bed. The photo itself was small, a simple 4x6 of three kids smiling and holding up medals on a dance floor full of flowers. The glass was cracked so much it rivaled a spider web. The rest of the shelf was dedicated to holding many medals and ribbons, ranging from 1st place to 5th. The shelf was covered in a thin layer of dust, showing evidence of not being cleaned recently.

The bedroom held stagnant air. Everything was untouched while the family was in mourning. No one had the energy to enter it. After all, the room belonged to someone who was thought to be so full of life. 

The door opens with a creak. One of the kids from the photograph enter, though much older now, with a box under her arm. She looks around and decides to start with the shelf. Placing each trophy and medal into the box with enough care to not break it, but enough force to reflect how much anger bubbles under her skin. 

Reaching for the photograph, the young woman stops. Removing the picture from the frame to look at it. She sneers, mainly at herself, for being so blind. Memories of the day begin to resurface.

~

Rhythmic gymnastics is not the first sport Nova’s parents would have thought she would take an interest in, but here they are, sitting in the audience watching their child warm up for her first competition. Well, to call it a competition would be an overstatement, but to each of the seven year olds, it was the best way to be introduced to the competition scene. 

Nova follows her coach in the stretching exercises. She’s excited and ready to go out on the dance floor for her number. She was eighth on the list, the next to go after Raine but the one to go before Kym. 

After the stretches were complete, coach Cori announced that it was time for the first girl to go up. The competition would start with level 1; level 2 would go after a brief intermission where some level 10s would perform with the different elements that those in level 3 and beyond begin learning. 

Watching the other gymnasts from the sidelines gives Nova jitters, so instead, she chooses to practice her routine until her name gets called. Fifteen minutes later, she was on the dance floor, posing and listening for the telltale beep of the music starting. The seven-year-old dances to the best of her ability despite knowing that she made some mistakes along the way. Two hours later, all of the attending girls stand to receive their awards. To Nova’s surprise, she wins third place. Her friends Kym and Raine win first and second place, respectively. 

“Girls!” Raine’s mother calls, holding up a camera, “hold up those ribbons!” 

The three girls stand together with Raine in the center, holding up her blue first place ribbon with both hands, Kym to the right with her left arm around Raine’s shoulders, and the red second place ribbon in her left hand. Nova mirrors Kym but with a white third place ribbon. 

The picture was printed out and given to all those involved a week later at one of the practice sessions. That picture became the foundation of their friendship.

Some years later Nova, found herself with a choice she had never considered. Head Coach Anne pulled her and Raine off to the side during practice to inform the two that they had been selected to audition for the competitive team. It was a rare opportunity since there were only five members on the team. 

While ecstatic, Nova didn’t feel like she was ready to commit to being on the team. Sure, she had practice almost every day after school, but she was planning to stop after she graduated high school in eight months. Nova told Raine as such the next day at lunch.

“I still think you should do the audition,” Raine answered, scratching at her left wrist. A habit she picked up during middle school.

Nova let out a groan, “I thought you would say that. But consider, Anne said only one girl is going to be chosen since only Olivia is retiring. The less competition you have, the better. It’s been your dream to join the team for a while, no?”

“And? It’ll be one last competition between us if either of us gets chosen. It’s not like team members have time to participate in solo competitions.”

“I do hope you know how much I hate it when you’re like this?” Nova asked sarcastically, stabbing a fry into ketchup.

Raine let out a gasp of false hurt, placing one hand on her chest and the back of the other on her forehead, “You wound me, Nova. And here I thought you were my best friend.” 

Nova responded by throwing a different fry at her, it hit her on the nose, and the two burst out laughing. The bell rung to signalize the end of lunch, and the two parted for their next classes. The rest of the day, the gymnast mulled over the proposal. By the time she sat in her car to drive to practice after school, she had decided to take Raine’s advice and think of it as one last competition between the two. If she qualifies for the spot, she will simply inform the coaches that she cannot join due to school, and the runner up would end up joining the team. 

At practice, Nova, Raine, and three other girls from levels 8 to 10 were pulled into the gym’s furthest corner to begin learning the audition pieces. While Nova had no idea how other gyms selected members, their gym had all of the candidates perform multiple pieces featuring some of the most challenging combinations of elements as a team. There would be one dance featuring hoop and ribbon, one with rope and ball, and the final would just be all clubs. 

“I wonder if we’re each going to have to use our own balls for the final one,” Ira, a level 9, asked as the five girls were warming up.

“Probably not,” Ellyn, a level 8, replied “we will probably use one of the team balls since each of ours have a different weight. Same for the hoops and clubs.”

“Maybe not hoops,” Raine interjected, “we’re all about the same height, so the size and weight shouldn’t be too different. But I agree about the balls and clubs.” 

“I personally hope the ribbon-hoop routine won’t be difficult. Those things get tangled easily,” Masha, a level 10, confessed while changing splits positions. Nova envied her honesty.

“Well, to quote Coach Cori, that’s why we practice, no? Besides, the actual audition is in a month, and we’ll have time to get it done.” Nova informed, getting a response from the rest of the group as either a nod or a cringe. 

After stretching and warming up with all of the elements, Coach Eileen began teaching the five gymnasts their first routine. They would be starting with the ball and rope since the girls need to adjust to working as a team instead of solo performances. It was not an easy or a fast adaptation to the sudden teamwork. Coach did not hold back on her criticisms,

“Ellyn, I know that ball is your most confident element, but remember to look at the ball when catching it from Nova. And remember what your feet need to do. I thought we were past sickling your feet and not pointing your toes. Nova, when going through formation B, it’s a left split jump, not right. In the final sequence, you’re supposed to catch the ball with your knees, not your thighs. Ira, you throw the balls with your heels, not your ankles. Think of doing a walkover without following through. Raine, you’re off tempo. Pick up the speed. The rope will still be there.  Masha, let the ball bounce off your back when rolling.”

The next day, Eileen didn’t hold back on the commentary for the hoop and ribbon routine.

“The teamwork is getting better. Nova, when you throw the ribbon in the starting sequence, make sure you aim for Ellyn’s hoop. You miss because you’re used to catching the tail end, which is not the point here. Masha, when you and Nova spin the hoops around your necks, keep the right leg straight. You lose your split. Ira, when you catch the hoop with your foot, make sure you adjust your arms. You look off balance. Raine, the fuete is in front of you, not on a diagonal. You have to keep the ribbon behind your leg as you spin. Ellyn, when you throw the ribbon behind you, keep your arm straight. Because you keep bending it, Ira can’t catch it in time for the next set.”

The process was repeated for the club dance as well.

“Raine, you had to spin two clubs in one hand in your previous routine, think that but in both hands this time. Ira, when you hit the clubs against the floor during the vertical splits, keep it in tempo with the music. Masha, you keep overestimating the distance Nova is throwing the club. That’s why the club keeps dropping. Don’t be afraid to move closer if you need to. Ellyn, look forward during the lift. You have the advantage of not holding anything. Nova, leaps need to be higher. All of them.” 

When the audition came, the five improved massively in coordination as a team and individual progress due to the new situation. Everyone had adjusted to using the group elements as well. The performances would follow the order in which the girls learned the dances. That fact helped Nova calm down. 

The audition went by smoothly. A few times, someone dropped an element, but the head coach reminded them that they were looking for someone to qualify for the actual team rather and won’t be judged the same way a team would be during a real competition. The girls were informed that they would receive the results after the week of winter break. 

