#its already so hard trying to undo the trauma they put me through | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

I am once again asking for continuation to hero breaking villain out of prison and comfort for the villain

After so much hurt, I definitely agree that Villain deserves some comfort! I got two requests for this as well.

I might respond to this one from @starnight-whump separately though-- I'm loving writing comfort for our poor Villain! For now, they're getting some much needed physical affection.

This is a continuation from here. Part two is here and part one is here.

CW//Past trauma, medical exams, touch aversion, screaming

It was a horrible decision.

Of course it had been a horrible decision. Going to the prison in the first place had been a horrible decision, so had accepting Leader's offer to 'view' one of their caged up zoo animals. The whole night had been a series of one mistake after another.

And now...

Now Hero stood outside an apartment door, chest fluttering with a mix of nerves and embarrassment, the likes of which they had not felt for a very, very long time. A half-limp body was tucked against their chest, weak hands gripping their shirt like a lifeline. That was the only thing Villain had done for the whole walk here-- held onto Hero's shirt, head buried in their shoulder.

With a nervous flick of their tongue over their lips, Hero reached forth, knocking on the door. Villain shifted and struggled as the extra support was removed, but calmed once more when Hero wrapped their arm back around them.

For a few moments, there was silence.

Silence as dead as that that they had been surrounded by upon escaping the vicinity of the prison. The pregnant pause of indecision.

Of course, it had been Hero's first instinct to head home. To return to their bedroom, return to where they had been before their life had been turned upon its head. There was enough room was Villain, enough food and water, assuming they still understood what those were.

But... That wasn't an option. Leader may have been a monster, but they weren't stupid. Hero's apartment is the first place they would look. If they brought Villain there, they may as well already have been recaptured.

So, Hero had come up with a Plan B.

The doorknob turned, the door nervously being drawn open.

"Hero?"

If they had had the free hand to do so, Hero would have waved, but they didn't want to risk Villain squirming around again.

So, instead, they decided to reply like an awkward idiot.

"Uh, long time no see?"

"Yyyes. Come in, come in. We can't talk out here."

Doctor retreated within their apartment, Hero hot on their heels. The door was quickly closed behind, the nervous doctor securing a number of custom-installed locks upon it.

The smell of the apartment hadn't changed one bit. A fog of heavy nostalgia threatened to take over Hero's brain. How many times had they staggered in here after a battle, before there was an Organization, before there were any real doctors to help? More times than they could count, certainly.

"Sit." Doctor insisted, and Hero certainly wasn't about to refuse. They settled onto a worn, beige sofa, dark spots showing where blood stains refused to be washed out.

Villain gripped Hero's shirt tighter.

"Okay." The doctor took a deep breath before exhaling. There was no frustration in their voice-- there never was-- but nerves made their vocal chords strain just the same. There was warmth in their expression, joy at seeing an old friend, but it was overcast. "Please don't tell me you did something stupid."

"I may have done something stupid."

"Okay. How stupid?" Doctor blinked, not waiting for an answer, before their gaze shifted to Villain. "I assume it has to do with them?"

"Yyyeah."

"What did you do?"

"I may have broken them out of prison."

A pause.

"You broke them out of prison."

"Yeah."

"I was honestly expecting something worse. That's still bad, but... Are you hurt? Are they hurt?"

"I'm fine." Hero shook their head. "As for them, I'm not sure. I haven't looked."

"Then... I mean, I'm glad you're here, but what do you need my help with?"

"I think something is wrong with them."

"Hm." Doctor hummed, gaze turning once more to Villain. "Hey, bud, what's your name?"

Nothing.

"What's your name, bud?"

Villain did not so much as twitch.

"There's something wrong with them." Hero dipped their head.

"Are they asleep?"

"No? Well, I don't think so."

"What exactly is wrong with them?"

Hero bit their lip, hand stroking along Villain's tense back. What was wrong with them? A lot of things, clearly, but what specifically? They didn't seem drugged, and they were clearly conscious, but their behavior was anything but normal.

"Um... Well, they've been locked in a soundless prison cell, alone, for over a year."

"Oh. Oh, shit."

"Which I assume is pretty bad."

"Yes, it's bad. Really, really bad."

Hero's hand stopped mid-stroke, pressing reassuringly into Villain's shoulder.

"Can you help them?" The words came out as a breathless whisper.

"I can try."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Doctor's exam room was probably the last thing anyone would have expected to see in a tiny inner-city apartment.

It wasn't completely sterile, not like one would expect in a real hospital. The carpet had been replaced by tile, but the wallpaper and ceiling remained the same as the rest of the apartment. The metal exam table in the center contained no fancy gadgets, consisting of little more than a stainless steel slab and a pillow wrapped in plastic. At the very least, the cupboards and hanging pieces of medical equipment provided some sense of authenticity to the setup.

"We're going to need to get them onto the table." Doctor nodded, strolling into the room before shutting the door behind themself. "Do you think they can sit up on their own?"

"They were earlier."

"Then put them on the table, please. I'll need to get a better look."

Hero nodded. The limp body they carried did not seem to react to the words. They seemed so comfortable, so desperate to stay in their grasp-- but Doctor knew what they were talking about.

Prying Villain off of their shirt was an effort in and of itself. Once their grip was finally released, they hung in the air like dead weight, allowing themself to be placed on the table without fight. Not that they were aware enough to struggle-- their eyes still sat blank, like staring back at a piece of taxidermy.

"Can you see the problem?" Hero asked impatiently.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... They're acting so weird. There's gotta be something wrong with them, right? Did they hit their head? I don't see a bruise..."

Doctor looked to Hero. Why was there such pity in their gaze?

"Hero..." They exhaled. "Physically, your friend here looks fine. They could benefit from putting on a bit more weight, but otherwise..."

"They're not hurt?"

"No."

"Then..."

"Whatever is going on with them, it's in their mind. Hero, who is this?"

"It was Villain. One of the villains."

"And they were alone for so long."

Hero nodded feebly.

"Is there some kind of... some kind of medicine? Or treatment? To wake them up? To make them themself again?"

"No. No, Hero." A pitied shake of the head. "This isn't sickness. This isn't injury. This is trauma."

"Someone hurt them?"

"The opposite. Being that isolated for that long, it does something to the brain."

"They..."

"This happened slowly." This time, Doctor nodded, as though answering a question Hero hadn't even known they had. "Over months, probably. Solitude and silence, it broke them."

That was what Villain was. Not hurt, not injured, not sick. Broken. The very core of them, shattered into nothing, and without a single wound being inflicted.

They were staring at Hero. Almost. Their eyes were positioned in that direction, but they weren't looking at anything at all. There was simply nothing there.

"Can we fix it?" That was what mattered. Villain had been broken-- were there enough pieces left to put them back together again?

"We can try. But that's not going to be quick. Putting them back together, helping them, it's going to be no quicker a process than that which broke them in the first place. Right now, we need to make sure that, physically, they're okay."

"Mhm." Hero nodded, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in in all its terrible detail. "What first?"

"Medical exam. If no one has looked at them in a year... Well, we need to do that."

"Okay. What then?"

"Then, we give them a bath. And some fresh clothes. They smell terrible. But right now, I need to make sure they're okay. Keep them on the table."

"I don't think they're going anywhere soon."

"Fair." Doctor turned, rolling a metal stand out from the corner, a monitor on its top and a plastic cuff hanging from it. They positioned the blood pressure monitor next to the table, undoing the cuff and holding it in one hand. With the other, they gripped Villain's wrist-

The screaming was somehow louder this time, loud enough to make the doctor leap back in surprise. A moment after they removed their hand, it stopped, leaving Villain sobbing and gasping for breath.

Doctor looked to Hero wordlessly.

"They did that when I first touched them too. I think they're just scared. It's okay, Villain." They tried to coax. "Try again."

The doctor bit their lip, but obliged, moving forward to again place their hand-

It was a more shrill shriek, this time, like that of a dying seal.

"Okay. Okay." Doctor breathed, hands outstretched in a defensive position. "Can.. Will they let you touch them?"

Hero tentatively reached forth, a hand upon Villain's wrist. The only reaction they were met with was that of a slight twitch.

"Well." Doctor muttered. "Then there's only one way we can do this."

"What?"

"You're going to have to play doctor."

"I'm not-"

"I know. I'll guide you through it. Put the blood pressure cuff on."

"Are you sure about this?"

"What matters most is their health. What matters second most is their comfort. If this is the way they want it done, we'll do it."

Hero nodded. "Where does the cuff go?"

"Upper arm. Make sure its tight enough to stay on, but not too tight."

It was just a cuff, right? It couldn't be that hard. They took the blood pressure cuff in hand, wrapping it taut around Villain's upper arm. They twitched, but did not protest.

The machine buzzed, the cuff inflating until the surrounding parts of Villain's skin grew red. Hero felt their heart flutter, as though they should help, before the machine made a satisfied noise and released its hold.

"It's high." Doctor reported. "But within a normal range. They're scared, but not sick."

"What next?"

"Eyes. I can probably do that, it doesn't involve direct touch."

Doctor positioned themself before Villain, a small light in hand. They leaned forward, but did not touch their patient.

The light was raised to Villain's eye. For a moment, they were still, before a whimper tore itself from their throat. They closed their eyes, looking ever so slightly away as they wrapped their arms around themself.

"Hey, hey." Hero didn't even notice that they were shoving the doctor out of the way until they'd already done so. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"Villain, it's okay. It's okay. I'm right here."

Villain opened their eyes-- for the first time, they truly opened their eyes. Wide pupils looked at Hero, quivering lips seeming as though they wanted to speak. Instead, Villain raised their arms, weakly grasping for the person before them.

Hero obliged, picking them up with ease and holding them to their chest. They relaxed in a moment.

"Uh, Doctor?" Hero flushed. "Is it okay if they spend the rest of the exam in my lap?"

Doctor bit their lip, but nodded.

"If that's what will make them the most comfortable. Hold them still, let's check their hearing next."

Hero nodded their agreement, turning Villain around so that they faced towards the doctor. With a gentle hand in their hair, they whispered:

"This is only gonna take a minute, I promise. Then you're gonna get a bath and be all warm and clean. Just hold still for me, okay?"

Villain whimpered, and leaned closer to their new caretaker.

#call me #ask game #whump #villain whumpee #whump community

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gsophie43 · 3 years ago

Text

The Scars That Bind ch.1

Genre: fluff/ angst

word count: 4000+ not guaranteed to be mistake-less

thanks to @alwaysupstead on Twitter (@pd_upstead_fanficstories on Insta) for helping me come up with the title!

Hailey leaned over the sink and slowly breathed to calm down her beating heart. She tried to push down the memories of her direct defiance towards Jay. She took a quick glance into the bedroom, where Jay was sitting in her bed with covers up to his waist as he flipped through something on his phone while waiting for her. She was embarrassed. She was confused at what she was feeling. She was frustrated with herself but at the same time, she was just glad that the case was over. She didn’t deserve him or his kindness. Even though she had had to deal with his mess before, she still felt like he didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of her’s. She breathed deeply, trying to remind herself that he wasn’t the kind of guy to be petty or hold grudges.

“You okay?” His deep voice invaded her thoughts. She opened her eyes and peered over to see him propped up on his elbow, looking at her. She didn’t even realize that she had closed her eyes.

“Yeah.” She said. His freckled body stood out against the white sheets and comforter. She hesitantly brushed out her hair, before slowly making her way into the bedroom, her eyes glued to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly. She raised her hands up and let them fall against her legs.

“I’m sorry.” She said softly. It was so out of character for her that Jay wasn’t sure he had actually heard her for a second.

“What for?” He asked, his eyebrows narrowing. She didn’t turn off the lamp, but climbed into the bed with him. She was taken aback by the fact that he sincerely didn’t know what she was apologizing for. She waited for him to wrap a hand around her waist. She glanced down at his freckled chest, the rough scar catching her eye.

“I’m sorry for everything with this case. For ignoring you and putting you in danger. Then jamming you up. Making you feel like you had to lie for me.” She put her hand over his chest and rubbed her thumb along that scar.

“I knew I didn’t have to lie for you.”

“I put you in danger. You almost got shot again because of me.” She whispered. He rubbed a thumb on her shoulder blade.

“You made a decision. Maybe not the best one. But you made it, and you’ve always had my back when I didn’t make good decisions. I’m not just your boyfriend, I’m your partner.” Hailey teared up when he said ‘partner’, feeling shame about suggesting to Voight that she might need a new partner. Jay was confused at why Hailey was getting more upset.

“I told Voight we were together. I’m sorry I told you not to say anything and then I told him without asking you,” she said.

“I asked Voight if I needed a new partner...without talking to you first.” She whispered. She looked up at his eyes, and to her suprise he didn’t look offended or hurt, more curious than anything.

“Why?”

“I acted on instinct earlier, and it messed up the plan. I went in when Voight told me to stand down.”

“We’ve both done that before though.”

“I know, but that instinct…” she hesitated, ��what if Voight was right? What if that instinct came from my heart and not my gut?”

“What if it did? I think that it makes you a better cop.” He said.

“I don’t ever want to be in a situation where I have to choose between you and someone else.”

“I know… there’s no good solution for that, but I think it’s the price we have to pay to love someone.”

“You almost got shot. Because of me.”

“We’ve survived me getting shot before.”

“You think last time was easy?”

“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. I absolutely hated that sling.” He said sarcastically.

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t imagine how worried you were.”

“I was terrified. I hate that I almost put both of us through that again.”

“I forgive you. You have to forgive yourself.” She just stared at his shoulder and rubbed that scar. He was silent for a second. He leaned over and kissed her.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Hailey whispered.

“You deserve the world, Hailey.” His hot breath danced on her lips before he leaned in and kissed her again. He reached over and shut his lamp off and she did likewise.

“Thankyou.” She said whispered.

“I love you.” He said, cuddling her.

“I love you, too.” She looked at his soft shoulders glowing from the moonlight.

Hailey closed her eyes and tried to let herself relax. Before long Jay was asleep, but Hailey had a hard time falling asleep. She wondered what had made her think about not being Jay’s partner anymore. She wondered if her trauma made her a bad girlfriend. She laid wide awake for over an hour before she suddenly got an idea.

“Jay” she whispered. “Jay.” She shook him awake.

“Mmm..” he grunted.

“Jay.”

“What?” He said softly, blinking his eyes open.

“I got an idea.”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No, listen.”

“Kay?”

“We should take the day after tomorrow off.”

“Why?”

“I made a lot of mistakes in this case, and I feel like I betrayed you. I want to make it up to you. So, let me take you out, where it’s just us and we can spend the day together.” She said softly, grabbing his hands.

“You don’t have to make anything up to me.” He said.

“Jay, I love you. I know that I’ve said that to other guys before… but, you’re different. I really could see myself spending the rest of my life with you. So, let me show you how much I love you.”

“Okay.” He said softly. He kissed her gently.

“Why can’t we take tomorrow off?” He said in a fake whine.

“It’s way too short notice, and I don’t want to do that to Voight. I think we’re already pushing our luck,”

Jay chuckled.

“My luck was beyond pushed a couple years ago, I think he can handle a slightly irresponsible move on our part.”

“Ooooo, Ca-”

“Don’t even say her name.” Hailey smiled.

“K.”

“You ready to sleep?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Hailey, don’t blame yourself for things that have been forgiven. It’ll eat away at you.”

“...thanks.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” This time Jay waited for Hailey to fall asleep as he rubbed gentle circles in her back, before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The next day was a drag. No new cases, lucky for them. But that meant signing off on CI files, doing inventory, cleaning and reorganizing desks, rearranging the bullpen, and cleaning lockers. Hailey’s heart fluttered everytime Jay would touch her back or touch her arm. Jay’s heart would flutter everytime Hailey would give him a small smile. Hailey spent a good part of the day planning for the next day, thinking about things he liked to do and places she wanted to show him. At the end of the day, she ended up leaving at the same time as him but turning down beer at Molly’s. While Jay was drinking with the guys, she went home and surfed the internet to find good places to eat. She would leave the decisions of what they would be doing to Jay. She was passed out on the couch when Jay came to her place home that night. Jay gently took her computer off her lap and smiled when he saw the screen. An article entitled Top Five Things To Do During a Date was pulled up. He closed the screen and sat down next to her, putting an arm over her shoulders. He kissed her forehead gently and rubbed her arm with his thumb.

“Hey.” He said when her breathing changed and she looked up.

“Hey.”

“You ready for tomorrow?” She rested her head on his pec and wrapped her arms around his midsection.

“Yeah, you get to decide what we do tomorrow. I want to do whatever you want to do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah”

“Even if it’s golfing?” He joked. Hailey breathed in deeply.

“Yes, even if its golfing.” Jay chuckled and smiled.

“I don’t think I want to golf tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Ok. There are a few places I want to go to.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jay took a deep breath.

“Have you eaten?” Hailey asked.

“Yeah, I had a burger at Molly’s, have you?”

“Yeah, I heated up some leftovers.”

“Do you want to… take a bath?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.

“How about a shower?”

“Oooooh, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Jay stood and Hailey did the same. Jay bent down and picked Hailey up bridal style, eliciting a rare laugh from her.

“Jay, you don’t have to…”

“Oh please… You are trying to plan something nice for tomorrow, let me at least treat you tonight.”

Hailey smiled as Jay carried her. He set her down on the tile and turned the water on. He leaned over and kissed her. Their tongues danced together and he reached for the hem of her shirt. He tried to pull the shirt up while kissing her, but got frustrated when it wasn’t cooperating with him. Hailey pulled away and laughed.

“Jay, it’s a button up. You have to unbutton it.” She said, undoing the buttons. The second she undid the last button, Jay was back to kissing her. She laughed on his lips. He gently slid her shirt off her shoulders. Next came his shirt, then their pants, and before they knew it, they were both naked. Hailey got in and then Jay got in behind her. Jay trailed kisses down her neck as the hot water created a thick steam that moistened her skin. She leaned back into him and closed her eyes. He put some of her shampoo in his hands and began gently massaging her roots. He slowly made his way down her hair, softly rubbing the blonde strands.

“Your hair is thick.” He said. Hailey laughed.

“It was perfect for people to put gum in.”

“That happened?”

“Yeah”

“That’s awful.” Hailey chuckled. Jay took the shower head and started rinsing Hailey’s hair. Hailey turned and kissed Jay. Jay smiled and grabbed a washcloth. He gently washed her back and shoulders. She got some of his shampoo and massaged it through his curls. Before they knew it, they were both clean, just standing under the water. Hailey took the initiative to shut the water off and grab their towels. They dried themselves and stepped out. Hailey smiled with the towel wrapped around her chest.

“I want to go to bed completely naked.” She said. Jay smiled.

“Ok, lets do that then,” Hailey dropped her towel and Jay copied her, his eyes roaming her body.

“Wow.” He thought to himself. He went in and kissed her passionately. His hands roamed her back while hers brushed through his curls. He grabbed her thighs as she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Jay blindly led them into her bedroom, clumsily bumping into the doorframe.

“Mm… I love you” Hailey whispered.

“I love you too.”

He laid her down in the bed and proceeded to spend the rest of the night making love to her.

The next morning, Hailey’s alarm awoke her. She shut her alarm off and laid her head back on Jay’s chest, smiling. She couldn’t have asked for a better way to wake up, under soft covers, cuddling with her boyfriend. Last night was beyond her wildest dreams, Jay sending fireworks through her body. She heard his heartbeat against her ear and felt his chest rise as he breathed. He was so cute when he slept, completely relaxed. The freckles on his chest popped out in the early morning sunlight. She traced the shape of his abs with her finger. Just as she closed her eyes, about to fall asleep again, she felt a sharp intake of breath from him and she felt a pair of lips kiss her head.

“Good morning.” His gravelly voice said.

“Good morning.” She said.

She breathed deeply as Jay’s arms wrapped around her.

“How did you sleep?” He asked

“Unbelievable well.” She joked. “How about you?”

“I slept well, too.”

“What do you want to do this morning?”

“Oh wow, I’m already deciding?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Well, I guess we could get breakfast for starters.”

“Do you want to lay here first, or do you want to get up now?”

“I want to stay here right now.” Hailey looked at all the tiny freckles on his arms.

“You have so many freckles,” she said, touching his arm.

“Mmm… you like?” Hailey chuckled.

“Yeah.” She looked at all the tiny dots until her eyes landed on a deep looking scar on his forearm.

She touched the scar with the tip of her finger.

“Where did you get this scar from?” She said, tapping his arm.

“Shrapnel.”

“Oh, you were blown up?”

