#ive decided that i need to start using my good memory skills again. my brain always goes back to memorising all my old ancient greek stuff.

[ghosts-of-love]

i don't have a lot of rhythm or skill or anything but in terms of sheer enthusiasm i really think ive got it in me to learn Kate Bush's wuthering heights dance. it would make me so happy.

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When We Were Young (part VIII)

Dean x Fem!Reader; Sam x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Read part I here ; Read part II here ; Read part III here ;

Read part IV here ; Read part V here ; Read part VI here

Read part VII here

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma/abuse, brief moments of self-harm, mentions of anxiety attack, *moments of assault*

**This chapter contains images of assault. Please be aware if this is trigging for you!

B/N: I’m getting a little lost in my own timeline, so apologies for any inaccuracies... All mistakes I claim as my own.

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Y/N grew up together, but when she’s taken away for over 10 years, the boys have no idea what she’s been through. Will asking her to move into the bunker with them reveal more than she’s ready for?

1773 words

All you could hear was the constant dripping of the pipes above you, one splashing cold water on the back of your neck. Greg hadn’t left you alone after unbuttoning Dean’s flannel, and rather decided to strip you down and shackle your hands above your head again after. Then he walked out of the room, leaving you shivering, still leaning on your naked and bruised knees, arms growing numb above you. 

You had to have been in the same position for over eight hours or so after you factored in how long you might have been passed out, and your body felt like it was ready to snap in half. You couldn’t lift your head anymore, though you wanted to move out of the dripping water, which felt like standing under a cold shower. But you couldn’t be too worried about it, because suddenly you felt an arm snake around your waist and lift you to your feet. You felt yourself fall into a slight feeling of hope, thinking that perhaps Dean had finally come for you. But your hopes were dashed when Greg whispered in your ear. 

“Okay, hunny-bear, time to make it up to me.” You whimpered slightly in response, and you felt Greg release his hold on your waist, your body crashing roughly to the floor, chains yanking your arms above your head again almost ripping your limbs from their sockets. You cried out with what energy you had left, tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“Oh dear. I’m sorry hunny, I didn’t realize you were this weak already...” He trailed off, pulling you to a standing position again. He spoke like he cared about you, but you heard the smile behind his voice, relishing in the fact that you couldn’t fight back right now. “I’ll make sure to be gentle,” he whispered in your ear again, making you shudder, tears continuing to fall down your face. 

Greg grabbed the back of your neck, bending you at the waist and holding you up on your own legs, rendering you completely powerless, afraid he would snap your neck if he felt like it. You felt fear course through your body as her rubbed his other hand slowly down your exposed back tracing a long scar down your side that you got from a vampire hunt, ending at your hip bone. You hated the way he seemed to be caring for you, his movements slow and careful, and your mind quickly drifted to Dean. Shaking your head, you dislodged the hunter’s green eyes from your mind, knowing you would need to repress this memory later on and it would be impossible if Dean was anywhere near it. Greg felt you shaking your head, and he stilled his movements, turning to stand in front of you instead, hand still at your neck. 

“What’s wrong, hunny?” He lifted your head so that you were forced to look into his eyes, and he smiled knowingly. “Oh, I get it. You’ve moved on.” He gave you a small pout and you avoided his gaze. “It’s okay, I want this to be good for you. And honestly, it doesn’t matter what body I’m in anyway. It feels amazing either way.” You whipped your head around, suddenly staring into bright green eyes. Gasping loudly, you were suddenly pulled forward toward the lips of Dean Winchester. You froze, but felt yourself kissing him back slightly, your brain playing tricks on you. Dean pulled away and smiled at you widely, and you smiled back until he opened his mouth. 

“That’s right, hunny-bear. Now we can both be comfortable.” ‘Dean’ disappeared from your view and you felt a small bout of strength, your body fighting against the chains holding you in place, trying to escape from the nightmare your brain couldn’t even imagine up. But Greg’s hands held you tight to him, and you felt his hips move against you. You were prepared to accept this happening to you at the hands of Greg, but you couldn’t get the image of Dean standing before you in the damp room out of your head. And though you kept repeating to yourself that it wasn’t Dean, it was becoming impossible as Greg continued to speak, Dean’s gruff voice floating up to you. 

“Alright hunny,” he cooed, stroking up and down your back as you heard the zipper of his jeans. “Are you ready for me?” 

You didn’t respond, your mind shutting down like it had so many times before to help you survive this moment. You felt some pressure to your core, and then your body was moving back and forth, but you felt numb, and didn’t say a word. You weren’t sure how long Greg used you, but when he was done, he pulled out, zipped back up, and came to stand in front of you. Dean’s body came into view, and he looked concerned, as he swiped at the tears you didn’t realize were streaming down your face, cupping your cheek. You involuntarily leaned into it, and when you looked up again, Greg was staring into your eyes. You leaned out of his grasp, and he sighed, pulling you forward to kiss you on the top of the head. 

“I have something I have to do hunny-bear. I’ll be back soon.” And just like that he was gone, leaving you hanging from the chains, bent at the waist. 

You started to sob silently, knowing that Greg didn’t destroy you 13 years ago. He destroyed you now, using the only man you felt comfortable with against you. Being a hunter you didn’t believe in anything you couldn’t see, so you often refused to believe in God, but in that moment you felt yourself praying, reaching out to anything or anyone to help you. 

You suddenly heard the rush of wind and the flutter of wings, as a figure appeared in front of you. Too tired to react you attempted to move away from whoever had appeared in the room, when you felt a soft hand on your cheek, causing a warmth to spread throughout your body. 

“Hello, Y/N.” The figure began and you looked up into bright blue eyes. “I heard your prayer. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.” You stared up at the man in disbelief before your world went black. 

-----------

Cas disappeared as quickly as he appeared and Dean spun around looking for him in the small room. 

“Cas!” He yelled into the emptiness, but the angel didn’t reappear. Dean scoffed, returning to find Sam and Bobby in the living room. Sam rose to his feet when Dean entered, looking questioningly behind him, anticipating Cas following Dean. Dean shook his head, throwing his hands up the air, when he heard the flutter of wings behind him again. The look on Sam’s face made Dean whip around nervously afraid of what he might find behind him. 

Cas was standing in the doorway to the office holding Y/N tightly in his arms. He had shed his trench coat and it was wrapped around an unmistakingly naked Y/N like a towel. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas repeated for the second time in 20 minutes, and Dean rushed forward taking Y/N out of Cas’ arms and cradling you tightly to his chest. You looked as if you were sleeping, but your face looked like you were in pain, stuck in whatever nightmare you were being forced into. Bobby and Sam rushed over to where Dean stood holding you, both men looking murderous. 

“Cas, what happened?!” Sam was yelling, unable to control his emotions, and Castiel stood awkwardly, not having the people skills to deal with human emotions this complex. He took a beat or two to answer, but Dean cut him off, not ready to hear the story while you were still in the room.

Dean shifted you slightly in his arms and your face relaxed as he hiked you up, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He didn’t want to leave you alone right now, but he wanted you to be more comfortable as you slept, and didn’t want you to be naked anymore. He motioned with his head for his brother to follow him upstairs. Sam followed, and as they reached the stairs Dean spoke over his shoulder. 

“Cas, stick around.” Cas nodded once, and Bobby motioned for him to sit on the couch him and Sam had just vacated. Cas sat awkwardly fixing his stare on the wall ahead of him, as Bobby left the room. 

Dean walked toward Bobby’s room upstairs knowing you would feel most comfortable there if you woke up while they were downstairs talking to Cas. Sam opened the door for him, and stood in the doorway as you placed Y/N down on the soft blankets. 

“Sam,” Dean spoke up, making sure you were fully covered with Cas’ trench coat for the moment after you were jostled about a bit. “Can you find Y/N’s bag and get maybe some sleep shorts, or something we can get on her easily?” Sam nodded, disappearing from the room. You took a second to take in Y/N’s appearance, not seeing any signs that you had been hurt, but you figured you’d learn the extent of the injuries from Cas, as Dean was sure he healed you before bringing you here. He knew Cas wouldn’t without permission, but he also secretly hoped that Cas had scrubbed your memories of whatever had happened in the hours that you were missing. 

Sam returned while he was lost in his thoughts, clearing his throat simply. Dean turned around and Sam handed him a pair of Y/N’s loose shorts and one of Sam’s flannels, figuring it would work best to cover her. 

“Can you help me?” Dean asked his brother awkwardly, not wanting to betray Y/N’s trust, especially not when you were sleeping. Sam nodded coming forward while Dean placed each of your feet carefully in the leg holds of the shorts. You were still in a deep sleep, your chest rising and falling slowly, so Dean pulled the shorts up your legs, careful to not touch you, and both brothers looked away while Dean slid your shorts up over your hips and Sam moved the bottom of the trench coat out of the way. They repeated the same process to move Sam’s flannel over your head and slip your hands into the sleeves. Sam grabbed Cas’ trench coat off the bed and left the room, nodding once at Dean with pain in his eyes. 

Dean couldn’t stop looking at you, relishing in how peaceful you looked now that you were curled up in the blankets with familiar smells all around. He felt a tear slip down over his cheeks, and he swiped at it angrily, muttering to himself that he didn’t deserve to cry right now. Leaning forward he pressed his lips softly to your head and you stirred lightly, letting out a dreamy sigh, and Dean stood intent on killing the monster that hurt you before you even woke up and bringing his head to you as a trophy.

Read part IX here

When We Were Young Tag List: @vicmc624 @woundedxsmile @akshi8278

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.2

Summary: Steve undergoes Bruce’s serum boosting procedure to hopefully save his life but the results are something no one could have expected. Master list is HERE

Warnings: Brief description of a totally made up medical procedure. Some very sad feels. I’m not crying... YOU’RE crying. Okay... we’re all crying. 

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! This chapter seriously hit me in the feels to write and I’m sorry if it hits you too. It was necessary though, we gotta fix our Steve damnit!  XOXO - Ash

Chapter Two

Bruce sounded pretty confident as he went over the procedure, showing them via hologram from the Starkpad how Steve’s cells were currently failing against the infection vs how they would fight it effectively if the treatment worked. It was all entirely too technical for the two former soldiers but they nodded along politely as Bruce rattled on. All that mattered was that Steve might have a chance of surviving this. 

“Do you have any questions?” Bruce asked finally, setting the Starkpad aside.

“When can we do it?” Steve asked, a determined set in his jaw that Bucky remembered from before the war. He smiled at Steve, proud of his man for never shying away from a fight, especially now that it was one for his life. 

Bruce led Steve into the lab where he and Helen helped him get comfortable on an exam table. He needed to be hooked up to IVs on both arms and the treatment would take almost three hours. Bucky was by his side the entire time while the doctors set everything up and he had pulled up a John Grisham book on his phone so he could read to Steve while they waited for it to be over. 

Bruce started up the machines and he and Helen sat over by the computers to keep an eye on things while the procedure got underway.

Bucky leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, “I love you. No matter what happens.” 

Steve smiled up at him, “I know. I love you too. It’ll be okay.” 

“Want me to start the book?”

“Yeah, but don’t be too offended if I nod off.”

Bucky started reading and just as expected, it wasn’t long until Steve fell asleep.

xxXxx

Steve felt like his body was on fire. “Buck.” He gasped, trying to get his partner’s attention. “Something’s… something’s wrong.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up from the book he was reading and he yelled over to Bruce and Helen for help. 

Steve was writhing on the lab table, restrained cries of agony escaping his lips. The pain was white hot and he could feel it slithering through his veins. This was the end, he thought bitterly. He wanted to cry for all the time he’d lost with Bucky. He wanted to apologize to him for not being brave enough or smart enough to figure out what he needed most in his life until it was too late. His last thought was a prayer for Bucky to forgive him for leaving so soon; then the world went dark and he slipped off into oblivion. 

xxXxx

Bucky watched as Steve stopped thrashing and went deathly still on the table. Bruce and Helen were frantically working with the machines and rattling off information to each other. It was surreal watching the scene unfold before him and Bucky worried for a moment that he was dissociating. It was too soon for Steve to be taken from him again. He felt like his life was just one long string of times where he lost Steve for what felt like forever. But this time it really would be forever. He was vaguely aware of Bruce pushing him away so they could work. Bruce injected Steve with something clear and yelled at Helen to turn it up to fourteen. He didn’t know what that meant but whatever it was Steve started writhing again and Bucky sank into a chair, curling into himself, unable to watch the horror show anymore. 

“What the hell?” He heard Helen gasp.

“I don’t know. I don’t…. I don’t know.” Bruce sounded scared and frustrated and Bucky looked up again expecting to see Steve dead on the table.

“Steve?” Bucky said in disbelief. He stood on shaking legs, crossing the room to get a closer look at what his eyes were refusing to believe they saw. It was Steve, but not Steve now, Steve from 1941 before he even knew someone named Abraham Erskine. His body was small and frail, just as Bucky remembered him from before he left for war. Bucky wanted to ask what the hell had happened, if he had lost his mind finally after all the decades of wipes and torture. He tried to open his mouth but he was frozen and then everything faded to grey. 

 xxXxx

Bucky came to on an exam table to the sound of Bruce and Helen talking quietly nearby. He shook his head, trying to clear it and noticed he had one hell of a headache. “What’s going on?” He asked groggily, trying to sit up.

Bruce noticed him first and walked over to take the chair next to him while Helen left the room. “Hey. Take it easy, man. You hit your head pretty hard when you went down.”

Bucky tried to remember falling and it came back in a rush. Steve having pneumonia. The procedure. Something going horribly wrong. “What happened?” He said louder, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the table despite Bruce’s protests. 

“Take it easy.” Bruce held him down with a large, greenish hand clamped on Bucky’s thigh. “Things didn’t go as we expected them to with the procedure.”

“Where’s Steve? You can’t keep me from him.” Bucky was starting to panic, fear bubbling up in his chest.

“You can see him in a minute. Just hold on, will ya?” 

Bucky’s mouth flattened but he waited, willing to give Bruce one more minute before he put his very specific skill set to use to get past him.

“The procedure to boost the serum failed. It made it more unstable if anything, and we had to do what we could to keep Steve from coding on us. I had a back up formula to undo what the original one was attempting and it worked, but it went a little too far. Steve doesn’t have the serum anymore, not a drop of it. Instead of just reversing what we did to help heal him, it reversed everything. Steve is back to the way he was before the war.” 

Bucky’s mind reeled from the onslaught of information. Steve was alive but he was back in his original body. Bucky mused that the tiny blonde wasn’t going to be too pleased about that when he woke up, and he told Bruce as much.

Bruce chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of this one.”

“When can I see him?”

“I’ll take you to him now but he’s still sleeping. We wanted to let him rest for a bit before we tried waking him. I gotta warn you, he might not remember everything. The brain scans look okay but there’s a chance he won’t remember anything that’s happened since the serum.”

Bucky worried for a moment but decided that could wait until later. All he wanted was to be by Steve’s side when he woke up. The rest could wait. “Just take me to him.” 

Bruce led Bucky across the hall to the lab where Steve was resting peacefully on the same exam table he’d left him on an hour before. He was so small looking lying there, his clothes all bunched and rumpled around him. He looked like a kid playing dress up and Bucky was almost amused by it. Bruce joined Helen to review something on a computer screen and Bucky pulled up a chair to sit by Steve’s side again. He took Steve’s hand between his own, one metal and one flesh, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

Steve stirred and his impossibly long lashes fluttered, opening to reveal a pair of clear blue eyes that were the same regardless of what body he was in. “Bucky?” He asked, his voice rasping deeply. 

“Yeah, I’m here pal.” Bucky felt a prickle of tears behind his eyes at the relief of Steve waking up. 

“What happened?” 

“I’m gonna let Bruce field that one.” 

Bruce and Helen had both joined Bucky around Steve when they heard him wake. 

“Hey there. What’s the last thing you remember?” Bruce asked, hoping desperately there was no memory loss.

Steve frowned, wondering why he had asked that. “You and Helen were doing a procedure to boost my serum. Bucky was reading to me and I guess I dozed off.” Steve noticed his breathing was a little tight. He was disappointed the procedure had failed but it didn’t explain why everyone looked so concerned. Maybe he was worse off than he’d thought. 