And informed they were. At the end of the week long break, Nova received a text that she qualifies for the team, and if there have been any sudden changes where she cannot join, then to contact Ira, who was the follow up. As soon as Nova finished reading the congratulatory text, her phone was dialing up Raine. Raine didn’t pick up the call but sent a text informing that she was okay but not in the mood to talk to anyone. The unexplainable pit in Nova’s stomach screamed to try and call again. Instead, she sent over a text saying that she is always free to listen should Raine need anything. 

When Nova awoke the next morning, it was uncharacteristically early, and there was a faint buzzing sound somewhere to her right. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, it read four in the morning. That was when Nova realized that the faint buzzing was her phone with Kym’s name flashing.

“Hello?” Nova answered, voice scratchy from sleep. 

“Have you heard?” Kym asked, voice wet and wavering.

“Heard what?” Nova questioned, rubbing her eyes and suppressing a yawn.

“Raine’s gone,” Kym replied, voice cracking, “sleep meds apparently,” she managed to choke out before letting out a sob. Nova felt her own eyes tear up, and a feeling of guilt swell inside her chest. The two friends stayed on the call for the next couple of hours, comforting each other. 

Raine’s funeral was held a couple of days later. Along with Kym and Nova, some people from the gym and school were in attendance. It was also there that Kym urged Nova to join the team, if not for herself, but to honor Raine’s memory and ambition. Nova simply nodded to get her friend off her back, though later that night, she internally agreed with Kym. Raine’s memory should be preserved.

The team was kind and patient when she messed up on the routine they were learning. The coaches understood when she had to miss practice for a few days. Her parents were the first to agree that they should be the ones to drive her to the competition that also happened to fall on Raine’s birthday two months later. 

Unexpectedly, the team won 3rd place in the competition. Especially with the number of times, Nova felt off tempo, though the coaches told her otherwise. After the awards ceremony ended, Nova’s parents dropped her off to meet with Kym so the two can sort through Raine’s gymnastics stuff. 

~

“You’re going to crumple the photo,” Kym notes, jarring Nova out of her thoughts. Sighing, Nova puts the photograph off to the side and reaches for one of the medals on the shelf. It was the one from nationals a couple of years ago, where Raine earned second place. 

“Do you want this one?” She asked Kym. Kym shook her head, stating that she didn’t have space to house any medals. 

A slip of paper caught Nova’s attention. It was behind a certificate from one of Raine’s first competitions. Carefully removing the paper revealed it to be an envelope, one holding three letters: one for Nova, one for Kym, and one for Raine’s parents. With shaking hands, Nova opened her letter and read the first line.

Nova, 

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry…

[unfragilelove]

when all is lost, then all is found.  (1/1)

This is the idea that’s been knocking around in my head and refusing to let me rest until I spat it out on paper.   I hope you all enjoy.  <3 (begins post-Frozen 1, and ends post-Frozen 2.)

Frohana/Kristanna    ||   No warnings/rating    ||    ao3 link

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you travel with ice harvesters as a child?   Why didn’t you live in an Arendelle orphanage?” Kristoff just shrugs.  “Because there isn’t one.”

aka:   The royal family establishes the first orphanage in Arendelle, and the children are not the only ones who find a home within it's walls.

Arendelle has always prided itself on being well-run kingdom, fortunate enough to have an abundance of resources, plenty of trade, a fairly stable economy, and residents who rarely disturb the peace.

Which is why it comes as such a shock to Anna and Elsa when, in a conversation with Kristoff, full of quiet admissions and tales of their childhood, the topic comes up:

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you travel with ice harvesters as a child?   Why didn’t you live in an Arendelle orphanage?”

  Kristoff just shrugs.  “Because there isn’t one.”

  Anna’s jaw drops and Elsa looks a combination of surprised and uncomfortable, both of the women falling silent for several long moments, seemingly at a loss for words.

  “There isn’t one?”  Anna speaks up first, her voice incredulous, “Not anywhere in our entire kingdom?”

  “No.   But, to be fair, it’s not like there are a lot of displaced kids in Arendelle.”

  “But when there are,”  Anna says, her voice rising with her building emotions,  “When it does come up, and there are parents who can’t take care of their baby, or a kid whose parents die,”  Elsa and Kristoff both wince a bit at that, and the waver in Anna’s voice speaks for itself,  “We don’t have anywhere for them to go?”

  Kristoff presses his lips together in a tight frown, unable to find the words to ease her mind.  Admittedly, it does bother him, too— the thought of other children growing up without homes, and perhaps not ending up as fortunate as he did.  (Trolls they may be, but they’re his family, all the same.)

  “I feel awful, for not even knowing.”  Elsa says, her voice quiet and eyes pensive. 

  “Up until a few months ago, you two spent your entire lives inside the castle walls.  It’s not your fault that you don’t know every inch of Arendelle yet.”  Kristoff says, looking at the two downtrodden sisters, and hoping to assuage some of their guilt.

  “But we can change that, right?”  Anna asks, though her voice leaves little room for argument.  “We could create a place where kids can be safe.  Somewhere that they can stay until they find home and families, somewhere they don’t have to be alone anymore.”

  None of them seem inclined to disagree.

  It’s a fairly small thing, Arendelle’s Home for Children, but it’s plenty homey, with plush blankets on warm beds, and boxes full of toys, and a view of the fjord through the dining room window.   It’s located right outside the castle gates, too, which makes overseeing the building process all the easier.   (They all play a role in it’s creation, Kristoff helps with a lot of the hands-on work, Elsa oversees the plans, and Anna is the creative force behind it all, offering ideas and helping in any way she can.)

  The demand for an orphanage was not immense, but it's a cause that proves itself more than necessary.

  This rings particularly true, when it hasn't even been a week after they finish painting the outer walls, and they are approached by a woman, tears rolling down her face, a young toddler in her arms.   A child that is not hers, but her brother’s, who went out for what was supposed to be a two-day trek into the mountains and failed to return alive, and she simply can’t raise the boy herself anymore, she’s sorry, so sorry--

  (It isn't long at all before a couple-- two lovely women, both skilled blacksmiths-- tentatively come into the Home.   They’ve wanted a child of their own for years now, and considering the way the couple’s eyes well up with tears when the two tiny hands reach up toward them,  Anna, Elsa and Kristoff all have no doubt they made the right decision.)

  As time passes, the amount of children in the Home ebbs and flows— thankfully, they’ve rarely had more than five residents at any given time, and in the two whole years since it’s been open, they’ve said tearful farewells to almost a dozen children who’ve found happy homes with new parents.

  Turns out, there are kids in Arendelle who need a safe place to live, but there are also plenty of couples--  same-sex couples, or ones who cannot bear children, or individuals who simply want to adopt a child into their life--  who are equally grateful for the opportunity to expand their family.

  It may be far from a lucrative business, but it’s brought them far more fulfillment than any amount of coin could.

   When they first opened Arendelle’s Home for Children, Gerda had offered her assistance in running the place.   Anna, who remembered how kind she was to her as a child, knew she’d be as good a fit as any.   And now, coming up on two and a half years into the endeavor, it still rings true.    However, while Gerda remains the primary live-in caretaker, the royal family’s presence has been far from absent.

  Kristoff spends a fair amount of time down in the Home, often bringing Sven, who happily brays and lets the kids hang off his antlers, or ride on his back.   He can’t help but talk for Sven, too, which almost always makes the younger children giggle and squeal in delight.    

  There’s one little girl there, Sylvi, with pale skin and tangled blonde hair, who mostly keeps to herself— she’s nonverbal, and hasn’t quite warmed up to any of them yet, curling away from any sort of physical contact. 

(They’re not sure if she was born that way, or if it’s a coping mechanism, or some combination of both. They know next to nothing about her past, but they’ll do everything they can to ensure her a happy future.)    