“Yeah we were in a convoy, our jeep was at the head of the group and we hit an IED. It was terrible, the worst recovery I’ve ever gone through. Shattered my arm, ruptured my eardrums, had deep cuts, broke my hip and femur, cracked my skull.”

“Holy shhhh……”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, Jay.” She said in shock. He smiled.

“I’m okay now. Physically at least.” Hailey picked her head up to look him in the face.

“How come I just learned about this?” Jay shrugged.

“I guess it just never came up.”

“Huh.” Hailey sat up and sat crisscrossed.

“Well, now you have to tell me about one of your scars...liiiiiike….this one.” He touched her thigh, accidentally causing a small flinch from Hailey. She looked down at the scar.

“My dad.” She said softly. Jay pulled his hand away, regretting asking.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… I came home from school one day. I don’t even remember how old I was, but I was in highschool. I had failed a chemistry test, but I didn’t want to tell him. When I was using the bathroom, I had accidentally left my back unzipped a little and he saw it. He pulled it out and then dumped my bookbag out on the kitchen floor and went through all of my stuff. He threw my cell phone and smashed it. He went through all of my tests and graded assignments, pulling out anything that was below an A.”

Hailey closed her eyes, feeling the warm tear slip out and slide down her cheek.

“He got so furious, he was screaming. He...he grabbed my hair and pulled me down onto the kitchen floor. He slapped me.” A gentle hand slipped into hers.

“He was screaming so close to my face that he was spitting on me. I was crying. He told me to stop being dramatic and he backhanded me. I bit my tongue when he hit me, caused it to bleed. He screamed that I was a waste of his time, told me I should have been aborted. He punched me, bruised my jaw… I remember putting makeup on the next day to cover it. And he smashed a beer bottle all over the tile. I tried to crawl away… and I did, but I got a piece of glass in my thigh. That’s what the scar’s from.” Hailey took a deep breath. She felt Jay’s soft hand on her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m sorry.” She said, opening her eyes.

“You don’t need to apologize for being upset. Never. You are allowed to cry.”

“Yeah, I just feel like I’m being too emotional.”

Jay sat up. He took both of her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs on the back of her hands.

“Hailey, you can never be too emotional. I will always listen when you’re upset. You have a right to your emotions. Okay?” Hailey nodded. Jay scooted over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I love you. I’m sorry you had to go through that growing up. I hate that you had to grow up with an abusive father.”

“That’s not all he was. He could be really sweet and nice, but anything could set him off. One minute he would be laughing, the next he would be hitting me and my brothers.”

“I know, but it doesn’t change that what he did was not okay. And I want you to know that you deserve so much better than that.” Hailey stayed in his hold for a minute before breaking away.

“Come on, you want to get some breakfast?”

“Sure”

“Where do you want to go? Or do you want to stay here?”

“Um, I can take you to a dinner that my parents used to go to.”

“Alright.” They both climbed out of bed and Hailey headed to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

“ Okay, You want coffee?”

“Ummm, no, I’ll get some there.”

“ ’kay.”

Hailey closed the bathroom door behind herself. Jay made his way to Hailey’s closet and got dressed. He was pretty sure that he had more of his clothes in Hailey's closet than in his own. He chose a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and a burgundy sweatshirt. Jay waited for Hailey to come out of the bathroom before heading in there. He was brushing his teeth when she came in and started brushing her teeth. It didn’t take them long before they were ready and out the door. They decided to ride in Jay’s truck. They looked through the menu and ordered before chatting while they waited. Jay kept glancing out the window, noticing a guy outside that seemed to just be loitering.

“You want to go?” Hailey’s voice broke his thoughts.

“What?”

“You keep looking outside, do you want to leave?”

“No, no, I just thought I saw something.”

“What did you see?” She asked, turning to look.

“Nothing, just some guy that’s loitering.

Hailey put her hand on Jay’s when he looked out of the window again.

“Jay, it’s okay. It’s our day off, turn the detective brain off.” Jay smiled at her.

“Okay.” Jay took a sip of his coffee.

They had a good time just spending time together and talking. When they got up after paying, Jay noticed the guy still outside. In fact, Jay was pretty sure the guy had been watching him because when he looked at the guy, they made eye contact for a split second. This guy was really making him feel uneasy. When they walked outside, Jay put a hand on Hailey’s back and quickly glanced over his shoulder. When he noticed they were being followed, he started gently pushing Hailey to walk faster, as they had parked pretty far away from the building. Hailey easily obliged, though she wondered what Jay’s rush was.

“Hey, what’s-”

“Shhh.” Jay cut her off, looking over his shoulder again. The guy had a hood on and was looking down as he followed them. The faster they walked, the faster he walked. As soon they got close to the truck, Jay unlocked it and urged Hailey forward.

“Get in the car, Hails.”

“Why-”

“Get in the car, Hailey.” he said in a deathly serious tone. Hailey obeyed and as soon as the door closed, she looked in the rearview mirror to see what Jay was so urgently rushing them away from. She watched Jay walk behind the truck and confront a guy in a hoodie. She knew Jay wasn’t concealed carrying so she was extra concerned. All of a sudden two more men came and started attacking Jay. Before Hailey could even think about it jumping out, a taser was whipped out and shoved at Jay’s stomach. She saw Jay swat at it as he crumpled to the ground. She jumped out.

“Jay!” She yelled out. The hooded guy that they had seen outside the diner pulled a gun out and started firing in her direction. She ducked behind the tire of the truck, as she wasn’t concealed carrying either or wearing a vest. The gunfire lasted a few seconds, but as soon as it ended she stood to see them dragging a limp Jay to a van.

“Hey! Police!” She yelled, hoping to scare them because that was her only option left.

The guy started firing again and she ducked behind the car next to Jay’s truck. The gunfire stopped and she heard two doors slam shut. She stood to see the van starting and rolling away. She ran after it, screaming Jay’s name and trying to see the plate, but it quickly turned down the street and was out of sight. She fumbled to find her phone and called Voight’s number.

“Voight.”

“I need help. I- I need help..” She said breathlessly.

“Hailey, what’s going on?”

“I need the team down here now. He- they took him.”

“Who?”

“They took Jay… Jay’s been abducted.”

“Where are you?”

“Diner on 39th and California. It was three guys, average height and build, caucasion, one had a gun, one had a taser. They put him in a gray panel van. I got a plate number, Alpha Charlie Victor Two Seven Four. It turned down a side street and I lost it.” Voight rapidly wrote this information down.

“K,stay put. Call it in. We’re on our way.”

“Got it.” Hailey hung up and obeyed. Her legs were shaking until she finally saw Kim and Adam roll up. Kim jumped out and speed walked up to her.

“Hey,” she said, putting a hand on Hailey’s back.

“Hey,” she replied coolly. Adam walked up.

“Are you okay?” Kim asked.

“Yeah...yeah I think so…. it just happened so quickly.”

“You call it in?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, I called in a 10-1, and put out a city wide BOLO.” Kevin and Voight walked.

“We weren’t concealed carrying, but I should have pursued them, I should have chased them, I should have.”

“Hey, you did the right thing,” Voight said. “Okay, can you walk us through what happened?”

“Yeah, um. Jay and I were just having breakfast. He kept looking at this guy that was outside, it seemed to be bothering him. We finished and walked outside, Jay pushed me to walk faster, he kept looking over his shoulder. I asked and he just told me to be quiet. When we approached the truck, he told me get in, I did. I saw Jay confront the guy. Then, two other guys approached him and jumped him. They tased him. I jumped out, one of them pulled out a gun and started firing. I ducked, they dragged Jay into the van. I tried to confront them, they started firing again. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Anything about these guys stand out to you?”

“No, it was a blur. Um, but it seemed that wanted only Jay, and they wanted Jay alive for some reason. The guy saw me, he could have just shot me point blank and then took Jay, or just shot both of us. But they wanted Jay for a reason. They’re probably gonna torture him for information.”

A silence blanketed the air.

“Ok, one of our own is missing. Let’s get patrol on the streets. I want them focused in a five mile radius. Lets pull pods and security cameras, see if there’s enough for facial rec. Lets see if we can try to track these guys.” Everyone split off to do a task.

#Jay Halstead #Hailey Upton #Upstead #Chicago PD

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imhaitusncarnate · 4 years ago

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I have very mixed feelings on that aot ending

Ok so the politics of Attack on Titan have been discussed by a lot of people, some of whom have a very surface- level understanding of the story. I would like to start by giving my disclaimer that Attack on Tiatan ABSOLUTELY isn’t fascist, its anti racism, anti bigotry and anti discrimination themes are extremely apparent in it’s examination of the Eldians inside Marley, and fascist views held by characters such as Gabi are explicitly condemned in the text and made clear to be misguided and false.

I would now like to draw everyone’s attention to the openings of seasons 1 and 2.

Images like these combined with lyrics like these:

You pigs who sneer at our will to step over corpses and march onwards Enjoy the peace of livestock false prosperity "freedom" of the dying wolves that hunger

We dedicate and sacrifice our hearts

And also the use of german lyrics:

Sie sind das Essen und Wir sind die Jaeger! (they are the food and we are the hunters)

O, mein Freund! Jetzt hier ist ein Sieg. Dies ist der erste Glorie. O, mein Freund! Feiern wir diesen Sieg, für den nächsten Kampf!

(O, my friend! Now, here is a victory. This is the first glory. O, my friend! Let us celebrate this victory for the next battle!)

This is the stuff that lead me to believe that this is a deliberate use of fascist imagery. If the show just wanted to go for a militaristic vibe for the aesthetic of it, references this explicit to fascist propaganda and the use of German lyrics was not necessary. Also, lines like this:

And plenty of evidence that things were not what they seemed it the world of aot and that the overly simplistic view of good vs evil (humans vs the titans) was incorrect led me to believe that Attack on Titan was a deliberate deconstruction. That it was putting the audience into the mindset of the fascists to pull the rug from under their feet later. And I was right. Sort of.

As the story progresses, the world becomes a more and more complex political landscape and we are led to believe that this black and white mentality is wrong. We are also informed that the people who can transform into titans, the Eldians, are an opressed minority, explicitly paralleled to the Jews during nazi Germany, from their living in internment camps, to them being called devils, to their armbands, to a large number of them (our heroes) being confined in an island with walls circling them, which is revealed by Isayama to be Madagascar. The island that the nazis originally meant to confine the Jewish population in before arriving at the conclusion that that would be too costly, and that genocide was preferable.

This is the first of the story’s mixed metaphors. While the show’s heart is in the right place, being sympathetic to the Eldians and showing their plight under marleyan opression and persecution, there is one problem. The reason for the opression of the Eldians is because the world is afraid of their power, as they are a race with the ability to transform into titans. There is, therefore, a tangible, justification for their internment. The Jews were not in any conceivable way a danger to anyone, they were simply scapegoated for the complex socioeconomic problems of Germany in the time period. Also, if we take a look at those openings again, we observe that the Eldians (our main characters) who wish to free themselves from their shackles are framed as fascists. So... what is that saying?

The idea, as I see it, is that the story is condemning fanaticism in general, as a biproduct of a militaristic black and white worldview. The monstrous titans that our (framed as fascist) heroes fight against are revealed to be human, just like them.

The same is the case for the Eldian “devils” that the Marleyans fight against. Gabi, the character who is most fanatically against Eldians (despite being an Eldian herself) is comfronted with the humanity of the people she hates once she gets to know them.

Again, Isayama’s heart is on the right place here, trying to condemn bigotry, however the explicit referencing of history is the imagery is kind of misplaced, for the reasons I previously mentioned. Now let’s have a look at Eren Yeager.

Eren starts the story as a kind of messed up kid. He kills the human traffickers who kidnapped Mikasa while screaming:

I mean, in this case he is certainly justified, but his rage and anger are definitely not normal for a child his age.

This is Eren. He can’t stand injustice when he sees it. And injustice is what happens to him when the titans attack. His already fiery attitude and mindset is what leads him to this declaration of revenge:

That side of Eren is visible throughout the story and it’s foreshadowing for what he will later become

Eren, however, is a natural product of his environment. Ravaged by socioconomic inequality, with the rich living in the centre of the walls and the poor living in the outskirts, constantly under the threat of the titans and unable to obtain any kind of freedom, Eren’s philosophy of the need to be strong to overcome one’s enemies makes sense. The mantra “the strong prey on the weak”, that he ends up teaching Mikasa (another allusion to fascist ideology) is a biproduct of the world he lives in. He does not know of the political intricasies outside the walls. All he knows is he must kill the titans.

Eren’s titan is described as the “manifestation of humanity’s rage. It is huge and monstrous, and could be seen as a metaphor for vengeful hatred in general. Keep that in mind, it’s relevant for the ending.

This manufactured and false black and white worldview shapes him as a character, and it’s what eventually, after the arrival at the much desired ocean, leads him to this:

“Will we finally be free?”

In the continuation of the story, Eren falls toward the dark side more and more, to the point of committing atrocities and war crimes that are explicitly framed as being similar to what he suffered as a child (see his actions in Liberio). He even acknowledges that, telling Reiner, the person who committed said war crimes against him, that he essentially has no hard feelings and understands that the two of them are similar, doing what “needs to be done”. The character of Gabi, who, after what happens in Liberio, becomes obsessed with revenge against the Eldian “devils” is meant to be a foil for Eren, and his obsession with killing the titans after what happened to him.

Extremely interesting is the way in which certain ideas and images are flipped in the later seasons. Namely, in season 4, we see a character who idolizes Mikasa and supports Eren’s plans in a scene where she spouts the same mantra of “the strong prey on the weak” and says that Mikasa saving her is what showed her that only with strength she can defeat her enemies. Mikasa tells her to shut up, and she proceeds to do the salute, that has been so glamorized by the show’s openings thus far. Now, it is done by a person from a military faction with a fanatic worldview. The direction doesn’t glamorize it at all. It is a nuanced, almost masterful deconstruction.

Levi, who has always looked for reasons for why his comrades had t die, justifying their heroism and convincing himself that their deaths were not pointless, ends up here:

At this point, I was in love with Attack on Titan. From here, it only figures that Eren ends up attempting a genocide of the people outside the walls. He has essentally become what he hated the most, and he’s a natural result of the world that created him. Despite his noble intentions, he has turned into a monster. Mikasa, the prerson who loved him the most, completes her character arc by killing him, thus rejecting her blind devotion to him and being free, while at the same time continuing to love the person he once was. It’s a sad and tragic ending, painting Eren as a tragic character and making a pretty strong political point, despite having a few mixed metaphors.

And then, chapter 139 came out...

And Eren apparently pulled a Lelouch. This is a “I purposfully turned myself into a monster to save the world and make my friends into heroes for killing me” kind of thing. It is important to state that the manga makes it clear that Eren would have trampled the world even if they didn’t stop him, because of his urge to be free. However, that urge, that fighting spirit, end up being a good thing. The death of our heroes in battle apparently wasn’t pointless after all. They say goodbye with a salute

The Yeagerists, who were previously framed as fanatics, end up in charge of the government

It is important to state that the real event, the catalyst of the ending, is that killing Eren, who has turned himself literally into the manifestation of humanity’s rage (which has now, through the intricacies of the story, taken the political meaning of hatred and intergenerational trauma), eliminates the power of the titans. The titans are no more. This, in of itself, is good, and in keeping with the spirit of the political commentary thus far. However, the war, is still not over, and Eren’s mantra ends up being correct

So the only way for the war to end is one of the races to be wiped out?

Also, despite Eren’s genocide being wrong, it is, in the end, justified, as a necessary evil by the story. An Ozymandias kind of moment in which the ends justify the means, but Eren himself has to die, because his crime was too great for him not to suffer punishment. Essentially, this chapter undoes all of the insightful commentary the story had made so far, by proving the ideology of its main character right. Story- wise this isn’t a bad ending, but if we take into account the political references the series has made, and its desire to explicitly tie itself with such imagery makes the ending leave a really bad taste in my mouth. What it essentally says, is that, yes, bigotry and racism are bad, yes, blind hatred is bad, but the general idea of might makes right and the impossibility of reconciliation are true. Armin, who has, throughuout the story, been Eren’s opposite, in terms of looking for peaceful solutions to conflict is rendered meaningless in the end, because him alongside with the other characters were all playing into Eren’s plans. The hearts of our main characters as recruits were in the right place, their fighting spirit admirable, and the overall worldview we are presented with in the beginning of the story remains more or less unchallenged.

So where does that leave this imagery?

The conclusion is that one must think very carefully before including allegory in their work. I am not accusing Isayama for fascism, and I appreciate the efforts at deconstructing it throughout the story. However, in the end he did an oops I accidentally justified the mentality I was trying to condemn. I still like Attack on Titan, I believe it has artistic value and is overall a pretty good anime, I even agree with its politics to an extent. However, it is very important to critically examine the things we like, and see where they may have gone south. And this ending is that for me.

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk spoilers #snk meta #aot meta #politics #anime

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igirisuhito · 4 years ago

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Title: Writing down all the things gone wrong Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Matsuda Yasuke Rating: Teen Summary: Upon receiving a gift from Hinata, Komaeda attempts to learn more about a student who once went to Hope's Peak academy. After a strange nightmare, he contemplates the trustworthiness of his memory. Trigger Warnings: Childhood trauma, Religious discussion (I guess?), Doctor/Patient, Medical angst, regular angst, Treatment refusal, Dementia Notes: Happy birthday Komaeda. I hope you like suffering.

[Ao3 Link]

『••✎••』

"Hey uh, do you want this?"

Hinata's hand outstretches towards him, holding a thin paperback book between calloused fingers. It appears to be a school notebook; worn, ragged, really in a complete state of disrepair. The once white cover was now a full grey, bearing smudged writing and barely recognisable symbols. If they were symbols from any other organisation, Komaeda probably wouldn't have recognised them and asked why Hinata thought to insult him with this utter piece of trash.

"I know you like Hope's Peak memorabilia, right? This isn't really memorabilia, per say, but…" As he rambles away to himself, Hinata starts to look more and more awkward. Is he embarrassed? Ah, who wouldn't be humiliated, being seen giving such a thoughtful gift to Komaeda in an act of pity.

Before Hinata can try and make some other excuse, Komaeda reaches out, pale digits barely passing over the messy kanji. "Ry…ko… Oto…'s…"

He has to pause, squinting hard at the words. He wonders if there's a chance he's reading it wrong. "Memory notebook? Like a diary?"

Komaeda takes the notebook into his hands, accepting the gift. However, he can't suppress the grin that crosses his face as he looks back up at Hinata, the desire to tease the other just too tempting to resist. "Oh my Hinata-kun… why are you walking around with a girl's diary?"

"I-I got it from the Monomono machine, okay?!" He flushes bright red, beginning to stammer as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. "I-It could be a guy's!"

Doubtful, Komaeda flicks the crinkled pages open, carefully separating each one with his fingers. The way the ink is washed out on every page reminds him of when you would accidentally put a receipt through the wash, full of barely comprehensible writing and doodles. An overuse of love hearts and sparkles, however, proves his theory correct.

"Even if you didn't get it from somewhere weird... I'm not sure if it's really okay for me to accept this!" Sucking in a deep breath, Komaeda grips his elbows in order to calm himself. "There must be some incredibly bad luck waiting for me! For Hinata-kun to go out of his way to give me something so amazing… haha, I feel a little tingly just thinking about it!"

"Seriously, it's no big deal," it seems as though Hinata's face is just getting hotter, he must be truly embarrassed by how much of a fuss Komaeda is making over it. "Just take it, okay? We had a good time today."

"Well, thank you, Hinata-kun. It makes me unbearably happy that you would give me a gift like this!" Smile stretching impossibly wide, Komaeda holds the notebook close to his chest, careful not to crush it.

"Go home, Komaeda."

With an aggressive nod, he says his farewells, "Well then, I'll see you tomorrow, Hinata-kun."

And with that, Hinata turns away, already running off down the beach. He's sprinting like he's trying to escape something, though it wouldn't surprise Komaeda if he was just trying to run away from any possibility of them speaking again. Unfortunately for Hinata, their time on this island isn't nearly over, and he would have to face Komaeda once again tomorrow in Jabberwock Park.

A soft sigh slips past his lips with the thought. He glances towards the horizon, the glowing sea of orange as waves gently roll up on the shoreline. The sun is setting on another perfect day. A cool breeze plays at the strands of Komaeda's hair, knocking it into his eyes. He brings a hand to his face, tucking the loose white locks behind one ear as he glances back down towards the notebook in his hands.

"Memory notebook, huh?"

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda sits himself down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, placing his gift from Hinata at his side. It has been an unbearably long day, between spending the morning working to collect resources and the afternoon making sandcastles with Hinata, he was worn to the bone.