“That’s good, Steve. That’s real good.” Bruce told him and looked over to Helen who was visibly relieved. 

“We tried, Buck.” Steve said reaching out to cup Bucky’s cheek, “At least we…” he trailed off at the sight of his hand. Where there had been thinning skin and the freckles of old age was a smooth, pale, and extremely thin hand. Steve froze trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He looked down at the rest of his body and it was like being transported back to 1941. “What happened?” He asked Bruce, his voice tight with fear. 

“There were complications….” Bruce began and explained to Steve what happened over the last few hours. 

Steve wasn’t sure how to feel by the time Bruce was done. He looked over at Bucky who still hadn’t let go of his hand. Bucky looked so hopeful and afraid watching Steve process all the information that had been dumped on him. Steve wondered for a few fleeting moments if he would ever be allowed to die. There had been so many times that should have been the end but he had slipped past death’s door every time. And there he was again, ready for his new lease on life, and he wanted desperately to be strong for Bucky. “Well,” he said finally, “I guess we got that extra time we were looking for.”

Bucky laughed, a harsh strangled sound, and he clung tighter to Steve’s hand, pressing a series of desperate kisses to it. “Yeah. We got time now, Steve.” He agreed.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​ 

If anyone wants to be added or removed please lmk! 

[wolfcrunch]

32.

i didnt get a character or angst/fluff decision so i went with bakugou!! hope that’s alright!

Prompt #32 - What did I do?

read on AO3 - request a prompt and character(s) for me to write!

What did I do?

Crimson coloured eyes stared blankly upwards, tracing patterns into the clean, white tiles overhead. Silence rung in his ears, but thoughts and memories weight heavy on the young hero’s mind, the events of the previous two days playing on rewind.

What did I do?

He could still hear the cries for help, the yells of his friends, screaming at him to move. To do something. He could still taste smoke and blood, on the tip of his tongue despite it being cleaned off long ago. He could still feel his tattered costume sticking against his sweat-laden body, covered in soot and dirt and all sorts of debris.

What did I do?

He remembered he had been facing a tenacious villain, one that he and Deku had been essentially ‘hunting down’ for the past three months, at least. A man who could outmaneuver even the proclaimed Wonder Duo, of all heroes.

Katsuki and Deku had only been heroes for around five years now - and in all of that time, they had not yet come across a villain who could make them chase tail for more than a week, the League excused.

All except the man they had come to know as 'Torrent’.

A dangerous man who seemed set on stirring up trouble, the heroes who had faced him weren’t entirely sure on what his quirk really do, except it was some sort of extreme weather manipulation. He’d been shown to cause a vast arrangement of weather - from storms, to hail, to snow and even fire tornadoes.

Even with Katsuki and Deku working together - it was almost as if the other man had several quirks, with how quickly he could change the weather and make his escape.

They’d run into the villain again, and Katsuki had decided enough was enough. The man in question had sent a blast of dangerous high wind through some apartment buildings, leaving the buildings almost destroyed and civilians in need of saving. Their job had been to get the civilians out safely first…

But then Katsuki had seen him. And his vision went red.

He’d screamed at Deku to start evacuating victims before blasting off after the escaping man, his explosion quirk boosting him along. Deku had tried to stop him– but there were people in need, and he couldn’t just abandon them.

Not when the buildings looked as if they were going to fall.

Despite having grown and mellowed out…Katsuki still had a bit of a short fuse. And here, it had decided to come and bite him on the ass.

He didn’t know how the guy’s quirk worked, let alone a way to possibly take him down and immobilize him long enough for Deku to catch up…he hadn’t been thinking straight, he could admit that much. He could admit defeat.

Failure.

So…what did I do?

Nothing…absolutely fucking nothing.

Katsuki had been no match for the villain, not even with his rage-filled mind that made him act before thinking. The explosive hero prided himself on his reaction times, on his prowess, on his fighting experience, years of that skill honed into his very bones.

But it still had been no match, not alone.

Torrent had toyed with him. He’d batted the hero around as if the two were playing cat and mouse - as if Katsuki was the prey, in this scenario.

Torrent knew Katsuki - the hero, Ground Zero - was no match for him, and it had only served to make Katsuki angrier as the minutes ticked by. As Katsuki got worn down, expending all of his energy into firing off blasts…he’d been so angry, that he hadn’t accounted much for his surrounding area.

Of course, collateral damage was usually never an issue…his PR would chew him out for it, but it was something he could pay off…

…but the lives at stake…

Katsuki’s calloused hands gripped at the light, scratchy blanket laid over his body, an all-too-unfamiliar burning beginning to build up in his eyes. He hated, hated, hated this. This feeling….

Complete, utter failure.

Katsuki could do nothing. Nothing as Torrent sent a huge gust of wind clashing into him, making the hero crash into an unstable building. Nothing as a shrill cry sounded from within its walls, breaking Katsuki out of the rage-filled cloud overhanging every nerve.

He did nothing as Torrent sneered at the sounds emitting from the once-thought abandoned building, calling out something Katsuki couldn’t hear over the roar of vicious winds.

Nothing as heroes arrived on the scene– Red Riot, Pinky, Uravity, Deku– screaming out for the explosive hero to move.

To save…

Katsuki couldn’t move…and two children, eight and three, had perished as Torrent brought the building down upon him. Katsuki hadn’t known…but that didn’t make the weight in his chest any less heavy.

He’d been lucky that he was alive - Deku having jumped into the fray and chasing Torrent off as Red Riot, Pinky and Uravity dug him and the children out, as the nurses said once he awoke.

According to them, no one had been to visit yet, even though Katsuki hadn’t been too critically injured, surprisingly…

Not that he deserved their company.

Ground Zero was suppose to be a hero, yet two children lost their lives because of him. A couple was never going to hug their children, see them grow up…he knew that all heroes lost someone at least once during their careers…

But this was all utterly Katsuki’s fault, he knew. He was the reason that Japan had lost two lives that day.

He was the reason Torrent was still on the run. If only he had waited–

If only he hadn’t run in like a damn intern on his first patrol…those two kids might still be alive.

The blond scowled, lifting a hand to slowly run through his dirtied hair, wincing at the tiny shards of glass still stuck between its strands. He’d told the nurses to piss off after checking his vitals after awaking not a mere three hours ago…now he was kinda starting to regret that.

Ugh…the sooner I can get out…

Katsuki knew that to wallow in his own self-pity was…pathetic. He didn’t deserve to feel so sorry for himself. No, because those kids–

They had needed him in that moment. They had needed to be saved, by a hero.

And Katsuki had been still, sealing their fates.

He scowled to himself, before carefully propping himself up with his arms. The IV in his arm felt uncomfortable, and his eyes stung at the light coming in from the window. The sooner he got out, the sooner he could do something - he wouldn’t be very surprised if the parents tried to press charges because of their children.

He’d deserve it.

His body, aching, protested against the blond’s movements, but he ignored it to force one leg over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth at the harsh movement. The nurses would have his head if they saw him trying to get up.

But he couldn’t sit here and do nothing. He needed to make up–

“Kacchan!”

The blond gave an indignant squawk as a hand settled on his shoulders, before his brain clicked with the familiar name. “Deku, what the fuck?!”

“Shh, the nurses are gonna kick me out-”

“As they should, shitty nerd!” Katsuki’s raging words held no real bite to them, despite the way his red gaze pierced through the over. Deku at least had the decency to look sheepish. “How the hell did you get in here?” he lowered his voice, slightly.

His hero partner glanced at the door of the room, which he had carefully shut completely to make sure no one was peeking in before looking at the older man. “I….distracted a nurse and managed to sneak past?”

“Deku–”

“They weren’t gonna let us see you!” Izuku insisted, waving about his hands - one which held a plastic bag. “After the thing with Torrent, I got some stuff and came back to the waiting room. They didn’t give any word about you having woken up and I got worried-”

“I don’t want your stinking ass in my room!” Katsuki hissed. “And what do you mean we? What about all the civilians?!”

“They’re fine!!” Katsuki’s cause for his newest headache assured him. “I’ve already dealt with the paperwork and the press…well, most of it. Kirishima and some of the others are still in the waiting room for when you get released - your entire fight was on the news!”

“Fucking– Deku, you’re number fucking one, it’s your job to go out there and detain Torrent, ain’t it?!”

“Kacchan, I wasn’t going to risk going after him alone.”

Now Katsuki knew that Deku was stronger than him - three years together in U.A, and five as hero partners…he’d be stupid to not say that Deku had surpassed him in terms of strength - although when exactly that happened was muddled and forgotten…

Deku had always been stronger than him in moral, too. Even before inheriting One For All.

“Anyways…no one’s seen or heard from him in the two days you were out…I think for now, its fine to take a break,” Izuku then grinned, shaking the bag in his hand. “Anyways, I got some of your clothes from the agency. I don’t think anyone wants to see your ass when you finally get out of here.”

Katsuki paused, the words sinking in. He blurted out what was first to conjure into a sentence.

“What, my ass not good enough for the bunch of you freaks, huh?!”

“N-no, Kacchan!” Izuku couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. “I think Kirishima would call it manly-”

The broad-shouldered hero got an angry shove at that, the injured one of the two fuming at him. “Eat shit and die, nerd!” he nearly screamed, causing Izuku to laugh louder.

“Come on Kacchan, it was a joke!”

“Yeah? Your whole career is gonna look like a fucking joke in a minute, asshole!”

Katsuki couldn’t help the smug grin that crossed his face as the door to his room was slammed open, two fuming nurses standing outside and setting their sights right on Deku, who looked up like a deer in headlights.

Not even the Number One hero could escape punishment by a couple of angry nurses set out to make sure their patients were comfortable, Katsuki supposed…good.

[traumawings]

long vent, sorry

i always feel like i'm lying, even though im not

my emotions always feel so,, fake, like im acting in a tv show, sometimes they dont even really feel like my own??

my thoughts sometimes feel forced, as if they're not really mine??

and all these memories feel so distant, like i know it happened to me but it feels like im just looking at someone else

no matter what i do, i always feel so,, unreal, incorrect, like somethings off/missing, but idk what

i recently found an email i sent myself back in 2016, where im just talking to myself like im talking to someone else?? i like told myself something along the lines of ''dont forget this thing, dont be stupid'' and then responded to myself with a ''yeah yeah i know'' and then ''yeah okay, just checking to be sure'' and??? wtf???

i cant really remember that?? like i used a word for 'stupid' (english isnt my native language btw) that i cant remember ever using?? i only have a sort of,, intuitive feeling/memory (?) of the very first line of the email, but i dont remember the rest

and ive always talked to myself, hell i still do it, all the time

i talk to myself like im talking to another person, but theres no one there, and i only 'act out' my part of the conversation

i dont think i hear voices tho? or have actual blackout moments? although i did ask my mom recently and she did say that as a child, i'd sometimes look like i'd just 'woken up', even though i wasnt asleep in the first place

and that my skills would vary greatly, so like one moment i would be really good at something, and then later on i was suddenly really clumsy while doing the same thing

and i would always make up a lot of oc's, like a lot

and i would, and still do, daydream very intensely and just like 24/7, with these characters

and the characters would make moves or do/say things that didnt feel entirely predictable to me?? even though it was technically me controlling all of that??

and when i'd act out the character, it almost felt like i just,, became that character

i would even get really sad and dissapointed when i remembered that i couldnt do things with them like start a youtube channel or smth, because they weren't real, didn't have a physical body

and i know this sounds kinda like DID/OSDD but i dont have that i think, because i dont actually really blackout

like its not like im doing a thing, then suddenly 'come back to' doing something else or that im suddenly in a different place or smth

so i just, feel fake

my brains just constantly trying to diagnose me

like everytime i notice i relate to a certain disorder or anything, i just become completely obsessed with that and start researching it and everything

and i feel so guilty while doing it, like im disrespecting the people who actually struggle with that disorder

thats also the reason i still really struggle to call myself traumatized, because i feel like im making it up, like im being dramatic

ive just become obsessed with trying to put a name to all of this

i have so many different kinds of symptoms that can often even contradict each other, that i just dont know what this is

and im scared of being misdiagnosed, i mean i dont wanna disrespect the professionals who actually studied for it, but i constantly fear theyre going to get it wrong because i feel like im not being honest, like theres something im not telling them but! idk! what!

and its so frustrating

i just constantly contradict myself

thats also why i struggle with taking personality tests because well everyone can relate to all of the answers right?? and when i take a test like that, i again, feel like im lying, even though im not, i think?

the thing is, i want a diagnosis, yknow just to put a name to it ig or for attention like i dont even know anymore

but like, i dont want the help, but i know that thats the only reason really that they diagnose people, to set up a treatment plan

but i dont want treatment, i want to get worse

i hate myself for this but, ive even daydreamed of being admitted to a psych ward

and i feel bad for it, because i know that a lot of people wish that they'd never been admitted, but i want to be

i want to be hurt, to be abused, i deserve to be

maybe then ill finally feel valid

but i never will

im not struggling, im just lazy

i should just shut up

but i cant

i cant stop talking, im sorry

im sorry for posting so much, for being so obnoxious

my brain just decided that apparently we need to hyperfocus on our horrible mental health and dissect it to try to pinpoint what the hell all of this is

so i ask of you, please bear with me

im annoyed by me too

im sorry

[notafightr]

It fic exchange!!!

so here's my reddie fic for @disneyfan567​ for the it fic exchange event! no trigger warnings, sorry for any mistakes or lack of skill this displays as i havent written in a long time and this is the first time ive written in this fandom

(°﹏°)

  Eddie was 13 when he moved to Ohio. Sonia decided she had had enough of Derry, and the small town was doing more harm than good to her delicate son. To describe Eddie's reaction, reluctant was an understatement. He was leaving his 6 best friends, his only real friends, all because of his mother's glorified temper tantrum.

  The past 3 years were (in)arguably the best years of his life. He met his best friends, more of a family than his own (which really just consisted of his overbearing mother), he had irreplaceable experiences and memories with his best friends, these friends entirely shaped and nurtured his character. So to have his mother rip all of that away from him, well it understandably upset him. Most of all, he didn't know how he was going to cope with the frequent flashbacks and nightmares that taxed him emotionally and mentally several times a week, dutifully owed to that short, albeit rather traumatic summer of 89’.

  For 3 long, yet oh so short years, Eddie coped with these strains through the support of his friends, especially a loudmouthed, annoying boy with Coke bottle glasses and slightly bucked teeth, named Richard Tozier, who couldn't find it in him to ever stop annoying Eddie, or stop telling him how much he loved him, or stop picking flowers for him on walks because he knew even though Eddie denied it, they really did make Eddie happier than he cared to admit.

  How do you cope with a demon clown terrorising you and your friends’ lives for an entire summer, haunting you as your worst fear, using unholy tactics to scare you in unimaginable ways, trapping you in its crack den, and almost killing you miles below land level, all at the ripe age of 10? Hopefully you found yourself down there with your 6 best friends. You also let your mind do the forgetting. Well, what it can. There's some things you can't forget.

  Until you leave Derry.

  Eddie started forgetting the moment the plane took off, whether he realized it or not. He managed to remember his friends for a short while, but vaguely. He didn't remember the poems Ben gave him every birthday, or that the friendship bracelet on his left wrist was made by thee Beverly Marsh. He didn't remember that the reason his room was always so tidy was because Stan Uris couldn't help himself every time they chose Eddie’s place as the hangout spot (when Sonia wasn't home of course), or all the scary stories Bill liked to tell at their weekly sleepovers at the ass crack of 3 am. He didn't remember how Jessica and Will Hanlon were by far the superior parents of the friend group and the snacks they so generously provided to said group were the best he ever had, no doubt that Mike directly inherited their kind and generous traits.

  When he woke up at the end of his plane ride, he didn't even remember that the lily flower in his hand was given to him as a parting gift by Richie, whose parents picked him up from the airport after he gave one last hug goodbye at the gate and waved Eddie off with flower in hand. Even after intently looking down, confused, and finally remembering it was indeed Richie who gave him the flower, he still didn't remember Richie’s endearing flower giving habit.