  She still remains rather closed-off, despite being at the Home for a few months now.   But then, on a crisp Spring morning, something incredible happens-- Kristoff breaks out in Sven’s voice, and Sylvi’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.   She smiles-- the very first smile they’ve seen cross her face in all the time she’s been there-- and she wanders over to bury her hands happily in the thick texture of the reindeer’s fur.   It’s the most progress they’ve seen her make thus far, and Kristoff has never felt prouder.

      Meanwhile, Anna spends any free time she has at the Home, too-- enthusiastically telling the kids stories of her adventures, (usually with Olaf at her side, reenacting the scenes with equal enthusiasm.)   And she’s almost always bringing the kids more toys. (“Your highness, how many times must I insist there are already too many toys to keep the place tidy!”   “Oh, come on Gerda, how am I supposed to be considered a kind and generous princess if I don’t spoil my favorite little Arendellians!   Plus, Kristoff and I already started building them bigger toy boxes, don’t worry.”)   

  There’s a boy there, Fredrik, with wild curly locks and a gap-toothed grin, who always runs and flings himself into Anna’s arms.  He, too, always has a new story to tell— of he and the other kids playing pirates, or this baby rabbit he saw in the woods, or the way he swears there’s a sea monster in the fjord.    Sometimes he’ll stop himself mid-sentence, as though realizing he’s rambling, and stumbles over an apology-- in a way that feels painfully familiar to Anna.   But she’ll be damned if she makes a child feel any of the same inadequacy she did.    With a shake of her head and a smile, she’ll urge him on, “Well, don’t leave me hanging!   You’ve gotta tell me what happened next!”   

The way his face always brightens in response is worth more than anything in the world.   

    Elsa stops by frequently, as well— though at first it had taken her a bit longer to get used to being around children, mostly due to the fear she still wasn’t fully in control of her powers.     Once she had begun to visit, though, the children quickly grew on her, and she’ll often make them little flurries and piles of snow to play in during the hot summer months.   There’s an older girl in her late teens, named Runa— who starts to sit next to Elsa while the younger children play.   Runa is mostly blind, but she often requests little ice sculptures from Elsa, a smile always gracing her face as she runs her fingers along the frigid curves of each figurine.    Of course, they have plenty of wooden toys that could serve the same purpose.  So one day, Elsa can't help but to ask, “Doesn’t the cold bother you?”  

Runa shrugs,  “I’ve never minded it.”  

  Perhaps it’s not so much the ice figurines she enjoys, as much as it is the company and kindness of another.

   Of course, all the children who have come into the Home hold special places in each of their hearts.   It’s a complicated sort of love, as every farewell they have is a bittersweet one (it means they’ll see the child far less, if at all--  but it means they've found a real home, which is so, so good.)   

  And on a similar vein, every child they watch get passed up by potential families breaks their hearts.   

  It's Autumn when a lot changes in an incredibly short span of time.   By the time the dust fully settles in Arendelle, Anna’s both engaged and coronated as Queen, Elsa lives in the Enchanted Forest with the Northuldra, and there’s an entire chunk of their kingdom’s history that needs retelling.    For Anna, in particular, the queendom comes incredibly natural to her— but the journey it took to get there, the mass of secrets their family kept, holding Olaf as he perished, the gripping fear that she was truly alone , followed by nearly dying on the dam--  well, that all is a bit harder to come to terms with.  

  Eventually, though, things calm down enough for them to fall back in to a mostly normal routine, and they waste no time visiting the Home regularly once more.   There, they find a couple new residents, and, unfortunately-- three familiar faces who’ve yet to find homes.

Sylvi, despite most families passing her by, makes great strides-- she warms up to Kristoff through her comfort around Sven, and begins to trust the sisters, too.   Elsa, with her calm and composed demeanor, seems to put her at ease.   And Anna, though far more excitable than her sister in nature, is always careful to not to overstimulate or stress the child out.   Eventually, the first time Sylvi makes proper eye contact with someone is with Anna, her curious little eyes becoming absolutely fixated on the princess’s face as she tells her a story.    The little one doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing it, and yet it takes Anna all the willpower she can muster to stay focused on the tale she’s weaving, and not start to cry right then and there.

  Fredrik, meanwhile, is a lovebug with just about everyone, as outgoing as ever and never seeming to run low on energy.   He loves nature, always asking to ride Sven, or picking up little snails off the cobblestone path and moving them to safety, or doodling different plants he finds throughout the town.   He can almost always be found running around playing with Olaf, or dragging the other children into games, or asking Kristoff and Anna to take him on hikes, or running headfirst into a snow pile Elsa made-- (to which she quickly has to add extra snow to cushion him from hitting the ground beneath, and dear gods , these children will never fail to keep their reflexes sharp.) 

  Elsa, although no longer living there, still visits Arendelle rather frequently.   While it’s their family game night that keeps her coming back weekly, she makes time to visit the Home, as well.    Despite it being a regular occurrence, Runa’s face never fails to light up when she hears Elsa’s voice.   It always makes her heart feel full-- that is, until the day Gerda pulls her aside and shares that they haven’t had many potential adopters, lately, and those that do visit are almost never interested in Runa.   

“Beyond being blind, she’s nearly an adult, in most people’s eyes.” Gerda tells her in a whisper, her voice thick with sadness.  “And I fear she may not find a family before that day comes.”    

  It sticks with Elsa, the words ringing in her ears and refusing to grant her peace.   She feels like it’s the siren’s call all over again, something nagging in the back of her mind, except instead of being mysterious and exciting, it’s an echo of a far more grim reality.   She returns to the Enchanted Forest that night, and it’s several weeks before she visits the orphanage again.

  “You came back!”  Runa exclaims when she returns, “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.   There’s something I need to speak to you about.”  A sharp breath, and then:  “How would you feel about coming to live with me and the Northuldra?”

  A few more months pass, and while the newest children have come and gone from their system in nearly record time, Sylvi and Fredrik still remain.   It’s just the two of them in the Home now, and with the holidays only days away, it doesn’t appear they’ll find homes before the new year.

  As a result, Kristoff and Anna, in addition to the time they spend with them during the day, have taken to inviting the kids for dinner with them in the castle, most nights. (“They deserve to eat in a proper home, you know?” “Of course, and I’m sure Gerda will enjoy having the afternoon off--”  “Right, and Fredrik didn’t get a chance to finish telling us about how he saved that baby bird!”

“And really, no child deserves to feel alone this time of year.”)

It’s not the first time they’ve all eaten in the castle together, but there’s something about the way Sylvi erupts into a fit of loud giggles when Fredrik puts a carrot up his nose to imitate Olaf,  or the way Kristoff feigns shock to amuse the kids each time he looks away only to find more and more brussel sprouts being snuck onto his plate,  or the way Fredrik, with a belly already full of hearty food, looks at the dessert tray being brought in and says, “Man, I love you guys.”   

  The moments are happy ones, and yet Anna’s chest aches  while watching how well these two children seem to settle into their everyday life.  The Home would continue to keep them safe and comfortable, yes, but it’s still not… well, a home .

  The short trek back to the orphanage that night is a heavy one, as they know the kids need to be back in their own beds, but find that it���s getting harder and harder to say goodbye each time.   Sylvi tucks her nose into the crook of Anna’s neck as she carries her, no longer terrified of touch as she once was (at least, not from Kristoff and Anna.)    And Fredrik sits on Kristoff’s shoulders, his boundless energy finally waning as his eyes droop closed.  

  They tuck them in and say their goodnights, returning home to a castle that suddenly feels far too empty.