He leans down to undo the zips on his boots before kicking them off. As he wiggles his toes, he is overcome by the unpleasant sensation of sand sticking between them. With a groan, he begrudgingly pulls off his socks too, all too aware of the sound of the grains hitting the floorboard as he does. A mess to deal with later.

Quickly dusting off his feet, then brings them up onto the bed with him, laying back on the covers. An ache immediately begins to settle in his muscles, and a yawn forces its way out of his mouth. With the warm heat of the evening, it feels as though he could fall asleep right here and now. As pleasant as that would be, he has yet to properly examine Hinata's gift. He'd been brimming with anxious excitement to look at it the whole walk back to his cabin.

Bringing the notebook up to his side, he lays his head against the pillow and flicks it open. The first page is filled with rushed writing done in black pen, ink that has since been washed away. If he squints hard enough, he can just barely make out the characters, fill in some blanks. This is definitely a notebook once belonging to somebody going to Hope's Peak Academy.

How exciting!

He turns the page. There's a two page spread of nothing but blurry sketches and doodles, and from what he can tell, they're incredibly well done. The artist obviously had quite the knack for reproducing realistic details, honing in on fine points such as the eyes and lips.

Carefully flicking to the next page, he finds more hastily scribbled notes and drawings. It's unusual, the subject is the same in almost every occasion, and with each depiction Komaeda finds himself starting to build a better image of that person in his head.

The ballpoint scribbles illustrate a young Japanese man, bearing long shoulder length hair and meticulously detailed eyelashes. His lips are thin, often turned down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The owner of the diary was very clearly infatuated with him, and he could understand why. The man was naturally gorgeous even with such a pouty face.

And somehow, he felt strikingly familiar.

Komaeda turns through a few more pages, carefully poring over the illegible kanji and fuzzy details. No matter how hard he squints, he just can't understand what the words read, as though the information is purposefully taunting him, hanging just out of reach. With a sigh, he closes the notebook and allows his eyelids to flicker shut.

"How despairing."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

"Your dementia is progressing quickly." Crossing one leg over the other, the doctor spun around in his chair to face Komaeda.

His demeanour was… laid-back. Much too laid back for a doctor. And mean, harsh, unnecessarily cruel. It was clear on his face that he thought Komaeda was the most revolting thing he'd seen all day, and he was probably right.

"Ah, such is fate for someone as worthless as me. Perhaps I really am meant to die." He laughed softly to himself, gazing down at his lap.

"Shut up," the doctor hissed. "Are you taking your medication?"

Komaeda stared out the window, wordless in his thoughts. The sunlight streaming through the glass felt warm on his skin, unlike the chill of metal on the medical bed beneath him. It was a lovely day brimming with hope, a day he would have liked to be out there enjoying.

"It's a nice day isn't it, M̧̩̹̗͕̮̼̆̋͑a̦̮̟̠̓͜ť̇҉̺̙s̪̦̟̋ͤ̽͗͜ŭ̺͉̖̫͍̯̪ͯ̐͠d̷̬̤̹̩̱̫̻̺͊a̵̯͙͖̙̩͇͂͛̓̊-kun?"

"Huh?" The doctor blinked, before looking up from his clipboard and out the window. "What are you talking about? Answer the damn question."

He remained silent, continuing to gaze out the window at the campus below. There were students socialising, exercising, running to class. Blurs of smiling faces amongst a sea of brown, each student filled with a sense of pride. The air is filled with distant laughter and chatter. It's too quiet in the room.

"Why don't you wear the Hope's Peak Uniform?"

There was a loud clatter as the doctor's clipboard hit the floor. Before Komaeda can react, (as if he was going to), he's risen to his feet and practically pounced on the boy. The doctor's pale hands reached for his chest, securing a handful of his sweater. A soft gasp escaped his lips, being pulled forward until he came nose to nose with the doctor, warm erratic breaths coming short and fast on his lips.

His face was difficult to see when he was on the other side of the room, but Komaeda realised that distance was not the issue. Even when he was so close the details were hazy, Komaeda only barely being able to make a deep frown etched beneath his dark bangs. Every time he tried to take in more details, it was as though he were looking too closely at a painting, unable to take in the full image beyond a few brush strokes.

"I knew it. Of course you wouldn't take them." He spit, teeth bared and eyebrows furrowed. "You just think your fucking luck is going to save you, that this is all some big plan for 'hope'."

The doctor let go, allowing Komaeda to slump back into his chair. He looked distressed, unreasonably so to the point of unprofessionalism. The doctor swept back his hair, giving Komaeda a glimpse of glaring blue eyes before he pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

Komaeda couldn't help but chuckle to himself. And before he knew it, he was laughing. Laughing raucously, in a way that made his whole body shake with dread, his mind spin with despair. His fingers wound their way to his scalp and he gripped and pulled at his hair until he could see the doctor's horrified expression looking back at him.

"Hope?" The word dripped from his mouth like venom. "There is no hope in taking that. The disease is incurable! There's no point in messing with that fact! What hope is there in waking up every day sick as a diseased dog just so I can tack a few extra years of suffering onto my lifespan? Do you want me to suffer, is that it? Does the Ultimate Neurologist truly believe he can play God? That you can cure a terminal illness? It's embarrassing, you truly don't know when to draw the line, to give up on a piece of human garbage like-!"

"What the fuck would you know about God, you demented freak?!"

Komaeda bit his tongue, a sickening grin forming on his face.

"You think some God is going to sweep you away from this? There is no damn God!" The doctor near screams the words. "There's you, me, and a miserable little pile of pills. You're the one who refuses to see an expert, you're the one who insisted on seeing an 'Ultimate', and yet you refuse to do what you've been told. I don't know why I bother, shit, you can rot in that empty skull of yours for all I care."

By the time he was done with his rant, he'd fallen back into his chair, dejected, out of breath. Komaeda didn't miss the flush on his cheeks, the way his nails dug into his thighs. What a brash display of emotion.

"I never knew you felt so strongly about God, Matsuda-kun." Straightening out his sweater, Komaeda shot the other a wide smile. "I guess it makes sense, you are a man of science, after all."

The doctor did not raise his head, remaining in his hunched over position. He was shaking, fists scrunching the fabric of his pants as he tried to regain his composure, probably to stop himself from jumping across the room and choking Komaeda to death. He thought he would have deserved it at this point.

"Do you really not understand how privileged you are? Are you doing this just to mock me, to make me suffer? I shouldn't have expected any less from Komaeda fucking Nagito," his voice trembled and cracked. "Am I the incompetent one? Should I be coming to your dorm every night and forcing the damn things down your throat? I can't fucking listen to you, I can't stand you. Every time you look at me with that stupid fucking grin on your face it feels like you think this is all a joke. What if you do die? What do you think is gonna happen to the people who love and care about you?"

Komaeda opened his mouth to refute him, but quickly snapped it shut again when a scalpel zipped past his head, lodging itself in the wall behind him with a thwunk. The doctor had raised his head, arm poised with another scalpel in hand and eyes filled with deadly intent as he glared at Komaeda.

"Get the fuck out of my office you ugly bastard."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda opens his eyes suddenly, silently.

It's no dramatic waking up from a nightmare, no shooting up out of bed with his lungs burning and chest heaving. Just a sudden realisation that he is awake and that he has been dreaming. Perhaps he was kicked out of Matsuda's office, but how would he know? It was just as possible that he'd risen to his feet and beaten him senseless.

…Matsuda?

It's a familiar name, but not one that belongs to anyone Komaeda knows. "Matsuda-kun. Matsuda… Hope's Peak?"

He mumbles to himself, attempting to make sense of the information thrown at him. They say dreams are pulled from your memories, so why would he have memories from Hope's Peak? Why would he have memories of a person he has never known?

"Matsuda… I called him the Ultimate Neurologist, didn't I?" He asks the question to the darkness of his room. "I wouldn't forget somebody like that, would I?"

Komaeda sits up, pushing his hair back as he brings a hand to his forehead. "Would I?"

Eyes drifting along the covers of his bed, he spots the memory notebook. "I wonder if I should start keeping one too," he chuckles.

#Matsukoma #Matsuda Yasuke #Komaeda Nagito #Danganronpa #Danganronpa 0 #Fanfiction #Ficgiri

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years ago

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We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 17

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person separate from the trauma that shaped his life for so long, and begins the arduous process of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else. It gets far more personal than even he could have anticipated.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory (especially references to abuse and grooming), referenced deaths of family members, near-dissociation, near-panic attacks

Chapter summary: Caleb tries to make some positive decisions for himself and reaches out to Felix to teach him a spell (and help him cope).

Chapter notes: Chapter title is from Silhouette by Sleeping At Last

*****

Chapter 17: It must be so hard, in the mess you’re always cleaning up, to believe in the ghost of unbroken love.

Caleb and Essek dropped Caduceus at the Grove after breakfast the next morning. They would be picking him up again the day after next, along with the rest of the Nein, but any time he could spend with his family was to be treasured.

They then teleported into Beau and Yasha’s side of the house in Rexxentrum. Caleb had begun the process of putting a new teleportation circle in his laboratory, but it would take time, even with Essek’s help.

Yasha peered out from the kitchen. “Hello! You just missed Beau.” She looked at Caleb, who had slept poorly until he had given in and polymorphed himself into a cat, and swept both him and Essek into a tight hug. He liked this side of her, less concerned about making a social fuckup and just doing what felt right.

Essek awkwardly patted her back. “Hello, Yasha.”

She let them go. “Oh, Caleb! I’ll get the note. Give me a moment.” She ran upstairs, thundering around the upper floor.

Essek set a pouch of Xhorhassian spices and fried bugs from the region on the kitchen table; he had gotten lucky at the market yesterday. The peaceful conclusion of the war had freed up trade, allowing a better variety of goods to be found, especially in port cities such as Nicodranas. This also meant Essek had been able to stock up on a few hair and skincare products that were hard to find outside Rosohna. He had insisted on picking up a few products for Caleb as well. Caleb was still a little unused to being clean, let alone having a skincare routine.

Yasha pelted back downstairs and passed Caleb a little scrap of paper. “Here.”

“Danke.” Feeling the high quality of the paper between his fingers, Caleb suspected Nico had torn this piece from his own spellbook. Caleb made plans to leave some paper and ink lying around downstairs in case Nico came again while everyone was out. For now, he committed Nico’s handwriting to memory and stashed the note between the pages of his new journal. Then, he reached into his pocket and handed Yasha its twin. “For you. I thought… maybe it was time we collect happier memories.”

Yasha accepted the leather-bound journal, slightly smaller than her old one so she could keep it on her person with ease. His was identical. “Thank you, Caleb. This is a lovely gift.” She held the leather to her nose and inhaled deeply. She chuckled. “It smells like the ocean.”

“Ja, for now.” He hadn’t told the Nein what his old journal had held. But, if nothing else, the soft look on Yasha’s face confirmed she understood it was tied to his past, much like hers had been. He wasn’t sure he would ever tell the Nein, aside from Essek, what he had truly planned with the letters and the T-Dock. He was sure Beauregard suspected, and possibly Veth, and he was certain the rest, especially Caduceus, had caught on that he was headed down a self-destructive path. But Caleb had made the decision not to pursue it. Unveiling that now would upset them, and he had upset them enough. And Caleb preferred to keep that chapter of his life shut, lest he fall into temptation again.

It was time to look forward, as much as he was capable. As much as the current circumstances would allow him. The past would always have a hold on him, but he could choose to let it guide him towards making things better instead of breaking the world to undo what had already been done.

On that front, he had promised to pay Felix a visit, and Essek had burned his teleportation spells so Caleb still had his free for the day.

***

Caleb landed alone in Blumenthal. His breath still seized in his chest at the sight. He pressed a hand to his sternum and gulped down air until the world stopped spinning. He wondered, a little frantically, whether this would ever get easier. And then the panic passed, and he could breathe again.

He checked in with the gravekeeper, who confirmed they were holding off on the Baumanns’ funeral for a few more days in case Nico was willing and able to attend. He passed on the news that Nico had made a small amount of contact, and Caleb willed himself to exude what quiet optimism he could manage.

The gravekeeper was an elderly widow who had been tending the Blumenthal graves for as long as Caleb could remember. She knew him, of course, and that was unnerving as always. But he was trying to stay calm about the people of Blumenthal knowing the professor visiting Felix had once been Bren, son of Una and Leofric Ermundrud. It was hard, though, knowing there were at least a few neighbourhoods who could make the connection between what happened to the Baumanns, and what happened to the Ermendruds. They had not stated outright at any point that Nico had killed his parents, but the more people who knew about what happened, the more people were likely to suspect the truth. And, of course, the Schneiders knew. Caleb didn’t want the townspeople to think of Nico that way; he was going through enough. Caleb wasn’t sure how he felt about himself, only that there was a weight in his guts that intensified whenever he thought about it too much.

Caleb made one last stop before meeting Felix. He was here anyway, and he had not visited his parents since he had buried the letters with them. So he picked his way through the winding cemetery. It was easy to find his parents again, now that he had been here once.

“Hallo,” he said quietly, kneeling in the grass before their paired gravestones. His last visit hadn’t been that long ago, really, but he had been so swaddled in his grief that it had been hard to think straight. He pulled out the new book and rested it on his knee. “A lot has happened since I last came. I have a house now, in Rexxentrum, and a job teaching at Soltryce Academy. I’m going to stop what happened to me, and the both of you, from happening to anyone else. Best I can, anyway. Mixed success so far.” An inappropriate chuckle escaped him. “It’s… strange. Seeing these young boys, Felix and Nico, who had been set on the same path I had walked. We stopped Felix before he could… but I wasn’t fast enough to save Nico’s parents. I am… doing what I can now. They are both so young. Children, really. And, well, you know children that age rarely feel like children. I didn’t. I think Trent exploited that.”

He let the quiet wash over him. A light, fresh breeze played against his face. Most residents of Blumenthal were probably hard at work right now. This was a farming town, after all.

He remembered the journal on his knee. “Oh, and I have a new book now. This one is for happy memories. Nico left me a thank you note; I suppose that’s the first one. He’s not… he needs time. But I am starting to believe we can help him. I’m… I think that scares me. I understand what he’s going through better than most, but… this is a huge responsibility. I hope I don’t fuck it up. Sorry, mother. I would blame my new friends, but, in truth, I’ve always had a mouth on me. My friends are very cool, though. I think you would have liked them. Well, jury’s out on Beauregard, but she grows on you. Maybe I’ll tell you about our adventures next time I visit. Well, some of them. From Trostenwald, to Xhorhas, to a floating flesh city, to a Rexxentrum courtroom... we had a big year. And it’s because of them that I can bear talking to you like this.”

A tiny thought, right at the back of Caleb’s head, suggested he should bring the Nein next time. Or maybe one or two of them. Nine people clustered around a pair of graves sounded like a lot.

Caleb wanted to stay longer, but he had to check on Felix. He sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. “I will return, I promise. I will not leave you for as long as I did the first time. I love you both.”

He stepped away while he still had the will to do so. The grief was there, but he felt in control of it. For now, at least. And there was a family that needed him.

***

Louise Schneider was tending the vegetable patch in front of the house, while Friedrich knelt by a wooden cart, replacing a damaged wheel. Caleb fought off nausea at the sight of the cart; it looked just like the one his parents had owned. That… was fine. He was fine. Blumenthal-standard cart. The things were everywhere.

Louse set her trowel aside, sitting back on her heels. “Hallo… Caleb?” She was, evidently, struggling a bit to figure out what she was supposed to call him.

“Ja, hallo.” His voice was a little rough, but steady.

“Felix is in his room.” Louise wiped her brow with the back of her glove. “He’s been a little… reclusive.”

Sensing this conversation was going to take more than a few seconds, Caleb sat in the grass with her. “Okay, talk to me. How is he? And how are the two of you?”

Louise huffed a short, rueful laugh. “It is hard to tell how your child is feeling when he barely talks to you.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Caleb said, as gently as he sensed she would tolerate. “My situation was not like Felix’s, but I can understand a little. It’s… not a comfortable feeling to know that all the love in the world is not enough to… to…” He breathed. “All I know is that I have grappled with the guilt of my actions for a long time, and the fact we were able to get to him before it went that far… it does not erase the shame. It is an ugly thing, to face yourself, to face the person you have become, even if you were manipulated and abused and brainwashed to become that person.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Love him. Show him you are there for him, in whatever way he can bear.”

Louise gazed back at the house. “But if love wasn’t enough…”

“It takes time,” Caleb told her. “You can’t measure it, or count it. Time looks different for all of us. But with your support, it will be easier for him to come to terms with what happened to him, and to understand he is not a bad person for the things he was persuaded to do, and almost did… easier than it is for me. You have to remember, Frau Schneider, that those of us in the Volstrucker program thought we were serving our country, and we were honoured to do it.”

“We thought the same,” Louise murmured. “When Felix was chosen for the program…” She sighed. “I told Master Ikithon to do whatever it took to help him be what the Empire needed.”

The ground was unsteady beneath Caleb, and he was relieved to be sitting down. “My mother and father felt the same, if Ikithon spoke true. He usually does.” A wave of pettiness overcame him, and he chuckled. “Did. That is why it is so difficult to process. He rarely lied to us outright. And we thought we had a choice. We did, to a degree. We chose to serve, and we thought we had to endure what he put us through and what he asked us to do… so we could serve our country.”

“What do you now believe?”

“I believe there are good people in the Empire,” said Caleb. “There are things worth preserving. The child abuse and murder of innocent Empire citizens are not among of them.” He was getting distracted, so he steered his thoughts back in their original direction. “Now is the time Felix needs you most. The biggest thing that has helped me is knowing there are people who care about me and value me, even when I don’t care about myself.”

“We’re trying,” said Louise. “Thank you. He should be in his room, if you’d like to talk to him.”

“Ja, I will. He has been working on a Transmutation spell, which happens to be my specialty.” Caleb pushed himself to his feet, straightening his coat. “And, Louise?”

“Ja?”

“We were children a long time ago,” he said. “And my memories of Blumenthal are too… complicated to linger on, but I remember your kindness. And I have seen your love for your son. You are a good mother. Remember that, and extend that same kindness to yourself, ja?”

Louise picked up her trowel, her movements slow as if through water. “Danke.”

Caleb moved towards the house, exchanging a wave with Friedrich. The front door was open, so he stepped through. The house only had one storey, so he moved past the living area to a short, thin hallway. One door was open, revealing a wide bed for two people. He knocked on the other door.

“What?” said Felix, voice tinged with adolescent irritation that brought back a fuckton of memories for Caleb, of studying in his bedroom until his mother interrupted to coax him down for a meal. It ached, but bearably so.

“It’s Caleb. May I come in?”

“Ja, I guess.”

Caleb turned the knob and slowly pushed, poking his head through first. Felix was sitting on the wooden floor, beside a low bed made from a rough timber frame. His spellbook lay on the floor in front of him, but it was seemingly open to a random page, and Felix’s hair was mussed as if he had just been lying down. On the floor, if Caleb were to guess.

“Would you like some good news?” Caleb said, stepping inside. He shut the door, leaning against it while he awaited Felix’s response.

“That would make a nice change,” Felix said flatly.

Caleb sat on the floor in front of him and pulled out his new book, removing Nico’s note and handing it to Felix. “Nico visited my home while it was empty the other day. He left this.”

Felix scanned the note with careful, controlled slowness. He passed it back, staring sightlessly at the pages of his book.

“He also responded to a Sending,” Caleb continued. “Only to tell me he did not wish to talk, but that is progress. Has he spoken to you?”

“Nein,” Felix said quietly. There was a heaviness to his posture, and he seemed to lack the energy to express himself with his face or voice. Aside from that singular spike of irritation when Caleb had knocked.

“Well, it appears he is listening. If you can bear it, I would suggest you keep talking to him.”

“Ja, okay.” The Felix in front of him was a far cry from the Felix in his messages. Exhausted, flattened… defeated, in some ways. Beaten down and ready to give up. Caleb knew the feeling well. It was why he had been messaging Felix so frequently, knowing that he had no one else who could understand what he had been through. What he had almost done.

It would have been easy enough to talk about the Fly spell and let him have a distraction, but they had things to discuss first. It was better to end their meeting today on a positive note, rather than give him a reprieve now and drag him back to earth later.

“I spoke to your mother,” Caleb said, sitting with the guilt of not giving Felix the distraction he sorely needed. Not yet.

Felix huffed quietly. “Was it a useful conversation? Mine haven’t been.”

“I have the luxury of not being family,” Caleb replied. “I can tell her things that you never would.”

Felix snorted. “Right.”

“She says you’re becoming a recluse.”

Felix shrugged.