  He promised them he'd stay in touch, but it wasn't long before the initials BH, BM, SU, BD, MH, and RT were just meaningless letters next to a series of unknown house phone numbers.

  It wasn't until he forgot one particular conversation with Bill during a sleepover one night in 6th grade that he forgot Richie completely.

  “Bill?” Eddie whispered, lying down in Bill’s bed, not even sure if Bill was awake.

  “Y-yeah?” Bill replied after some silence.

  “So, we're best friends right?”

  “Well y-yeah, I m-mean all-” Bill started before being interrupted.

  “No I mean like, I know the seven of us are best friends obviously, but I mean, we’re best-best friends, you know what I mean? Like even before the lucky seven it's always been us right?”

  “Oh. Yeah I s-suppose.” Bill reassured him.

  It took Eddie a second to try and gather his thoughts and articulate what he was trying to say.

  “Well, I feel like, Richie’s different from all of you.”

  “Yeah n-no sh-shit Eddie, that k-kid can't k-keep his mou-” Bill was again interrupted.

  “No, that's not what I mean. I mean,” Eddie again had to organize his thoughts in his head, which proved to be difficult when not even he knew what he was thinking. “I mean I feel different with him. Like when he gives me flowers and stuff, and he's the only one that calls me Eds. But I know you're my best friend. My best-best friend. Am I wrong? Maybe Richie is my best-best friend?” At this point it felt like Eddie was just saying it out loud for himself.

  After a few seconds, which felt like several minutes to Eddie, Bill giggled.

  “What?” Eddie asked, almost panicked.

  While Bill didn't necessarily believe this, the thought amused him greatly. “It s-sounds like you have a c-cr-crush on h-him.”

  “Wh-... you th-” Eddie just about got whiplash from Bill’s statement. “You think I have a crush on him?!”

  “I n-never said that… I j-just said it s-sounds like you do.”

  “I'm not… I don't like boys like that. My mom told me what it means if you do and what happens, and I don't think I do,” he backtracked.

  At this point, Bill was almost asleep. “Okay Eddie, that's fine,”

  “I think maybe you're just both my best friends,” Eddie assured, but undoubtedly he said this more for himself than for Bill. Bill probably succumbed to slumber before Eddie could even start.

  Once any evidence of this conversation having occurred left his brain, any trace of Richie was buried deep under newer things. The others were already long gone. The nightly nightmares he experience fizzled out eventually, but they did resurface every once in a while. On the other side of the same coin however, he did have dreams about the good times with the losers. He never remembered them when he woke up, though.

  Not to mention, he was frequently frustrated at his lack of motivation to clean his room properly, wondering why his always clean room in Derry suddenly had no place in his new life in Ohio. Where's a Stan Uris when you need him?

  He tried to make friends. For a bit he was even in a nice friend group of people he clicked fairly well with, they were funny and kind and they welcomed him with open arms. But nothing felt right. They were funny, but it hurt to laugh at their jokes, they were nice, but almost too nice. If anyone so much as cracked a your mom joke, Eddie's first thought was an annoyed “Stop trying to be-” but always stopped short right there.

  Stop trying to be who?

  He didn't know. He didn't remember.

  So at the end of his sophomore year, when he asked his mom to sign his permission form for the classes he wanted to take the upcoming school year, his mom declined.

  “Eddie Bear, we're moving back to Derry this summer.” Sonia said apologetically, understanding he'll have to say goodbye to the friends he doesn't have.

  “Wait, what?” confused was an understatement. He had to rack his brain for a moment to even remember what “Derry” meant.

  “It’s getting difficult for me to support us financially here, so we're moving back near your Aunt Jodie and she's going to help us a little bit. We should start packing no later than the end of May, we’ll be out of the house and into the new one at the beginning of July in time for you to to get settled and start school at Derry High.”

  Eddie had never felt more indifferent in his whole entire life, while also feeling an inkling of hope he didn't quite understand. If anything, his biggest curiosity was why he didn't feel even a whisper of sadness for leaving the people he knew in Marietta, Ohio. While Eddie didn't care about moving back to Derry, and it meant almost nothing to him on the surface, the Eds inside of Eddie couldn't help peeking through.

  So they moved back. Eddie finished packing up his belongings before the deadline his mother gave to start packing had even passed, and he didn't bother telling any of his “friends” (perhaps acquaintances is a more applicable word) that he was leaving because the truth was, it was more trouble than it was worth. They would no doubt care more than twice as much as he did, so he left without so much of a trace of a goodbye.

  Now that Eddie was 16, he could drive. While Sonia wouldn't buy Eddie his own car, not over her dead body, she did allow him to use hers when it was available, and given her physical state and social life, it was almost always available. After a solid 8 hours of unpacking his things in his new, snug room on an otherwise uneventful July evening, he picked up his mom's keys.

  “Bye Mom!” he shouted loud enough for his mom to hear without bothering to hear her response as he shut the door.

  He shoved the key in ignition. Despite not having been in town for 3 years, he was still able to navigate the area without assistance. He drove to the coffee shop that he had vague memories of visiting during middle school winters for hot chocolate with some friends whose faces he couldn't quite remember yet.

  Walking in it didn't look much different. Not that Derry would care enough to update the coffee shop, or any shop for that matter, for any reason.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” a blonde girl at the register asked uninterestedly.

  She definitely hates her job, Eddie thought while pointlessly perusing the menu, already knowing what he planned to order. Sophomore year was not academically kind to Eddie, and a caffeine addiction to compensate for the mass amount of all nighters pulled did occur.

  “Can I just have a black coffee with sugar?” he asked while digging through his tattered black wallet he received as a birthday gift in seventh grade. He then flinched his head up in response to hearing another employee drop an entire pitcher of coffee on the floor.

  “Oh, fuck,” said worker pointedly exclaimed, which not only stirred a giggle out of Eddie, but his voice in combination with his oddly familiar black curly hair caused his heart drop, though completely lost as to why.

  “Your name?”

  “Hello?” She asked after a moment.

  “Hello!” the blonde girl repeatedly nagged, trying to catch Eddie’s lost attention.

  “What? Sorry I missed that,” Eddie finally grounded himself. Unfortunately his attempt to catch the other employees face failed as he stayed turned away and then hurried to his hands and knees on the floor.

  “I need your name for your order.”

  “Oh yeah of course, Eddie.” Not even seconds after his response, he heard something nearly inaudible, completely not understandable from the employee on the floor, which was confirmed by the blonde girl, which Eddie now gathered from her name tag to be Sarah, who exasperatedly asked about the other employee’s struggle.

  “You alright down there?”

  “Yeah, I’m just peachy, Sarah,” hearing the voice even clearer instilled a visceral reaction even stronger in Eddie once again.

  Sarah took Eddie’s cash, distributed his change, and set his cup down on the back counter for when the other employee to make when he was done cleaning up his mess. He picked a seat close by the counter and waited. After a few minutes, longer than probably usual, given time dedicated to cleaning up the coffee on the floor, Eddie heard his name called by the same antagonist and saw his coffee set on the counter, but employee was again out of sight. Eddie grabbed the coffee and with no reason to stay he made his way back to the car.

  Drinking his iced coffee on his way home, at a stop light he picked up his drink and studied it curiously. He noticed the boy who made his drink must have added his name for some reason because when Sarah set it down for him to make, there was nothing written on it. However, clearly on the cup, was his name:

  While looking at the little flower next to his name made him smile, it was a cute gesture, it filled him with a familiar sense of longing and loneliness, as if he was missing something. He got home, finished his coffee, continued unpacking, dreadfully argued with his mom about leaving the house without telling her where he was going, and went to sleep. It was less of a need for caffeine but more of an eagerness to learn about a curly headed, clumsy employee that brought him back to the coffee shop the next day.

  So he came back. He came back at the same time too, to have his best chance of the boy being on shift.

  “How can I help you?” Sarah asked.

  “Black coffee with sugar, Eddie.” successfully staying on track with Sarah this time around.

  Again, she set the blank cup on the counter and just like before, his name with a dainty doodle of a flower beside it. Unfortunately, even if he wanted to say anything to the employee which Eddie now knew wears a big pair of glasses, his introverted nature wouldn't allow it. Back to home it was, to continue setting up his new room.

  The next couple of weeks was the same routine, and quite lonely. Being in the middle of summer, with no school to be his vessel of socializing, and no friends, it was him, his lonely self, and his mom. For all intents and purposes, him and his lonely self.

  However one morning, in a hurry as he had a family gathering for brunch to attend to, he knew he wouldn't be able to get to the coffee shop in the evening so he came in the morning, despite knowing the shift would likely not be the same.

  He walked in and noticed it was in fact not Sarah at the register but didn't look further.

  “How can I help you?” The boy at the register was looking down.

  “Just a black coffee and sugar. Eddie.” He got the cash from his wallet and told the boy he could keep the change as he was already late to his aunt's house and confident he could do without the dollar and 74 cents. As he walked to the counter to get his coffee as soon as it was ready, he noticed the boy scribbling his name and a flower on the cup but his brain didn't process anything other than how late he was. He took his coffee eagerly and made his way back to his car, knowing his mom (who was already there after being picked up by her sister) was no stranger to yelling at Eddie for “caring more about himself than his family”.

  On the drive to his house he allowed himself time to think and thought about the boy at the register. He was familiar to Eddie and not just because he's seen him every day for two weeks, making his regular order with ease.

  The Coke bottle glasses.

  The flower.

  The unkempt, black, curly hair.

  But that was still too out of reach for him. He thought about it for as long as he could without having an aneurysm from working his brain too hard and decided he would come back the next morning for the same shift.

  Sonia greeted Eddie outside before he was able to come inside.

 “Eddie bear, why are you so late?”

  “Sorry ma, I was up late finishing my summer assignment and I stopped to get coffee when I left,” Eddie started despite knowing this wouldn't be enough to appease his mom.

  “Aunt Jodie is being very kind to help us out and this is the first time seeing family since we've gotten back, you should show your gratitude properly. Say thank you when we come in.”

  “I will, Ma. Why didn't you just wake me up and take the car here?”

  “Aunt Jodie wanted to catch up with me before everyone else got here. She took us to breakfast. I figured you'd have enough autonomy to drive yourself here on time. Are you feeling well? Did you sleep enough?”

  “Yes, ma!” Eddie spoke as he got out of the car and locked it, handing the keys to his mom. “I just overslept. Sorry for being late.”

  However, while his cousins and aunts and uncles were asking him how Ohio was and if he was sad to leave his friends and if he left a broken hearted girlfriend back in Marietta, all he could think about was the coffee shop employee who never failed to doodle a flower next to his name.

  He got home late, worked on his summer assignment, because against what he told his mom, he had in fact not started yet. He made sure to wake up at the same time as the morning before and headed to the coffee shop. To his pleasure, the boy was at the register.

  “How can I help you?”

  Eddie stared at him.

  “Uh,” He couldn't help but chortle as Eddie stared, wordlessly, and then it appeared as though a freight train of memories hit him square in the head.

  “Oh my God,” Eddie nearly dropped to the floor. “Richie? Richie fucking Tozier? Is this a joke?”

  “Ya know Eds, I was starting to think you really forgot me. Or maybe you just hated me.” Richie allowed himself to laugh.

  “I… I did forget you? But how? We-” and at that moment Richie could visibly see It creep itself back into Eddie’s memories.

  “Holy shit? You forgot about that too? Do you have amnesia? What happened to that pretty little head of yours?” Richie put his hand on Eddie's forehead and pretended to feel his temperature.

  “Oh my God,” whiplash had struck Eddie again. “I need to sit down,” He started to move to a chair nearby when he remembered more. “The others! Beverly, and Ben, and Stan and Bill and Mike!” he quite literally felt like someone waking up from a 20 year coma, rediscovering everything that happened before he fell asleep.

  “They're peachy. Stan's actually getting back from visiting his family in Florida today.” Richie informed him. “Any reason you never stayed in touch like you said you would? Left a man hanging.”

  “It's like, wait- those initials were yours!” Suddenly three years of wondering who those house numbers in his binder belonged to clicked. “It’s like I forgot you guys as soon as I left,”

  “That soon? Ed's, you wound me,” Richie teased. “But you're still wearing the friendship bracelet Bev made.” He held out his wrist and displayed a bracelet of the same pattern but in different colors. “What’s she got that I don't?”

  For the first time in 3 years, Eddie let out a genuine laugh.

  “Are you busy, cutie? I'm on break in 15 minutes and I can get someone to cover the rest of my shift,” Richie asked, hopeful.

  “Yeah that's fine.. uh.. have you been working every day? All day?” Eddie asked, concerned.

  “Well the past couple of weeks at least a couple of us from the gang has been visiting family or doin’ some crazy shit so I figured I'd make use of time and make some money, we're doing a road trip in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh that's cool-”

  “You're invited, if you want, obviously. What better way to celebrate you coming back than a road trip? Ed's, just wait till’ they find out you're back-” Richie cut himself off when he noticed another man walk into the shop and they both decided to end the conversation there so he could order. “Okay hold on I'm gonna take his order, and I'll be out in 10 minutes, you can wait here if you want?”

  “Sounds good,” Eddie couldn't help the smile on his face, it's contagiousness showing in Richie's smile.

  After waiting for a bit, Richie came from the back out of his uniform, a bag on his shoulder, and a rose in his hand. He held it out to Eddie.

  “Do you just, carry flowers with you?” Eddie looked at him curiously.

  “No but I- after I saw you yesterday morning and I passed this one on my way to work, something told me I should grab it.” Eddie took it. “Flowers still get ya goin’?” Eddie punched him in the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Rich.” He smiled.

  “Where to now, spaghetti?” Richie put his arm around Eddie.

  “For 3 glorious years I never had to hear that, don't call me spaghetti!”

  “Okay Eds, answer the question!”

[friking-awsom-kitten]

Sleeping beauty just need some coffee IASA Chapter 4

He gasped, sitting up in shock. However, something refrained him from getting enough air and was shoved up deep into his throat. He chocked and grasped whatever was blocking his airways, ripping it off. Suddenly he could breathe again and he took big gulps.

His eyes flitted around the room in a panic, not recognizing where he was. Something to his left caught his eye and he stared at the woman that had been checking a machine next to him.

The woman dropped what she was holding and screamed.

He screamed back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam had been staring out the window for a long time now. She didn't pay attention to whatever the teacher was saying. Few kids did.

Word of Danny had gotten around pretty fast and by the end of the first day everyone knew. It had been chaos.

Some people were angry and wanted to bill the Fentons for all the damage Danny's fights had gotten them. Some wanted to report the parents for child abuse. Most were furious at the GIW for disrespecting basic human rights and trying to capture a boy and were pestering the government to shut it down. The president, however, wouldn't back down, saying they were the best of the best at ghost science and this town needed them.

But almost everybody was grateful for Danny and all he'd done for the town.

A lot of people had visited him in the hospital. Including several of Sam's classmates.

They would also continuously ask the two friends questions.

About how it happened. If Danny's parents had known. Whether they got to fight ghosts too. Whether Danny would keep protecting the town or if he was ok.

Sam honestly didn't know. It had been two weeks. She'd never been more worried than she was now. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, though. He had been exhausted. Physically and mentally. He was probably on the bridge of collapsing anyways and that blast must have depleted his energy reserves.

She sighed and glanced towards Tucker, who was staring at his phone. The device was turned off and pushed far away on the table, but the boy didn't take his eyes off of it.

All of a sudden, a sharp ring interrupted the teacher. Everyone jumped a bit in their seats and they turned to look at Tucker, who was scrambling to pick up his phone and putting it on his ear.

"Yes? For real?!" Tucker's eyes widened and he looked at Sam. "He's awake!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They burst in the hospital room. They had memorized the way long before and could walk from the receptionist to the ICU wing in their sleep.

Their eyes immediately fell on the small family in the corner.

Maddie looked about ready to cry and Jack was standing still with furrowed eyebrows. It was not a sight Tucker and Sam had expected to see.

The cause of all this grief was sitting up on his bed with a frustrated expression. He didn't have a breathing mask on anymore and the IV had been removed.