    It’s only a few hours later, when Kristoff and Anna decide to retire to their room for the night.  The two of them are quietly getting ready for bed when Kristoff speaks up, his voice tentative.  

  “Anna, do you, uh-- do you still want to have kids?” 

  “I do.   Why?  Wait, are you having second thoughts—“

  “No, no, definitely not!   I still do too.  I really do.”

  Anna watches him, her fingers playing absent-mindedly with his hair as she waits patiently for him to get to the point he’s clearly trying to build toward.   He takes a deep breath, and then:

  “Do you want only... biological children?”

  Her heart swells as it occurs to her where he’s heading with this, and she wonders how she got so lucky, to find someone whose soul aligns so perfectly with her own.

  “Not at all," Anna says, and oh, she can already feel the tears building in her eyes,  "I’d be happy raising a child with you, however they come into our life.” 

   “So say there was a boy with curly hair and a kind heart, as feisty as you, to slide down the bannisters with--”

  “Or maybe a little blonde like you, who trusts us more than anyone, quiet but brave as can be, who comes out of her shell more and more every day--”

  “Or both?”   He asks with a sheepish, yet oh-so radiant grin, and Anna mirrors it tenfold.  

  “Yeah.  Both sounds good to me.”

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Three: I’m the one who grades you

WC: 6.4k

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The air is sticky, humid, suffocating. The sun barely crosses the horizon, but it feels like it’s been on duty for hours. I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt to circulate some air between my skin and clothes, but I think it just makes things worse. 

My apartment isn’t too far from class. Technically off campus, but close enough that I don’t have to worry about owning a car. But days like these make me wish I had one. I run my sleeve over my forehead and slow my gait once I’m in view of all the early risers who are scrambling to get to class on time. 

I reach the English building, rounding the corner once I’m inside to see Harry and Danielle arguing beside the door to our class. I swallow past a dry throat and take a few steps back so I’m out of sight, checking the time on my phone. It’s two ‘til eight. My nerves prickle with the idea of being late, but each time I think about walking by those two, my legs refuse to move. 

He’s animated, gesticulating with purpose, brows knitted together, ascetic, defeated. Despite the empty halls, I cannot decipher a single word, only strings of half-bitten syllables coming from the both of them. Something about manipulation and did you seriously think and you owe me. Danielle remains calm, at least from what I can tell of the back of her head, while Harry’s face grows red. 

I only watch for a few minutes until someone exits a room opposite our class. Harry and Danielle separate on impulse. She’s the first to leave, storming off down the hall with her hair flowing behind her. Harry stays put, his head bent at the neck, staring at the ceiling. He’s frozen for a moment or two, and then he shakes out his shoulders, sucks in a breath, and heads into class. 

I slip inside, and take my usual seat not long after, and fan myself discreetly with the note cards I made last night. Dr. Pierce begins class today, straying off topic as I’ve found he’s keen on doing, until Harry redirects the discussion by clearing his throat. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Styles has your graded reports to hand back.” 

“Most everyone did exceptionally well.” Harry steps back to the desk and gathers a stack of papers. I gulp. “Some of you however, didn’t seem to grasp the instructions...I hope you can learn from this mistake before any future assignments.”

Was he looking at me? Was he talking to me? Surely the shake of his head was intended for someone else. Maybe the guy in the back who falls asleep each class, or the girl who’s missed three weeks in a row. Maybe—

“As I was saying, if you have any questions or concerns, drop by my office sometime this week.”

He straightens his posture and begins reciting the names of everyone in the room. One by one, students shuffle to the front. When my name is called, I might as well be marching up to a guillotine. 

I know I did well. Jessie read it, my mom, Ms. Bortnick, the student writing center...other than a handful of grammar mistakes...this was just a book report after all. Why am I so nervous?

“Remember, if you’d like to discuss your grade you can see me during my office hours. And my office hours only.”

Don’t expect a perfect score, don’t expect a perfect score...

Fuck. Red marks are everywhere, between the lines, in the margins, and topping it all off is a giant 27 circled at the top. No. Fuck no.

I look up and Harry is already pulling up a powerpoint, ready to continue the discussion on The Catcher in the Rye, but I can barely make it back to my seat. Where is my seat? What planet am I on? What the hell is happening? Hypothermia, suffocation, immolation...which one, pick one, it doesn’t matter anyway.

I find my chair and sink down. He’s cruel, possibly morbid, because this is a sick joke. And I don’t want to hear him or see him or feel his movements through the vibrations when he’ll undoubtedly find his way to my row and tap on the desk, so I pull out my headphones like the kind of student my grade represents and pretend the last five minutes did not just happen.

*** 

It’s the guy who chews his gum unreasonably loud that nudges me awake as he’s leaving. He looks back over his shoulder, smacking away, to see that I get up. Everyone’s just an ass today. And there to greet me upon knuckling away the fogginess in my eyes is Harry’s handwriting in what might as well be my blood. I don’t even want to know what horrible thing I did to deserve this.

“Excuse me, Dr. Pierce?” 

He’s cleaning up his desk, smiling when he looks up to me. “What can I help you with?”

I look down at my report, and hold it out between pinched fingers like it’s toxic. “M—my grade. It’s...bad. Really bad,” I dry laugh. “I’ve never done this...bad.”

“Well, Mr. Styles graded these reports so you’re better off asking him. You can leave it with me, but it’ll be awhile before I get a chance to look at it. I still have last week’s quizzes to finish up for you all.” He’s still smiling. This is just a joke for all of them, isn’t it? “But he’ll have whatever answers you’re looking for.”

I turn, slowly, like a child in trouble, to see Harry standing by the door. His shoulders slouch unusually low and rigid, and his nose is a hot red. He’s toeing at the ground while students file out of the room. 

I’ve only ever approached him one other time, and it was just because Dr. Pierce had to step out for a phone call. A couple of weeks ago, we had to partner up for a writing assignment, and to no one’s surprise, our uneven numbered class left me standing alone by my desk, flashbacks from middle school invading my brain. 

With great reluctance, I inched my way to the front where Harry was sat at Pierce’s desk, busy grading some of our work. I cleared my throat which earned his attention, and bitterly told him of my dilemma, and how I had no problem in working alone. 

“No, that’s not necessary. We can find you a pair to work with. You can just divide the work up between three people.” 

He wore a smile as he led the way back towards the class, clapping his hands to silence the chatter. 

“We’re going to have one group of three, any volunteers?”

If a meteor had been headed for Earth in the very place I was standing, I wouldn’t have moved. 

“Anyone?” He asked, when not a single pair made a move to accept me. “It’ll be less work on you individually,” he bargained. 

He had turned to me, keeping his smile up as best he could and motioned for me to follow him. If I was someone else, someone who didn’t fight off a panic attack each time I had to type out an email or place my order at a restaurant, I would have spoken up. I would have told Harry—Mr. Styles—that I didn’t need his help. That I was fine by myself. Or that I could have found my own group. That I really, really didn’t want to work with Danielle, despite not having a reason. 

But I am me, unfortunately, so in a blur of a memory I want to forget, the next thing I remember is sliding in a desk beside the girl who kissed Harry on the cheek when he bent down to pick up her pencil. 

He blushed and told her to stop. She didn’t, going in for another before he could say anything else. The other girl just cooed at them like they were puppies, and for once I was thankful no one pays attention to me, or else my eye roll might have rubbed them the wrong way. 

“This is due before class is over, so get to work.”

And, as expected, as my life typically turns out, I was responsible for the entire assignment. I wrote nearly three pages worth of quotes from To Kill a Mockingbird while Danielle talked about Harry and how cute he is, and how good of a grade she’s gonna get, and how he’s just too sweet for his own good.