“Why is that?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Felix muttered, and Caleb got the sense he probably would have snapped at him, had he the energy. “I know they’re afraid of me.”

“I don’t think they are, Felix.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was going to kill them, and I would’ve succeeded. I know that. They know that.”

“I don’t think they’re worried about that right now.”

“Then they’re stupid.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your parents, Felix.”

“Murder also isn’t nice, but I was going to do that anyway.” Felix flipped through the pages of his spellbook until he landed on one Caleb recognised: the formula for Fireball. “Push the cart in front of the door, throw one of these fuckers into the house, or maybe a Lightning Bolt would’ve looked like a freak accident.” Having not expected this, Caleb had to fight a wave of nausea and grasp tightly to the present, and hoped it didn’t show on his face; this wasn’t about him or his bullshit. “Hadn’t decided. Whatever. If I aimed right, it would be over quickly. If not… it would be over eventually. Nico had similar plans, which apparently worked.” Felix’s fingers spasmed on the page, as if resisting the urge to tear it. “If my mother and father do not fear me, they have deluded themselves into thinking I’m innocent. Makes a certain kind of sense, I suppose. I never could tell them what Trent had us do. I have nothing to say to them. I see no point trying to comfort them when they should be afraid of me. They should not want me here.”

Felix was spiralling. Badly. Caleb was out of his depth, and his brain was not turning as efficiently as it usually did, on a knife’s edge of whether to stay present or dissociate entirely. But he had to do something.

“Would you like to guess where I have been today?” Caleb asked. “It’s here in Blumenthal.”

Felix shrugged. “I hate guessing games.”

“I visited my mother and father. Spoke to them for a while.”

Confusion furrowed Felix’s brow for a moment, before he looked up, understanding. “Can’t imagine they were very talkative.”

Caleb’s laugh surprised both of them. “You’re not wrong. Rather one-sided. But maybe they can hear me.”

Felix continued to take the bait. “Fine. I’ll bite. What did you talk about?”

“Life updates. I have only visited once before, a few months ago, and that was more… intense. And, well, since then, I’ve hit several personal milestones I wanted to tell them about.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I am about to guilt-trip you into speaking to your living parents.”

“Oh, fuck you.” There was no aggression behind it, merely exhausted resignation, as if Felix already knew Caleb had the upper hand.

“I am not expecting you to bare your soul to them,” Caleb said. “I understand the impulse to hold back and I do not wish to deny you your privacy. But, it is very easy for people like us to get caught in our heads, and it can be difficult to pull ourselves out of it without help.”

“And if I don’t want to have to look at them and remember I was going to fucking kill them?”

“You seem to remember that well enough without seeing their faces.”

Felix shoved his face into his hands, sighing loudly. “I don’t know what I would even talk about. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“I’ve always found admitting I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing is very helpful.”

Felix snorted.

“And I do not agree that you have nothing in common.” Caleb didn’t try to make Felix look at him. If this were one of the Nein, he probably would have gotten obnoxiously in the way until they couldn’t ignore him, like Jester, Veth and even sometimes Essek had been known to do for him. But, with Felix, his words would have to be enough. “You have told me you love them, and they clearly love you. There is a lot of common ground there.”

“What common ground?” Felix curled more deeply inward with the gravity of defeat. “I cared more about some bullshit Trent put in my head than how much I love my parents.”

This was far more familiar territory to Caleb. “You are not alone in that, Felix. I loved my mother and father. And I killed them just the same. Trent exploited our patriotism to isolate us from our families and tie our worth to serving the empire, to serving him. And by having us kill our families based on a lie, one of the only lies he ever told us, he could ensure we had no one else to support us. That we would not believe we deserved better, even if we learned he had modified our memories. He wanted us to have nothing else but him. Did he pull that ‘we are family’ bullshit with you?”

Felix dropped his hands, snickering bitterly. “Ja. All the time.”

“Creepy, ja?”

Felix kept laughing quietly.

“He invited me to a ‘family reunion’ with him, Astrid and Eadwulf a few months ago,” said Caleb. “My friends came with me. Do you remember Caduceus?” Felix nodded. “He told Trent he was a fool, and that no one loves him.”

Felix scoffed. “You’re lying.”

“I am paraphrasing. He did call Trent a fool, but what he said about love was… wait, let me quote this exactly. I have this burned into my memory forever.” Caleb cleared his throat, and did not attempt to mimic Caduceus’s voice because he was awful at accents, but he quoted: “He said, ‘I think it has been a long time since anyone has pointed out to you that you're a fool. Pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It's love that saves them. And you would know that, but you have none around you. You said so yourself, you surround yourself with lies and deceptions. And I wish for you, in the future, to find someone who will mourn you when you are gone. Respectfully.’ And then Trent left.”

“Okay, two things,” said Felix. “First of all, Caduceus is cooler than you. Second, your memory is terrifying and I am rethinking every word I have ever said to you.”

“Caduceus is very cool, ja. And the memory is a blessing and a curse for me and everyone around me. I also have a very good sense of time, and I have used it to annoy the shit out of my friends.”

“Nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Fuck off.”

Caleb chuckled. “Back to my original point. Trent is a piece of shit. He wanted us to believe we chose to follow him, ja, but the choice was false. He wanted us to believe we did not deserve better. Even now that we are free from him, it is not easy to break that conditioning. Our minds are more fragile than we like to think, ja?”

“Ja, I guess.” The momentary brightness faded from Felix’s expression, and the heaviness returned.

“And an important step in countering that is to reach out to the people who care about you.”

Felix slammed his spellbook shut, hiding the Fireball spell from view. “And if I don’t want to?”

“Let me ask a question in return. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you so sure you do not want to repair your relationship with your parents?”

Felix groaned softly. “Did you have to word it like that? Of course I…” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Arschloch.”

“Then, is the problem less about what you want, or don’t want, and more about what you think you deserve?” Caleb had far too much experience in feeling that way.

“Fuck you, Caleb.” Felix scrambled to his feet, hugging the spellbook to his chest. “Are you going to teach me this spell, or did you just plan on lecturing me all day?”

Ah. There was the limit. “All right, I’ve said my piece.” Caleb got up. “You said you’ve transcribed the spell?”

“Ja. I just… it’s not an easy spell to practice.”

“I know. Shall we go outside? We will need space for this.”

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #critical role #cr2 #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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phoenixrising23 · 3 years ago

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A Winters Grasp

This is the first story in a series I want to do

Chapter 1 -

Cold breath brushing across my face, the soft whimsical voice whispering in my ears, the eyes no longer holding any human resemblance staring back in the Into my own . here I stand calm almost happy Like as my hands down to my side and did nothing to worry about I know it is coming Death it's going to wrap her beautiful arms around me and take me away Looking back at all the faces and all the bodies mangled mutilated and bloody all of those that I let down. this is it the final moments of my life all the happy memories begin to flood back I try I try so very hard not to let the tears fall I can't let them see me like this they'd think it's a weakness they would actually think I'm afraid but I'm not. its funny and its sad for you and I, you were there with me when I found out about everything when I began this journey you were there when my parents died when I had... I had to kill my own brother in order to survive so why haven't you killed me yet why are you still standing there laughing looking as if you have seen a ghost? you realize it now don't you the fact that you cannot kill what has already been killed you know what I am I've become death I am the one thing that you yourself fear the most don't worry I'll make sure that it's quick and painless after all that is what you ended up doing isn't it telling her you made sure and her death was quick and painless. oh you don't remember let me take you back to that day you kidnapped her you locked her up in a dungeon you raped her you mutilated her you chained me up and had me watch what you did to her and now vengeance and Hell shall rain down upon you so this is your own undoing you hurt her you killed her you took a part of me away and I can never forgive you for that so now you must face the angel of Mercy you must face the angel of vengeance and you show me death.

Please please I beg you I never meant for any of this to happen I am just servant I didn't know who that girl was hell I don't even know who you are I don't even know what I'm doing here just let me go I'll do anything I'll give you any message to my master please just don't kill me I have a wife I have a child I'm begging you let me go. let you go after everything you and your master has put me through after everything your master told you to do to her no I will make sure that you pay I will make sure that your wife and your child knows exactly what type of man you were a coward sick twisted Disturbed vile coward, please miss I don't even know your name I don't know what you want with me I'm sorry I'm sorry I did what my master told me to do I don't even know what my master wants with you why or he had me do what he had me do I never wanted to do it you see he he threatened my family. my name is Alyssa Winters and I'm the last of the Royal bloodline of the Winter's family I am also one of the last of the Hellsing order your master he wants me dead because with me dead did he can achieve his one true goal immortality he can raise a vampire Army he can take over the world oh.

But you see him and that lycan leader corvus they are both going to die at my hands for the misery that they put my family through but right now you are going to die and pay for the hell and misery and Trauma but you put Veronica through, so so it is you well I never thought it would be true me standing here in front the last of the Winter's family tell me did Mommy and Daddy have a great time being ripped to shreds tell me little girl what are you doing here without your big bad Hellsing by your side do you really think you can kill me? do you even know who I am do you? I am 1 the three children of Dracula Congratulations Alyssa Winters you have truly uncovered the truth I would have destroyed Veronica Helsing back then if it wasn't for that damn charm she was wearing.

you mean this charm the charm of the all seeing eye the charm of the Fallen Angel this charm it wouldn't work for her it only works for me it only works for a witch you couldn't do it you weren't strong enough to kill her so instead you violently beat her you chained her up and you raped her let me ask you a question where is your father and your other two siblings at if you answer me these questions truthfully I might add I may even think letting you go letting you live another day besides you were too easy to catch I enjoy the hunt I enjoy hunting down you vile sick bastards and that's what I'll do I'll let you go I will hunt you your father your siblings the Lycans and everything else down none of you just survive the Wrath the angel of Mercy the angel of vengeance for I am Alyssa Winters and this is my promise to my ancestors and to the ancestors of the greatest order and all of the world to the order of Hellsing I will not stop I will not sleep I will not eat until each and every one of you are gone until each and every one of you burning in the pits of hell.

#vampire #fiction #hellsing

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adventuresloane · 4 years ago

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The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Chapter 2

Summary:

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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They woke up that night to a hand shaking their shoulder.

They sat straight up and tried to pick out shapes around them. The sky was still dark as fertile soil, and it bore plentiful stars.

In front of them was Bane, crouched on the ground with a lantern only bright enough to light both of their faces. Glancing over, Hurley saw the two black lumps on the ground that were the still-sleeping forms of Barbra and Jerry.

Bane looked at them pointedly for awhile, then stood. Nothing further was needed for Hurley to know that he wanted them to follow.

He led them to where Hurley had been hoping, maybe against hope, he wouldn't. He came to a stop a few meters in front of the door to the wagon. They looked at the ground.

"Just because you went against my orders once and had it work out," he said quietly, "doesn't mean I expect you to make a habit of it."

They bit the inside of their cheek. It was the only way of holding their tongue at the moment.

"You suppose we were too rough, then? That's why you insisted on undoing the ropes?"

They sighed. "Sir, I just don't believe in kicking people when they're already down. She's not a threat now."

"That doesn't surprise me." He paused, then gestured toward the wagon a little with the hand holding the lantern, causing it to swing on its creaky metal handle. "Let me tell you something about that one. And it's not one of those bullshit tall tales about the Raven that people like to pass around. This is true."

They looked away from the locked door and back to him.

"She's been caught only once before, as far as anyone can confirm. Another posse from another town did what we're doing now, only they didn't do it nearly as well as they should have. Most of the accounts say that they just bound her wrists, left her tied to some tree or post near their camp, and then went to sleep. Well, you can imagine what happened. Someone like that, unguarded, you can bet she got away in the night." He let out a sigh through his nose. "That was nearly five years ago. Compared to now, the Raven had only had a handful of robberies under her belt, smaller ones. And it was well before she killed anyone."

"Sheriff..." they said, but they took too long thinking of where to begin, so he went on.

"I'm saying this because I like you, Hurley. I think you're like me. Both of us feel the need to protect the innocent as much as we need to protect ourselves, and you'll do what you have to do to protect. And when you get more experienced and maybe become my deputy--" They looked back at him with a jolt at that. "--since I get the feeling that would suit you, you can start making more judgment calls yourself. But keep this in mind when you do. Had that first posse handled her capture properly, Abernathy would still be here today, not to mention everyone else she's thought to have killed in other towns, and I think about that. And do you know what else? Maybe if she'd gone to prison at that time five years ago, she would've eventually gotten out and lived the rest of her life, instead of facing the gallows. I think about that with these people, too."

Their mouth felt dry as they took in the night air through it. They had been ready to defend their decision before, but Bane was maybe the one person who knew how to shut them up.

He sighed again. "Anyway, that's it. I don't mean to berate you. Listen. Tomorrow morning, I'm going out to scout for signs of other bandits reported to be in the area. I'm leaving you to stay behind and keep guard." He spoke emphatically as he brought out his rope. "The Raven is to stay tied before then. I'll undo the ropes tomorrow, but not until she's worn out enough. I don't want you or anyone else here put at a disadvantage around her."

Hurley mulled over whether to push back. Maybe they should've been honored to have such a responsibility, but on the other hand, it seemed pointed and deliberate that he would choose not to take them along when they'd been the one to catch the Raven. But they thought better of it anyway. "I won't be, sir."

"Good." He then went over to the wagon and took the lock off the door. Then, with the hand that was not holding the rope, he pulled out his gun. He looked back at Hurley, and while they did not follow him this time, they only met his eyes for a few seconds before glancing away.

Just because they didn't see didn't mean they couldn't imagine. They heard a thud, then a louder one followed by a grunt. Bane said something that they couldn't make out. Then, quickly, he was outside again.

"I think we ought to get some sleep," he said before walking past them. They paused before heading back with him toward the fire.

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

Just after first light, as promised, Bane left with the other men. As Hurley had realized while lying awake last night, he was also leaving them with an opportunity.

They opened up the wagon almost as soon as the others were out of sight. "Me again!"

"Outstanding," muttered the Raven, glancing heavenward as though locked in place half-way through an eye-roll. To Hurley's relief, but not to their surprise, Bane had made good. She was back to only having the chains around her ankles.

They knelt in front of her and reached out. "Hands, please."

"You think I'm going to just let you cuff me some more?"

"I'm going to shackle your wrists, but then I'll undo the ones on your feet so you can walk around better," they answered patiently. "It's not good for you to have your ankles shackled too long. It'll start to get painful."

"Take off the ones around my feet first, then."

"I'm not stupid, uh, Devil, was it?"

"Then I'm not letting you do shit to me."

Hurley thought, then shrugged. "I can't make you do anything. All I know is it's not good for you to be chained the way you are for too long, and I thought you'd want to change that sooner rather than later. So you don’t get hurt.”

She didn't respond, which, they hoped against hope, meant she could be thinking it over. Without warning, she thrust out her hands toward them. She had what could nearly be described as a pout on her face, like Hurley used to see on their younger siblings, and it was difficult not to snort out a laugh at it. Those were simple and fun memories, so Hurley tried to enjoy them without thinking too hard about them.

After they had finished fastening and unfastening chains, they turned to her and waited for her to make eye contact. When, after what must have been half a minute, she finally did, they nodded their head in the direction of the open wagon door and then stood. Bane's warning rang through their head, and they quickly countered it by reasoning, again, that Bane had never actually told them not to let the Raven out of the wagon. It wasn't as though Hurley were leaving her unguarded, as those others had. When Bane came back, he would see how well they had the situation under control, in their own way.

They turned when they reached the threshold to find that she was still sitting on the floor, examining them with one cocked eyebrow. "Don't you want to go outside? You can if you want." She only kept looking at them, so they went on. "I think it'd be a good idea for you to walk around more, for one. So you're not just sitting and getting stiff."

There was another beat. Then, gradually, she started to stand. Just by looking at her, they'd been able to tell right away that she hadn't slept well, but now they saw the full extent of the toll the night had taken on her. Her movements were slow, and she tried not to move her arms more than she had to. She paused and winced more than once when she moved the wrong way. Bane was right. Hurley was definitely at more of an advantage since she had been left tied overnight.

"Can I ask you something?" They didn't wait for a response before going on, "Why didn't you try to shoot me when I caught you? You could've. I saw the gun they took off you."

They waited some time for an answer. For awhile, it seemed that she would not give it at all. Then: "I wasn't quick enough. What else would you expect?"

But it wasn't just a matter of not being quick on the draw. She hadn't even thought to reach for it while her hands were free. They considered it as a new, welcome wind blew. The air had been largely still and hot for the many days that they had been in the desert, and they liked how the gusts came on with the sounds of ocean waves in their ears. They realized that they missed rain.

When they looked back at her, she was looking out at the horizon with her face to the wind. "Here's another question, then."

"Is this an interrogation?" she quipped without turning their way.

"It's curiosity. I was wondering...I heard you got caught once and got away."

"I did." The Raven's smile was sudden, startling, and bitter.

"How?"

"What do you think, Red?"

"I think I should've known by now I wouldn't be getting a straight answer."

"Well, it's not that it's a story I don't like telling," she said. "Just not to you. Not keen on letting you know how I got away."

The wind sent the loose sand skittering across the ground like sideways rain. As they watched it, Hurley said, "That's not what I meant. I mean, you just ran off into the desert alone and survived?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "I don't have a problem out here. That's just other people."

"Alright, but--" They stopped as they saw a near-empty canteen start to roll away and jogged to retrieve it. It was nearly lifted off the ground before they caught up to it.

The Raven watched them while, around her, loose sheets used for bedding began to flap. Concern was on her face now, they saw.

After a while, her focus went back to Hurley. "Storm's coming."

They looked at the vast, featureless sky and then back to her.

She just rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid. Grab some wet bandanas so we can put them over our faces," she said before she went back into the wagon, shutting the door behind her.

They had to pause to ponder what that meant. Slowly, they looked back at the sky, and initially, there was nothing. But as they squinted against the brightness they saw, where the cornflower sky met the near-orange earth, there was a thick and muddy smudge. It stretched almost as far as they could see to the left and right. A thin line on the horizon, until, too soon, it wasn’t, and it grew and bloomed before their eyes into clouds, the towering clouds of a storm, except that these were billows of dust. Too big to go around, too quick to outrun. Even if they had had any option other than staying put at the camp.

They watched it until they couldn't anymore. They turned toward the wagon as the wind buffeted hard. After a few steps, they stopped, then grabbed a few pieces of cloth and soaked them with water from the canteens. It wasn't until they came back into the small space that they remembered that the wagon didn’t lock from the inside.

They couldn’t even cough. That’s what they found when the dust storm finally came, after the wind shook down the wood of the wagon and made it creak, after the sun no longer shone. They couldn’t cough, no matter how desperately they wanted to, because immediately after a coughing fit, they would automatically gasp and inhale, and what they would inhale was the air that was now more dust than air. They had hoped that the lack of openings in the wagon would prevent the worst of it, but even so, the fine, fine dust came in through the single tiny window and through the gaps between the slats and through the crack in the door. They felt that every time they breathed, their lungs were filling and turning to a pair of hourglasses. All of this came to them in darkness. They didn’t open their eyes once as the storm enveloped them, though they felt the dust collecting along their squeezed eyelids. It stuck to the corners of their eyes where the tears gathered as they struggled not to let out a cough.

The chill, though, was what surprised them. As soon as the light was blocked out, the heat, once stifling inside the enclosed space, rapidly drained away. In its place came a cold that soaked into their bones. They had always known that the desert could be as cold as it was hot, but it was always the cold that came as a shock to their bones.

It was only when, after gods-know-how-long, the wind stopped that they looked. The haze of unsettled particles in the air gave the world a sepia tone. But they made out the small piles of dust along the edges of the floor.

The Raven was still beside them. As they turned to look at her, they found her with her eyes closed and her head slumped against her shoulder. She breathed, faintly.

It took them several tries before they could get out a sound, with the way their throat had become coated in a layer of dirt. “Hey,” they finally managed to croak as they moved in front of her, “are you--?”

In an instant, a pair of hands slammed against their sternum and knocked them back. They caught themself on their elbows before their back could slam into the ground, but by that time, the Raven had gotten to her feet, suddenly not dazed in the slightest. Before they could do anything, she reached into their pocket and pulled out the key to the cuffs.

Hurley rolled over to look at her upright. She had started to move away, fumbling with the key as she struggled to unlock the shackles despite the small amount of slack the chain afforded her. That bought the time they needed. They grabbed her and dragged her to the ground with one pull. She growled, but before she could push back, they shoved her chest back to the ground with one hand and then pinned her hands above her head with the other. She flexed against them for a moment before going still and wild-eyed, with a heaving chest.

They stared down at her. “You know, you’re not as strong as you look,” they said hoarsely, still panting.