"Danny!" Sam cheered and sprang forward to hug him. He tensed under her hug and she frowned, letting go. "Danny?"

The boy huffed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "So I've been told. Who are you?"

She was so perplexed her arms went slack. Tucker sucked in a gasp and they both turned to the doctor that had been standing next to them. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Daniel seems to suffer from Amnesia. From what you have told me and what we discovered, this was caused by a combination of sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and recent stress. The severe concussion he recently got sealed it. It affected his hippocampus." The doctor stopped reading from his paper and looked Danny over before continuing. "From what I have gathered up to now, he seems to only be affected on the explicit memory, meaning the memory of the places and the times and the people. Or the who, what, where, when and why. However, the implicit seems normal, thankfully."

"The what?" Tucker breathed out, barely able to form words as he tried to understand everything happening.

"That means the skills he has learned. He can walk, talk, breathe, and all the motoric functions he has learned throughout his life, as well as riding a bike or reading. However, I'm not sure whether his semantic memory is damaged. This is the common knowledge. For example the days of the month. Or when his birthday is. The damage on that may vary."

The raven gave an exasperated sigh. "If you go through that explanation one more time I'm gonna give myself another concussion."

"Well," Tucker smiled weakly, even though tears were threatening to fall, "he didn't change personality-wise."

The other boy grinned. "He did say I still have the skills I learned. Must have practiced my sass a lot because I'm a pro."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. You did." She turned to the doctor. "But they will come back, right? This isn't permanent?"

For the first time, the doctor's face fell. "I- we aren't sure. Retrograde amnesia, which is what this condition is called, doesn't have a cure, but there are some ways to coach old memories to come back. Most patients remember their oldest memories, but Danny doesn't seem to even have that. If he does regain some memories, it will most likely be from early childhood. However, we can't be sure. It could get better, worse, or stay like this for the rest of his life." He looked at the pale faces in the room and smiled encouragingly. "But I don't think it will get worse given that this was a brain injury, first and foremost."

He nodded towards the parents. "Before I run a blood test and prescribe anything, I need some questions answered." He took out a list and a pen. "Did Daniel take medications? Any past health problems? For example seizures or strokes or infections? Did he take drugs?" He crossed over every time they shook their heads or wrote down when they mentioned something about a panic attack or how he had had an accident in the portal.

The doctor shook his head. This kid was a walking medical catastrophe. It was no wonder he ended up with amnesia. He sighed and put his papers down. "I'll send for a drug test and he'll have an MRI scan. After that he will have to stay in the hospital for a few more days until he is fully healed. Daniel, will you let us put back the IV?"

Danny scrunched his nose. "Ugh why. I'm awake now. I just need some food. Do you guys have some fries?"

"We'll get you appropriate food after the IV is back on. Your body is still short on nutrients."

"Please, Danny." Maddie begged. "The sack also has some ectoplasm. It will help you heal faster. You will be able to get out of here sooner."

Danny pursed his lips. This woman claimed to be his mom, and let me tell you how weird it is to not even remember your own mother. He wasn't even sure if he could trust these people. They could be lying to him for all he knew. But he had no other option. Besides, that woman gave him a comforting vibe. He smiled at her unconsciously and nodded. "Alright, but the second I'm out I want pancakes."

All the medical procedures had been run and the doctor had decided Danny would stay two more days before he could go home. All Danny's injuries had been healed during his coma. He claimed nothing hurt and only complained about getting food. Something nobody was surprised about. The boy hadn't eaten normal food in weeks. What they were surprised about was that he was so restless. He should be tired. In fact, he should still be unconscious. But nobody was about to complain about that.

What Danny really wanted was a bath. He felt dirty and gross. He was horrified to learn he'd been washed during his slumber and couldn't look at any nurse in the eye after that.

However, he felt especially uncomfortable when groups of strangers walked through the door and grinned at him and gave him presents and took pictures.

He glanced at the table next to him. It was simply covered in 'thank you' and 'get well' notes and some kind of merchandise. He had also gotten many pictures and drawings, but they were so confusing he couldn't figure heads or tails of it. On the other side were also some balloons and a few stuffed animals and to top it off, all around him were flowers.

I must have been some kind of celebrity, Danny thought. But why were they thanking him?

A girl suddenly burst through the doors and tackled the poor boy. He let out a yelp and she let go just as fast as she'd latched on and started rambling.

"I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard and then the plane was delayed and I first had to arrange a short vacation and I had to finish this assignment and they wouldn't let me go saying you weren't in danger of death and they said 'Alright, you can go, but if you don't get that degree it's on you' and I swear I was about to strangle them."

Danny couldn't understand what she was talking about so he took the time to inspect her. She had long brownish-red hair and he could honestly see the resemblance to his apparent mother. This must be Jasmine, his older sister.

The girl seemed to catch on that Danny wasn't responding and she paused, looking at him good for the first time. They stared at each other in silence for some time, taking in the other sibling.

Jasmine held out her hand and smiled. "Hello. My name is Jasmine, but you can call me Jazz. I'm sorry about just now. I was a bit worried."

Danny blinked in surprise. Why was she introducing herself? She must know he had amnesia. He grinned. It felt nice to know at least someone didn't come asking him if he knew them or expecting something from him. He shook her hand. "I don't think I need to introduce myself since you probably know me better than I do. You're my sister, right?"

Her smile brightened and he silently congratulated himself. "Yes. I'm two years older. So I'm nineteen and you're gonna be seventeen in Oktober 27. It's July 13 today. I just came from college."

Danny smiled softly, grateful for all the information she was giving him. He felt awkward having to ask such simple things. "Are you in the first year?"

She nodded. "I'm studying creative therapy. To put it simply, it's a kind of therapy for people who can't put their problems into words so instead do it with their hands. The therapist then can study their movements and results to see how they think and how to help them. There are many types and I'm doing a mix between drama and art."

She continued talking and Danny listened. He learned so much. She told him all about her and her life and her friends and even what recently happened in college. It was as if they were catching up on old times.

She didn't mention anything about Danny, or what he used to do or what they did together and he was grateful for that. It would have felt like she was telling him what he should have done and he would've felt obligated. It was an insane thought, given that all that had happened in the past, but he didn't want people telling him who he was.

They talked for hours. Mostly she was the one speaking, but Danny often put in his opinion or input in something and she would laugh.

At one point, a violet-eyed girl and a dark-skinned boy walked in and joined them. Danny remembered them as the two people who were there when he woke up. He tensed a bit, but they just greeted him and sat down. They said some words to Jazz and turned to look at him.

The boy wiped his hands on his pants and cleared his throat, but at a look from Jazz he smiled at Danny. "Hey, man. I don't think we told you our names. I'm Tucker Foley and that's Sam Manson."

Danny nodded towards them, but frowned at the girl. "Are your eyes naturally purple?"

Sam rolled said eyes as Tucker laughed. "No." She admitted. "They're blue. I got these contact lenses from my grandmother. She didn't want them to go to waste."

Tucker laughed some more. "Her grandmom used to be really rebellious as a teen. She saw potential in Sam," he told Danny and so the conversation went into flow again.

Sam and Tucker telling Danny about themselves and complaining a bit about school. They also told him how they met.

Apparently, Danny had known these people for practically all his life. Since kindergarten. That was a weird thought.

Jazz had glared at them for bringing that up but Danny sighed. "It's ok, Jazz. I'm gonna get this a lot from now on."

Sam winced. "Sorry. Just thought you'd want some background information. If there's something you don't like talking about we won't. Just tell us, alright?"

Danny shrugged. "That's just the thing, Sam. I don't know anything about anything. Everyone expects me to know all kinds of stuff and then it's just gonna get awkward." He huffed, frowning. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'll just figure out what my life is now."

Jazz grinned, beaming proudly. "That's the way to look at it, Danny. Just start off fresh."

Except that wasn't entirely possible. The moment Danny was admitted out of the hospital he knew his life was way weirder than he had thought at first.

When he was let out there was a crowd waving him off and cheering and he got a green sock thrown at him so that was a nice way to enter the world fresh.

Then there was the house he apparently lived in.

He honestly had no idea what to say about that. It looked like aliens had infiltrated earth and were doing a terrible job at laying low.

He sighed, ignoring all the paparazzi and following the two adults inside. It was much better inside. It was very clean. As if it had been prepared for his arrival. That just made him feel more guilty.

Maddie and Jack were grinning at him as they gave him a tour of the house. Maddie more nervously, while Jack was excited.

The first and second story were pretty normal. On the first was the kitchen and the living room. Then upstairs were all the bedrooms. Danny paused in what was apparently his room. It looked pretty clean and neat. He must have been either a perfectionist or his mom had tidied it up for him. He was gonna go with the second one.

Finally, he was shown the basement and the op Center, which is what they called the UFO on the house. The UFO looked exactly how Danny imagined a UFO would look like. It was huge and had a lot of wires. Somewhere something was beeping, but he couldn't figure out what.

Then the basement. Danny shivered as soon as he entered. He saw millions of weird machines and guns and a milkshake maker he decided not to trust. The name Fenton appeared everywhere. Like a logo.

Then there was a door at the other side of the room. It had a beethemed pattern as if warning people of toxins. Danny felt like he should put on a face mask or something to protect himself. His father was wearing some type of protective suit.

"What do you do for a living," he asked, exasperated.

"We're ghost hunters!" Jack grinned, leaving Danny with a baffled expression.

"Why do you hunt ghosts?" He asked, stumped and curious. The part about ghosts didn't surprise him much. It felt as normal as the fact birds were chirping outside.

Jack's expression fell and he exchanged a look with Maddie. "Well son." He started cautiously. "We're ghost scientists. We have been studying them for years. We sometimes catch one to learn more about them from up close."

"Like they're animals." Danny frowned and his parents grimaced.

"They're not all sentient, Danny." It was Maddie who said this. "And Amity park has been haunted by ghosts for years. Most of them attacked and destroyed."

"Well maybe most of them just stayed home minding their own business and the ones that did mean bad came here so we don't see the other side of their world."

To his surprise Maddie smiled softly. "Yes. You may be right."

They didn't tell him much about the things in the basement. In fact it was the shortest they had been in a room and they practically shoved him back up the stairs.

They stayed in the living and talked a bit and Maddie went to the kitchen to cook some dinner because it was already pretty late in the afternoon. Danny had a foreboding feeling. Probably because how Jazz paled and sent him a few scared looks.

Danny stood up and followed his mother to see her fumbling around the fridge, trying to find something that didn't try to bite her hand off. "Hey?" Danny started, unsure if this would be seen as impolite. "Do you want me to help you cook dinner?"

The woman brightened considerably as she slammed the fridge shut and smiled at him. "Are you sure? I mean. Yes, I would love it if you did this with me."

Danny nodded and rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands. Maddie's eyes widened when she realized she'd forgotten to do that.

"So what are we making?"

Maddie scrunched her face. "I'm not sure yet, Danny. There isn't much left that is edible."

"Where do you keep all the food?" Her boy's eyes searched the small kitchen and she remembered he had forgotten all of that.

She pointed out the fridge and a few cabinets and he looked through them, bringing out many types of ingredients and selecting a few out. He asked for the pots and the pans and she pointed it out. He asked for herbs and she showed him. He asked her anything and she gave him the answer, watching in amusement as he fell right into his element.

Maddie settled back a bit as she saw him swiftly cut some carrots and dump them in the pot. She smiled. It had been a long time ago that Danny had taken the job of a cook in this house. Given that no one had any insight in it or kept mixing the sauce with the wrong chemical (what do you mean chemicals aren't supposed to go in food?). The raven had looked up recipes or he would cook ready-made food.

He'd started simple and after a while started mixing in his own stuff and experimenting. He had loved it. Maddie had let him drop a few chores so he would have time to prepare and make dinner. He would write a list of groceries and tape it on the fridge and Jack would go buy it.

In fact, Maddie could see the last note he had written still on the top left of the refrigerator. Her eyes watered a bit.

"Are you ok?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "Just that onion you were cutting just now. It's fine. Go ahead. You're doing a great job." She smiled. "Anything else you need?"

He shook his head as he flipped some pieces of meat on the sizzling pan. "Well, not for now. There are no more potatoes. And when was the last time you refilled the salt? And I had to use something else instead of the paprika because that's all done too. And you got way too much beef. How are you going to eat it all before it expires."

Maddie's smile turned nostalgic as she saw all he listed right now written on the little sticky note on the fridge. "We usually don't," she told him, earning herself a look of disgust.

Finally, the dinner was ready and they all say down to eat. Each family member congratulating the boy on the excellent food and what would they do without him. They didn't mention how they'd barely survived the two weeks he'd been absent.

Jazz was just in college, but Jack and Maddie had to constantly order pizza or eat in a restaurant every night. Even something as making some toast was always a hassle. Not only because the toaster sometimes malfunctioned and threw up the bread so hard it stuck on the ceiling, but Maddie was also very sure bread shouldn't be green.

Now they had Danny back. Everything had changed. Just....everything.

But he was back.

They talked a bit more. Danny asked about the many drawings they'd had to carry back home along with the rest of the presents. Who was that man on the drawings that looked to be made by kids ranging from three to fifteen?

Jack looked excited to tell him something, but Jazz had shushed them. She smiled at Danny reassuringly. "How about we talk about that tomorrow. You have enough to think on right now." She stacked the empty plates and brought them to the sink. "You heard the doctor. Get some rest. I'll do the dishes. Don't worry about school yet. You have a few weeks to recuperate and get used to life."

Danny looked at each of the people in the room, taking in their appearance and demeanor. If this was his family, no matter how crazy, he loved it. He smiled and turned around, bidding them a good night.

He walked up the stairs and paused, trying to remember where his room was.

He had a small moment of panic when he couldn't recall right away. What if he forgot more things? What if he forgot whatever he did today? What if the doctor was wrong and my amnesia isn't just of whatever happened before the concussion and I'll keep forget- oh wait his door was the one in the left hall.

He sighed in relief when his assumption was proved correct as the door opened. He closed it behind him and took a good look around.

The walls were white, but they had been covered in many posters about some kind of egg band or about a Doom. He wasn't sure. There were also some NASA posters and the wall next to his desk had a big board covered in pictures. There was a blackhaired boy with Sam and Tucker. A lot of those actually. And some about random places Danny had no clue about.

But his eyes wandered to that boy again. Was that...him?

He hadn't looked in the mirror yet. It was strange. Not knowing what you looked like.

Was that really him?

He found a mirror next to the dresser and the closet. It was large. It could fit his whole upper body and a bit of his legs.

He paused before taking a peek. A pit in his stomach and a bit of adrenaline made him jump forward and stare at the boy in the mirror.

He looked a bit older than in those pictures. But he still has black hair, blue eyes, a small nose and smallish eyes and thin lips and fat cheeks and freckles. Although he felt better knowing he had a bit of a jawline and the baby fat was less than in the pictures. His hair was also longer. And it was messy. Probably hadn't been brushed in weeks. Even if they had washed it, as they said, it still looked greasy and dirty.

He didn't feel like doing much of his appearance right now.

He wanted to explore.

He put to the side the pile of presents his father had dumped in his room after having brought it from the hospital and went rummaging through his room.

He opened every drawer, looked at every piece of clothing and squinted under every piece of furniture and he learned a bit about his past self.

He didn't have much variety in clothing. It was mostly T-shirts, jeans and sweaters. There was one neat suit shoved in the back, though.

He had some kind of obsession with stars.

Same thing goes for ghosts. There was even a map in his dresser. Along with a long list of names and some kind of description behind them.

He looked in the bathroom, which he had found he had right in his room. He found a first aid kit shoved under the sink, which he found odd. The rest was just normal supplies for in the shower.

But for the rest, his old life was still a mystery to him. Danny wondered if he would ever gain it back. Had he always been this famous? Wasn't it exhausting? And why had everyone been thanking him?

He suddenly wondered where his phone was. He should have one right? He'll ask his mother tomorrow.

But he really wanted to look up amnesia on the internet.

His eyes fell on a beat up laptop and he tried to turn it on, but it had a password. The hint wasn't even helpful. It just said 'bitch' and Danny honestly felt attacked and offended.

He plopped down on the bed with a deep sigh.