“Do you need anything, y/n?” Harry’s voice shakes me from my thoughts. 

I look around to see we’re the only two left. He’s closing out of the powerpoint, raising his brows at me from behind the desk. 

I shake my head. No. This is not what I want. Fuck. I’m back at my seat, shoving this wretched report into my bag. He says my name as I’m leaving but I don’t bother looking back. 

•••

I stuff my change into my purse and bid the cashier a soft goodbye. My steps heading out of the grocer’s are timid, avoiding slick spots of water that customers drag in from the rain. A woman steps through the door, the bell shrieking in her presence as she shakes the rain off her coat. I brush what I can off my arm. She sees me but doesn’t say a word. 

A clap of thunder greets me once I’m outside. It’s chilly, and yet I still feel like it’s summer. And here I thought that Georgia weather was crazy. 

Bustlings of mothers and their small children, college kids, and an elderly man hurry past me while I secure myself under the green and white striped awning. Curtains of water pour down from all four sides; it disrupts my view. I have four plastic grocery bags gripped in my hands, a headache looming at the base of my neck, and the growing acceptance that there is no way I am going to make it to the student lounge unscathed by Mother Nature: I had forgotten  my umbrella. 

With a grumble I’ll share with Jessie tomorrow, I burst through the shroud of freezing rain, only to plow right into a hard body. 

“M’so sorry, sorry,” I throw out. I earn a slew of curse words from the old man, and with nothing more in return, I am left to scramble along the sidewalk for the contents of my bags alone. Thick, icy drops hammer onto me. 

Until they’re not. 

A veil of rain encloses around me. When I look up the clouds are gone, but a large, leopard print umbrella has taken their place.  

What pains me more than the source itself, is the tingling electric shocks pricking me from the inside-out at the sound of a deep, British accent. It vibrates, I conclude, and I feel it in my ribs, strumming, burning, like making a snowball with your bare hands. The sound is conflicting. I don’t know if his voice is noise or not. I swallow and yank a box of tampons off the gritty sidewalk. He says my name. 

And I don’t bother to look up, hoping he’ll carry on and leave me to endure the rest of this embarrassing moment by myself. I’ve had practice. I’m good at it. But then he’s reciting my name once again, and I don’t know how I feel about a man using what is mine to get my attention. I sigh roughly, and peer up to Harry hovering over me. 

He’s in nice clothes, hair plastered to his face, translucent skin, red nose. His mouth moves, but all I hear is rain. Lightning strikes off in the distance and I wonder what his eyes would look like in the heat. I’m still kneeling on the ground when he crouches down. 

“I’m busy, so if you don’t—”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” I have to crawl and stretch my arms in different directions to gather the rest of my things. He does the best he can to follow me with the umbrella, and once I’m back on my feet with my arms full, he steps forward so I’m protected once again. I want to cry. 

“Do you—would you like a ride home?”

“No.” I make it three steps before he’s back by my side and shielding me again. 

“It looks like you do.”

“Then you’re obviously not looking hard enough. I don’t need your help.” I linger for a second, my face scorched with a black heat, realizing those are the words I chose, before attempting to step away. 

His cologne persists even through the downpour, growing stronger as he repeats his actions and brings the two of us together once more, only this time he cradles my elbow with his free hand and urges me to move out of the way of two teenage girls. “We’re blocking traffic.”

“You are. I need to go, so if you don’t mind…” I wriggle my arm and he slips his hand off my skin. 

“The walk back to the dorms will take you twenty minutes.”

“That would be a problem if I was going to the dorms. I have my own apartment.”

“Where—wait—Stone Bridge? By that small park? That’s even farther.” His accent is thicker, ellipsed and coated in syrup. I blame the rain. “Let me drive you over there.”

I’m soaked, so much so that my bones are getting wet. No one looks good in the rain. But he does and I know I do not. And he teaches literature, I do not. He has a car and I do not. He is something and I am... I’m backing up now. I’m confident that my soul has left my body and is hovering over me, shaking her head, not wanting to associate herself with me any longer. I wonder who he would pick to protect from the rain now? Me or her? I can only hope the mascara dragging down my face will be enough to scare him off. Go help her, she’s innocent and I am not. 

“There is no way in hell that you’re doing me any favors, okay. I’d rather lightning burn me to a crisp. At least I wouldn’t have to see you in class ever again.”

“Is this about your grade?”

“No! It is not about my grade! It’s about you—”

I lose my footing, scrambling to catch myself, but I fail triumphantly when my entire backside collides with the sidewalk. I wish a flaming bolt of lightning had struck me right there on the sidewalk outside of Jo’s Market; it’d be more convenient. But instead of sizzling away on the pavement, I am holding back tears with every ounce of strength I can summon while Harry abandons his umbrella to fall to his knees beside me. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here, lemme help you up.”

I don’t have the energy to push away his hands as they find appropriate places to support my body. I rise at an angle, partially because all my things are back on the ground and now I have to start all over, and the more presiding reason is the stifling pain in my ankle. His fingers dig into my arm and my side, somehow strong but not terribly so. Why did the image of small fingerprint bruises cross my mind? Hopefully the rain will cleanse my thoughts.

“Can you stand?” He asks. I haven’t added weight to my leg, and he gets his answer before I can respond. “Your ankle—here.” Smoothly, he maneuvers himself so my arm is draped over his shoulder, his arm wrapping around my back as a crutch. We are stuck together, forming our own three-legged race towards the parking lot. All that big talk I did moments ago, and now I’m not sure if I’m allowed to protest. I forget how to speak anyway, so it doesn’t matter. 

The seats of his car are leather, and I am glued to them. It smells like him and I find myself taking deeper breaths, ushering his perfume as deep into my lungs as they allow. It makes my eyes flutter and my cheeks warm. My soul is missing out. The air is a sedative, and she could use the rest.  

“I’m goin’ to get your stuff. Wait here.”

I’m not sure if he is trying to be funny, but I don’t laugh. He returns a minute later and tosses my bags into the trunk, folds his umbrella and shakes it out as if that would cut down on the flood the both of us are bringing into his car, and slides into the driver’s seat. He slips his glasses off and uses his shirt to clean the lenses. 

“I think I’m okay. I mean I think I can walk.” I try not to wince. 

His eyes are different in the car than they were outside, and even more different than in class. “You can’t even put your foot down in here.” He rolls his eyes and suddenly I don’t want his scent in my body any longer. “I’m—just let me take you. It’s a ten minute drive.”

“Not to my apartment.”

“What?” He puts the car back in park after having backed up an inch. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend is visiting. He lives in Wyoming.” I pause, but realize it’s not enough information. “I promised to stay out for a bit tonight so they could...y’know...catch up.”

“Well what were you planning on doing then?”

“Was just gonna, I don’t know, hang around campus. There’s a rec room.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can’t go sit, soaking wet in a cold ass lounge for hours with a busted ankle.”

“It’s just twisted, it’ll ease up fine by morning.”

“Is there somewhere else you can stay? A friend’s room?” He starts the car again and I squirm to face him, changing my mind immediately. His eyes are swollen, beaten, a criminal red. I’ve only been high a few times, but I’ve cried enough to hold a record. 

“No I’ll be fine, just take me back to school, please. The library is fine, it’s closer.”

“I’m not—I can’t,” he sighs, “Okay, what about the hospital? They can take a look at you.”

“No. No thanks.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you all alone. What if something happens? You can’t even walk, love.”

I ignore the flush of heat making its way from the top of my head to the twinging pain down below. In fact, I ignore a lot of things, like how drops of water take their time crawling down his neck, or how his shirt adheres to his body like a second skin. His knuckles swivel and pulse with each turn he makes. And then I remember I’m moving.