She just huffed.

Once they got the key back, they got up to push the door open, slowly. They tried not to gasp when they saw. Beyond the camp, the nearby desert looked nearly unchanged--the sand was still just sand. But where the sandstorm had come up against the features of the camp, it had done damage to them. Dust and grit piled like snow. They thought about all it must have gotten into, the food and the tools. Where they saw things that had been there before missing, they wondered whether the objects had been buried or blown away.

It took a moment for them to breath again, but they did. It still hurt a little to do so.

They stepped into the reformed outside in order to do what they always did, which was to deal with what was in front of them--with the fire pit full of dust, with the water full of dust, with the dust that had formed drifts against the wagon and buried the wheels hopelessly. "It's okay," they said, maybe to the Raven behind them and maybe just to themself. "We're okay."

When the posse was not back by midday, Hurley began to wonder.

When the hottest part of the day arrived, when the whole party would normally stop and rest, they thought that perhaps the others were doing that now, wherever they were.

When the sun began to sink, they waited for far too long to build a fire. They weren’t especially good at doing that, anyway--with how long it took them most of the time, they might as well wait around for the others to return rather than struggling themself. Anyway, Bane normally built the fires, letting one strike of flint against flint ignite the tinder. They had even seen him do it with sticks, faster than anyone else. When the color had left the sky, they finally went at it, and the effort they exerted was almost enough to get them to stop shivering as the evening chill overtook them.

It wasn’t until quite late in the evening, when the wail of the coyotes had been ongoing for hours and they had nothing to do but sit and listen to it, that they could no longer prevent themselves from considering it. The storm had been moving in the same direction that the posse had been traveling, far faster than they had been traveling. This part of the desert was flat, far more open and barren than the areas full of sheltered canyons or stone formations. Was there anything out there to act as a shield from the wind? Was there anything there, even, that stood taller than Bane? How much worse would it have been without the wagon as shelter?

They struggled, more and more, to keep their feet on the ground. To keep from feeling that they were floating detached from the rest of the world in the night. Like a boat whose moorings had silently come loose and had begun to drift out to sea unnoticed in the dark. They tried not to believe that they were alone. It didn’t work. They were.

They stared and stared out to the east. There was no way that they could have slept, even if they had felt like it. Eyes were on them, always. Even when the Raven seemed to sleep--which she didn’t much--they didn’t allow themself to be convinced. They had learned their lesson. They knew they were being scrutinized. Of course she would try anything if they so much as managed to doze, and while they had dropped the key into their boot so that she didn’t have a prayer of sneaking off with it without their noticing, her quickness still posed too much of a risk. They kept on looking as yellow leaked into the sky with the approach of morning. Everything up to their eyeballs ached. They had not even blinked enough overnight.

They almost surprised themself when, as the sun began to shine at full strength, they uttered quietly, "They're not coming back."

"Oh, your posse?" came the response from behind them, from the woman lying on her back and lackadaisically tossing a coin into the air, though they had been speaking mostly to themself. "Yeah, I doubt it. Not if they got caught out in that shit."

They physically flinched. Having someone else voice it was somehow even worse. But they had to refocus. Not think about what had happened and not think about the likelihood of Bane’s return in the future. There was only what was in front of them. They took a breath and turned to her, saying, "Since we might be out here together for a bit, I figured I'd ask again. What's your name?"

With a degree of petulance that would have been impressive if it weren't infuriating, she replied, "The Raven."

"Right. What's your actual name that you use when you're not hiding behind a criminal alias?"

"Devil."

"Okay, listen up. I know you're giving me a hard time because you're upset and need to take it out."

"Oh, please don't misunderstand me. I'm giving you a hard time because it's funny." She rolled over onto her belly. "And what do you mean we're gonna be out here for awhile?”

“I mean I’m getting you back to Goldcliff.”

She hissed a laugh. “Right. Of course. By yourself, with your broken, horseless wagon.”

“I didn’t say I’d try to do it by myself.” They came closer to where she sat, next to one of the half-buried wagon wheels. “All I need to do is keep us alive until someone passes by who can go and get help.”

Her expression changed back to ire now. “You’re out of your fucking mind! There isn’t nearly enough traffic this far out here to just wait around for some rescue. We’ll die sitting around here first.”

“No, we won’t,” they said simply. They had made a promise to Bane. They committed, then and there.

She only glowered at them. Then, quick as anything, she went to knock them off their feet, but they were expecting it this time, and they weren’t slow either. They pushed her back down and, before she could recover, clapped a chain around her foot. They attached it to the unmoving wheel and then backed away from her.

They shouldn’t have looked back. They wouldn’t have, had they not heard the chains jingling. She pulled back on them for a bit, as though to test the strength of them, and then stopped. Something shifted. She quit resisting, suddenly. The fight fled her in a way that was more obvious to them than when she had first been caught two days ago. (Had it really only been two days?) She stared at the line of metal links that swung lightly between her ankle and the wagon. Then, she hunched her shoulders and pressed her mouth and nose into the collar of her duster. Her thick hair kept most of her face concealed.

It was just for now, they reminded themself. Just until they knew what they were doing.

#taz #the adventure zone #the zone cast #taz balance #hurley #sloane #taz fanfic #taz hurley #taz sloane #the wanted

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inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

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Threads That Bind || Lydia and Nell

Timing: Current Parties: @nelllraiser @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Nell get to know each other much more than intended Triggers: Head trauma mention, stalking

Her wings were entirely free. Under a glamour so that none might see, but Lydia revelled in the feeling of the wind cutting around them, ruffling the fresh wing. Everything was heightened under the new nerves, freshly learning what to feel and what to ignore. It was beautiful and disconcerting, but as Lydia walked along Amity road with pain for the first time in six weeks, Lydia could enjoy herself. Even as she saw a woman struggling with something on her hand, Lydia thought nothing of it, beginning to sidestep around her automatically.

Was it Nell’s fault that she hadn’t gotten around to trying out the prize she’d gotten for entering the pie contest until this moment? Probably. But was it also her fault that her finger was now seemingly and hopelessly stuck into one side of the chinese finger trap, rendering her halfway useless? Most definitely. Muttering to herself under her breath with frustration pouring over her lips, she didn’t hesitate to call out when someone came a little too close to her. They’d have to be the one to help her get this thing off, and free her from the child's toy’s obviously nefarious clutches. “Hey! You!” She abruptly pointed at the woman with the hand that was still held prisoner by the woven contraption. “Help me out of this thing! It won’t let me go.” The witch waved her hand around in vain, making another attempt at releasing herself.

Lydia frowned, turning on her heel as someone addressed her, pointing right at her like Lydia was some carnival spectacle. “It’s a child’s toy, isn’t it? You need to compress it to get yourself out.” She stepped forward anyway, a nervous, jittery energy to her movements - she was energetic and jittery, mushroom spores thick in the air. “Look, like this,” She said, fully intending to push it so that it would open around the girl’s finger. That wasn’t what she ended up doing. Whether it was that both their hands moved in the wrong way at the wrong moment, or fate intervened, or just the mushroom spores messing with her actions, all of a sudden, Lydia’s finger had sunk right into the hole, trapping her as much as Nell.

Nell blinked cluelessly as the woman’s finger soon joined in on the not-so-fun of being trapped. “A child’s toy, huh?” she commented dryly. “Of course I already tried pushing it. I know how it works,” Nell said stubbornly. “This isn’t working obviously so just...take your finger out, I guess. Maybe I can cut it off or something.” It hadn’t yet occurred to Nell that the other women might also be stuck, apparently doomed to a life of being prisoner to a Chinese finger trap. What the hell was wrong with this thing, anyway? She should have known anything she won from the pie contest would be some sort of cursed shit.

Lydia frowned, looking up at Nell, as if it was the girl’s fault rather than her own. It should be simple, shouldn’t it? She pushed her finger into Nell, and then pulled it back, but where it should have slid off easily, it remained stuck, trapping them in place. “Not again,” Lydia muttered to herself, trying to get her finger out the normal way again. “Scissors might not be a bad idea. Oh come on, this isn’t funny. Where on earth did you get this thing?”

Nell’s own frown deepened as the woman’s continued attempts proved fruitless. “What’s wrong with this thing?” she growled in frustration, jerking on the trap perhaps a little too hard, as if she could force her finger out of it. “I have a knife,” Nell said without explanation before trying to jimmy one of said blades from its hiding spot with her single free hand. It was a bit more difficult to coerce it out when her mobility was limited by their connection. “Here we go-” she said before laying the dagger against the trap, beginning to move it in a sawing motion. Instead...the metal of it promptly began to spark, as if it had met another metal it couldn’t cut through. “What the hell? This is bullshit!” It seemed her usual method of powering through wasn’t working. “I got it from that stuid pie contest! It was a prize!”

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise as Nell just whipped out a knife. She flinched, cringing away as Nell tried to hack away the band, risking their fingers in the process. Lydia was almost relieved it didn’t work. “You won it in the pie contest? Why on earth would you ever put yourself in a situation to risk such danger? I don’t know anyone who was truly completely happy with their prize, everything came with a double edge. Oh well. We will just have to solve this. Did it come with any instructions? I know someone with invisible scissors that we could try, for the last time something happened.”

Nell growled with frustration as the thing held true on their fingers, leaving them still connected. “Well I didn’t know the prizes were faulty to begin with,” she replied defensively. “Why would I have any reason to think so?” But when Lydia mentioned instructions, Nell pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to the other woman. “I thought it was like a fortune or something when I read it. It was in with the packaging, though.” On the paper was a simple, singular sentence of ‘Release can be found in many unexpected places, but working together to solve problems will yield unmeasurable strength.’ The woman’s last words were quick to catch Nell’s attention. “Invisibile scissors?”

“What does that mean? We already tried the working together thing, pushing our fingers together and all that, that was co-operation.” Lydia tapped her fingers. There was almost a smile on her lips as she thought about it. This might be a riddle, and while the mushroom spores were thick in her mind, Lydia did love a word game. “Oh, oh! I was in a similar situation to this before, an invisible bond that could be broken with invisible scissors. I suspect it wouldn’t be the solution here, because this bond is… rather visible and rather an eyesore, I must admit.” She tapped her lip. “Unmeasurable strength. Do you have more strength than one might expect? Working together…. I wonder if this is not the problem we need to solve, necessarily. Solving problems implies more than one, while this little trap is only one. Do you know anyone with problems worth solving?”

The woman seemed to be almost enjoying this a little too much, and Nell wasn’t quite sure she was as keen for a riddle as her trapped partner was. “Who are you?” she asked in some bewilderment, still not sure what to make of the other woman. “A similar situation? What do you mean?” This woman grew more confusing by the moment, and even bigger of a mystery. As for unsuspected strength… “I mean- maybe. Do you?” Did magic count as unsuspected power? Probably, right? But parts of what was being said made sense in a way, even if Nell wouldn’t have thought of it herself. Unfortunately she seemed to have too many problems worth solving. None of which were ones she was happy to share with a complete stranger. “Yeah but- what about you? What are your problems?”

“I was stuck to standing near a man for a couple of weeks. It was no toy, but highly inconvenient.” Maybe. Lydia relaxed slightly. At least she wasn’t dealing with a human. “I wouldn’t call it unmeasurable, but something like that.” Not that she could promise bind a toy into doing anything. Fae magic required the capacity for thinking. “A lost friendship, a cruel stalker, a head injury that refuses to heal as it should, and complete weariness,” Lydia replied offhandedly, as if she was just reading a list off a menu, rather than the acheful thoughts that kept her up deep into the night. “None that seem the sort of thing that can be solved for a toy like this, nothing that requires unmeasurable strength.”

“How were you stuck next to a man? What does that even mean?” Nell continued to press, being her generally nosy self. “And you didn’t even tell me who you are, still.” The mention of the woman possibly having her own hidden strength was intriguing, only bringing more questions to the forefront of the young witch’s mind. She could think how each of the problems she had might relate to one of the ones Lydia had listed. Which...what exactly did that say about what her life had become? But it was also worrisome if this random woman also had such deep-seated problems. Was this just White Crest as a whole? Shaking that thought away, Nell decided to go on the offensive rather than wait to see if the other woman asked after Nell’s personal life. “Okay...which of those is easiest to solve?”

“It’s a rather long story, which I’d prefer not to go into.” That was another friend she’d lost, after all. Lydia shook her head. “It was likely some errant spellcaster leaving magic lying around where it shouldn’t have been, unlike this situation here.” Well, it really depended on who had made the finger trap, didn’t it? Lydia had a horrible thought for a second that spilled ice down her spine. Were there mime spell casters? Had they been responsible for this? “None of them, particularly. Certainly not anything that can be resolved by a stranger. I cannot undo the loss of that friendship, I don’t even know where the stalker is at this time, and nothing can done about my head that hasn’t already been done. Time is supposedly the answer to all ails, so I will just have to wait, which is hardly appropriate here. What about you?”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Nell insisted, wondering whether the dodging of her question twice in a row had been intentional or not. The mention of a spellcaster had her interest piquing, somewhat surprised that the woman would mention the supernatural so freely. “Sometimes magic just has a mind of its own.” She wouldn’t expect someone who hadn’t wielded it to understand. “Well- we have to resolve something.” Nell’s impatience was getting the better of her, also growing restless of standing in one place for so long. “I’m good at tracking,” she said absently at the mention of the stalker. “My mom’s a healer, but she’s sort of out of business right now.” Temporarily losing your magic via fext tended to do that to a person. “And the loss of friendship doesn’t have to be permanent like you said, right?” A frown was quick to grace her lips as Lydia turned the question back to her. Reluctantly, she answered in the vaguest terms she could manage. “I’m probably also coming up on a lost friendship, my family had a stalker but we’re working on that. A threat to them was actually recently resolved. Change will be coming that I’m not welcoming of.”

“You’re right, I have not,” Lydia agreed, if only because she was exhausted by magic forcing her to make acquaintanceships she’d rather not. Lydia frowned at Nell as she got frustrated, trying not to be frustrated herself. “I’m not sure my stalker is one I want tracked. The only reason I’m alive is that he changed his mind half way through murdering me and resuscitated me mid drowning.” Her mouth tasted sour. “I can’t control other people’s feelings, that isn’t one I can work on. At all.” Admitting that stung more than anything else. None of the other woman’s issues sounded particularly easy to solve either. Perhaps a random stranger’s would have to suffice. If the resonance between their problems Lydia sighed. “I’m Lydia Griffin,” she said eventually. Lydia looked down at her finger. “Oh! Thank goodness!” She exclaimed, jerking her finger back. But what had previously appeared as looseness and space to remove her finger and had tightened back to the point of cutting off her circulation in her finger, pinching painfully. “Drat. I should have never let you get that thing near me.”

“But if you don’t find him first, isn’t he gonna find you?” Nell questioned. “Wouldn’t it be best to just take care of the stalker before they get their chance?” At least, that had been her primary philosophy ever since the entire Montgomery situation. “Strike first and maybe then they won’t even have a chance to strike back. Sometimes stalkers just change their minds partway through, I guess. Or something else gets in their way.” Like your sister’s head. “Ah- sorry about almost dying though.” The name took Nell a moment to process, but she found it mixed in with the darker days of Bea’s death and capturing August, realization striking her. “You kept something for my family,” she began cryptically, an appreciative tone in her voice. “Wait- wait- how’d you do that? Get it to loosen? It liked your name or something?” Nell bent to look closely at the finger trap before giving it her own name. “Nell Vural? Penelope Vural. Penelope Nisa Vural.” Each attempt became more impassioned, thought nothing seemed to happen when she continued tugging her finger.

“He has found me. He knows where I live, where I work, who my friends are. He can turn himself to mist, he has a gaze that can freeze anyone on sight. Striking first is easier said than done.” Lydia shuddered. “It’s not a simple solve, is what I’m saying.” She pushed away the comment about her near death, and the finger trap grew tighter again. There was an impulse to share, but Lydia had never been the sort. She’d rather her features were a mirror than a window into her own feelings. When Nell talked about her keeping something, Lydia tilted her head in concern, with no idea what Nell was talking about. Or at least, not until Nell tried to unlock the puzzle with her name.

Lydia pursed her lips. A Vural. She had met the tempest in a crystal bottle that was Lucinda Vural, aggressive with a sword with a vicious streak that had only barely left Lydia unscathed. And then there was Beatrice, who was apparently special enough to have caught a Fae’s attention, but was also rotten in every conceivable way, right down to how she had been dead and still ought to be. The Vural name left a rather terrible taste in her mouth. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Our names are hardly problems to be solved, are they? It’s something else.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying maybe it’s something that should be looked into rather than waiting. I didn’t mean it was simple- I just meant it might be worth trying it out. I mean if he’s come after you again won’t you just be waiting for him, then?” But it seemed Nell’s views on the matter weren’t meant to align with Lydia’s. As for Lydia’s apparent disdain after the witch’s mentioning of the favor Luce had taken from the woman, Nell wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. It could very well have been Luce being her usual person-phobic self that made Lydia react the way she did. At least the other woman hadn’t said anything distasteful about the family. That would have been a quick path into sprouting even more tension with Nell. Offhandedly, Nell huffed with frustration, getting more antsy to be free by the second. “I don’t know they could be problems to be solved when your middle name is your mom’s name.” It hadn’t been meant as any heartfelt admission, and had been more meant as a joke than anything, but it seemed good enough for the finger trap as it loosened in the slightest, and Nell reflexively tried to pull her finger out to no avail. “It did it again! What the hell does it want?”

“He can’t reach me anymore,” Lydia said pointedly, shutting down that conversation with the chill of her tone. Similarly, the toy tightened around her finger. Lydia glanced around, as people walked past them. Some were not hesitant to show their stares at the two frustrated women, but quickly backed down under Lydia’s glare. Vural or not, she would have to get along with this spellcaster. “Perhaps we ought to go somewhere else. People are staring.” She said, beginning to shift them towards a cafe where they might sit in a booth while they discussed their… entanglement. “Oh, this loathsome little thing,” Lydia sighed, and tested her hypothesis. She dug into the rawest part of her, pouring salt over this fresh wound and could hardly hide the ache in her voice to this particular stranger. “I knew better than befriending someone who would never be able to fully accept my species, and it hurts bitterly that I let myself love that person anyway. Would you look at that, every therapist in the world has just been validated.” While the toy had loosened at her comments about Remmy, it zipped back up as she made herself sound cynical, an easy defense mechanism for the tears she always felt on the brink of. Unmeasurable strength, her ass.

Nell could have dug her heels in and refused to budge, but was there a point to doing that at a time like this? As it were- they were attached almost literally at the hip, and she was a little hungry… Maybe she could order something in the cafe. “Your species?” Nell echoed, trying to remember if she knew exactly what Lydia was. She wasn’t quite as good at distinguishing fae. They were many and far in between, varied in their natures and appearances. “I mean I know that you’re-” she hesitated, not wanting to say the word ‘fae’ aloud when others were anywhere nearby. “I know the broader term of your species.” That would have to do. “I think it’s...difficult,” Nell began, thinking of her own struggles that had come from growing up as a spellcaster. “If people aren’t a part of it— they can’t ever truly understand. Witches are almost in between and kinda isolated because of it. The normies are afraid of us cause we’re different and unknown and confusing- but we’re also not a part of the non-human supernaturals. I guess what matters is...if they try to understand it or just accept it for how it is, right?” The finger trap loosened just in time for Nell to continue on with her words. “I don’t think it’s your fault for caring, though. Even if it bites us in the ass too much of the time,” she finished with a sardonic chuckle as the toy tightened again. She groaned. “I don’t know what this thing wants us to say. Are we supposed to start braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys or something?”