Everyone told him to get rest, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt so energetic and restless. He didn't think that should be normal. He was pretty sure patients just coming out of comatose shouldn't feel rested.

Sigh, just one more thing he wanted to look up on the internet.

He also wanted to know how he went into a coma.

The doctor had vaguely mentioned a concussion or another kind of head injury. Must have been bad. He'd also made it pretty clear Danny was up long before anyone had thought he would be.

Maybe if I had slept for a bit longer, Danny thought, I would have been able to keep my memories.

He groaned quietly. Nothing made sense. Life was a weird jumble of gibberish and with every piece of information he made out it just became even weirder.

He lifted his arm to look at one picture he found he liked. A white haired anime man was standing with hands on his hips and a cape fluttering behind him. Sparkles had been thrown around as well as glitter that had been glued on.

There wasn't a note or anything, just a boy's name. Joey. Along with a small drawing of a dinosaur that Danny didn't think had anything to do with the rest.

That same anime boy turned up everywhere. On the balloons. On the plushies. On the shirt he'd gotten. On the posters the poeple seeing him off from the hospital were holding.

Who was that dude??

And what did Danny have to do with him??

Danny stood up and walked towards the mirror again. He cocked one hip as he put his hands on them and frowned at the image.

"Who are you?" He asked the boy with exasperation. "And just how crazy is your life?"

[corbierretheraven]

Overwatch: Backfire – Chapter IV: Beginning of the End

Previous chapter: Partners in Crime Tumblr, AO3, Wattpad

At the end of the ceremony, Jack was still trying to reach me. He had left a message on my voicemail:

“Ziegler, where the hell are you? I swear to God, if you do anything stup… Lieutenant Wilhelm, congr...”

Right before the ceremony ended, Atlas issued a breaking news report that aired in every holovideo on the face of the Earth, even on the ones in the event hall:

“BREAKING: OVERWATCH EXPOSED

“We just received an anonymous report from a reliable source about Overwatch’s most recent mission in London. This document talks about torture, murder and a lot of other stuff that makes us question: what the hell is going on under their watch?

“Please stay with us as we return at any moment with new information. In the meantime, Overwatch… Commander Morrison, you have some explaining to do.”

And I had to face him the next morning.

May 3, 2069 Overwatch Headquarters, Switzerland

An holovideo inside the HQ was showing a new report from Atlas:

“More on Overwatch, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve been getting reports all night long from trustful sources about corruption inside the organization. UN representatives have been following all this...”

Suddenly, all holovideos were shut down and Jack’s voice takes over the comms.

“This is Commander Morrison. I ask every Overwatch personnel to, please, head to the conference hall where I’ll be holding an official press release about the recent accusations.”

I was still in shock. But why was everyone suddenly trying to bring Overwatch down? That wasn’t my intention, I just wanted justice.

Venice, Italy

Gabriel enters Talon’s conference room, in there were Moira and Akande staring through a window — the window where Antonio had fallen through after being fatally shot by Gabriel one year ago.

— Did you hear the news?

— Good morning for you too, Dr. O’Deorain — he replies as he walks towards the coffee machine.

— Ziegler is such a fool, I can’t believe she gave in that easily. And she questioned me when I suggested we should do that.

— She acts too much out of emotion And, unfortunately — he takes a sip — so do I.

— Talking about emotions — interrupted Akande — we need to introduce you to someone.

As they arrived to what I think I can describe as the medical area of the building, Gabriel sees a woman who appears to be under coma.

— Is that…

— Let me introduce you — said Akande — to Amélie Lacroix.

That was Gérard Lacroix’s wife. Gabriel’s last remaining friend’s wife. She had been missing for over three weeks now.

— What has she been doing here?! — He shouted to Moira.

— Meet… subject #94.

Talon tried murdering Gérard several times, even at the Roman HQ attack, but they’d always fail. This time, they decided to kidnap his wife, Amélie, and use her against him.

— W-What are you gonna do?

— This is where you put your personal wishes aside, Reyes, and focus on what is really important.

— I don’t understand, Moira. Angela has done more than enough to shut Overwatch down, and now even more people are leaking stuff Morrison kept on our most secure servers. What does Gérard have to do with this?

— He has to die — she slowly said.

— It’s part of the plan, Reyes. Just be thankful Morrison was chosen to be the strike commander, otherwise — Akande said as he got closer to Gabriel’s face, pointing at him — it would’ve been you we would be chasing.

— Your skills leading Blackwatch were extraordinary and killing Antonio was… grand. I mean, it was my decision after all.

Gabriel was confused. He remembers pulling the trigger, he remembers killing Antonio. But he never realized why he did it. His anger for Antonio was a strong point for sure, but would that have been enough?

— Our experiments, twenty-four — Moira continued — are reaching explendid levels. I could not be prouder.

— What are you saying?

— I need help to shape Talon as of my will. When I first met Akande, I saw someone I could trust, with the anger, say, fuel it takes. Our experiments back on Blackwatch allowed me to implant one rule inside your brain: kill Antonio no matter what. And, with the help of your grief for Gérard and those killed in Rome, it worked.

— I can’t believe it... I can’t believe you! How could you do this to me, Moira?! WHAT ARE YOU TURNING ME INTO?!

As Gabriel started to get agitated again, his body turned into the shadowy figure again. Moira was going too far.

— Great work, Moira — congratulated Akande. — Let’s wake Amélie up and continue our plan. And finish your job with grim reaper over there.

As Akande walked out of the room, Moira gave a little smirk. “Grim reaper,” that did not sound bad.

She walked to the corner of the room, revealing another bed, but it had some kind of armor or suit on it. As she took the mask off, the shadow figure was pulled into it, like it was being attracted by something. She puts the mask back on. It had a really peculiar shape, kind of resembles a skull with a weird look — like anger… or even remorse?

At the conference hall, me, Lena, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Jesse and Genji were standing on the stage waiting for Jack to start his speech — there was still no sign of Gabriel and Moira, he had given up contacting them both.

Jack goes up the stage and got ready to speak. The seats were full, every single person who worked at the Swiss HQ was there.

— Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Commander Jack Morrison. To my right, the strike team which was able to stop the Null Sector a few days ago: Reinhardt Wilhelm, Torbjörn Lindholm, Lena Oxton and… Angela Ziegler.

That pause made me really uncomfortable. Of course he knew I screwed up. I didn’t want the leak to reach this level. Why didn’t I think this through?!

— To my left — he continued — part of the Blackwatch team: Jesse McCree and Genji Shimada. Unfortunately, I was not able to get ahold of Commander Gabriel Reyes and Dr. Moira O’Deorain, and I really hope they were not involved in this mess. Now, let me tell you all something. Believe it or not, Overwatch is just like any other military organization. We fight for peace with guns. There’s gonna be blood and there are circumstances which the choices are going to be justified by the means. I condemn the recent “leak” of Overwatch and Blackwatch activity. I will not resign my current position as Strike Commander and leader of Overwatch, this is when I’ll stand up for my organization and my beliefs as most as I can. I’ll be sending to all of you a document I’ve written myself about how we are gonna spend the future days in this organization. Reach me for any further doubts after reading it. Dismissed.

Everyone started to leave the room.

As I stood up, Jack walked towards me. He was mad.

— Ziegler...

He was interrupted by one of my assistants who rushed towards me.

— Dr. Ziegler! Dr. Ziegler! It’s an emergency! You need to come now!

I followed her in a rush. As I looked back, Jack was still standing there, looking at me with disapproval.

Why was I stupid enough to leak the information without knowing what would happen after it? I only wanted justice, not destruction.

We got to the medical ward of the building. In one of the beds, this woman was lying unconscious. Her face was so familiar to me. My assistant explained to me she was found right outside the headquarters, wandering, then passed out in the arms of the agent who was escorting her out. She handed me the file with information they could get on her through our identification system: it was Amélie Lacroix. Of course I knew her, General Gérard Lacroix’s wife! Problem is… She had been missing for the past three weeks. How the hell did she happen to randomly show up at Overwatch? I should’ve known something wasn’t right.

I start examining her. Apparently she had just collapsed due to lack of hydration. After a while, she regained consciousness. I asked someone to call for a criminal agent to talk to her about her disappearance.

Amélie said she didn’t remember anything. Her last memory is going to bed and then waking up at our facility. We examined her body for criminal signs, but there was nothing. She was literally fine.

Gabriel and Moira had already returned to the facility at this time. Jack didn’t really cared to ask them where they were… If only he did. Moira also helped me run tests on Amélie. We, then, contacted Gérard, who spent one full day alone with her. Nothing seemed wrong.

The following day, I authorized her release. She was clinically well, there was no reason to keep her with us. She went home with Gérard, who took a couple days off to take care of her — also because of all the controversy that was falling down the organization after I leaked that stupid file.

One day later… Things got even worse.

We had no idea such thing could happen.

Gérard was found dead.

And Amélie was missing once again.

All those days went by and Jack did not say one word to me. He’d spend all day locked up in his office. Gabriel didn’t even show up at the headquarters for a couple weeks. At the time, I thought he was having a tough time dealing with the loss of his friend, only to learn later he couldn’t deal with the guilt and the feeling of being powerless against Talon, thanks to Moira.

The United Stations had started the bureaucratic process of analyzing the accusations, which would take at least one year. In the meantime, Overwatch — and, consequently, Blackwatch — activity would keep on going.

With all our bonds already weakened, and I knew this is was, definitely, the beginning of the end for Overwatch.

For my family.

Next chapter: An Eye for an Eye Tumblr, AO3, Wattpad

[alia-turin]

Title: Broken Bonds [Chapter IV] Previous chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III AO3

Characters:

OC, Libertus Ostium, Cor Leonis,  Luche Lazarus (mentioned), Titus Drautos | Glauca (mentioned), Nyx Ulric (mentioned), Gladiolus Amicitia, Crowe Altius (mentioned), Iris Amicitia, Prompto, Ignis

Warning:

SFW. probably minor Comrades spoilers

Notes

Too much angst in the previous 4 chapters so now is time for something slightly more relaxing. I needed to write that because the angst was getting too much even for me. Next couple of chapters would be a bit more cheerful. Special mention of @birdsandivory for allowing me to use her AMZING tinder edits for inspiration. Please go check them here and laugh your asses off: http://birdsandivory.tumblr.com/kingsglaive

Tagging: @birdsandivory  @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @jojopitcher @fromunseeliecourt @xanxusthot @lazarustrashpit (I promise Luche wasn’t always a dick) @littlestfangirl

This dream, as many of her dreams, was just an old memory.

She woke up from the sound of somebody entering her apartment. Ada got up, knife in hand and wrapped straight to the intruder.

“Easy now. It’s just me.” Luche was holding his hand in the air and she let go.

“Why…how did you get in.”

“I broke in.” he showed her his tools. “You didn’t s how up yesterday or today and you didn’t answer your phone or respond to any of my text messages.”

Her eyes fell on the phone lying lonely on the coffee table, the light for missed call blinking angrily.

“I didn’t hear it.” She didn’t even remember leaving her phone there. “I told the captain I will be away.”

“He is gone for some business. You should have told me as well.” He was getting to his bossy self but raised an eyebrow teasingly. “What’s with the dress?”

She had to look at herself to realize she was still wearing the black dress from yesterday.

“I was at a funeral.” She answered.

“Somebody I know?” his sounded concerned.

“My dad.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You should have told me, I would have come with you, you shouldn’t be alone.”

She stared at him not sure what to say. It didn’t even cross her mind to ask anyone to come with her. She had told Drautos she needed leave and the reason, he told her to take a week off and that was it. Truth was that her father has been sick for such a long time that it was expected and she didn’t feel like there is a need to ask someone to come with her.

“Come on change in something more comfortable. I will make you breakfast.” He pushed her gently toward her bedroom.

“You don’t have to…” she started but he interrupted her.

“Yes, I do. Come on, I promise I won’t poison you.”

As she was changing her clothes she could hear him going through her pans, pots, plates and swearing as he dropped something on the ground.

“Do you need help?” she shouted from the bedroom.

“I will not be defeated by a pan, don’t worry.”

When she walked back in the kitchen he was frying eggs and bacon. Smelling the food made her realize how hungry she was.

“Thank you.” Ada said, but that was when the dream went out of hand. In her memories what he did then was turn around and ask her if she wanted him to stay for the day. Her dream had chosen different course of actions. Instead as Luche turned he was holding his gun and shot her in the chest.

Ada woke up sweating and shaking. These dreams never stopped. Ever since she left Insomnia she was having these dreams, memories turning into nightmares. Sometimes they weren’t memories, but close enough, small details were different, but essentially it was her previous life ending with everyone dying.

There was no chance she would be able to sleep more so she just got out of the bed. She went through her backpack in attempt to unpack and make this place a bit more ‘hers’ but there was nothing in that backpack that could help. The only item that was somehow related to her old life was her phone and it had died on her months ago. She made a mental note to find someone to fix it.

Since there was nothing better to do, Ada walked out. The town was sleeping excluding few guards on the wall and around the entrances. The demons roaming outside the barricades could be heard but by now she was so used to their sound that it didn’t bother her. Walking down the streets, she found her way to the hotel where she saw the Marshal. He was alone, just standing there like a statue. Ada wondered if interrupting him would be a good idea, but apparently, they both had issues sleeping so why not kill time till breakfast.

“Cannot sleep?” The Marshal offered her the bottle he was holding and Ada was going to question his senses for drinking alone in the middle of the night but as she touched the liquid with her lips she realized it was water.

“Nightmares. I used to have them now and then while I was in Insomnia but since the city fell it has been every night.”

“You want to share?” he sounded somehow different. Not like the Marshal but friendlier.

“Not much to share. I dream mostly memories. Things that happened and it all ends messed up. Hanging out with friends, having fun and then suddenly they all die or I die.” Her brain had managed to ruin every single good memory she had and turn them all into parade of broken or burned bodies.

“Oh those.” He agreed as if he was an expert on nightmares. “It ruins everything, doesn’t it? Every single memory you have, good or bad ends up being just a graveyard.”

Ada didn’t answer at first. She didn’t know what to say exactly. He was right of course, everything and everyone she ever loved had turned into zombie trying to kill her.

“You need to let go.” Cor continued since she didn’t answer. “If you don’t let go, it just kills you.” Another pause then he continued again. “If you couldn’t help the people you love, you can help them.” He made a gesture with his hand toward the dark buildings in Lestallum.  

Ada opened her mouth to argue with him, but what Libertus told her last night also hit her at the same time. It wasn’t hear fault, and regardless how much guilt she felt about everything, rationally there was nothing she could have done.

“How do you let go?” she asked after they both stood in silence.

“You cannot let go because you had a purpose. Protect the king, win the war, protect your home, protect your friends, make sure they all come home alive. Now the king is dead, the kingdom is gone and there is nothing left. You are wrong. The kingdom is here and needs people with skills, people who can stop them.” He pointed with his head toward the demons roaring outside. “Trust me, I am an expert on the topic of letting go and not letting go.” He gave her a friendly smile and for some reason Ada felt like a massive weight had fallen off her chest. What he was saying wasn’t solving any of her problems of course. Her brain wasn’t going to completely forget everything just because Cor the Immortal said so, although he did manage to hit a spot.

“Thank you, Marshal.” Ada smiled back at him and for first time in months it was an honest smile. Not a sad one or forced one, she was truly feeling better.

“Now you need to do something for me. I promised someone I will train with them before breakfast, but something came up and I will be leaving Lestallum probably until tomorrow or the day after. If you go to the power station, just next to the bridge he should be there around sunrise. His name is Gladio, hard to miss him, bug guy, scars across his face…”

“I met him yesterday.” Ada interrupted the description.

She spent the time before sunrise going around town and chatting with some of the hunters. Ada wondered if she shouldn’t talk with Libertus but common sense won and she decided he won’t like her more for waking him up so early. Instead she just walked up to the power station and waited for Gladio to appear. The man was exactly on time which honestly surprised her. The people around town have complained about the prince’s retainers and she expected him to be fashionably late. He was just on time, probably a bit early.

“You are way too good looking to be Cor.” He was carrying a massive sword with himself, the weapon was probably larger and heavier than Ada.