“What um,” he clears his throat and his fingers tighten around the wheel, knuckles no longer dancing. “My—I could take you to my apartment. S’not far from yours.”

I keep my gaze trained on his hands. I need to look at him but his eyes would be too much, his face would be too much. It’s odd, the shift in everything but my focus. He is no longer the man that stands tall in front of a group of people and speaks with purpose. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and before I utter a response, he’s offering up more of his thoughts.

“Only if you want to, of course. I’m not trying—I don’t wanna pressure you, given our...dynamic.”

“Our dynamic?”

“Yeah...you’re my—I mean we’re...fuck. I don’t want you to think I’m implying anything, or that our relationship inside the classroom will be affected either way. My roommate’s out of town with family, so, there’s a spare room. That’s what I’m saying.”

We are at a red light. The wipers squeal and squelch against the glass, back and forth, rhythmic. I grow tired, drowsy in the warmth of his car, and then he starts driving again. We’re moving along below the speed limit, and when he stops at a crosswalk, he turns the heat up. 

It no longer feels like we are in New York, everything is so slow. It feels like I’m in a movie, only I have to come up with my lines all on my own and Harry is actually sad, not acting, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and remember the way he looked under an umbrella. 

“Um, I guess that would be okay.” My voice barely presides over the wipers. His fingers relax, and his knuckles swim again. “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

“No, not at all. Like I said, roommate’s gone, so it’s just me.”

***

His apartment is foreign. Metallic and earthy, a serene jungle, much more aesthetically pleasing than mine. I feel a syringe filled with tree bark and old books and mint shoot into my veins when he looks at me. This is his territory, and I feel intrusive. 

It is dark and navy, indigo, washed woods. Copper pots hang from a rack over the sink. The rugs all match one another, and a painting of a mermaid hangs on one wall. The outdoors are brought inside, almost like a fairy god from a damp forest had decorated this space. The splash of color is a mustard gold. 

A secretary’s desk sits under the window, abruptly capturing a 1940’s moment. Books and papers litter the top. It is the messiest part of the room, and I wonder how untamed he might be with early morning light striking his unwashed face while he makes notes in a book we’d be discussing in class. I wonder if he jots down the questions he fires at me in class, scribbles my name in red ink and underlines it three times, bulleting a list of possible things I’ll say. 

The rain beats against the window, and yet somehow I can still see with my eyes closed.

He stands at the sink in nothing but boxers, sipping on coffee much too strong for me while thumbing through a newspaper.

He sits poised in the navy armchair, reading 18th century literature I never would be able to digest. 

He leans against the bookcase, strumming the guitar, and only stopping to sip on wine more expensive than me and adding notes to a music sheet I can’t understand.

“You okay?”

My thoughts blurr away and Harry is back in focus. He drips all over the floor, and as I follow a drop of rain down his jaw—it had come from his hair, and landed on his left hand—I remember that I am a mess.

“Yeah, m’good.”

“Let me get you a towel. I know you probably want a shower, but I’d feel better if you didn’t. You’re still pretty wobbly and I’m not the best in emergencies.” He speaks over his shoulder with his back to me while he rummages through a small closet. I imagine myself arguing with him, because he appears to be the exact kind of person you’d want in an emergency, but figure we’ve done enough of that already. 

“Thanks.” The towel is soft and green. He leaves me to dry off in peace, rounding a neck-high bookcase that works as a divider between the front entryway and the kitchen. 

I shuffle closer to the living room and rub down my body, although it does little good. My clothes are suctioned to me. I pick at the fabric and pry it off my skin, which only erupts another round of chills. 

I take a moment, while I’m unattended, to scan my eyes over his home. It’s cozy and lived in. If I take a few steps I can see around the bookcase. Harry’s hunched over the sink, his hands gripping the counter’s edge. His shoulders shake slightly, which reinforces the cold I feel on my own. Head bowed, I see him suck in a deep breath before straightening his form, sighing at his phone. He starts to move and I jump back out of sight. 

“Ow—shit!”

“Y/n?” He hurries around to see me in all my fine glory. “What happened?”

I look up at him from the floor, sighing defeatedly. “I—I just tripped. I’m fine.”

“Okay, your ankle is worse than I thought. I’m taking you to the h—”

“No, really. It wasn’t my ankle, just, I’m a klutz.”

“The student clinic is still open. I can have them take a look at you.” He grabs his keys off the counter and pauses, tossing them back. “Sorry,” he sighs, “I—I don’t know where my head’s at today.” He bends down and hooks his arm under my back and lifts me up so I’m standing, well, leaning into him. “I’ve got some clothes for you to change into.”

“No I’m fine.”

“You want to stay in your wet clothes?”

He doesn’t sound accusatory. Sad, he almost sounds sad. I shake my head, my mouth fumbling over silent words as I scream at myself from the inside. “I, I just mean, I don’t wanna be a bother and—”

“I wouldn’t have offered.”

I gulp and nod, our conversation ending there as he helps me sit in one of two chairs at a small metal table that divides the kitchen and living room. He disappears behind me, and I’m left alone to summon whatever force I’m capable of to prevent any tears from escaping. 

My efforts are distracted when his phone vibrates on the counter. Again and again it goes off, working its way to the edge. I’m sure it won’t fall, but with each round of movement, that seems increasingly untrue. I grip the seat of my chair and shuffle over the foot or so I need to be able to reach up and push his phone further back, but then I pause, and peer over my shoulder, still no sign of Harry, and selfishly slip his phone into my hand. 

His screen is filled with Danielle’s name. It’s enough to make me force the phone away, back on the counter where another message rolls in. I didn’t see much, only the most recent of texts—you're being a dick about this!!! 

“Here, think this might fit you. And I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” Harry returns, having changed himself, and sets a hoodie with our school’s name on it and a pair of grey sweats on the table. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. 

He helps me up, but as soon as we turn around he freezes. “Uh, why don’t you change here. In the kitchen. That’s where my dryer is anyway.” He nods to a little alcove homing twin laundry appliances. “I’ll wait in my room. Once you’re done we can head out.”

After assuring him I’m capable of dressing myself, he leaves. It feels wonderful to finally get my soaked clothes off, but once they are, the panic starts to creep it’s way up my spine. Despite his eyes not being on me, I feel exposed. And inappropriate, perhaps, for me to be standing stark naked in my TA’s kitchen. 

I scramble to get dressed, thankful for the loose clothing since my bra and underwear will have to be dried too. I shove my things into his dryer and set the timer, holding my breath while I call for Harry. 

“Don’t—I’ll come get you,” he rushes over to me and takes what is now the usual position of his arm around my back to help me walk. “Go slow, we don’t have to hurry.”

Without a layer of wet fabric drawing my attention, his touch feels that much more warm. I tentatively raise my arm to rest right below his neck, my hand using his shoulder for support. 

And if I said I was able to ignore how his muscles felt beneath my fingers or how his rough voice sounded in my ear, I’d be a liar. But I try anyway, and lie to myself the whole way back to campus. 

***

“You guys are cutting it close,” I hear the nurse tell Harry. He looks over his shoulder at me and turns back. I’m slumped in one of the waiting chairs while he signs me in. “We close in about ten minutes.”

“You’re still gonna see her though, right? She’s...in a lot of pain. Please.”

The nurse sighs and gives Harry a tempered look. “Have her fill these out. Quickly.”

“If we’re too late it’s fine,” I tell him when he sits down beside me. “And since we’re here, I can just go to the library like I planned.”