Lydia nodded half heartedly as Nell compared her experience to spellcasters, not believing it at all, so while Nell’s end of the toy loosened, Lydia’s became tighter. For pity’s sake. Lydia grit her teeth together and tried to care more earnestly. Perhaps she could learn something about Felix here. “No, but that doesn’t make here easier now,” Lydia acquiesced, as the toy loosened more and more. Perhaps this was the right way to go. “I don’t see the point in talking about boys. Surely we’re both more interesting than any adjacent men,” Lydia’s eyes glittered teasingly, trying to find one light note in a miserable situation. “Clearly, it wants us to share emotional intimacy. Unmeasurable strength indeed. It wants us to be empathetic to each other despite our differences.” Which meant Lydia would have to show this human as much empathy as she might normally show Deirdre. It was going to be a stretch. “I suppose I could tell you about how my father decided to be absent during my teens which resulted in my failure to learn control over my abilities and while our relationship is good now, I still resent that, or how it felt when my sister was reported murdered twelve years ago, but it’s absurd.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nell agreed readily with a shrug, knowing all too well how true it was that logic generally never eased the pain of a lost friend. Despite her better judgement, Lydia’s comment on boys managed to tug an amused half-smirk to her lips. Unfortunately the expression was quickly wiped away by a grimace, instantly wary of anything that included the words ‘emotional’ and ‘intimacy’, especially when paired with one another and a relative stranger. But if that was the only way out...what choice did they have? “But you learned after?” Nell asked. It was easy to be curious when she was naturally nosy, and the questions weren’t yet geared towards herself. Nell breathed an annoyed sigh, realizing that she’d have to return the favor of admitting something. “My dad was mostly good- but he never stood up for us. My sisters and me. He just let our mom blame me for everything, let her ignore Luce, and make Bea into her mini-me with an Olympic schedule. You said your relationship is good with your dad now, though? How’d you do that?” Surprise flitted over Nell’s features, not expecting the news of a dead sister on Lydia’s part. “Do you know who did it? We just- we finally got the man who killed Bea. And I know they say revenge is never good but- this felt good. You could have that, if you know who it was.”

“I learned eventually, when he was reminded how important it was.” When he had come home to find a cold corpse and Lydia crying in the bathroom. She grit her teeth. There were things she could discuss with humans, but her father really wasn’t one of them. How could they understand when they would put themselves in the shoes of her weak mother, rather than anyone else’s. They would see it as a sin rather than a natural consequence. “I think my father likes the idea of children more than the practicalities, which he forgets every couple decades. He became more interested in spending time with me when I was approaching adulthood. It took a lot of communication, and time, but now we talk several times a month.” Lydia didn’t quite look at Nell as she said that. “Do you resent your mother for her choices?” When the talk turned to dead siblings, Lydia frowned, swallowing as she recalled her recent conversation with Felix, about Bea and necromancy and Lydia’s responses to it. That was another topic she was desperate to steer from. “Unfortunately, no. The issue with wardens is that they are perfectly crafted for killing us. I’m not a violent person, no one in my family is. We’re all artists. Revenge isn’t something we would normally seek. We wouldn’t stand a chance against a warden, even if they hadn’t destroyed anything that could lead back to them.”

“But you had to forgive him or something, didn’t you? To make it work?” Nell asked, uncertain how the fae had managed to make it work when it came to her family relationships. Had she managed to forget years of resentment? Or did it still live in her- bottled up and pushed aside for the sake of having a father? “Are you glad you talk?” Normally she might not have been so interested in a relative stranger’s emotional state, but if this was what the stupid toy wanted them to do, it’s what they’d have to entertain. Now it was Nell’s turn to look away as mention of her mother surfaced again. She didn’t answer the question directly, perhaps because she wasn’t as sure of the answer as she’d been some months ago. “She took our family from us. Kicked us out of the coven. We can’t even talk to any of them just because we wanted our sister back. And before that it felt like she made it her life’s mission to make me know I was a disappointment.” Nell paused, half-angry and half-sad that she couldn’t simply let her mother go. “But now she said it was to protect us. That she’s done everything for us.” The witch didn’t know how to reconcile those two concepts, nor how to figure out whether or not one outweighed the other. The mention of wardens and violence a conversation Nell was more familiar with, and her shoulders straightened as she spoke again. “But do you want it? The revenge? There are other ways- you could find someone to help.” Nell might even offer to do it herself for the sake of a lost sister. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be too late.”

“I suppose so. He had to forgive me for some things too,” Lydia continued, her jaw tightening for every micrometer of give that the toy gave her. “I’m so glad we’re still talking. We live so long, it can be lonely without family. I do love him, and he loves me.” Lydia forced herself to listen as Nell explained about her own mother, and felt the tiniest sinking feeling of empathy, despite knowing better. Nell’s life was worth less, her issues worth less. She still felt that twinge. “That’s awful. No matter your transgressions, family is family. You can’t just kick each other out because you disagree with their choices.” Her own family hadn’t, but Remmy had. “Sometimes people lie to themselves about their impact. That’s awful. Do you want her back?” Lydia said, rubbing her face in frustration. “How would I find anyone to help for a murder committed twelve years ago?” Lydia sighed, staring at the toy. “I want it more than anything, but deaths from wardens in my family are not rare. We’re not built… others of my species are better at protecting themselves.” She spoke the last bit quietly, looking around the cafe.

“That makes sense,” Nell nodded as Lydia spoke of their longevity. “I guess family’s really one of the only things that can be constant when you live longer.” But it was still a mystery as to how exactly Lydia had gotten to that point of forgiveness. It would be foolish to think that Nell might find a guide of sorts within them, anyway. Family is family. Lydia’s words caused another prickle of uncertainty to surface in Nell. Did that wisdom go both ways? It was obvious that Lydia meant the words to condemn Nell’s mother, but couldn’t they also be turned around to imply that Nell should forgive her mother? “I don’t know if she even realizes the impact. I don’t know.” That was the only answer she could come up with, uncertainty being the only thing she was sure of when it came to Nisa Vural. “She still won’t talk to us. Not actually. But she did heal me one time when I asked since then.” Nell didn’t know why she was looking for glimmers of hope in a shattered relationship, trying to remind herself that she’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let her mother hurt her again after the coven had been taken from them. And yet...she couldn’t deny the child that still lived on deep within her, longing for her mother’s love and approval despite refusing to acknowledge it. “I just…I’m tired of it all.” She was tired of the way her mother treated her while also being tired of wondering if things could be different. But mostly she was tired of not knowing the answer. Nell only paused a beat before speaking of the warden and their murder once again, thinking the answer to Lydia’s situation obvious. “You know I’m a bounty hunter. A regular one as well as a supernatural one. And with that comes being a pretty good tracker and stuff like that. I could help find them.” A twinge of sympathy made its way through Nell at Lydia’s hunting lamentations, knowing she’d never know what it was to be hunted as thoroughly as someone like the fae were.

“That’s even harder. At least my father knew what he did and the consequences of it,” Lydia replied, who kept talking about her father even though it was patently not what she wanted to do. “I’m sorry. Parents should have more introspection than their children. It’s her duty to make amends,” Lydia said softly. Nell’s grief resonated too uncomfortably once again. Empathy she didn’t want to feel as strongly as she did. “Certainly an interesting choice of profession,” Lydia saw the opportunity to get a promise. She felt every spore in her lungs tumbling over themselves to get that promise, latch onto it, and watch how it unfolded. As simple as taking candy from a baby. There were just two problems. The first? Lydia did not want any more trouble with the Vurals ever, she had had enough of them for a lifetime. The second was that using this intensely personal moment for personal gain, confessing secrets neither of them wanted to, felt wrong, fundamentally twisting up inside her right next to the uncomfortable empathy she felt for Nell. “I might or might not take you up on that,” she said softly, and the toy popped right off her finger, and Nell’s too. “Oh!” Lydia gasped with relief.

Nell’s own pleasantly surprised sound was drawn from her as the finger trap released them, and the witch instantly flexed her finger, bending it a few times in delight now that it had been released from its prison. “Oh, hell yeah!” It seemed like the more delicate topic of parents and disappointment was quick to melt away now that there was no obligation to speak of them. “Fuck this little toy- I’m burning the damn thing when I get home.” It took another moment for Nell to realize that Lydia had offered a response when it came to searching for her sister’s killer, and the witch’s head tilted curiously to the side. “It doesn’t have to be a favor or anything like that either if you wanted me to help look for the killer. I’m usually good for my word all on its own. Especially for things like this.” But now that she was free and remembering the all too personal things she’d shared with Lydia— Nell was eager to depart. “Just message me or whatever if you have questions about it.”

“That would be wise,” Lydia said, picking up her bag with an awkward closed mouth smile, at first assuming that the moment the trap was gone, their little agreements would be over. Buut Nell made the offer again, clearly enough that Lydia paused, looking the spellcaster over again. She considered it, which surprised Lydia even more. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Lydia said with a smile, pulling her coat close herself. She acted as if she was still unsure, but already, the threads of an idea were beginning to form in her mind. A possibility she had thrown away years ago. She’d play it cool, maybe wait a week, but the temptation was there. If Nell Vural could defy death, what else might she do? “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

#nell #para #chatzy

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boysenberrybrew · 5 years ago

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7-Year D.A.D.A. Syllabus (Professor!Harry AU)

I’m a sucker for details, so I made up a syllabus for all seven years of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts (as I headcanon Harry would teach it) for the fic I’m writing. Figure that, since I already made it, I might as well put it out there. Feel free to use it — or parts of it — for fanworks of your own.

Two things!

For each year, I list topics to be covered and group some learning objectives or specifications/suggestions under each topic — but they’re not in order. Professor!Harry wouldn’t cover solely one topic at a time, but most likely group topics together and teach the necessary spells as the class went through activities.

I also made two lists of spells under each Year — one which lists the spells students would learn while in DADA class, and another which lists the spells that students might use in DADA class but which would be learned in either Transfiguration or Charms.

More essay-length notes included at the very end of the Read More, since this is already getting too long.

[Syllabus begins]

Year 1: What kinds of danger are there in the wizarding world? And how do you know something is dangerous?

“...Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain! Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic--”

“I d-didn’t know...”

(HP&CS, ch 18)

Topics to Cover:

Detecting Danger

Identify potentially dangerous objects

Identify suspicious situations

Common Encounters

Ghosts

Poltergeists

Hags

Vampires

Ghouls

Doxies

Calling for Help

Shoot red and green sparks from wands

Describe what Aurors are and know when to call them

Accurately operate the Floo network

Physical — Reflexes and Speed

Snowball fights with low visibility, catch a practice snitch

Tag, races

Spells to Learn:

Human-presence Revealing Spell (Homenum Revelio)

Jinx Revealing Spell [not canon, as far as I know, but it should be!]

Green Sparks Spell (Verdillious)

Red Sparks Spell (Vermillious)

Smokescreen Spell (Fumos)

Spells to Use Besides:

Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos)

Wand-Extinguishing Charm (Nox)

Year 2: How do wizards fight with magic? And what do you do if you’re hit by a spell?

“I don’t think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?”

“I’ve used it against him [...] But if you think it’s beneath you, you can leave,” Harry said.

Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.

(HP&OotP, ch 18)

Topics to Cover:

Dueling — Introduction

Rules to formal dueling

Stances

Healing — Introduction

Basic principles: clean the wound, stop the blood flow, don’t sleep in case of head injury

Potions and salves interlude: identify which substances are needed in the healing and care of different types of wounds, including bites, stings, lacerations, and blunt trauma

Chocolate

Uncommon Encounters

Banshees

Trolls

Zombies

Pogrebin

Yetis

Kappas

Dragons

Physical — Accuracy and Coordination

Target practice, both spellfire and nonmagical, still and moving

Spells to Learn:

Full Body-Bind Curse (Petrificus Totalus)

Leg-Locker Curse (Locomotor Mortis)

Knockback Jinx (Flipendo)

Trip Jinx [incantation unknown]

Freezing Charm (Immobulus)

Disarming Charm (Expelliarmus)

Spells to Use Besides:

General Counter-Spell (Finite Incantatem)

Dancing Feet Spell (Tarantallegra)

Tickling Charm (Rictusempra)

Year 3: How do you defend yourself against dark creatures? How do you defend when at a disadvantage?

The screwt was inches from him when it froze — he had managed to hit it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Panting, Harry pushed himself away from it and ran, hard, in the opposite direction — the Impediment Curse was not permanent; the screwt would be regaining the use of its legs at any moment.

(HP&GoF, ch 31)

Topics to Cover:

Dark Creatures

Red Caps

Grindylows

Hinkypunks

Boggarts

Werewolves

Acromantulas

Lethifolds

Dementors

Basiliks

Inferi

Physical — Endurance and Teamwork

Mock-battles in teams

Activity after performing magically-exhausting spells

Obstacle courses

Dueling — Creative Thinking

Use physical surroundings to an advantage

Apply spells to surroundings as distraction, obstacle, or shelter

Charms and Transfiguration encouraged

Create viable strategies in various terrains

Spells to Learn:

Boggart-Banishing Spell (Riddikulus)

Spider Repelling Spell (Arania Exumai)

Patronus Charm (Expecto Patronum) — incorporeal

Freezing Spell (Glacius)

Banishing Charm (Depulso)

Spells to Use Besides:

Fire-Making Spell (Incendio)

Softening Charm (Spongify)

Lumos Maxima

Severing Charm (Diffindo)

Engorgement Charm (Engorgio)

Shrinking Charm (Reducio)

Avifors [turns small objects into birds]

Reparifarge [un-transfiguration spell, undo wrong castings]

Locomotion Charm (Locomotor)

Year 4: When is the law on your side? Can you talk your way out of a dangerous situation?

“Cruc—”

“NO!” shouted Hermione [...]

Ron froze, his eyes wide; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor’s toes; even Luna looked mildly surprised.

(HP&OotP, ch 32)

Topics to Cover:

Legality

Identify when it is legally advisable to defend using magic

Identify the types of magic that are illegal and why — the Unforgivables, necromancy, muggle-baiting, etc.

Conflict De-escalation

Think critically even while provoked or afraid

Identify hostile entity’s POV and immediate desires, and use these to stall, lie, reason, trap, compromise, bargain, and/or flee

Reason-able Entities

Review: Vampires, hags, banshees

Sphinxes

Giants

Merfolk

Counter-Curses

Understand theory of counter-curses

Describe what counter-spells work for which curses

Physical — Competitive Dueling — Reading an Opponent’s Style

Apply different spellcasting and dueling strategies

Identify strategies used by opponent and counter them

Use opponent’s characteristics and habits against them

Spells to Learn:

Shield Charm (Protego)

Stunning Spell (Stupefy)

Reviving Spell (Rennervate)

Impediment Jinx (Impedimenta)

Reductor Curse (Reducto)

Deprimo [blast hole in floor]

Patronus Charm (Expecto Patronum) — corporeal

Spells to Use Besides:

Summoning Charm (Accio)

Ventus [strong gust of wind]

Year 5: What does DADA look like in the real world?

“You don’t know what it’s like! You — neither of you[...] You think it’s just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him[...] The whole time you’re sure you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — [...] they’ve never taught us that in their classes[...]”

(HP&OotP, ch 15)

Topics to Cover:

Review!!!!

All Common Encounters

Zombies, inferi, banshees, werewolves, boggarts, and hinkypunks

Dueling rules, stances, and common strategies

Legality

Counter-curse theory and practical

Knockback Jinx, Disarming Charm, Boggart-Banishing Spell, Shield Charm, Stunning Spell, Impediment Jinx, and Patronus Charm

Passive Defense

Understand warding theory

Describe the use and purpose of various wards

Physical — Competitive Dueling — Fighting as a Team

Apply all previous Physical and Dueling objectives in a team competition, in both dueling platforms and challenging terrains

Survival Skills

Apply all previous knowledge to survive various dangerous hypothetical situations

Student presentation!

Spells to Learn:

Salvio hexia [deflects hexes in an area]

Cave inimicum [conceals presence within an area so caster can’t be seen, heard, or smelled]

Intruder Charm [alarms caster]

Caterwauling Charm [loud alarm]

Shield Charm variants (Protego Maxima, Protego Totalum, Protego Horribilis)

Patronus Charm (Expecto Patronum) — corporeal against pseudo-dementor

Spells to Use Besides:

[literally any spell they can think of that might help them in the hypothetical situations posed]

Year 6: What does dark magic look like? What can it do? And what can we do against it?

“The Dark Arts,” said Snape, “are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal[...] You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible[...] Your defenses,” said Snape, a little louder, “must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo...”

(HP&HBP, ch 9)

Topics to Cover:

Dark Arts Case Study — Curses

Students choose a specific dark curse/spell and research how it’s been used in the past, what it does, how it works, and most importantly, how to counter it

Curse-Breaking

Recognize common curses, identify them on objects or locations

Know how to remove said curses

Safely handle the cursed object or location while removing the curse

Healing — Spells

Know when to use foundational healing spells and in what order

Understand the danger of incorrectly-cast healing spells and avoid such situations [not canon, but headcanon of mine]

Dueling — Nonverbal Casting

Emphasis on being able to cast the General Counter-Spell, Shield Charm, and Disarming Charm nonverbally with confidence

Introduction to spells that work better when nonverbal

Spells to Learn:

Episkey [heals small lacerations]

Anapneo [unblocks airway]

Bandaging Charm (Ferula)

Vulnera Sanetur [heals serious wounds]

Confundus Charm (Confundo)

Patronus Charm (Expecto Patronum) — nonverbal

[ideally, I’d list curse-breaking spells here, but I can’t find any canon ones, so... insert spells that break curses here]

Students will inevitably learn dark curses, though they are not expected to (are in fact, expected not to) use them

Spells to Use Besides:

Tergeo [wipes clean]

Switching Spell [incantation unknown]

Silencing Spell (Silencio)

Year 7: How have wizards used dark magic? And how do you defend against esoteric magic?

It’s gone wrong, he thought… it’s drowned… please… please let it be dead…

But then, though the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron […]

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

(HP&GoF, ch 32)

Topics to Cover:

Review!!!!

Dueling strategies and nonverbal casting

All Dark Creatures

Counter-curses

Curse-Breaking

Passive Defense

Shield Charm, Disarming Charm, Boggart-Banishing Spell, Stunning Spell, and Patronus Charm all nonverbal, plus [spells that break curses, whatever your headcanon is for them]

Dueling — Nonverbal and Competitive

Strictly nonverbal competitive dueling, applying all past lessons

Dark Arts Case Study — Dark Wizards

Students choose a dark witch or wizard from history and research how they gained influence, what sorts of dark magic they were known for, and how one might defend oneself against them

Mind Magic

Understand Legilimency and how to apply Occlumency against it (practical challenge optional and with consent)

Identify being under the influence of mind-altering curses and potions (including the Imperius Curse, Confundus Charm, love potions, and Veritaserum) and practice techniques to fight against them (practical challenge only with consent, highly encouraged)

Understand the theory of possession and how to throw it (no practical)

Spells to Learn:

Patronus Charm (Expecto Patronum) — completely mastered

Students will inevitably learn dark curses, though they are not expected to (are in fact, expected not to) use them

Spells to Use Besides:

Focus continues to be using previously-known spells nonverbally [so, once again, any spells can be under this category]

[Syllabus ends]

Notes

When making this, I tried to keep in mind

What Harry, based on his life experiences, might believe students need to learn

How difficult spells are to learn, canonically

What the Ministry expects Harry to teach them (and what will therefore be in their OWLs and NEWTs)

The purpose of the DADA class in general, and

How the rest of the classes in Hogwarts have been impacted by the yearly change in DADA professor

What do students need to learn?

The closest we can come to answering that first question is Harry’s experiences teaching Dumbledore’s Army. Unfortunately, we don’t see much of these lessons. What we do see tends to be combat-oriented — Harry tells the DA about a spell and then gives advice on their casting as they practice on each other. It’s all practical, no theory at all except for the books on the shelves in the Room of Requirement, and nothing on magical creatures (though this might be because he felt Lupin had already done a good job on that front).

Harry’s lessons to the DA were cut short, besides, just as they had reached the Patronus Charm — so we don’t know for sure what Harry would have gone on to teach them. I like to think that, if he was the professor, the answer would have just been — everything.

Everything he knows. Everything he’s used to defend himself.

He knows first hand that it’s not just about knowing the spells, that there’s a lot more to surviving than being a good duelist — he even says so outright when discussing the DA with Ron and Hermione. And I think that, as he continued to teach, his lessons would begin to reflect that.

The first thing that comes to mind — besides spells and combat — is physical activity. Learn how to dodge, get used to running, hone your reflexes, etc. DADA would be the PE of Hogwarts with Harry as professor. The second things that came to mind were wards and healing — things that are, admittedly, used far more creatively and often in fanfiction than in canon smh. Still, the canon use of them is there, and Harry relied on that knowledge during his camping trip from hell, so.

What’s on the OWLs and NEWTs?

Apart from just the things Harry would want to teach as part of DADA, there’s also whatever the Board of Governors expect him to teach — what will be on the OWLs and NEWTs.

Sometimes (most times? depending on your interpretation of Harry) this coincides with what Harry would teach anyway. However, I explain in this post why I think the Ministry would want to emphasize defense against magical creatures. I also imagine they would want the Legality section above taught at some point, though we know Harry found it horrifically boring in the fifth book.

The Review!!!! section in Year 5 is comprised mostly of whatever I deemed the minimum a student should know to not immediately die by the time they step out of Hogwarts + whatever the Ministry might want all students to know + the bare bones of defensive spells that one might use against a wizard.