“He is busy. Told me to keep you company.” Ada pulled one of her knives and tossed it in her hand.

“If I win, you are having breakfast with me.” Gladio chuckled and walked toward the bridge that was between the city and the power station.

Ada laughed, she was sure she would lose, but on the other hand breakfast sounded amazing.

They started slow. Gladio made one attack which Ada hoped is not his best because it honestly was too easy to see. She wrapped once aiming for his throat but he threw her flying away towards the wall.

“If that’s what the glaive is made of, I’m honestly disappointed.” Gladio taunted her, but she ignored him. Taunting each other was what the Glaives did in their free time, that wasn’t going to ruin her concentration.

They fought for probably fifteen minutes, neither of them getting an upper hand. Gladio wasn’t very fast but he was hellishly strong and was good at avoiding her magic attacks. She was trying to find an opening, but it was hard when her opponent was twice her size and every attack was counter attacked with strength she could barely stop. Eventually Ada decided to play dirty. She stopped attacking him and was focusing only on building a spell and avoiding his attacks. Once she was done with the spell she unleashed it on him. The weather around Gladio suddenly changed, snow and wind wrapped around him blocking his visibility.

She could hear him cursing and wrapped towards the storm. She hated this spell because it affected everyone, friend or foe, herself included. For her surprise he still had pretty good instinct where to find her, but this time she was faster. She tripped him making him lose his balance, wrapped again, on top of him as he was falling, her thighs squeezing hard his neck.

As the storm cleared Gladio just stared at her, his head between her legs.

“I’m not sure if I’m aroused right now or scared.” He tapped on the ground. “I will give you that one.”

“Whoaaa that was so good!” they had managed to collect small audience which made Ada feel a bit uncomfortable. She let go of Gladio and gave him a hand to stand up.

“It’s not every day that Gladio falls on his ass.” A bubbly blond boy with camera in his hand came towards them. “Can’t wait to show you the pictures.”

“Prompto, shut up or you are next.” Gladio roared at the younger man.

“Gladi, you are such a bad loser. She won fair and square.” Iris had joined them as well, she seemed in very good spirits for someone who just saw their brother falling flat on his ass.

“Crownsguard zero, Kingsglaive one.” Ada looked confused at Libertus as he said that. She was sure he was too upset with her, but nothing like that was visible on his face. “Even the Marshal was impressed.” He continued.

“I thought he left town?” Ada asked.

“He did but he watched for a bit.” Libertus answered and gave her friendly punch on her shoulder.

“Come on big guy, Iggy made breakfast.” Prompro didn’t seemed concerned with the larger man’s threats. “You guys should join us.”

Ada followed Libertus and the rest in silence. Iris was walking next to her telling her how much she loved to see her fighting and she wanted to learn to fight like that which earned her a disapproving look from Gladio but Ada just winked at the girl.

They didn’t go back to the canteen, but one of the calmer places in town. She hasn’t been there, but for her surprise she saw there were some tables and chairs left. Probably there used to be a restaurant around here or something.

“You are finally here.” A very well-dressed man was standing next to one of the tables, with few baskets which Ada hoped were filled with food.

“Iggy you should have been there to see Gladio getting his as kicked.” Prompto seemed way to happy by the fact his friend lost the fight.

“Even if I was there I can’t exactly see it, Prom.” Just now Ada noticed his eyes. He was wearing glasses but that wasn’t unusual so it didn’t raise her suspicion, but under the glasses she could see heavily scared tissue. “Help me with the food.”

The blond man seemed a bit ashamed of what he said and without protesting helped setting the table. Iris proceeded to introduce the two guys Ada didn’t know. Ignis and Prompto turned out to be two of the prince’s retainers. They had just arrived in Lestallum and were helping with the rebuilding efforts.

“You should open a restaurant.” Ada said as soon as she tried the food. “Honestly that is the best thing I have eaten in my life.”

“I second that.” Prompto added. “There is so much free space around Lestallum now, people will love to try your food!”

“And will be good for moral.” Libertus added.

“It would be hard to find the ingredients.” Ignis objected but nobody else was buying it.

“Make it exclusive! Ignis’ special for the day.” Gladio suggested. “Only the best meats and spices brought to you by the hunters and cooked by chef Ignis. That should be your tag line.”

“It’s too long for a tag line.” Ignis corrected him.

Gladio proceeded to offer even more ridiculous tag lines which the other man just denied.

“Libertus.” Ada turned towards her fellow glaive. “Do you know where I can fix my phone?” she pulled the device from her pocket and showed it to the man.

“I can fix it!” Promto said and pulled the phone from her hand. Ada just stared at the blond as he started dissembling the phone and looking at various parts inside. Couple of minutes later he put it back together and turned it on.

“How did you…” Ada had tried everything she could in order to get it up and running, but she never could. The phone vibrated as all the missed calls and text messages started arriving.

“Hey who are these guys?” Prompto smiled showing her the home screen of her phone. It was an old picture of Ada with Luche, Nyx and Crowe. She opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t.

“Hey didn’t I take this one, when Crowe almost killed me?” Libertus managed to come to her rescue and Ada was once again surprised how much he had changed. He had grown up, he was dealing with things.

“Yeah it was after you and Nyx made that dating site profile for her.” They both laughed.

“Wish I knew she had dating site profile.” Gladio was looking at the picture since everyone was occupied with that now. Libertus gave him a slightly angry look and Ada had to hold her laughter. Crowe would have smacked both of them.

“It was a game we used to play.” Libertus explained. “We would steal each other’s phone and make absolutely ridiculous dating profiles. Crowe almost killed me when we did one for her. In my defense I just had lunch and I couldn’t wrap very fast.”

Ada laughed almost with tears, remembering Libertus and Nyx screaming and wrapping and Crowe shouting after them. Those were good memories. Bitter sweet right now, but she preferred to remember her friends laughing rather than dying.

“Nyx,” Ada pointed at him on the picture since technically only she and Libertus knew who Nyx was, “He stole the captain’s phone and created a profile. It had few hits, but then that guy” she pointed at Luche “Changed it to something of the sort the captain can do anything in under 2 minutes. The messages he started receiving were…terrible.”

“Nyx ended up cleaning shoes for a month and I was made to clean the locker rooms. Somehow Crowe didn’t get a punishment and Luche managed to get your ass out if it.” Libertus explained while laughing very hard. “Somehow Nyx and myself were the only people punished.”

“No that is not true. The captain created a profile for Tredd and honestly I think Tredd would have gladly cleaned shoes.” She wished she had screenshot of what the captain wrote because Tredd had been grumpy for a week after that. It was so hard to believe the Captain was General Glauca given how he treated them.

It was strange feeling, one that she had forgotten completely. Yes, Crowe, Nyx and Luche were gone, one of them probably deserving, but she didn’t feel sad for first time in months. There was nostalgia and she missed them all more than anything, but maybe she had started to move on. She had to find the Marshal to thank him one for the advice and two for setting her up to train with Gladio since none of that would have happened if it wasn’t for Cor the Immortal.

[riting]

It is Dense and Bears Repetition: Notes on Rehearsals of Asher Hartman’s The Dope Elf by Neha Choksi

i.

I might as well as confess: to witness some things over and over is a fascinating pleasure.  I like seeing rehearsals not merely because they revel in repetition, but because they necessarily incorporate change overtly and experientially for everyone present—including me, the embedded witness.  

In April 2019, I started attending rehearsals for Asher Hartman’s The Dope Elf. The piece uses characters akin to northern European mythical creatures to explore the legacy of white supremacy in the United States. The first—and because of COVID the only—showing of this work took the form of three elaborately-plotted plays, with scenes following each other according to a sometimes inscrutable logic, unfolding over three consecutive days. (There are more plays to come in later showings.)  The actors lived on-site, slipping between self and role, in a trailer-park-like installation in a cavernous space.  This double use of the site—as actor accommodation and performance venue—points to the way in which Hartman sources each actor's multiple characters at least partly in each actor’s own shadow self and emotional make up.  One might say that he is similarly mining America’s shadow self, beset as it is with the ills, aches, and pains that attend its settler-colonial DNA and live on in its trauma-bearing white supremacist structure.

Rehearsals had begun in early 2019, four months earlier, and I continued attending intermittently over the course of the next four months.  I wanted to see how Asher’s thickly-worded, joyously-crafted works came to be within a community of actors.  The actors were Zut Lorz, Philip Littell, Joe Seely, Paul Outlaw, Michael Bonnabel, and Jacqueline Wright as the Dope Elf.  I was interested in Hartman's rehearsal process, but I was equally interested in what it might mean for me to revisit something again and again.  I was then repeating kindergarten, attending school daily as a kindergartener for my own lived performance project, and I was interested in repetition as a productive space, generating surplus meaning and unfolding thoughts.

ii.

Rehearsal-as-work is itself a knotty concept: the repetition is simultaneously labor, process and product/ion. Think of Ragnar Kjartansson’s Bliss at REDCAT last year, in which a three-minute excerpt of the finale from the Marriage of Figaro—the part where the philandering Count successfully pleads forgiveness from the Countess—is sung by the cast repeatedly for twelve hours. That “Contessa Perdono” finale is well-known and thus it was not difficult to take the whole in.  The nuances and differences in each serial repetition and its sheer duration made the piece work.  But take a typical Asher Hartman play—erudite, wordy, noisy, and well-jointed—and I would have to say: the labor, process, and production are all dense and bear repetition.

I attended at least ten rehearsals, two fund-raising performances, and a tech meeting. The rehearsals had been in progress for several months by the time I joined, and took place either at Asher’s studio or at another location which had space for scenes with extensive movement.  Some of the scenes that I saw rehearsed again and again were etched in my brain, but largely the onslaught of language and prowess of the actors overtook any attempt I might make to disentangle the narrative threads. The language was fiendishly intricate and the actors enrapturing. The most important takeaway for me was how the experiential onslaught of an Asher Hartman play doesn’t diminish upon repeats. It grows into something more powerful, the way poetry learned by heart does, at least for me. Because I purposefully never read the play script, and because I saw bits out of sequence, I remain to this day largely puzzled about the storylines, if one can even call them that; however, my sense of the texture of the characters and the power in each word they uttered increased with each repetition—even within a single rehearsal session. Here is a one section of Asher’s text that I heard over and over and faintly understood to be about a tussle between rival interests for control of a place called Bodysnatch Lane. Here the Princes of Undeath, who is also an American bore, is excavated nightly, in a recursive bit that alludes to American hauntings and mimics my own labor of repeated rehearsal viewings.

The more I saw this scene rehearsed, the more I knew it to function through the language, consciously playing with the listener’s bewilderment.  And yet the resurrection mingled with the deadening injection conjured the haunting numbness around meaning that repetition can produce. When I first tried to write a draft for this report on the rehearsals, it came out something like this:

It is dense and bears repetition. It is tightly packed and could be repeated. It wants to be dense and enjoys reiteration. It was fitted like a Rubik’s cube and could be manipulated ad infinitum. It can be opaque and will bear repeated viewings. It was fluid and vast like an ocean and allowed for continuous indefinable waves to wash over me. It was impenetrable and welcomed the battering ram of persistence. It is self-referential and needs recurrence to be communal. It will be dense and will bear re-enactment.

It was my experience in a nutshell.  Novelist Tom McCarthy points to something similar in reference to Winnie in Beckett’s Happy Days: though Winnie says she is going to perform the exact same action of removing her mirror from her handbag the next day, it is not actually possible for a repetition to be exact—the memory of the earlier action changes the perception of the later one.  It is not a repetition so much as a re-enactment of an action that is first tested and then re-enacted; and then there is a re-enacting of the re-enactment. What happens to one’s experience of time when faced with these recurring enactments? It becomes potentially endless. You become committed to reviewing the material, regardless of whether the time embedded in the material itself is slight or vast. The act of revisiting the rehearsals and the actors' own repeated endeavors conjured the feeling that this could go on forever, this honing, this shaping, this readjusting.

iii.

Asher’s skill shone in building on the actors’ proclivities and input to craft each character's behavior and inner life.  If the actor’s personal tastes and tendencies, known to Asher from prior collaborations and extensive unpacking while first working on this piece, were fundamental to writing the characters, they remained essential during rehearsals.  Characters' unknown histories, unconscious drives, unrevealed passions and clarified micro-aggressions were all attended to, heightened, or left to simmer and bubble into the work.  The crux of it, at least as I felt it presented in the words of the piece, was that all the characters—and thus we humans—are needy in some way or another. Those pushes and pulls of the actor’s and character’s needs were key in how I saw Asher tend to the work, the larger purpose of which is seemed to be a deep illumination of the needs and psychic pains inflicted by the demands of the white suprematist superstructure.  As a director, he was always reassuring and relentlessly positive, sticking to the principle of “Yes, and…” (which the improv world recognizes as a way to build on each past action, constantly relaying the baton).

By the time I was in attendance, there was not much improvisation in rehearsal. However, the actors had a lot of leeway within the structure the language provided.  Asher was open and supportive, and refrained from giving too many stage directions.  He was compassionately engaged, listening, noticing; he attended to the slightest shifts in tone, mood, and body positions.  Feedback did not happen at every rehearsal. It was only after multiple rehearsals that there might be a roundtable to go over his notes.  The result was a seemingly non-hierarchically-motivated, mostly supportive, and non-critique-heavy space.

Still, each actor had a different relationship to Asher and his work.  There were outbursts of: “The writing is so fucking good!” and “I am not a good enough actor...”  There was a sense that: “It’s [the script] so spare, we don’t need an extra layer of Beckett.”  And: “There is no theater space in LA for this... it is really Asher’s imagination!” This attitude asserted the primacy of the director, and Asher didn’t really try to mitigate that sense.  It was his work in the end.

iv.

Rehearsal was work, no two ways about it.  It was an act of refining what would be many scenes over multiple days for a public performance, with Asher trying to pin down the tenor of each section like a slippery wrestling opponent. Horseplay was limited to what could benefit the work.  Rehearsals were calm and organized.  Each day's agenda was decided roughly the week prior and revised as-needed.  

Carl Weber once described his first visit to a Berliner Ensemble rehearsal for Brecht’s Urfaust in a way that made work and relaxation seem identical:

I walked into the rehearsal and it was obvious that they were taking a break. Brecht was sitting in a chair smoking a cigar, the director of the production, Egon Monk, and two or three assistants were sitting with him, some of the actors were on stage and some were standing around Brecht, joking, making funny movements and laughing about them. Then one actor went up on the stage and tried about 30 different ways of falling from a table. They talked a little about the Urfaust-scene 'In Auerbachs Keller' […].  Another actor tried the table, the results were compared, with a lot of laughing and a lot more of horse-play.  This went on and on, and someone ate a sandwich, and I thought, my god this is a long break.  So I sat naively and waited, and just before Monk said, 'Well, now we are finished, let’s go home,' I realized that this was rehearsal.

The loose method of the Berliner Ensemble was generative for Brecht, but at this point in the process, Asher’s rehearsals involved not so much trying thirty different ways of doing one thing, as much as honing the one thing that Asher's language had established. With each repetition, the company digs deeper into what is already there. Asher and the actors never treated the rehearsal as a break, nor the breaks as potential spaces for tackling  rehearsal questions.  The non-work-related breaks were short ones. At one rehearsal space, this meant fueling up on the much-favored licorice and other snacks.  The second space forbade eating of any kind and the breaks were just solo and chitchat time. The only other “breaks” from being on the floor with the text were either discussion of matters pertaining to racial context, mythological sources, character background, or feedback notes.  And, of course, warm ups.

Here are two of the warm-ups Asher led on “Movement Mondays”:

Imagine legs with magnets that go down to the start of time through layers of rock.

Imagine heads beaming into infinity.

Now let’s do some body rolls and exercises to move the body.

Now let's do energy readings of each other.  Feel the energy field.

(Here I tell AH, “I don’t know if I get it.”  Trying to reassure me, AH says, “Most people can’t visualize it.”  I say, “I’d rather be touching.”  “Imagine that as a bumper sticker,” is the joke reply.  So, I imagine cars touching or crashing.)