He turns to face me, a smile creeping its way onto his face. “Let me think about that...no.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you plan on getting there?”

“Well, you.”

“Nope. My services are for trips to my apartment. Or yours. If you wanna hobble your way, allll the way to the other side of campus, to wait in a cold, dark library all by yourself and—”

“Okay, okay. I—”

“Are you filling out your paperwork or chatting?” The nurse interrupts. 

I’m filled with heat at being caught, but stifle my laugh nonetheless  when Harry rolls his eyes. “Fill that out before we get in trouble.”

My name is called minutes after Harry turns in my clipboard, and we’re led to a small room in the back. I refuse the exam table, knowing he’d have to help lift me to get me up there, and opt for one of the chairs in the room instead. 

In less than a breath, a tall woman donned in a white coat comes in. Her demeanor serves opposite places with the nurse up front, smiling big and wide as she shuts the door and shakes both mine and Harry’s hand. 

“I’m Dr. Reynolds,” she introduces herself before taking a seat on a rolling stool, eyeing the paperwork I filled out earlier. “So, looks like you’ve twisted your ankle.” 

“I tripped and fell on the sidewalk...I’m not even sure what I did to hurt it.”

“Can you put weight on it?”

I look to Harry, for whatever reason, as if he has the answer. “Uh,” I clear my throat, “not really. It hurts to do so.”

“Okay, well—do you mind?” Dr. Reynolds rolls over to me and reaches down, waiting for my nod before she slowly pulls up the leg of Harry’s sweat pants to the middle of my calf. “Yeah,” she sighs knowingly, “you’re pretty swollen.”

“Could it be broken?” Harry chimes in from beside me, his voice thick and rough. 

“How did you fall exactly?”

I blink a few times, recalling the memory, but I have to force my way through images of Harry in the rain with red eyes and an umbrella. “I kinda fell backwards. On the edge of the sidewalk, like I lost my footing.”

Dr. Reynolds hums and wheels back to the computer. “I’m leaning more towards a sprain or strain—but we can’t rule out a break until we get you x-rayed.”

“But, aren’t you about to close for the day? Do I have time?”

“We’ll run over a bit today, but it’s not a problem,” she smiles. “We have a wheelchair in another room I can get you. Then we’ll take the x-ray, and hopefully send you home without a broken diagnoses.”

***

“Lemme get you a towel.”

I don’t have time to protest before Harry dashes out of the bedroom. My knees pinch and sting when I lean over my legs to adjust the bag of ice sitting on my ankle. The cold burns already, and I’m not sure if I’ll make the full twenty minutes of icing before ripping the bag off my skin. 

Harry stays silent when he returns, folding a dish towel and placing it between my ankle and the bag. 

“Thank you.” I start to shift on the bed, but regret it immediately when Harry jumps in place and then bends over me to straighten the pillows behind me. 

“This alright?”

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m good.”

“Okay—” he stops his own sentence, pinching the air before he’s out of the room again. 

I sigh and try to move my attention away from my ankle. It’s only a sprain, and a minor one at that, but the swelling hasn’t ceased any, and the weight I put on it after Harry got me back into his apartment earned me a sharp twinge of pain and a disapproving glare. 

I scan my eyes over the room. It’s a little too dark to make heads or tails out of anything other than the furniture. I hiss when I try to shift again, and yank the ice off my skin. I wrap the bag in the towel to keep the water from dripping anywhere, and set it on the nightstand, nudging a copy of 1984 out of the way. 

Harry bustles through the door a moment later, kicking it closed behind him. He looks down at the drink in his hands, chewing on his lip. “All I have is lemonade.”

“Thank you.” I hold back the smile I am supposed to offer. He looks relieved when I take the glass and a sip, nodding and relaxing his shoulders. “I uh...I did want to ask you…” I test the words, wait for the line to appear between his brows before finishing, “about my grade.” He does nothing more than narrow his eyes. I swallow and push my thoughts out. “You failed me.”

He blinks, rolling his lips in. “I did. But we can discuss this later. I—you need to rest.”

“O—okay.” I clear my throat and change the subject. “You play the guitar?”

“A bit.” His lips curl a little like he wants to smile, but they don’t quite make it. 

I hum and bring the covers close to my nose.

“Can I get you anything?”

He stands over me as I sink further into the bed. I shake my head.

“Okay, well—why is this not on your ankle?” He picks the ice up and tries to return it back to my leg, but I move too quickly, letting my foot hang over the bed. “Intervals of twenty minutes,” he hums. “C’mon.” He nods to my leg. 

I manage to hold back any sounds when I settle my foot back on the bed, but judging by Harry’s tsk, I know my face is a dead giveaway to my pain. 

“See? Gotta keep this on here,” he’s particular when adjusting the towel and bag, “you won’t get better, love, if you don’t take care of yourself.”

My mouth fills with heat, so all I’m capable of doing is nodding. He makes a show of setting a twenty minute alarm on a clock by the bed, clearing his throat as he quickly scoops up the contents of the nightstand; the book, nail polish, and a cherry chapstick, shoving them into a drawer in a dresser across the room. 

“You can, well you can stay as long as you’d like. Overnight I mean.” He coughs into his fist. “Just yell for me if you need anything. I’m listening, always. I’ll be...I’ll be in my room. Stay off that ankle.”

I nod, but make plans to wobble out of here as soon as I can. I’m not exactly an invited guest, and for all I know, I could be ruining his schedule...working or studying. A date. He clearly wasn’t in the best mood when we ran into each other this afternoon, and I’m sure having to babysit me doesn’t help any. My skin crawls; how could I have been so careless to not see when I’m being a burden? I’m usually pretty perceptive, or at least, I assume the worst anyway just as a precaution. You idiot. 

He looks over his shoulder, his glasses reflecting what little light fought through the clouds and rain. “Okay, well, I’ll let you be.” he faces the door again, but when he looks back his lip does curl this time. “I’d offer you a book...but I know where that’ll get us.”

***

My ankle stings, but not enough to where I can’t stand on it. I still make sure to occupy my weight on the opposite leg as I crack the door open and peer into Harry's living room. It is early, still dark, and the quiet has me kicking myself for falling asleep last night, forcing me into this twisted walk of shame I am about to endure.

Would he be awake? Dressed? Annoyed that I am still here? His courtesy had been offered out of pity, this I am sure of, and I have foolishly overstayed my welcome. All that is missing is the bed sheet draped over my naked body while he asks me to step out so he can put his clothes back on.

“Harry?”

I can taste the silence. It is unnerving. A few more utterances of his name yield the same result, and I find myself standing in the middle of his living room, dropping the imaginary sheet because he is not there to scrutinize my morning appearance.

There is only one other door beside the one I have just came from, and I press my ear against it for any sign of his presence. Again, there is nothing but the sound of my own pulse.

“Harry?”

I tap my knuckles against the wood...still nothing, and when I yank the courage from the bottom of my gut to open it, I am met with a clean bathroom, still humid and smelling of soap. My face twists and it’s not until I spin around to see a thick blanket covering the couch cushions that my brain finally pieces everything together...but surely he didn’t...fabricate a roommate?

What little energy I woke up with escapes my body. I feel weighed down while making my way to the kitchen. My things are sat neatly on the counter. He’s moved my groceries into a canvas tote and laid out a bottle of water and aspirin beside my folded clothes. 

When I sling the bag over my shoulder a slip of paper floats off the counter and flutters to the ground. I grab it and smooth it against my thigh. 

I was running late this morning, but there's cereal in the cabinet beside the fridge. Please don’t try to walk back. I can reimburse you for an Uber later—remember, I’m the one who grades you. 