All students take a DADA OWL because it is a required class for the first five years. At this point, students who are not interested in the subject and/or do not need a DADA OWL for their intended career will drop the subject. I tried to reflect this on the syllabus by making NEWT years more specialized — on the assumption that careers that require a DADA NEWT will also require specialization within the field.

How difficult is this class?

Harry would be a demanding teacher. I know a lot of people headcanon him as the fun teacher — and I do think a lot of his lessons would be fun, and he would try to make them fun — but I can easily imagine him getting annoyed when people don’t take his class seriously. The DA was voluntary, and everyone there wanted to learn and practice defensive spells; a lot of children in a time of peace would not see it that way. Many would drag their feet at the physical activity and complain about the hard work, the hard spells, and when are we ever going to use this anyway?

So I do think that, even when he isn’t actively trying to push his students, Harry’s DADA class would be hard. He sees himself as an average wizard — even though his teachers called him bright, even though people tell him he’s exceptionally good at defense — he thinks he’s nothing special, and he knows that if he can do it, you can too! So yes, he’d have high expectations and his class would be especially difficult if you’re not that into it.

Which is why some of the spells above are listed one year (or more!) earlier than the DADA class in canon presented them. Not that many, honestly. (The starkest difference is Homenum Revelio, which I listed as a Year 1 spell, but we only see Hermione use it canon in Deathly Hallows. But hey — canon spell difficulty isn’t mentioned; it could very easily be the case that Hermione simply hadn’t known the spell until then, or hadn’t thought to use it.)

We just don’t know very much about what makes a spell difficult. A recurring spell throughout this syllabus is the Patronus Charm — it’s listed under Spells to Learn in Year 3 and then continues being listed all the way through Year 7. That’s because it’s supposed to be an especially difficult spell (”beyond NEWT level”)... and Harry mastered it in his third year. So of course — if you’re following my interpretation of Harry — he would start teaching it in Year 3.

He might make allowances, given that apart from him, we only know of a few people who managed to cast it before their fifth year (Luna, Ginny, while in Dumbledore’s Army) and not while suffering the effects of a dementor, at that. So next to every reiteration of the Patronus Charm in the syllabus, I included what I think would be Harry’s minimum expectation of success.

DADA vs. Hogwarts

Why is the Knockback Jinx canonically taught in Charms class? This is complete speculation, but Flitwick (and maybe McGonagall) probably had to pick up the slack after a few years of the DADA professor position being cursed.

As the years went by and as Hogwarts expended all the competent teachers and scared away the rest, OWLs and NEWTs continued demanding the same results. Student performance on these tests must have steadily dropped, and I think spells that would have usually been covered by the DADA professor gradually shifted unto Charms class.

That might explain why Harry learned some offensive magic in Charms class instead of DADA — but the only reason I’m mentioning this right now is because I included a lot of charms in the Spells to Learn list that I’m quite sure were canonically covered in Charms class, but which I wanted Harry to cover earlier that Flitwick did. Oh well.

Concluding thoughts

This took way longer than I thought it would. Just... the sheer amount of time spent referencing the wiki, the Lexicon, the books... I checked the wiki’s specific references, too.

...But, hey, I had fun thinking about Harry Potter.

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comfeyworks · 5 years ago

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Alastor writing/ Character ref sheet

NOTE: This is MY interpretation/ notes of my characterization of Alastor. Most is speculation and the other parts are just me having fun imagining what his character could be like. This is no way meant to be official or taken as cannon in any way.

A wonderful user by the name of dolly moon complied a lot of information from Viv’s streams. I’m referencing some of the information here so please check them out, they did a fantastic job making notes.

Warning: Contains talk about murder, cannibalism and other possible triggering subjects.

General

---NAME: Alastor--- Died: 1933 Age: 30′s Occupation: Former radio host and serial killer. Currently powerful overlord in hell

Main Personality/ notes

Always smiling (He sees people frowning as weak)

Sadistic

Charming and charismatic

Very proud( puffed out chest, arms behind back)

He's controlling/ does things his own way

Careful! He's not too braggy, or too forceful/ demanding. Ex: Viv stated in her qna that the pilot was originally going to have Alastor boast about himself and his backstory. Instead vaggie narrates his backstory. She changed this because Alastor wasn’t the type of person to flaunt his achievements. He knows that everyone knows how powerful he is, he’s not the type to rub it in. He's supposed to be charming, but still proud, juuuust in the right way

He knows what he wants, but doesn’t necessarily brute-forces his way to get it. Ex: "He-" "-llo!" He KNOWS he's getting in hotel regardless, but waits for Charlie to open up the door before invading the hallway.

Deceitful; When asked why he wants to help out at the hotel, he says: "Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" 'This is what you can think my reason is...' is essentially what he's saying. He answers Charlie’s question in a roundabout way that givers her what she wants to know while still keeping his true intentions secret. Time and time again, he lets his mask down slightly when Charlie isn’t looking. At 24:10 he narrows his eyes when she has her back turned to him At the beginning of his song he distracts her with magic so he can push Vaggie away. When he says “...And it’s just laughable-” during he reprise he turns away from Charlie to say this, he leans down to Vaggie.

He’s a hypocrite (hates being touched, invades other’s personal space)

Watches people do things the hard way and then reveal he can do it once it's done just to watch people fuck up

DELIGHTS in watching people failing/ struggling to do things. He likes observing people/ sinners as they are battling with their conflicted emotions.

He’s curious (He stopped by the ‘radio shack’ place to see what Charlie was talking about on the broadcast, and cocked his head when she started singing. To me that meant, “Oh? What’s this now? Something new?” he was intrigued and wanted to know more)

He analyzes people. He looks at the Magne family portrait when left alone. You can briefly hear him playing Charlie’s “Inside of every demon is a rainbow” song, and smiling.

He picks up on things quickly. Vaggie makes it clear she doesn’t like the idea of him being there, and he messes with her. He puts his elbow on her and pushes her away ( 20:44-20:48) He pulls her chin up and tells her to ‘smile’

He’s egotistical. No one is really ‘up to his level’

He gives verbal and physical affection constantly throughout the pilot, but it’s not genuine.

Likes being unpredictable

Primary drive: Decisions are weighed in his own wants/ feelings. He wants to be amused, he chases exciting/ entertaining things. Think of him as like a cat chasing a mouse.

Fears: He doesn’t fear anyone. But is wary of powerful threats. He dislikes dogs Physical Expression: He’s VERY, VERY expressive through his body language and eyes. Large/ easy to read emotions can be perceived through his body language (Leaning towards someone, or leaning away). Smaller/ pinpoint emotions can be read through his eyes and type of smile (Wide eyes, squinted, closed vs open smile, etc.) He’s like a bird, fluffing out his feathers constantly. (He fixes his hair briefly at 24:41) He expresses himself proudly. ‘This is who I am, remember that!!’. Viv said the reason why almost all of characters have nicknames is that a soul’s real name is dangerous, its a way others can have power over you. Yet Alastor uses his first name, because he’s not scared and confident in who he is as a person. He doesn’t hide from any aspect of himself. I’ve stated he hates being touched by others. When he picks up Nifty in the pilot, she poofs out and spreads her limbs out. At 25:41, Alastor turns his head away from her briefly so she doesn’t touch him.

Flaws/ Weaknesses:

(Note: Basically anything already stated can be a problem depending on the situation, I’m just saying things about his character that he’d find weak or naturally cause problems)

His mother, he’d do anything for her.

He has a darker/ more powerful demon side to him where he runs purely on instinct/ primitive emotions.

He’s arrogant. This can cause problems!

---

Killer/ moral compass profile (Living)

Motivations:

Thrill Killer- Pleasure from pain

Slight power/control aspect involved as well.

‘Causes’

Childhood trauma (abusive father)

Environmental factors (mother died when he was 18-20)

Type of killer: *Note: I’m still not 100% satisfied with this part, I might make some changes later*

He won’t just kill anyone. They have to meet a certain list of requirements.

Viv compared him as someone similar to Dexter

He’s a very goal oriented killer. Whatever he did it was with reason and purpose, meticulously planned. Ex: Maybe one year he’d kill someone who was a real jerk, to see how the others around him flourished. Likewise he might kill someone who was important to the community just to see how the grief made everyone react.

He was a very careful killer, he ended up dying purely on accident, bad luck.

He killed for the fun of it, pure joy, excitement, curiosity. But he only killed people he thought deserved it.

He considers what he does to be ‘work’. He expresses in the pilot how after decades in hell it’s become ‘mundane’ and ‘aimless’.

The victims had to be overconfident to some degree.(This ties into the ‘he wouldn’t chase his victims.’ They had to be somewhat full of themselves or naive)

Some kills are personal (Someone wronging him, trying to hurt him, otherwise he just wouldn’t care if some guy is an asshole) but others are just because he feels like they’re bad/ they’ve have done something that they need to die for.

He used ‘personal’ ways of killing people. (Knife, his hands). I don’t think he would have used a gun of any kind because of the noise, but he could have once every blue moon.

Generally doesn’t draw things out for too long ”...If I wanted to hurt anyone here... I would have done so already.” (He defeats Sir Pentious in under a minute. But still takes the time to crush him and drag his body across the floor.)

He ate people, and knew how to make delicious meals out of them.

Buried his victim’s bodies/ remains on a hunting ground for deer.

Morals

No human is pure or kind just because. They’re selfish beings. Who take and act to help their own causes. Everyone is a monster on the inside. “...redemption, the nonexistent humanity!”

Everyone puts on a mask to hide who they truly are. Life is one big game to see who can survive. “...the world is a stage! And the stage, is a world of entertainment!”

People don’t change “...there is no undoing what is done.”

Puts himself first, and above everyone else. He also degrades others. “I don’t think there’s any hope left for such loathsome sinners...” ”Inside of every demon is a lost cause, but we’ll dress them up for now with just a smile!” “...and show these simpletons some proper class and style...” “...do I know you?” “You think I’m [husk] some kind of fuckin’ clown!?” “...maybe!”

People deserve the consequences they get for being themselves “...the chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this!”

He understands what society views as good and evil, but doesn’t really believe in those standards himself. What is considered evil he just views as a hobby or something fun to explore. Ex: Cannibalism is wrong by society’s standards, but to him he thinks the greater wrong is killing something and not making use of it.

He has some level of empathy. (Again, He’d never kill a child or those running away.)

People’s emotions are a fun little game to him. “...I want to watch the scum of the earth struggle to climb up the hill of betterment! Only to repeatedly trip, and tumble down into the firey pit of failure!”

Doesn’t see value in being nice or honest. (He does find it funny to watch)

Other notes/ hc

He’s knowledgeable. In more ways than one. He knows not to fuck with certain people if he doesn’t want to get hurt, he’s got knowledge on the workings/ operations of hell and deal-making.

Likes to cook

He likes bitter things (Bloody meat, alcohol, black coffee)

He’s got a party side to him.

He speaks french!

He plays musical instruments

He knows how to fight without his powers

He’s an only child

He’s part creole

He hates silence, he always surrounds himself with noise of some kind.

Husk and Alastor have a long, complicated relationship

He does things to make Nifty happy (Wearing sweaters)

He’d go out into a hurricane just to let it beat him down for fun (Why is this so funny to me)

Despite all he is, Alastor is capable of having friends and loving.

Has absolutely NO romantic experience.

He hates modern technology in general, but hates tik tok the most

The idea of Alastor cross-dressing to lure his victims in is absolutely hilarious to me, but I don’t think he’d ever do it.

#i made this to help me write him #alastor is deceivingly difficult to write if you dont understand him #and he's WAY more complicated than you'd think #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #writing

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confessionsofabipolarmother · 4 years ago

Text

1 Month

Mom has officially been gone a whole month today. The night she died was quite possibly the worst night of my life. I had been financially taking care of my mom and my niece because Mom’s health was declining for years and she couldn’t work the last couple. In the weeks leading up to her death, her dialysis was starting to drop her blood pressure too low so basically they couldn’t continue to take off the amount of fluids needed to keep her alive. She had my niece wake me up at 1am to call an ambulance because she couldn’t breathe. She was making an ungodly noise with every breath, like she was drowning without being in water. I called the ambulance and sat with her on the stairs, where she was unable to walk any further. Unfortunately, I’ve had to call the squad so many times that I didn’t register how serious it was until the awful breathing noise stopped. She started to slump over so I was holding her upper body up so she wouldn’t fall. Her eyes didn’t close but her breathing stopped and I didn’t know CPR (which is something I feel awful about but I couldn’t of done it properly where she was nor could I move her by myself). We live right down the road from the hospital so the EMTs were there within just a couple minutes, but she had no pulse. She literally died in my arms. They tried and tried to revive her at the top of the stairs but had no luck. While they loaded her in the ambulance, I called my only living sister. My sister was at work out of town but told me she would leave and come take my niece to her house. I rode in the front of the truck to the ER and an amazing doctor did what she could to put her on life support. By then she was without oxygen for 15-20 minutes and she was brain dead, I didn’t need the doctor to tell me that, I know enough about the human body to know my mom was no longer in there. Mom did not want to live on life support, she made that very clear to us girls when our sister died in 2017. The doctor allowed my sister and my aunt to come up to say goodbye despite the Covid restrictions. I sat with the two of them for a few hours and just cried and took in the situation. It felt like a nightmare, It still does. I triple checked with the doctor that there was no recovering from this. We decided to say our goodbyes and let her go around 6am. They removed the breathing tube and wires, and I held her hand until her body shut down again at 6:49. It wasn’t as instant as I expected and I am traumatized from watching her die twice. My mom did so much for me, my niece, my son, and the rest of our family. Until her dying day she did little things to make my life easier, because she knew I was exhausted working 60 hours a week to support us. She always helped me stay on top of bills and finances, and would take care of my son while I worked all day. Both my kids have taken it hard too. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she’s gone. I still can’t even walk down my stairs without replaying her last moments. I’m still not sleeping more than an hour at a time. I’m already behind on bills because I was used to having her disability check to fall back on. I lost about $1500 of my monthly income and it’s been a hard adjustment because she always helped me prioritize and I’m awful with money. I’ll be able to get caught up when I get my tax money but I’m waiting on 1 more w2 because I switched jobs last year. I also spent the entirety of my stimulus on the kids as a way to try to distract them. It took a couple weeks to get back on my Latuda because my psychologist didn’t think I needed it, so that hasn’t made an impact yet. I started off trying to be strong for the kids but it’s slowly taken its toll on me. I’m spending way too much time in bed, either sleeping or watching TV. I’ve done bare minimum housework. My self care has been next to none. I’m irritable as shit. I’ve neglected appointments and basically anything I can put off. I’ve shut out most people. I’ve stopped trying to date or talk to men. Even though I’ve been sober for almost two years, I took the rest of her pain killers the weekend she died and started doing shots of crown. I take suboxone so when I ran out of drugs I did start taking my medication again. I’m scared of full out relapsing because drugs give me energy and gets me out of bed. I know Mom wouldn’t want me to ruin my life over this but I don’t know how to cope in a healthy way. I’m trying but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I know my kids deserve better than that, and I know they deserve better than me being bed ridden with depression. I was doing so great mentally, my doctors only had me on Vraylar (for mania) but now I feel like I’m undoing all the mental progress I had made. That is the last thing I want right now so I’m currently on vacation from work to try to get my mind right.

Does anyone have any tips to cope with the trauma I’m living with from that night? Or any insight into how I can learn to prioritize and stay on top of my responsibilities? She did so much for me I don’t even feel like a real adult.

#myposts #mental health #grief #bipolar #substance abuse support #ptsdsupport

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frangipanidownunder · 5 years ago

Note

A prompt: AU where Mulder isn't abducted but Diana returns (not dead) with an enticing new investigation during the Season 8 timeline

The light is so strong, magnetic, that he is physically pulled towards it. There are familiar faces smiling at him, it feels good to see them. They look happy, they look like they want him to be happy, all part of the same club. It would be only natural to step inside the circle. The light has a warmth to it, casting all doubts aside, bar one. Scully. Her hold over his heart is stronger than the compelling beam glowing before him. Skinner’s voice calling his name snaps his attention away for a second and by the time he turns around again, the light, the people, the urge has gone.

Scully’s news is a thunderbolt. That the impossible truth of their quest is revealed as a collection of growing cells in her uterus. It is both absurd and entirely right. The tears he cries with her are hard to quantify. Relief, happiness, fear, confusion. And profound love. They guard their secret like a precious pearl, hiding it away, only prising the clam shell open when they’re nestled together. His love for her, for this miracle is dramatic, overwhelming.

“I feel the same way,” she whispers to him, burrowed as she is in his embrace. They are tightly wound around each other. To hear her confession is utterly astonishing.

So, when Diana makes an appearance at the basement, it’s like the door to their secret world is blown off, leaving them exposed.

She slinks into the room with a half-apology and the promise of a new case. From his periphery, he sees Scully’s eyes narrowing, her arms pressing tighter across her chest. There is more than just her job to protect now. He listens to Diana, tries to recall the intelligent, proud, fierce woman she was all those years ago. She was a trailblazer in many ways. A woman in a man’s world, unapologetic, unafraid to stand out. Scully came a few years later and illuminated his life in a different way.

In the light of recent events, his view of Diana has focused to pinpoints of suspicion and intrigue. Why was she still here? To make amends? Her redemption was hardly impressive enough to grant an open audience with him. Yet there is something about her, the way she is standing before them, the way her eyes are almost pleading. Perhaps it speaks more to the absolute certainty of his place by Scully’s side, that he nods to the seat and she sits.

“There’s a case I’d like your input on,” she says, flicking her gaze to Scully every so often during her brief. Diana tells them about an organisation, Zeus Genetics, that, she claims, is involved with experiments on foetuses to create alien-human hybrids. Blood pulses in his ears. His automatic response to believe is subdued these days. Diana hasn’t quite picked up on the change. Scully gets up and leaves the office.

“Is everything okay between you two?” The way Diana says ‘you two’ makes his skin stipple. Is it that obvious?

He doesn’t answer her. “How do you think we can help you?”

“I’d like you to talk to someone. Someone I’m sure will convince more than I can.” She hooks her jacket over her shoulder, and adds a hopeful, “Fox.”

Someone turns out to be Duffy Haskell. Haskell claims his wife was murdered after giving birth to an alien baby. He has a grainy ultrasound and a wildly desperate look as his proof.

“Kath was a multiple abductee,” Diana says and looks at Scully a beat too long. Mulder watches Scully’s hands slide over her abdomen. “There are certain similarities to…events that you have first-hand knowledge of and I thought it pertinent to get your perspective.”

Scully looks at Duffy. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Haskell. But I’m not sure what more we can offer that Agent Fowley hasn’t already gone through with you.” The look that Scully shoots at Diana is scorching. “Mulder?” Scully nods for them to leave.

He’s inclined to go but there’s something catching in his throat and he moves his arm out, holding onto Scully’s jacket sleeve. “Wait,” he says. “Mr Haskell, perhaps you’d be so kind as to leave the ultrasound and other information with us for a while. So that we can go over it. I’m sure you’ve provided Agent Fowley with your contact details.”

Haskell nods, leaves.

“There’s another group of people I’d like you to meet,” Diana says. “I’ll meet you in the car park.”

“Are you okay with this, Scully,” Mulder asks after Diana walks away. “Because if you’re not, just say the word.”

“I’m fine. What does she want, Mulder? I don’t understand her motivation. And I still don’t…”

“I know,” he says. “Neither do I.”

At a table sits a number of people. A woman with red hair and kind eyes introduces herself as Lizzie Gill. A scientist, Lizzie explains she’s been working on human-alien cloning.

“What do you mean?” Scully asks. “How can that be?”

“Our efforts were funded by the Government. Most were unsuccessful, but recently, there have been live births.”

Scully rubs the bridge of her nose and blows out an exasperated sigh.

“Why are we here?” Mulder asks Diana.

Diana stands, pulls out a file from a drawer. Holds the Manila folder up. “This is a contact list of all the women who have been, and who will be, used as hosts for the experiment. They are all patients of the same pair of doctors. Lev and Parenti.”

There’s a sharp silence in the room. Lizzie Gill spreads her fingers flat on the desk. Scully presses a finger under her nose.

“I know about the IVF,” Diana says and Scully scrapes her chair back across the floor. The door slams behind her.

Mulder inhales, grasping for a reason not to follow her. “What the fuck is going on, Diana?” His fist smashes the desk and the file flips up, scattering papers across the surface and floor.

Lizzie swallows, bends to collect them. “Your partner’s name is on this list.”

“Fox…”

He swings to face Diana. “What have you done?” He begins to pace, tugging at the buttons on his cuffs, rolling the sleeves up.