And:

Pick someone to follow without letting them know you are following. Don’t indicate to them or to anyone else. If you are being followed, lose your follower.

Get connected, or get paranoid.

Don’t lose sight. Concentrate on a part of someone else’s body, follow it, then join it, that is, attach to that part somehow.

Unfold out of the conjoined position slowly.

Asher’s method was to let the actors show off, go big, and play, and then rein them in and slow them down.  There were injunctions to remember gestures from last rehearsal.  A few times, when Asher referred to a narrative thread or story development, the actors looked confused.  Asher had to explain that he hasn’t written that part yet; he was considering it. Things were in flux in Asher’s head, for sure. Although individual lines were not undergoing much revision, entire sections were being added or dropped. Sometimes lines were cut because of something an actor did inadvertently that worked. Asher was open to that.  

The discursive space around the work seemed vital to everyone. During a snack break, Joe said that having conversations with Asher felt like being a kid on grandpa’s knee. Philip talked about what it meant to have Asher channel Philip's own real-life drives into a character. “I wanted to scare people, to confront infirmity and death,” he said. ”And I am always up for an anguished argument with my sexual life.” Joe added, “I wanted to experience love, but Asher subverts [that desire]. He starts at A and ends at 17.” In working on the piece, he felt challenged to “own my own gravitas which I often negate.” Zut said that the work challenged her ability to take up space, on the one hand—”and then I become the void.”

v.

Here are some of Asher’s interjections to the actors culled from multiple days of rehearsal:

“Hold it, don’t speak.” “Let it go.” “Stop right there.” “If you feel like it.” “Find the gesture.” The Old Woman character says: “I am not there yet. You want me to find it.”

“Yes.” “Hold it.” “Release that.” “Just go really still, Joe, and use your voice.” “That’s good.” “That’s a great note.” “Decide whether you are going to inject him.”

“Really slow it down.  Register gestures if you want; I won’t orchestrate it.” “Lets slow it down... 3…(trails off), just in short phrases.” “So slow it down, pause and allow him to reveal how he feels.” “Assign each person a color.” “Take the fluidity and naturalism out; replace it with slow tics and stares.” “Are you creating this scene or observing it?  You can never be a part of it.” “Use angles, not arabesques. Open, not clumps.” “She has a full fridge and pays her internet bills, as background.” “These two might eat in the same restaurant together.” “Repetition is making you rush. But there is no need to rush. This script needs space, pauses, multiple speeds.”  

vi.

The manner in which rehearsals are conducted says something about the director’s conception of society in which this theater is made. Asher made a generous space with room for intuitive reflections. Even my position as an observer became the subject of discussion. Nothing was recorded; everything was left to be reviewed in the director’s head and the actor’s somatic memory. Only the text was not improvised but pre-written and pre-memorized.

The rehearsal world always mirrors the larger world’s concerns, whether intentionally or not, and the language-trauma embedded in the text allowed the actors at times to ask larger questions that took a distinctly political turn. Asher explained that in conceiving this play he was thinking about white supremacy through Viking/Nordic/Teutonic lineages. The mythic past he conjures in the text leaks into the world as it is today, and into the plays-to-come. He urged actors to remember that, in the world of the Dope Elf, “There is no morality—there are no limits, no codes, not even like the Mafia, since the Mafia has a code. Here if you don’t kill, you will be killed.”  At the same time, “The relation between gods and ordinary people is close.” 

Conversation slipped back and forth between the world of the play and our world. “What the whites have done is pretty mind blowing. Think of Haiti,” Asher said. Racist behaviors and habits, he insisted, are embedded in our culture: “Everything keeps repeating again and again.” 

Jaqueline responded that she wanted no part in that repetition.

Asher turns the conversation to violence.  One way to deal with violence, he says, “is to move toward it.” Another way is to insist that you “won’t be cornered.” 

In that situation, he said, “the dance changes, and it can work.” 

vii.

Let me focus on one scene.  It is about John and Alfred, a couple who have been together 30 to 35 years, but who now are unhoused and making do on the streets. The scene focuses on Alfred’s attachment to and concern for a bird that used to always visit him and has since gone missing; it touches on the resentments that this attachment draws out from John.  The menace isn’t far from the love.

Asher. (to Michael, who plays Alfred) Is there anything [present in your exchange with John] in terms of your desire for him? Michael. This scene made me realize it is fluid. I do have feelings [for him] but this sex is just to get him off since I have no place [else] to go. Asher. Do you have any skills? Michael. No. The actor does. [The character, Alfred, is also an actor.] Asher. When did he [last] work? Michael. He does odd jobs.  He used to be good at decorating and keeping house but has lost the patience for it.  He was probably a florist. Asher. Is he cooking? Michael. He cooked more [before]. Asher. Making the house nice? Michael. Yes. Asher. Is he home most of the day? Michael. Yes. Asher. TV? Gardening? Michael. No and yes. Asher. What are you reading primarily? Michael. Biographies, so he has knowledge and taste, but he has lost interest [in the world].  He is just surviving. Asher. Who is this Bird? Michael. My baby. I watch it every day.  Always the same place, same branch every day. Bird brings me joy, but I envy its happiness, its energy, its flight. Bird represents something out there.

Asher. (to Philip, who plays John) You have headphones and exploit opportunities to use them so that you don’t have to listen to him. Who controls the relationship?

Philip. [There are] Two controls.  I was the sparkly star but I lost my nerve.  I control my helplessness.  Helplessness [was] a catalyst for [our] eventual homelessness. I am in charge of keeping it light. (Pause)  I lost my nerve 10 years ago. Asher. What happened? Phillip. I lost my work. Asher. What [work] do you do? How [did you lose it]? Helping? Philip. [I was] helping people with parties, going through stuff, discarding estate sales, [addressing] people’s needs, [like a] flea market assistant. (Pause.)  I am good value. I haven’t made good friends and the sexcapade market has declined. But at home I am the upper hand guy.

Asher. (to Michael) Do you fear him? Michael. I used to but not now. Asher. Do you have any contempt? Michael. A great deal, for losing himself.  He is caught in the undertow and cannot get to shore.

Asher. (new subject) What is the time of day? Michael. Evening, early evening. Asher. What time does the Bird come? Michael. In the morning, and then [it] comes and goes all day. It’s not come today or [for] a few days.  It’s scary. Philip. I remember 10 years ago he had a bird in the apartment.  Not sure. We are living in the same neighborhood [as when we had a home, even though now we are homeless and on the streets].  Trying to be vigilant.  One of us has to be vigilant otherwise we will lose all our stuff.  We’ve probably moved a few times to get away from someone, like “O, he pitched a tent here.”

Asher.  Let’s try the scene again but close to each other, as close and wrapped up [and intertwined] in each other. I am asking [because I want] to get [at] this enmeshed, growing on the nerves feeling. When he says, “he’s my baby” about the Bird, how do you feel? Philip. I am your baby, asshole. Asher. If there is a discomfort in the body, use it. [How] agitated are you, Philip? Philip. Yes, I am not listening, I am not. Asher. Do you love the bird more than you love this man? Michael. Love the bird more than John? No, but it represents something.

The repetition with a difference succeeds in getting John to feel more disconnected and uncaring within the embrace.  Is that Asher’s purpose?  I can only guess.

In the third run through, as a result of the intertwining of the two actors' bodies, Michael/Alfred’s intensity increases, as does his touching, tapping, nudging, pushing, and shoving of Philip/John. Halfway through, they find themselves contorted and seated back to back, but Alfred keeps turning around to look at and engage John. Alfred’s words explode, his face hyper-emotional.  Up and down, staccato to smooth.  

This next section follows the bird discussion, and is about finding stray toothbrushes and unwanted used cans among the sleeping arrangements.

Asher. Do you enjoy it? When you find it [the toothbrush], does it feel like a victory? Philip. [What it feels like is:] I've got you now! It is a horror, but I've got you now! (Pause.) This loss of love section is clinical. We have common cause, [are] traveling companions, etc.  We agree the world is horrible, monstrous. Asher. Are you trying to make this relationship work? Michael. Yes, it is difficult and he [my character] wants to kill him [John], but [John also] wants to be the one to end it. I am trying to make it work and he is not trying. Asher. Redo the section about the loss of love you’ve incurred in this relationship. [And the part about how] you want a refund).

Again, another run-through.  And after:

Asher. John is very honest, almost cruel, you know? How he feels, how he reacts. Michael. It’s their comfort, in a way, to be that honest. Philip. We still play games with each other.  Pretending to know the Bird, and pretending not to listen, but to be listening, etc. Phillip can get anyone he wants, but John is a failed version of me.  Vanity is very me.

What was clear through Asher’s probing questions was that he was not directing the motivations or providing them in toto. Rather his trust in the actors and in the fact that not everyone knew what was in each other’s minds was relied and built upon. Each repetition pushed the work of the rehearsal forward.

The questions and answers generated more awareness while also inviting a realization of how little we know about each other—and indeed of ourselves. This yearning to connect and engage, the characters' missing each other and finding each other, and that craving embedded in John and Alfred's language moved me deeply each time in rehearsals. This, maybe, is where an important facet of white supremacy enters the work. To see the other people in one's life as irritants, to resent the sense of being stuck with them—this is how the structural force of racism wears us down.

viii.

I could feel the pressure mount as pencils-down time approached. The drive to access some authentic perfection and virtuosity remained. Rehearsal periods end. So how do we distinguish between a rehearsal and a performance, aside from all the tech and scenery? Theater can succeed and fail any time. You may prepare and prepare but you are always starting over. Renegotiating the unspoken bedrock of slavery and settler colonialism that is the terrain of our American society might require some of that tenaciousness and faith. Rehearsal can be a labor of pointing towards and then dismantling something – whether white supremacy, slavery, or settler colonialism; whether on the scale of history or the scale of an individual life. I never learned how this section with Alfred and John, dislocated from the rehearsal room to a performance space in Portland, worked as a repeated mise-en-scène. It does not matter. What I experienced the first time I heard it changes in retrospect, with each new repetition, and enlarges the connections I make with the real world pressures outside. The work remains suspended in the doing, and in our awareness of its re-enactment.

The Dope Elf is intended as a sequence of six plays. The first three plays was presented at Yale Union as part of the Portland Time Based Art Festival. The performance environment was open to the public September 14-22, with performances September 14 & 15. The fourth play in the cycle is currently being filmed to be viewable online through The Lab in San Franscisco in 2021.

Asher Hartman is a multidisciplinary artist and writer based in Los Angeles. His work explores personal and emotional histories in relation to ideologies that structure Western culture.

Neha Choksi is an artist who lives and works in Los Angeles and Bombay.

All drawings by Neha Choksi. Photographs by Ian Byers-Gamber.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Intermezzo: Free Solo Review

Pre-Cycle 11

So, first of all, for anyone wondering, I did get the go ahead from the warlocks on Tuesday to continue with treatment through Cycle 12 (assuming my blood tests come back okay), which is great news. And I’d normally write about that and how awesome it is (Hooray! More chemo!), but it’s been such a long, weird, event-filled week even by my standards (my car got hit by lightning)(that’s a dramatic exaggeration, but, like everything else in my life, far less of one than I’d like), that instead, I thought I’d review the fantastic (and - for me - utterly terrifying) film “Free Solo.” Also, that’ll enable me to put off trying to figure out my upcoming chemo schedule, which is somewhat less-predictable than others (I’d have to come in on Christmas Eve or Christmas according to my current estimate, which seems a little ghoulish even for me).

A bit of background. Even though I like rock climbers and have many friends and family in that group, and even though I have nothing but love for them, their utterly terrifying sport isn’t for me (and thanks to them for putting up with me long enough for me to figure that one out). Full confession; I’m not only psychologically unfit for it, I’m physically not a good candidate. Even putting my neurological issues aside (unreliable left leg, vertigo)(those are the lasting impacts of neurosurgery #3 and #2, respectively), I’m terrified of heights. And with good reason - I’m about 182 cm tall and 100 kg; if I fall, it’s a much bigger problem than if someone smaller/closer to the ground and lighter does. And I’m about 85% torso, by height. So, why would I see a film about a sport that frightens me? Simply put, Alex Honnold, who is possibly the world’s premier greatest living rock climber.

Many, many, many years ago, someone pointed out to me that everyone’s heard of LeBron James, or Colin Kaepernick; fewer people have heard of Royal Robbins (or Kelly Slater, for that matter), largely because the latter two exist in a weird sub-culture of extreme sports that’s not as profitable or plugged in to pop culture as main-stream sports (I’ve only heard of Honnold because I’m a big fan of the Banff Film Festival). So, one of the world’s most niche-sports-figure getting a film - even if it’s not in wide release - is really cool. Again, it means society, as a whole, is opening up to non-traditional people, and sports, and stories. Which, as a now non-traditional person (again, traditionally, people like me die within two years of diagnosis, and that annoying new gimp/cripple physical aspect makes life a lot less accessible than I’d prefer), is cool, and, more importantly, as a storyteller, it means more, different, and better stories.

The story of “Free Solo” is pretty straight-forward. A man works his whole life to perfect his craft, and then, at the height of his talent, decides to gamble it on a potentially lethal career high-point. Wait, what? Most rock climbers - and certainly my sub-par, failed attempts - use various safety equipment and climb with buddies and do other things to minimize risk. The downside is both minimized risk, and, from my limited understanding, some of these safety devices permanently “hurt” (or pierce, anyway) the rock. “Free solo” climbing eschews such devices, or, indeed, a sense of self-preservation. Says the guy who’s letting science use him as a lab rat for a poisonous substance. Again, when you’re desperate, you make odd choices. However, like me, A. Honnold points out that most free-solo rock climbs are calculated risks (to paraphrase him, “The odds of me actually falling are low, but if that happens, the odds of something really, really bad happening are high.”). Which brings us to El Capitain, the Everest of the climbing world. As I may have mentioned previously, this is the Holy Grail of climbing. If you ever go to Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park (and I recommend you do this before you die), you will not be able to miss El Cap. If you’re like me, you might even have to go lie down for a few minutes just looking at up at it (it’s terrifying even from ground level). Even though it’s been climbed by blind, deaf, and physically disabled people (it’s a long story; there’s an old Yosemite joke that El Cap is handicap-accessible), it has never been climbed (clumb? someone help me with these conjugations) without safety devices. Enter Mr. Honnold, stage right, and the codependent National Geographic film crew. To make a long story short, he climbs the mountain and survives, with the support of both the film-makers and his long-suffering girlfriend. Hooray.

The reason this film is worth seeing - and why I’m reviewing it - is that, for all that, it’s a very weird film (it’s a really good film, but it’s weird). First of all, the camera and framing devices need a little description. In every scene or shot of El Cap, it not only dominates everything around it, but they use some cool VFX devices at various points to show Yosemite valley shifting and swinging around El Cap. Which made me grip my seat rests, but also gave an interesting insight into how Yosemite is absolutely dominated by these staggeringly massive walls on all sides. Secondly, this is - as far as I know - the only character study of A. Honnold on file in video form. Even though he’s been prominently featured in the Banff Film Festival and other places, they don’t give a real sense of who he is - he’s just a sort of stand-in rock climber fantasy figure; a James Bond of the rock climbing world - in all the other films I’ve seen, he goes somewhere and climbs something impressive; there’s not a whole lot revealed except he likes to climb. And he’s pretty much fearless - according to a little background research (yes, I do read about my subjects before tackling them), Honnold isn’t known for being the most technically-proficient or skilled climber, but he is known for taking on risks and challenges that no one else in the climbing world does.  Qui audet adipiscitur and all that. This film delves a little more into that, actually following him into an fMRI (one of those specialized MRIs that shows which parts of the brain “light up” during various tasks and images. The science-person in me would point out that this test is so overly sensitive, it should be taken with a grain of salt (my favorite research poster of all time was one that used fMRI analysis to show which images a dead salmon prefers)(you read that correctly). However, in this case, it showed that Honnold’s fear threshold/tolerance was much, much higher than usual. The film also looks at what that looks like in a relationship, as they also follow Honnold’s girlfriend, Sanni McCandless, for some of it. In retrospect, she’s probably the real hero of the film, because she fully supports him in his near-suicidal ambitions. There’s also the weird aspect about how the world’s most recklessly brave climber gets... stage fright. The film actually documents this very well, about how Honnold doesn’t seem up to the task when everyone’s around, watching him; and it takes a series of hidden cameras and a tactical retreat by McCandless to force him up the wall. As someone who has, ah, “performance issues” when it comes to urine samples (I’d imagine that after a year of those, it wouldn’t be a big issue, like the IVs and neuralgia bother me less, but we all have our idiosyncrasies - I intend to ask the chemo ward to quietly move to a different floor next time), I weirdly get it. And I also sort of weirdly get how, in an extreme situation, sometimes the riskier, more outrageous path is also the safer one. Having said that, I still have to give the man props for a following through on a near-psychotic ambition and seeing it through.