I’ll be in the library today around 2. 

Bring your report. 

Harry

******************************************************************************************

Thank you @aileenacoustic @fromyourstrulyh and @bathrobesinparadise for beta reading for me!!!!!

[edengarden]

Hello and if asks are still open may I have a regular match up for BNHA?

Name: Nox

Gender: FTM

Occupation: Student (16 almost 17 yrs old. Jan 4th is b-day)

Sexual orientation: Omniromantic Asexual (male/masculine leaning)

Quirk: Transformative/Mutant, "Zoologic shift" (This quirk allows the individual(s) to transform into multiple animals, but the individual has to have a emotional/special connection or feeling towards the animal and to know it's physical structure to properly shift into the said animal (mythical/made up creatures can be acquired but it is extremely difficult due to the fact of anatomy and bone structure). The user only has a limited time to be in their animal form before they start going feral, if the person is angry or has a different strong negative emotion in animal form, the fast they can become feral (once the user becomes feral they will not remember anything until they have calmed down or are somehow distracted), if the user becomes feral for too long they will not be able to transform back unless they are hurt tremendously or their hatred may take a physical form and eventually kill them from the inside (I guess look at the demons from Princess Mononoke to get an idea of what that is).)

Animals acquired: White Dire wolf, Raven, Orca, Clydesdale, Black Mamba, Barn Owl, Russian Blue House cat, Ram, Fire Dragon, Phoenix, Snake Basalisc

At least 3 positive attributes:

Empathetic (emotional and animal, riots and civil conflict bring me to tears as well as I can feel my friends' pain I and want to cuddle ever dog, cat, etc. I see)

Intelligent (at least in certain subjects like language, art, biology, and physical/hero training), serious (it may come off as intemidation but I just usually mess around)

Diplomacy (I try to avoid any physical fights that can but I will fight as a last resort)

Calm (in most situations I try to keep a level head and it works since when most people need serious help they come to you for advice or to vent)

Justful (kinda speaks for itself)

Soft Blunt and Soft Honest (I am honest with people as well as blunt, but I am not mean or hurtful when I say it)

At least 3 negative attributes:

Anger issues (even though usually calm and serious, when pushed over the edge I can become furious and using my quirk will not help at all)

Self sacrificing (since due to personal circumstances I have started to put other people above me (my friends mostly) and I would do anything, even get myself physically or emotionally hurt for them. It is sorta in a way for having approval for those I care about but mostly is just showing that I care for the people I care about)

Self deprecating with imposter syndrome (it's mostly a form of humor, but I take it far enough where people start to worry)

Dark humor (idk I just like it)

Confrontational (if someone confronts and tries to provoke me I will tell them off but never physically fight back)

Self Righteous (The righteousness is good but usually my self righteousness comes up when it comes to someone's safety or when revenge and anger cloud my judgement)

Children (I don't care for children, but I'm afraid my anger will get the best of me and I'll lash. So that's why I stay away from kids as much as possible for tr he fear of accidentally hurting innocence)

Hahahaha...daddy issues...

Hobby(ies):

Hiking in the woods

Drawing (it's usually vented or dark in some way, but sometimes I like drawing people and animals or characters)

Cosplaying

Cooking

cApTuRinG sOuLs-

Learning about Witchcraft/Supernatural/Celestial

Music Taste:

Lofi

Anti-Nightcore/Nightcore

Viking Chants

Sea Shanties

Celtic instrumentals

Death metal

Instrumental

Old Rock

Classical

Bands/song writers: Skillet, SKÁLD, Faun, Black Briar, MARETU, Steampianist, Temporex, Penelope Scott, Mirical Music, Alice Cooper, Pink Floyd, Angel Maker, Forest Music, Panic! At the Disco, MESA works design, , Harrison (not too much into bands but here are the general ones I listen too)

Appearance

Eyes: Brown/Black has bags under eyes

Hair: Red (henna dyed), it's frizzy at the tips and it's long (cab length) and thick (I hate it's length, but parents...)

Skin: Pale (warm tone)

Body type: In between Skinny and overweight, wide shoulders, actually muscular

Anything else?: Teeth have tiny canines, sometimes can have wolf ears and tail showing, kinda thick thighs-, 5'6ish, usually wearing school uniform. Hero uniform includes a black Cape with under it being a black mechanical suit that is bullet and elemental proof, boots are sharp and steel toed resembling a wolf's paw, wears a head mask that looks wolfish as well in the front but in the back of the mask has fur in the back (look towards some reference of the princess mononoke headgear) (not completely like a wolf but sorta resembles one), the mask also helps with muffled hearing and sight because I am sensitive to those things.

Traits I look for S/O: Empathetic, kind, cooperative, someone who also finds comfort in darkness or the shade, someone that knows how to take things seriously but also having a humors side, trusting and loyal, someone that can work with others (I'm usually a loner but I try to work with others), someone that would at least like to have a relationship that includes physical affection (I am a touched starved peep-), I guess someone that works, likes, or even somehow resembles an animal, some that doesn't get angry easily and is patient, introvert an extrovert doesn't matter to be (I guess if I had to choose maybe someone in between the 2?), and I guess someone that just tolerates my presence and doesn't or call me a piece of shit.

Traits I cannot be around with a S/O: Anger...I can't be around angry people because they scare me to the point I become panicked, people that work towards apathy (I may be empathetic but with someone that can't or won't return the same comfort when needed, they exhaust me), untrusting, someone who is a dick to everyone except me (it just seems suspicious and hurtful), someone who is closed minded, someone that has joy in hurting other maliciously, someone who loves bright lights/areas/lives by the sun, guess someone who wants a 24/7 therapist (again it can become exhausted and I know how it is...it isn'tthat nice.)

Star sign: Capricorn (sun), Gemini (moon), Cancer (rising)

Personality type: INTJ, Lawful Neutral

HP House: Hufflepuff that isn't afraid to kickass

Fun facts!:

I'm somewhat of an animal whisperer

Obsessed with herbs and Crystals

I know it seemed edgy with my hatred towards light, but in all honesty the late does infact bother and irritate me, especially when it's hot

Intrested in the celestial and supernatural

I look at horror and nature documentaries

I've trained my dog to come when I howl

I guess if loving spicy food counts as a fun fact then count that in

Ehhhhh...switch sub-

cAndLe bOi-

I must apologize if this is a lot, I just wanted the matchup as accurate as possible, but again thank you for having the ask box open and I hope you have a good day!

Honestly while I read your description, all I could think of was Tokoyami!

I think it’s pretty obvious why?? You two share a lot of things in common. The two of you are very calm individuals, and I can see you both being voices of reason not only to the people surrounding you, but to each other as well. In a way, I think you can even tend to challenge each other and even push (to a healthy extent) the other to become the best version of themselves.

The VIBE you two have. It’s almost too good. And while Tokoyami isn’t affectionate in public, he’d be more than happy to indulge in your starvation for touch behind closed doors! Don’t tell anyone, but he’s a straight up cuddlebug. And I can totally see him digging the spiritual/celestial stuff?? Maybe he won’t actually know anything, but he’d be so hyped if you were willing to teach him omg I can totally see this as your go-to type of date, that’s so sweet 🥺

Songs!!

- Breathe (In the Air), Pink Floyd (I honestly see you and Tokoyami straight up vibing to Dark Side of the Moon like no other to be honest)

- In the Lap of the Gods, Queen

- Sense of Doubt, David Bowie (THIS VIBE IS SO DARK AND URGH I CAN SEE THIS AS A V I B E FOR YOU TWO - However, Neuköln could be a close second to portray this vibe!)

- Killing a Little Time, David Bowie