“Fox,” she starts again, casting her eyes over to Lizzie, then finally back to Mulder, when he stops by the door. “Fox, please. It’s more about what I’ve been trying to undo.”

Lizzie nods kindly at him. “Your partner might do well to hear this.”

He can’t put Scully through any more trauma. Her emotional wellbeing is paramount. He’ll filter what he needs to. He’s about to sit in a chair when the door opens.

Chin up, eyes blazing, Scully speaks. “Tell me everything.”

A flash of guilty relief crosses Diana’s face. Her account of CSM’s interference with donations supplied from innocent husbands; of cloning with alien DNA from the Roswell crash; of speculation about an alien invasion are sobering, repulsive.

Later, curled together in her bed, she whispers, “those other women, Mulder. The ones whose IVF treatments worked, what will happen to them?”

His fingers traces around her navel, flattens against the soft skin of her belly. He wants to tell her they’re not important, that he doesn’t care. But he can’t. He brushes a kiss against her cheek, tasting the briny track of her tears. “I don’t know.” She wriggles closer to him so that her head is under his chin, body half across his. “But I do know our baby will be safe.”

“Because Agent Fowley told us about Parenti?” She sniffs and lets out a bitter chuckle.

But it’s not that. It’s something resonant in his bones. A humming of certainty. A knowledge borne of some instinctual place.

Diana and Lizzie did not know about this pregnancy, its natural origins. “If you continue the IVF, you must find a new doctor. We can help,” Diana had said and there was something about the solemn tone in her voice that made him feel that she could be trusted.

“Nothing will happen to our baby, Scully. I’ll make sure of that.” He kisses her hair. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“He?” A tiny murmur of surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I just know.”

“He’s going to be special,” she says after a moment.

“He already is.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr #season 8 canon divergent

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hunterinabrowncoat · 4 years ago

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Confession and Religious Trauma

I was reading a chapter in Nadia Bolz-Webber’s amazing book ‘Accidental Saints’ the other day, about sin and confession. The idea of Confession with a Capital ‘C’ is pretty foreign to me, having grown up in an Evangelical church. That kind of stuff was far too Catholic, and therefore suspect.

In my tradition, you just say sorry to God in your private prayer time, and it’s all forgiven already anyway because of the Doctrine of Grace means God looks at people who’ve Accepted Jesus As Personal Lord and Saviour and sees Jesus in all his perfection instead.

Pastor Bolz-Webber said some great stuff about sin. Like this:

“In the end, we aren’t punished for our sins so much as we are punished by our sins.

And sin is just the state of human brokenness in which what we say and do causes these sometimes tiny and sometimes monstrous fractures in our earth, in ourselves, in those we love, and sometimes even in our own bodies.”

I like the way she presented sin; not as some stain that dirties us and needs to be washed away, but the state of human brokenness we all inhabit. And in that light, confession stops being about making you feel guilty or reminding yourself how many bad things you’ve done, but rather is about giving you freedom from the guilt that already consumes you and the things that are eating at your conscience. It’s about coming to God, coming to community, and finding healing and restoration from that brokenness through God’s beautiful, raging mercy. It offers release and a chance to experience God’s grace through community and liturgy.

But like much of the Christian liturgy, I really struggle to engage with it. Partly because it’s so foreign to me and just feels a bit... weird. But partly because of religious trauma.

As I’ve spoken briefly about before, in deconstructing my faith and Evangelical upbringing, I’ve become disillusioned with and wanted to distance myself from many of the practices I grew up with. I feel uncomfortable in those spaces now. And in its absence, I desperately long for religious ritual and festivals; for meaningful practice that connects me to my ancestors and my community through collective tradition.

And yet, whenever I am in a Christian space that has liturgy, or that is more traditional, I am just left feeling distinctly uncomfortable, disconnected and out of place. It feels as though this is someone else’s tradition, something I have no connection to.

I haven’t found a solve for this yet, honestly. I just continue to go to church and feel out of place.

And maybe that’s part of why I struggle to engage with confession. But that’s not all it is, because it’s not just alien, it’s deeply uncomfortable and difficult.

I’m not going to pretend that all of my problems with saying sorry are about church and the way I was churched, because I also struggle to say sorry to other people. It’s a pride thing. Even when I feel bad, it’s like the word physically get stuck in my throat. I dislike being vulnerable with other people, and I find actually verbally talking to people about difficult or personal things, like, really hard.

But I also can’t deny the impact that my religious upbringing had on the way I view apologies, especially confession. When I engage with that part of the liturgy, or that practice, when it comes time to confess, I don’t experience absolution or God’s grace or any sense of release. Instead, I am overcome with feelings of toxic shame and guilt and self-hatred that my Evangelical upbringing instilled in me.

I grew up in a tradition that taught the concept of ‘Original Sin’. It told me I am inherently dirty and I was born unclean and I could never do enough to earn God’s favour because I will always fall short. Needless to say, it’s done a number on me.

The concept of Original Sin, as well as the emphasis Evangelicalism puts on sin, particularly things that in the grand scheme of things are often inconsequential like having sexual thoughts about somebody or swearing or feeling perfectly natural human emotions like anger, is incredibly damaging. It makes you feel guilty for enjoying anything. It makes you feel so much shame simply for being a perfectly ordinary human being with normal, human desires and needs and emotions.

People who are much more learned and articulate than me have written extensively about the subject. But needless to say, it caused me a lot of self-hatred, and a lot of guilt and shame that just festers as the sort of background noise to my life.

So much of my deconstruction journey has been letting go of that and learning to experience life without feeling guilty about everything. I’m allowed to enjoy things just because they’re enjoyable. Pleasure isn’t sinful. Who I am - my queerness, my sexuality, my gender - aren’t sinful. Indulgence isn’t sinful. Experiencing emotions aren’t sinful - they’re perfectly normal and healthy, and the important thing is not to deny them but allow myself to experience them, and make sure my actions and responses to them are measured and appropriate.

Then I come to confession, and I feel all of that guilt and shame and self-hatred creeping back in and undoing all of that work.

I was taught, growing up, that not only are we all born inherently sinful and stained, but also that we all sin every day. And when it came to prayer, and we were encouraged to say sorry to God for the bad things we’d done (you know the teaspoon [TSP] prayer - Thank you, Sorry, and Please). There will always be something to say sorry for, and to think otherwise means you’re proud or conceited, because we’re all imperfect and we all do things wrong.

And I don’t think that’s necessarily untrue. We are all imperfect. Even when we don’t fuck up in some big way that plays on our conscience for ages, we all say or do things that are less than kind. There are always situations where we could have shown a little more grace, or had a little more patience, or shown a little more love. None of us are perfect. We do all make mistakes.

But when it comes to confession, I often can’t think of anything to confess. I can’t think of something I’ve done recently that that I need for absolution over. Rarely do I do things and feel really torn up about it later. And if I do, it’s usually because of anxiety and not because I’ve committed some heinous grievance against my fellow humans.

When people tell me I’ve hurt them, I apologise and I try to do better. And... there is the resolution. When I feel I’ve wronged someone, I apologise and I try to do better. And there is the resolution.

To then bring it up again to God during confession feels like pointlessly drudging back up stuff that has already been sorted, for no reason other than to remind me of all the ways that I’m imperfect.

There’s also the issue of course, the eternal Exvangelical Sturggle, of “is the guilt I feel actually a reasonable amount of guilt to feel due to something I’ve genuinely done wrong, or do I just feel a deep sense of shame because it was effectively instilled in me that I am dirty and bad and I’ve learned to feel awful for many things that I don’t believe are wrong at all, like... experiencing human emotions, or seeking pleasure, or saying ‘no’?”

So in the absence of things I actually feel guilty over, I often confess rather vaguely... Sorry for all the times I wasn’t as patient or gracious as I could have been. Sorry for the times I could have got up and done something, but instead was lazy and just didn’t. Sorry for all the ways I’ve fallen short this week. Sorry for all the petitions I didn’t sign or GoFundMes I didn’t donate to that I could have if I didn’t buy that book or that t-shirt. Sorry for being selfish. Sorry for not getting all my work done this week. Sorry for every time I forgot to read my Bible. Sorry for every instance I could have prayed but didn’t.

And it just feels like it quickly becomes “sorry for not being good enough”. Which is a horrible way to think about yourself.

I’ve done so much work to get myself to see that I am enough. To be kind to myself. To forgive myself. To accept that I am not nor will I ever be perfect. That I cannot be everything and give everything and do everything. That I’m a limited human being, and that’s okay.

And confession just makes me feel like I’m undoing all of that work. And honestly? I just don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t know if this is a common experience for people deconstructing their faith and trying to reconstruct some kind of meaningful practice. I don’t know if I need to “fix” this and find a way to engage with confession. I’d like to think that God is big enough to find a way to reach us all, even with our messiness and complexities and all our baggage.

#christianity #confession #sin #absolution #nadia bolz-webber #accidental saints #religion #original sin #mine #faith tag #personal

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isa-ly · 4 years ago

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I’M GETTING A DIVORCE

TW: eating disorders, body image, weight, mental illness, depression, anxiety

Yesterday evening was rough. Completely out of the blue, getting-hit-by-a-freight-train type of rough. Usually, when these evening or days occur, I just kind of tend to start fresh the next day and pretend they never happened. Because everyone has bad days, even if you’ve worked hard to restore your general mental health, and it’s okay to just let those days pass and work on being kinder to yourself once the sun rises again.

However, I also want to actively work on not simply ignoring them all together, because while it’s a good thing not to dwell on bad days for too long, it’s also a good thing to not just repress them. And as we all know, I’m quite guilty of doing the latter and labeling it as “fine” when, in fact, it is everything but fine. Keeping a positive spirit is admirable but shutting out everything that cracks the surface of your facade is just not gonna work in the long run. Every emotion is valid and if I can acknowledge feeling happy and comfortable, I can just as well acknowledge feeling sad and shitty.

So, I’m making a compromise. While I don’t really want to talk about how and why yesterday evening was rough, I am still going to talk about something else that sometimes feels equally as hard and difficult to me. As already mentioned in the trigger warnings, there’s going to be talk about eating disorders, specifically anorexia nervosa, as well as body image and weight again. So, if that is in any way harmful to you and you own journey, feel free to just drop this post like a hot potato. (I think this actually is a German proverb, but it sounds so funny in English, so I’m just going for it.)

Now, what I’m about to say might sound somewhat controversial or really, really fucked up but I’ve found that when it comes to eating disorders (and any other mental illness, really), the darkest parts are often the ones you have to really take a good look at, even if it hurts and sounds shocking. And calling them out, dragging them into the open to point at them with your finger, is the only thing that will make them palpable enough to get rid of them. Once again, the Harry-Potter-boggart analogy works quite well here.

Shame and fear fester comfortably in the darkest corners of your brain, like a disgusting mold that slowly takes over. And I don’t really want a moldy brain, so I once again want to use this blog openly talk about something that is nothing short of crappy and awful, in order to take some of its power away. And also just to be honest, with myself and everyone else who happens to read this.

There’s a lot of reasons why it’s incredibly hard to recover from an eating disorder. Of course nothing is impossible, least of all recovery, but I still struggle almost every single day to keep pushing forward. Sometimes that struggle is close to nothing, sometimes it’s manageable and sometimes it seems like the end of the world. And one of the many reasons why it can feel like that last one, is what I and many others who have suffered from this illness like to call “nostalgia for your eating disorder”.

I think we can all agree that regardless of whether you have one or not: Eating disorders are shit. They really suck ass, to no one’s surprise. If I had one wish and one wish only to make, I wouldn’t even have to hesitate a single second: It would be for my ED to vanish forever and never return. Easy. So, then why in the living hell would I feel nostalgic for it? Why would I be hesitant to call my ED out for the life-ruining piece of shit it is? Why do I sometimes catch myself wishing back the times where I would go to bed hungry, where I would feel so in control despite never really having it? Where I would lie and deceive and watch my life slowly fall apart? What idiot would miss something like that?

Well ... an idiot with an eating disorder.

Alright, I’m not an idiot. And neither is anyone else who feels nostalgia towards this illness. Because even if it sounds ridiculous and outrageous: It’s in fact completely normal to have these thoughts and feelings.

I’ve mentioned before how, when I first crashed into the world of anorexia, it felt like I had completely lost myself and what I had considered to be my personality to this new, foreign entity that had taken over my life in a matter of days. Because actually, for a lot of people – myself included – that is exactly what eating disorders are: A filler for a gap that you don’t know how to close yourself. Like a plug to a tub that has been running out, or a bandaid to a wound that won’t stop bleeding. It’s an emergency solution to a problem that threatens to swallow you. And often times, emergency solutions can’t be analyzed or fact-checked for risk and danger because, well, it’s an emergency. And you’ll accept anything you can get to rescue yourself in that moment.

Back when I developed anorexia, I was completely lost in life. I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be and trying to answer that question overwhelmed me so much, that the only way to cope was to let someone, something else, fill the big black hole that was ripping itself through my chest. Coping comes in all shapes and forms. And mine had the form of a sneaky and cunning eating disorder.

Often, that is why personality and eating disorders go hand in hand. Because it’s so much more than just an illness that fucks up the way you eat and live. It’s a whole new face you get to put on. It’s terrifying, but that terror is exciting and new because it’s an opportunity. It makes you miserable but at least it makes you something. It fills that void, that fear of being lost. It gives you purpose, and it gave me purpose too when I was at my very lowest. I didn’t know who I was or what to do and anorexia gave me a set of rules, a daily schedule and Do’s and Dont’s that I had to follow, as it watched over me like a hawk.

Sometimes I see it almost like a parasite, like that weird alien from The Thing that takes on the form of a person to trick you into thinking it’s your friend. Anorexia is very, very skilled at that. And because it’s so skilled at it, it manages to completely convince you of the fact that it is now a crucial part of you that you will never, ever be able to let go again. It’s almost like a personality substitution and that’s exactly why it gets so hard to see it as something entirely foreign that you need to get rid of instead of clinging onto it.

And here’s the thing: As I started recovery and as I started fighting against everything anorexia told me to do, I realized that this fight also meant going back to my very old problem of not knowing who I was. In all the time of being sick and starving, I was at least “relieved” of the burden of having to question what I wanted from life. Not a very balanced deal, I know, but again: emergency solution.

However, now that I was finally trying to get better and heal, that age old question came back again: What the fuck am I doing? And I could hear my eating disorder chuckling at the back of my mind:

That’s right. I might be ruining your life but who are you without me? No one. You have no idea what to do or where to go. You have no idea who you even are. That’s why I’m here. And besides: Nobody knows you like I do.

And that’s another part of the reason for nostalgia. Please forgive the poor comparison but the closest I can get to making an analogy to it, is to compare it to the principle of Stockholm Syndrom. Just so maybe the notion of it can be understood easier. Because anorexia is abusive and horrible, it literally made me starve myself, made me depressed and hate everything about life. It caged me in and held me captive to the point where I had no freedom, no choice, no joy or happiness left. It ruined everything.

And all the while it caused me all of that horror, it’s also the only other thing, the only other “person”, voice, existence in my head that shares those memories with me. That knows exactly what I went through. Because we went through it together. It caused me all this pain and trauma – but it also shared it with me. I was never alone, not really, because even when I felt like there was no one or nothing left: Anorexia was always there. Every second of the day and every step of the way. I, it, both of us, know things that to this day, are unspeakable to me. That to this day, I haven’t told anyone because the fact that I was capable of doing such things, still scares me every time I think about them.

We share what are undoubtedly the worst and most painful memories of my entire life and as much as I fucking hate it, I cannot undo this connection. It’s a fucked up bond that I will always have with my eating disorder, even if it makes me angry and frustrated. It’s a connection I never asked for or wanted, but it’s still there and all I can do is learn how to process it in a way where it no longer holds me back and defines me.

Which is the reason for today’s blog title, by the way.

Actually, I got that analogy from a documentary about, you guessed it, eating disorders. In it, one of the counselors at an inpatient clinic compared recovery to the process of divorce. An eating disordered person might very well be aware that they’re in a bad, almost abusive relationship with themselves, or in this case: with their eating disorder. And they might very well be aware that the only way to get better is to let go and move on. But just like in so many divorce situations or break ups, this is way easier said than done. Because there is heaps of memories and emotions connected to this disorder that make you feel close to it, in a way. Feelings of accomplishment, of ambition, of thrill and yes, sometimes even feelings of happiness. False happiness, of course. But even the illusion of a false sense of joy is something that can be very powerful when you’re already beaten down.

When you’re in such a dark place and your disorder takes over your life, it takes on almost human-like properties. It’s like a friend or a partner, it’s the only relationship you’re still able to have, the only one you are “true” to because everyone else you care about, you lie to. Anorexia isolates, just like any other mental illness tends to do, and it isolated me too. I tried my best to keep face but truthfully, when I was at my lowest, it felt like my eating disorder had managed to break into places of me that had never seen the light of day before. And it had built itself its own little nest there and gotten so comfortable and settled, that the thought of ever kicking it out, terrified my just as much as the thought of continuing to live with it.

I mentioned before that I sometimes avoid talking about anorexia like a separate entity that has its own mind, just so it doesn’t seem like it’s bigger than me. Clearly, I’m not doing that now. Because if I’m fully honest, to me, it’s kind of both and also neither. One one hand, I can feel it as something that sits at the back of my brain, at the back of my neck, at the back of my every thought. It’s something I can visualize, hear, feel with every move I make. And on the other hand, it’s not an actual person. Because it’s still just me, it’s how I think and do things, it’s an extension of my need for control. I can’t just separate it into its own realm of existence because we both live in my own brain. We share that space and sometimes anorexia and its opinions and leverage are bigger, sometimes they’re smaller – but for over a year now, they have always been there, one way or another.

So, letting go of it, bidding it goodbye and trying to claim back the space my anorexia has been taking up for so long now, is hard. Because it’s like letting go of a part of myself. A part that causes me pain and suffering, yes. But a part of me nevertheless. And anorexia is a very hot-headed tenant, let me tell you that much. It does not like to be evicted, at all. But it’s not about what my disorder wants, it’s about what I want. And what I need. And that is to live a life free of the boundaries of my eating disorder. Even if it means not fully knowing who I am.

In my last therapy session that I went to, I talked about all of this to Kerstin. About feeling nostalgic and catching myself dwelling in memories that others would probably gasp at in shock. Gladly, Kerstin didn’t gasp because, well, she’d be a crap therapist if she did. But she’s a good one, lucky me. Anyway, in that last session I had, I then tried to come to a conclusion to this whole nostalgia thing, that wasn’t as depressing as the notion of it all. And what I came to was this:

I will never be able to undo what I did. What me and my anorexia did and what it made me do will never be un-lived or forgotten. It is and always will be a part of me. So, actually, trying to “get rid” of it and “kicking it out”, is not really the solution here. Sure, I’d love to flick a switch and have it all be gone in a second. But that’s never going to happen.

What I can do, however, is learn how to live with it in a way where those memories still get their proper place – without defining me anymore. And without dictating my every move and day. I’ve compared my eating disorder to a stubborn child a few times, too. One that throws massive tantrums when you tell it “no”. Because that’s what it does, mostly. However, another thing that it has in common with a child, maybe even with the child inside of me, is that it’s so, so scared of being left behind. Of being abandoned and forgotten. In a way, it’s exactly that. My anorexia is pieced together by so many of my insecurities and just like me, it doesn’t want to be abandoned. In fact, it’s so scared of it, that it fights back with teeth and claws and with all its might, to stay safe and comfortable where it is. It throws tantrums and breaks out into screaming fits because it’s terrified that once it goes silent, it will be forgotten.

So, actually, instead of treating it like some sort of external force, like a gnarly stomach ulcer (good one, Isa) or like a parasite, I have actually started to treat it more like a scared kid or a wounded animal. With patience and gentle words. With understanding but also with a certain sternness. Literally like a parent that is trying to calm down their raging child. Reassuring it that I have no intentions of cutting it out or pushing it away, but actually to let it stay under the condition that it remains a quiet and passive part of me. Until eventually, it accepts the silence I ask of it and, indeed, fades into something that doesn’t take up most of my living hours anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, 90% of the time my anorexia and me are still in a silent screaming fight over whether or not I can have a chocolate bar. Theory and practice often lie very, very far apart from each other. But the other 10%, the ones where I actually manage to practice what I preach – those are the ones that, to me, matter the most.

Because those are the ones where I can almost feel me and my eating disorder staring each other down from across the room in silence. The ones where I can tell that both of us are scared. Both of us are hurting. Both of us are smart. Both of us are strong.

But only one of us is right.

#eating disorder #anorexia #anorexia nervose #body image #recovery #nostalgia #ed

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