ANYWAY… WEIGHT: 96 kilos CONCENTRATION: Not bad, but I’m also exhausted from a week of travel and holidays. Which reminds me, if I make it out of this alive, I intend to start hibernating from Nov.15-Dec, 25, which should make this sort of holiday seasonal travel a little easier. APPETITE: Good. I’m even starting to appreciate “fun” things, like non-vegetable or protein-based foodstuffs. I imagine that’ll definitely decrease as I get back into the grind and find my willpower renewed with... well, the same willpower that allows me to swallow pills that come in “biohazard” bags. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Good, but I’m still exhausted. SLEEP QUALITY: Okay. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Excellent; I even went to the gym yesterday without braces. MEMORY: Not bad, I still have trouble forgetting to complete long or multi-step tasks, but that’s hardly new.. PHYSICAL: Overall, not too bad. At the moment, I’m mostly tired, sore, a little cold, and hungry, which - if you haven’t had peripheral nerve damage or chemo-induced panic-attacks, might seem bad, but to have normal, every day physical complaints instead of my usual, hyper-bizarre ones... well, it’s deeply comforting, in an odd, slightly-masochistic way. EMOTIONAL: Good. I realize I just got a clean scan on Monday - I had to wait until Tuesday to review the findings, though - and after 24 hours of that sort of frenzied anxiety, the volume on standard emotional issues gets muted. SIDE EFFECTS: Tired. So tired. Which reminds me, based on my records, I’m pretty sure my limp’s tied into exhaustion/fatigue issues. Which gives me hope that, after the next two cycles (and possibly a six-month nap to catch up on my sleep) I might get something like consistent progress fixing that complaint.  CURRENTLY READING (For Donna): “A Monster Calls.” 

[aroutineache]

What’s Your Favourite Language Learning App? ﹅ Discussing the FREE Language Learning Apps I’ve Been Using “pour le français

http://aroutineache.com/whats-your-favourite-language-learning-app-discussing-the-free-language-learning-apps-ive-been-using-pour-le-francais/

I want to know another language, and I want to know it now! (“Je veux savoir la langue française, et je veux le savoir maintenant !”) However, that has been the case all along… Maybe some other time I’ll explain all the reasons I why I decided to start with le français in my mission to become bilingual… and then, maybe, even multilingual—but let me not get ahead of myself, yet.

Unfortunately, learning a second (“… ou une langue nouvelle …”) isn’t as “facile” as downloading a second dialect unto your computer (“votre ordinateur”) or phone (“votre téléphone”), mais c’est une grande partie de ce qui rend l’apprentissage si génial, et si gratifiante et enrichissante. Aussi, there are apps you can download to help you get some non-native-language-data stored and computing in your brain. These apps include Duolingo, Memrise, and Babbel, all of which I have been utilizing pendant presque deux semaines, and all of which I will discuss further below (alongside some other options in Part 2).

Duolingo

Duolingo uses gamification to make language acquisition fun, personalized, and accessible! You earn points that translate to what they call “lingots,” by completing lessons or by maintaining 10-day streaks, and you can then spend these “lingots” at the Shop (perhaps you’d like to purchase a Flirting lesson, or learn some new Idioms and Proverbs; race yourself against the clock with a Timed Practice, or maintain your streak despite missing a day by purchasing a Streak Freeze…). You can also earn badges by completing specific tasks, such as earning 200 XP in a day, maintaining a 30-day streak, completing 20 lessons or practices without getting anything wrong, or “working overtime” (completing a lesson before 7 a.m., or after 10 p.m.).

What I Like About Duolingo is the Daily Goal chart! You don’t have to set big goals to play, and learn, with Duolingo; it’s up to you whether you want to set your Daily Goal to 1 XP per day (Basic, about 5 minutes/day), 50 XP+ per day (Insane, 20+ minutes/day), or somewhere in between, but regardless of what your goal is, the app will track your productivity on a chart in the corner for you. What sort of information does this chart host? Good question; Duolingo tracks (and clearly displays for you) how many points you have left to earn to complete your daily goal, how many hours you have left to complete your daily goal, and how many points you’ve earn today compared  to the last seven via an easy-to-read line graph.

Other perks of Duolingo include the include the introduction and repetition of numerous vocabulary words (especially nouns and adjectives, plus pronouns) and conjugations (verbs) ranging from categories such as “Basics” and “Plurals,” to “Phrases,” “Animals,” and “Weather,” all the way to “Medical,” “Politics,” “Technology,” “Economics,” and “Spiritual,” to name a few. As well as its facilitation of an acquired, natural understanding of grammar rules. At times, using this app, you may find yourself realizing you understand what seems to sound “right” or “wrong” without being able to pinpoint the moment you learned the rule governing such.

What You Might Not Like About Duolingo is it’s sometimes wrong. The female speaking voice struggles the words “tu aS” and “le porC,” pronouncing the last, should-be-silent letters, and “le singe,” and “un œuf” as her voice cracks, and, regardless of these examples, I find it to be a less effective app in terms of pronunciation (when compared to Memrise and Babbel). Lastly, at moments the app might feel a little dry. Sure, it’s gamified, but there are times when it seems more like a chore than a challenge to complete a category. Be careful when powering-through, though; it’ll be up to you afterwards to maintain the vocabulary you built by going back and hitting “Practice”.

On the bright side… You can conveniently report any errors you find within the app’s lessons, and have the option to discuss any specific question or task, and its answer, with the entire Duolingo community by leaving a comment.

You’ll Like This App if you are brand new to the language you are set on learning. I can personally attest that it provides a very good entry point—both simply and enjoyably! On the other hand, if you are not new to the language you’re studying, but are still looking to practice in a fun-and-easy way, perhaps further build your diction, or sharpen your grammar skills and understanding via observation Duolingo provides a placement test that adapts to your level by getting harder (or easier) based on your answers. I have provided the link for the French placement test (x), however some of the most popular languages on the app include English, Spanish, German, Italian, Russian, and Japanese.

(tina’s tip) : As soon as you earn five lingots, head over to the Shop and place a wager, Double or Nothing. “Attempt to double your five lingot wager by maintaining a seven day streak.” This’ll keep you coming back daily for a week, even on that day you really don’t want to!

(tina’s tip) : To work on your fluency from beginning, practice saying the French meaning out loud, even when you are typing or reading the English translation. As well, try not to repeat playing the audio before you’ve finished typing your translation (and try to use the faster audio when you can). (For pronunciation reasons, feel free to utilize the ability to repeat and slow down audio!)

(tina’s tip) : To practice your pronunciation, slowly repeat a sentence word-by-word when individual audio is available before attempting to recite the entire sentence perfectly. It’s okay if you need to repeat difficult words or word-combos slowly, and over and over!

Memrise

Memrise is really interesting! Not only does the app gamify learning a new language, and thus incorporate fun and community, like other language-aid apps, it incorporates scientific research regarding learning and memorizing anything —the techniques utilized are not exclusive to mastering a foreign language. So what are these techniques? Elaborate Encoding: Memrise uses what they call “mems,” or images to help you learn and remember by connecting new knowledge with something you already know in a vivid and sensory way (you can even create your own, personalized “mems,” as well)! Choreographed Testing: Recalling memories is what makes our brain muscles flex. It’s one of the most powerful ways to make those memories robust, durable and cogent. (Ever heard of use it, or lose it?) Therefore, Memrise is created to make its users’ brains and memories work to recall what they are learning. Scheduled Reminders: Finally, the app isn’t just set up to make you continuously practice so you won’t forget. Instead, Memrise attempts —again using scientific research and algorithms— to remind you to review (i.e. ‘recall’) at optimized times. What are “optimized times,” you ask? Another good question; an optimized time is a moment that is precisely estimated to be the point at which you are about to forget what you have learnt. If you’re still interested in this topic, you can researching “forgetting curves” to find out more for yourself.

What I Like About Memrise is that the app focusses on not just teaching, but making sure I remember what I am taught, and, then, that I can go on and use what I have memorized in sentences and discussions, such as at a restaurant (French 1). As for memorizing, the app doesn’t just keep track on what you need to review based on timing, but, also, Memrise independently tracks difficult words for you, allowing you the option to solely practice the things you get wrong most. Need extra help remembering a thing or deux? There are yet more options; select a mem (image to associate with your new and tricky word) or create your own… Here are some of my mine!

Other perks of Memrise include how verbal the app is, including a variety of voices (always at least one male, and one female) correctly pronouncing the French. And, besides memorizing, the app’s creators obviously care about applying accurate audio to assist in developing its users’ accents and listening skills (which really does help). As well, it’s improving my spelling! At times using this app, you may find yourself realizing you know exactly how to spell a word, all accents included, without ever having had put aside any dedicated thought or time to know, “Is it i before e… and where do I put the apostrophe?”.

Speaking for myself, I also find the app does a notable job of keeping my attention, and, additionally, fuelling my motivation and excitement for learning the French language. … (So far, it’s my favourite for all of these reasons.)

What You Might Not Like About Memrise is you may need some background. Well, technically, you don’t need any background to start your new-to-you-language exploration on Memrise (they’ll go over the basics, bonjour, salut, comment ça va, bonne, bien, mal, oui, non, être, avoir, au revoir, … etc., etc), it might help, and I’d, personally, suggest it.

On the bright side… When I say I think some background in the language “might help,” I don’t mean much. A little junior high school experience, some other basic, introductory Beginners’ class or video series, or a few committed days on Duolingo should be enough to get you going, especially in terms of developing a très peu de understanding of the language and its structure, before jumping onto Memrise!

You’ll Like This App if you are ready to start exploring the different types of sentences you are able to say (but have yet to say), or if you’re looking for something a little faster than Duolingo. Alternatively, this app is also a go-to suggestion for anyone looking to work on their pronunciation, or up their verb vocabulary.

(tina’s tip) : Try to go on the app daily to continue hearing the language, learning new words, and prevent missing scheduled reminders. (It’s okay if you do miss a reminder, though; you can still always catch up on your practice later!)

(tina’s tip) : Utilize the mems for pronunciation (examples). I’d imagine that most of the words I know, I learnt how to say before I learnt how to spell ’em… Also, even when a new, foreign word seems ridiculous and impossible, there’s a good chance you already know how to say it, or at least some recognizable approximation of it, by breaking it down into sounds from other words you already use all the time. After all, the French word “au” is really just “oh,” and “des ours” (bears) “day horse” (horse with a silent h, of course). More of an approximation, but “brouillard” (fog) reminds my of “boyar,” as in, Chef Boyardee. Basically, don’t let the spelling of a word be what brings you down. Reference: Y E S spells yes. What does E Y E S spell?

(tina’s tip) : Pay attention to when you finish a course, such as French 1, and are ready to move on to the next, such as French 2—you will need to go back to the “Courses” from your profile to select the next one; otherwise, the app will only have you review the material from your completed course without moving you on to the next.

Babbel

Babbel isn’t set up like a game with rounds, but instead like Courses broken into lessons with the intention of moving users along the shortest path to real-life conversation. Progressive lessons are connected together as an interlinking framework, with each step building towards the next. The app utilizes mock discussions, so you can see and practice using what you are learning in action, as well as build your vocabulary both actively and passively. The app attempts to get users to actively use passively learned words, preparing them for genuine conversations! As well, the app provides images with its lessons, practices, and translations, allowing the user to connect what they are hearing and saying to what they are seeing (i.e. what is being talked about). Finally, Babble uses the “spaced repetition” method to strengthen memory—this is similarly based on “forgetting curves” research, just like Memrise is. All you have to do is hit “Your Vocabulary” for a daily dose of recall, or go to your Vocabulary and click “Review these items” so you can increase your average distribution of words by knowledge level from a 1 (lowest-ranking) to a 6 (highest-ranking).

What I Like About Babbel is it’s review options, and the ability to personalize your method of recall from day to day by choosing to either utilize Writing or Flashcards to check if you remember your translations. I tend to learn towards the Writing option, and appreciate that if I haven’t got a clue, I can always hit the “help” button providing me with the scrambled letters of the French word I must then unscramble. Hitting “help” is still automatically marked as an error, though, which in my opinion, is a good thing—it allows me the chance to come back and try, again, to get it things right “the first time” as you can repeat all the terms you got wrong at the end of the practice. Also, the unscrambling-foreign-word task is not exclusively used in practices, but lessons, as well. Plus, expect a lot of fill-in-the-blanks. Hint: The blanks are the correct size to fit the correct text necessary to fill ’em. Although I don’t know what fuelled the choices behind including the unscrambling and fill-in-the-blank activities, I will say that while completing these exercises, they feel like they are motivated, reasonable, and helpful (as they should be).

Other perks of Babbel include the Daily Challenge (find by hitting “Home”) that encourages both review and streaks like Duolingo, and the ability to hover your mouse over most words, sentences, and phrases that  you want to hear said out loud once again; like Memrise, Babbel is a good option for strengthening both your verbal and hearing skills.

What You Might Not Like About Babbel is there’s no option just to review words that are the most difficult for you, but this can be taken as both a con and a pro (use any opportunity you can, or have to, to practice, practice, practice…). Really “the big thing,” is that it’s only a semi- or barely- free app. If you’re not willing to pay, only the first lesson of every course will be available to you, and this is a bummer because each lesson and course builds on the last. But wait (attente), didn’t I say I was going to be discussing the free language learning apps I’ve been using—not “semi- or barely- free,” but FREE? To you I say, check out the bright side (below, next line).

On the bright side… You can try a week of Babbel FREE by registering with this invite.

You’ll Like This App if you’re serious about study a new language. Courses range from Beginner’s 1 through 6, to everything Listening and Speaking-related (“Pronouncing Vowels,” “Pronouncing Consonants,” “Travel Dialogues,” “Tongue Twisters,” “Dictation Course,” “Sound Twins”), to “Conversations au Travail” (Conversations at Work) and writing “Love Letters.” … For further reference, Babbel’s  French Intermediate Courses utilize intensive listening, speaking, reading and writing at the B1 level of the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages.

(tina’s tip) : Be aware that if you close a lesson prior to completing it, the the lesson’ll re-start from the beginning! To save your progress, you’re going to have to finish the lesson; otherwise, be prepared to re-do some tasks.

(tina’s tip) : Read along with the speaker to assist yourself in breaking down a sentence into its individual words. (You’re going to need this skill to understand another language, regardless of what app you are using to get there!)

(tina’s tip) : Have fun, work your way up, and pace yourself (like you would with a game——even if you’ve got your notebook out for this one, it’s a good idea to try and enjoy what you are learning)!

In Conclusion

If I had to pick just one, it’d probably be Memrise, but I don’t “pick just one,” and that is purposeful. Doing so keeps me stimulated, and allows me the chance to see, use, and learn language in variety of places and ways. Obviously, this is a decision that I am hoping will prove to be effective… I’ll keep “vous” updated.

Merci to the featured image source et DanceTabs pour la image above ! (And, y’all be sure to stay tuned for Part 2 of Discussing the FREE Language Learning Apps I’ve Been Using “pour le français”)

﹅ How ’bout you? Est-ce que vous parlez français? Are you learning?

﹅ Do you have a preferred or favourite digital “hack” to learning a new, foreign language?

﹅ Got any French media suggestions pour moi? Feel free to comment what you know!

http://aroutineache.com/whats-your-favourite-language-learning-app-discussing-the-free-language-learning-apps-ive-been-using-pour-le-francais/